he's a portrait {frerard}

Art, 5

In the afternoon, I had received a call from Arthur, making my stomach ignite and my attention quickly drawing to my phone; he had asked if he could come over. I quickly, obviously, obliged -giving him my address and waiting for him to come by.

I only lived in a five-story apartment and the view was terrible, but atleast I managed to keep things paid up. I never felt the need to move, seemingly content with my cozy apartment room. I could move, yes, I had just enough money, but the gravity kept me too rooted down.

I heard the knock at my door, putting down my coffee mug as I walked over to open it, seeing a smiling Arthur. My heart fluttered and I smiled back at him. Maybe it was forced, maybe it wasn't. I couldn't tell, but it was obvious that it didn't last for long, seeing as I barely smile.

"Hi, Anthony," he said as I stepped aside, letting him in. His usual chipper and happy voice could bring back the dead; maybe even brighten the poor souls in Jersey. I wonder if he sings?

"Hey, Arthur," I simply replied, watching him look around my aprtment. It was slight trash, jackets hanging over the couches, a usual empty bottle of wine sitting in the coffee table and my art strewn everywhere. But I wouldnt give it up for the world. "Its kind of a mess, but-"

"Is that me?" He asked softly, walking to stand in front of the portrait I had done of him. I almost winced, slightly wishing he wouldn't have noticed it. It had completely slipped my mind. What happens at 2 A.M, is quickly forgotten by 6 A.M.

"Yeah," I clearly answered, waiting for him to ask why I had drawn him of all things possible. Him of all things. For many reasons, to be honest. He was simply stuck in my head and his beauty would never cease to not be in my mind. A 24/7 replay of every time he's smiled.

"It's really good."

"Thanks," I mumbled, walking over to stand next to him, his hand brushing against mine. Quickly enough, not liking the closeness or slight affectionate move, I shoved my hands in my pockets.

"But why would you draw me?" He asked, wincing as if he was a dreaded curse. As if he couldn't understand why someone wouldn't want to draw him. As if he didn't think he were worthy of being treasured.

"Because I think you're beautiful," I murmured, taking a drink from my mug of expresso, watching him intensly for a reaction, but he stared blankly at the canvas. "You are, it's not just an opinion and it can't be taken as an opinion. It's a fact. Like how my drawings are solid and stick to a main thing. You are solid, you are attracting and interesting in your own way. I see art everyday, and nothing can be compared to your beauty. Out of all the portraits in the entire gallery, I would still stare at you. You are the most gorgeous portrait and I would sell all my money to own something so amazing. You should be in every gallery in the entire world; anytime someone sees you, they should stop and stare. In the museum, people would turn their heads, talking small chat about how something so simple could be so astonishing."

He looked at me, a soft hue to his eyes as he shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down nervously.

"You really think that?" He asked, his voice starting to crack. Please don't cry. I can't deal with human emotions, barely even human interaction.

"I know," I corrected softly, wanting him to look at me.

"And you care about me?" He asked, looking up at me, a deepness looming around in the crisp autumn leaves and flecks of green. So pretty, was all I could think to myself at the moment, staring at his eyes like this. Intently and caring. Caring? Do I actually care?

"Yes," I answered quietly, almost choking on my words, those words never been thought too often through my head. I put down my cup, seeing how he was about to cry. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, letting him bury his face in my neck. Nothing has felt better than this. And this feeling. Nothing has felt better than holding his soft warm form in my grasp. This feeling I wish I could hold on to forever, because my chest felt like there were flowers blooming inside and my head was melting in the best way, my heart hammering through my chest lightly. "I care about you so much. And I realise that you are what holds me down. I'm the bird, and I finally understand the force that pulls me to full reality. I can be free with you, I can be free and held back at the same time as long as you're here." Because I did care. Not naturally is something like this to ever happen. I'm a terrible being, and don't deserve any of the attention he's given to me. But I care about him, probably because of the un-normal tug in my chest or just because I truly am lonely or need this. But I can see it, I can see that he deserves this, that he needs to be cared for. I'm not sure why, but it doesn't matter because he's makes me feel free. Finally. No more closing my eyes and trying to wish away the bad thoughts that cloud my mind. No more wanting to wish to run away or wondering why I never could in the first place.

He let out a strangled sob, bringing me back to his attention, and I rubbed my hand over his back and another through his soft hair.

"Don't cry, Arthur, I don't want you to cry."

He sniffled, his tears covering spots on my shirt. He pulled back a little, wiping his tears away, leaving him blood-shot and red puffy bags under his eyes. They still looked amazing; just glassy and fragile. I was willing to take care of them and never break them.

"Do you know why I said all those things?" I asked quietly, lifting his chin so he would look at me. "Because I care about you."

He smiled brightly, and closed his eyes in bliss.

I smiled at him and placed my lips to his cheek, feeling shocks run through me. Kissing him felt amazing, and it seemed as though I could get high off of the simple shock running through me. I didn't feel dead, I didn't want to die; I felt like I was floating in the air, weightless and free.

I wiped his remaining tears away with my thumbs and let him lay against me all day.

"Anthony?"

"Yes?"

"I care about you, too."

I smiled a little, sighing in bliss.

It was perfect, but one thing was wrong -why would he be crying? And that thoughts hung to me all day and stuck me straight to the heart, panting my chest and wrecking my feelings all over again.