Pride {l.s.}

7- Home

I pace back and forth in my room nervously. It's more like three steps before turning around and doing it again. I'm not sure how to dress for Harry's. He did say it would be just the two of us. I'm not supposed to dress too nice, right? I just slide on a t-shirt that was clean to go with my black jeans. Nothing too fancy should be needed for a simple dinner. I hear a knock on my door. I open it to see Zayn standing there.

"Harry's here," Zayn says almost emotionlessly, but I've known him for awhile. I can see a spark of happiness in Zayn's eyes.

"Thanks," I say with a small smile before I push past him to reach Harry.

"Oh, and Louis?" I turn to face Zayn. "I'm proud of you for not pushing him too far away."

A smile returns to both Zayn's and I's faces as we walk to the front of the studio together. Harry wears another crazy patterned shirt that he pulls off perfectly. This one is pink with white dots. I never thought pink could look so good on someone.

"Ready for some dinner, Lou?" Harry asks with a smile on his face.

"I'm dying for food! Starving. Let's go before I start eating paint," I comment. This makes Harry laugh as I follows him out of the studio. Harry doesn't live too far away, so we walk across the downtown to reach Harry's.

"Why of all things did you say you would eat paint?" Harry asks randomly as we walk side by side.

"First thing I could think of. Did you know that Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint?"

Harry turns and looks at me with wide eyes. "Why on earth would he do that?"

"That poor man. He had this idea that if he ate the yellow paint, like the happiness in the color could be transferred to him. That paint was probably toxic, so that didn't help at all. I mean it's obvious you're not going to receive happiness from paint. He was just so desperate. He was so unhappy, and he just wanted to make things better."

After that crazy story, I feel the sadness sink in.

"Van Gogh is your favorite, isn't he?" Harry asks. The smile from Harry's face is completely gone.

I nod my head. "His mind tormented him so much, but great pain makes for great beauty. He moved all around Europe just trying to feel at home. When he finally had his home, he literally painted his bedroom three times. It was a beautiful place. He searched forever to find a home, but he never got to stay at his home very long. He was sent off to a mental institution numerous times. Have you ever had a home like that, like just a real home?"

Harry looks out onto the sidewalk as the lights fade from the sky. I can see thoughts swirling in his mind as he tries to explain how he feels.

"I never found a home within a place. I guess maybe my childhood house, but I always found it more in people. I find it in the people that make me laugh and smile. I find my home in the happiness of the people I love. It's those people who make you feel like you're never alone," Harry explains. "Have you ever been with maybe a lot of people you know and still felt lonely?"

I nod my head. "Yeah."

"Have you ever been with one person who made you feel alive?"

I look up at the boy with the green eyes. I find a small smile appearing on my face as I stare at Harry. I never would have done anything that crazy with anyone else. That kiss also. That kiss made me feel alive.

He makes me feel alive.

"Yeah," I reply.

"That's your home. Your home is with the people who make you feel alive."