Goodbye, Evan

11

  The third sunset we share is on the bus.

Theo sits on the seat in front of me so we can both look out of the window. His hands are full of the canvas, which he holds against his chest so I can't see it. His head is tipped back a little so that his curls, which are shaved away at the sides and back and a huge mop on top, tip towards me. (If I ran my hands through his hair, I think they would get stuck.) (I can't, even if I wanted to - I'm holding his new art supplies.) (And I don't want to.)

His fingers tap the back of the canvas. I can hear it over the roar of the bus's engine. It's annoying.

There's a spot of paint on his ear. It's endearing.

The sky is dark blue and the horizon shot with pink and gold. It makes his skin, paint and all, glow. It's kind of beautiful.

My thoughts are all disjointed, but I think it's better this way. It gives me more of a chance to sever this developing attachment before it ends badly for both of us.

Well, just me. It wouldn't hurt him to lose me because he wouldn't remember having me... in his life.

I'm just a big ol' ball of positivity.

The bus hits a pothole. Charlie's headphones slip down to his neck and he returns them to the original spot with paint-splattered fingers.

I have to make him happy. I know that. But do I have to hurt myself in the process? (Yes. That's why I'm still here.)

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"Did you have fun?" I ask as we walk up the gravel path.

The sun is almost gone now, the wind picking up and teasing our clothes and hair. Theo shivers. I do too but it feels more like a habit.

Theo's smirk is half hidden in shadow. "Honestly? Yeah. I've never had a paint fight before."

He's smiling. I make myself reciprocate it.

"Do you think you'll have a paint fight with someone else when I'm gone?" I can't help but blurt out after a minute or so of silence.

Theo, whose shoulder is brushing mine, stiffens. "I... I don't know. How can I know? Some people probably die without ever having a paint fight. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. Maybe we'll have another one. I don't know. I don't know, okay?"

His ramble is followed by an awkward silence. I can feel it spreading, thickening, threatening to make the relationship we've built up over the past three days null and void. Desperately, I break it. (Because I'm weak and self destructive and fuck it.)

"What did you paint?"

Theo bolsters the canvas in his arms. "Just... somebody in the class."

"The model?"

He shakes his head.

"...Me?" He glances at me, then nods reluctantly. "Oh." I don't know how I feel.

"Well, I'm flattered. Can I see?"

Theo hugs the painting closer - honestly, I'm surprised it hasn't absorbed into his skin. "No!" he says. 

"Why?" In spite of myself, I smile. "Is it inappropriate? Did you draw me in the nude?"

"N... no! Why... why would you say that?" I didn't see you in the nude, twat." Theo fumbles. I can't see it in the growing darkness, but I can imagine he's flushing.

My smile widens. "Then can I see? Please? I promise I won't judge if it's shit, or even if you did draw me naked. I've seen nearly five decades worth of student art classes. I've laid eyes upon some horrors."