Aquarelle [h.s]

fifty

The following morning started a bit slower than usual.

We'd gone to the hotel we'd decided to stay in a little after the sun had set, only stopping on the way to get something to eat. We'd then gone to our room and Harry had claimed he wanted to catch up on some work, even though all he ended up doing was staring at the bright white screen of his laptop with a pensive look in his eyes.

I'd let him do his thing, understanding that he needed some time to process everything he'd seen on that day, not trying to get his attention when he finally decided to shut off his light and go to sleep.

The day after, when I woke up, I found him staring out of the window with the same impassive look in his eyes, but that by then I knew was only there to hide the myriads of thoughts that were storming his mind like a protective wall.

"Good morning" I said gently, and his head snapped in my direction, as if he hadn't expected me to be up so soon. "What's going on?"

He shrugged, walking away from the window and into the room, looking down at the floor before daring to raise his gaze and meet my eyes. "I was thinking" he admitted, and I gave him a little nod.

"What about?"

He sighed. "About going to the cemetery" he admitted. "I haven't been there in years and it doesn't feel right to leave without visiting."

"That makes sense" I replied, getting out of the bed and walking towards the bathroom.

"You don't have to come" he said behind me, "you can stay here if you prefer. It won't take long."

I stopped with my hand on the handle and turned my head to look at him. "I can come, if you want me to" I offered, "if you don't, I can just wait in the car or stay here, too. Whatever works."

"I'd like you to come" he told me quietly, and I gave him a little smile.

"Then I will" I replied, entering the bathroom and closing the door after myself.

•   •   •

Not long after, I found myself in Harry's car again, sitting next to him as he drove silently through the streets of his hometown, that were just then starting to properly wake up. It's surprising how the start of summer can make everyone feel a lot lazier.

"You're silent" Harry stated, and I looked away from the car window to glance at him.

"I was just thinking about the first time we came here together" I told him, "when you brought me to that art gallery, do you remember?"

He gave me a slight nod. "I do."

I leaned my head back against the seat. "And there was that man, that kept talking about art. And he asked us all those philosophical questions. I don't know why he came to my mind now." I let out a little chuckle. "I think he predicted it as well. That we'd end up thinking about him one day, so that he wouldn't be forgotten."

Harry smiled a bit at my words. "He did."

"I liked him, he's fun. Knows a whole lot about art, too. It was amazing to listen to him talk" I continued, "I wonder what he's doing now."

"He died a couple of years ago" he replied, and my head snapped in his direction.

"Oh" I said, not having expected that answer. I'd only seen him once for a couple of hours, but that piece of information still made me feel sad. It was a memento of the inexorable passing of time as well, just like Harry's house, just like everything else around us. What, or who, was once there, no longer was. "It's sad to know about that, he was great. How did you find out?"