you're cold and I burn (on hold)

And fuck, Louis was such a bad student.
Either way, there was no sense in dwelling on the past, letting unnecessary memories overtake
your mind <strong>and</strong> watching your body helplessly react. So he slams his face into the pillow instead,
not bothering to get dressed before he intertwines himself <strong>and</strong> his still-kind-of-wet limbs into the
blankets.
****
When the sun streams through the windows, it seems to be looking down on its golden kingdom,
lighting everything in the room, <strong>and</strong> casting hanging shadows. It’s simply beautiful, <strong>and</strong> if there
were any way to capture the elegance of a sun ray in his paintings, he would most surely do
exactly that. He’s not sure that he ever wants to get up <strong>and</strong> endure any kind of social interaction
when his brain is already feeling pretty sore after the contemplation of calling his asshole of a
father, all hours of the previous night. But, as he world might have it, he does have to go out <strong>and</strong>
visit a few art museums <strong>and</strong> try for any kind of unseen inspiration that could be the breeding
ground for numerous works of art.
And maybe one day he could have his paintings hanging on those displays.
He has absolutely no trouble recreating Assumption of the Virgin by Annibale Carracci, but he has
the hardest fucking time getting himself out of bed in the morning. And after getting a cumulative
three hours of sleep last night he was justified for his body feeling emphatically like a bag of
bricks <strong>and</strong> he wanted nothing more than to relocate to the couch, blanket <strong>and</strong> all, <strong>and</strong> not move a
single inch. For hours. Maybe days. Maybe even forever. Because the real world has people who
have their shit together which is the exact opposite of Louis’ situation <strong>and</strong> the whole
embarrassment thing makes him want to shove his head through a wall.
“Yeah, you may have a house that you can afford <strong>and</strong> a well paying job, but I have a pretty
shower curtain <strong>and</strong> the bath towels to match. So, whose the real winner here?”
Time was pressing with every tick of that analog clock (which is also lavender, <strong>and</strong> yes, very
pretty.) And the coffee maker is beckoning him from the kitchen. He’s half debating throwing a
tiny swig of bourbon in it to wake him up a bit. But considering alcohol is a depressant, <strong>and</strong> he’s
not a drinker, it would probably only make his day even worst than it already is. When he finally
st<strong>and</strong>s, he realizes he’s still butt-ass naked, <strong>and</strong> the freedom feels lovely. Because yeah, this is his
flat. And if he wants to walk around with his wanker hanging all over god’s creation then he will
as he damn well pleases.
However, with a shallow sigh <strong>and</strong> a sad attempt to tame his fringe, he’s walking into the kitchen.
His eyes run over all the decor, lighting up with the intricate flower vases, <strong>and</strong> the matching
lavender dish set. It’s quite charming, actually, <strong>and</strong> he couldn’t be more proud of the way his flat
has turned out this week. Perhaps he should be an interior designer, but he much prefers paint
brushes over furniture <strong>and</strong> this way he doesn’t have to work alongside a crew. He’s always been
more of a freelance person, if you will. Though he knows how to keep a conversation going, <strong>and</strong>
he’s more than likely to make everyone a friend rather than a stranger. When it comes to art, he’s a
bit more serious, <strong>and</strong> it all comes from the confines of his brain. He just wouldn’t be able to
convey his ideas to another person without warping it <strong>and</strong> changing the end masterpiece all
together.
Peinture <strong>and</strong> Artista Gallery seem to be on his to-do list for today, <strong>and</strong> while the coffee is heating,