Harry and Maya One-Shots

Kidnapped - Part Five

some of this gets intense so you have been warned. viewer discretion is advised :) ENJOY <3

ONE MONTH LATER

            One afternoon, Mr. Styles found me in the art studio with my new reading glasses as I attempted to paint the landscape outside. I was trying to separate the picture into the general colors that I saw and then I would add detail later. Everything was so much easier to see with my new glasses though, and I was so excited to find them sitting on my bed after I’d come back up from breakfast the day after I’d gotten my eyes checked.

            “Maya,” I heard Mr. Styles say from behind me. I’d barely even heard him walk into the room. I jumped a little bit from sudden fright. He chuckled and walked up behind me and looked at what I was painting. I put my pallet down and dropped my paintbrush in a jar filled with water.

            “I’m just trying to sort out the colors,” I explained.

            “I see that, it looks incredible,” Mr. Styles said as he looked over my shoulder. His hands were rested on my waist from behind as he looked between my painting so far and out the window. “You said you draw, right?” he asked.

            “Yes, Sir,” I replied softly since we were already so close.

            “Well would you mind drawing me?” he asked bluntly.

            I turned to look at him. “Do you mean right now, Sir?”

            “Yes Maya, I’ll sit and you can draw me,” Mr. Styles said and I tried not to gasp. He smirked at me and I could feel myself blushing.

            “O-Of course, Sir,” I rushed as I went to wash the paint off my hands and find my big drawing pad. Mr. Styles took it upon himself to find a stool and sit in front of an easel so that I could look at him and draw. I got all my pencils, blending stumps, and erasers together before I walked over to flip through my drawing pad, trying to hide the sketches I’ve already drawn of him. Truth is, whenever I was sitting at the drawing desk with a pencil in my hand and a piece of paper in front of me, the first thing I started sketching was Mr. Styles.

            “Wait,” he said as he stood up and took two steps towards me, his long stride being enough to cover the length of about three feet between us. “What were those?” he asked.

            “S-Sir, they’re nothing,” I insisted as I opened to a new page.

            “Maya,” he said lower this time. Whenever he deepened his voice I knew not to disobey him. He put his hand out for the drawing pad and I sheepishly handed it to him. He flipped back to the beginning and turned through the pages of my good sketches and my not so good sketches. Some were with graphite pencils, some with colored pencils, and some in thin pens. I just sat embarrassed behind my easel as I waited for him to give my pad back to me. “You have such an amazing talent, Ms. Hartman…” he shook his head as he got through the sketches.

            “They aren’t my best work, Mr. Styles,” I told him honestly as I clipped the drawing pad to the easel. “Just sketches, really…”

            He went back to sit in front of the easel while I sat behind it. I got some pencils out and began to sketch his general outline. As I drew him, everything was completely silent. Actual hours passed and he didn’t move once. Normally after a couple hours I got bored of my drawing, but staring at Mr. Styles for hours on end was quite enjoyable.