Art | Harry Styles

10

Take these and eat something ASAP. Sip water, but don't drink a shit ton cause you'll feel like throwing up. Get coffee in you.

And when you're awake:

There's a phone number messily scrawled at the bottom of the page, and Harry's lips twitch into a grin. He does as he's told, taking the pills and gulping some of the water.

The reeling of his head is temporarily replaced by excitement as he grips the sheet of paper and opens up his phone again. He types in her number and presses 'call' a little too quickly, excited butterflies in his stomach.

It's ringing, and then it's connected. "Hello?"

He freezes. She's on the line and she's awaiting a response. Fuck, fuck, fuck - how does he speak? How does he breathe?

"Harry?" she asks suddenly, and he bites his lip.

"Y-yeah?"

He hears a breathy laugh at the other end of the line, and takes a sharp intake at how pretty it sounds.

"Did you just call me to sit in silence?"

"I might have."

He can sense the rolling of her eyes as she speaks again.

"How's the hangover?"

"Brutal," he mumbles truthfully, standing up with a slight wince as the room adjusts, keeping his phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he reaches for his camera which lays on the table beside his bed.

"But you got my note, I'm presuming," she says, and Harry hears some clattering in the background.

"I did," he confirms, heading down the stairs, "what are you up to?"

"Cleaning up a bit," she pauses, "I spilt paint all over the floor when I got home last night and I couldn't find the strength to clear it up."

Harry chuckles, "Weren't you supposed to be the sober one?"

"I was," she argues light-heartedly, "I was painting when I got back."

"At one in the morning?"

"Mm," she hums, as she lays down on her bed, her back against the mattress as she places the phone beside her on the bed and sets it on speaker, "I was doing the homework."

"You found your muse?"

"I did, indeed," she nods although he can't see her, a gentle smile on her lips. She wonders if he's caught on just yet.

"I'm glad," he responds sincerely. He lacks confidence - so much so, that the thought doesn't even cross his mind that her muse, just might be him. As his is most definitely her.

"Have you had any coffee yet?" she asks him, and he smiles a little at her concern.

"I'm making one as we speak," he tells her honestly, placing his camera down and beginning to prepare his drink, "how come you aren't hungover?"

"Because I've drank before," she teases him, as he whines a 'hey' in response. He doesn't remember much of last night, but he won't dare admit it. With clear memory or not, he knows how much fun he had.

They exchange back and forth conversation and Harry cracks a shy, yet horrific joke or two as he makes his coffee, sitting down at the kitchen table with his coffee, his laptop, and his camera.

"I could never get a piercing," he responds to her declaration of her fascination with them, as he syncs up his camera contents to his laptop, "they look like they hurt. 'Needle in your skin and all that." Of course, this is coming from the man who has several tattoos inked onto his skin, but Sophie is, of course, unaware of such inkings.

"I'm sure it does," she says thoughtfully, biting her lip as she analyses the situation in her head, "are you scared of needles then?"

"Fucking terrified," he mumbles honestly and rather ironically, as his photos load up on his laptop screen and he hears a giggle from the other end of the line, sending a small fluttering sensation of warmth in his stomach.

"I bet you're the kid who passed out during their shots in high school."

"I didn't come here to be attacked," he huffs in a playful manner, before whining, "plus, jabs really hurt."

His pictures load up completely, and he's greeted with photos he begins to recall taking. Sophie's face is on his screen - his jacket hanging baggily off her body but still suiting her so beautifully as her eyes are squinted shut and her hand is slightly raised as if to try and block the camera. Her red-painted lips form a wide grin, and Harry can't tear his eyes from her.

"Camera boy?"

She was talking, and he'd yet to respond, and so she was looking for a response. His lip drags over his teeth as he eyes the screen carefully, wondering if she knows how beautiful she looks in pictures such as these - or even just in general. She must know - it's impossible to look that way and be unaware of it.

She says his name again, and he's jolted from his daze, but he's most definitely still in it.

"Did I say you were pretty?"

She falls quiet, her eyebrows furrowing a little but a slightly confused smile begins to grow on her face, "Hm?"

"I don't remember much of last night," he admits slightly hurriedly, as he continues to ramble, "and it's annoying that I don't, but - did I tell you? After I took the pictures?"

She bites back the smile threatening to spread on her lips even further, "No.. no, you didn't." She flips onto her side so that she can stare down at the ongoing call screen on her phone.

Silence falls between them, as Harry rests his chin in his hand and his eyes scan the picture with as much thoroughness as before, a dazed grin on his face.

"You're pretty," he tells her, his face flushing as if she had complimented him.

"Yeah?" a small smile now fully twinges at her lips, now.

"Yeah," he says shyly, chin resting comfortably in his hand, "really, really pretty."