Art | Harry Styles

25

"What?" Sophie begins to frown, turning to Harry now.

"Hm?" he zones in, running his hand up and down her arm, "who?"

"Okay, he wasn't listening, clearly," Sophie turns back to India and Liam, "where's Layla?"

India nods her head to their left, and Sophie turns. "I wouldn't bother with her," India shrugs, "Harry's clearly not interested, and she wouldn't come out successful if you gave her a set of instructions."

Sophie stifles a gentle laugh, glancing over at the boy beside her. He truly does reveal a different side to himself when he's drunk, and Sophie can't pretend it isn't slightly endearing as he nuzzles his temple against her shoulder. As time draws on, Sophie, too, notices Layla sat comfortably in the corner of the room, drink in hand with her eyes on Harry.

"S'okay," Harry leans in to murmur against Sophie's ear, as India and Liam are lost in their own conversation, "I'll talk to her. She's nice."

"If you want to," Sophie turns her head, eyes meeting Harry's slightly fuzzy ones, "but I wouldn't."

"Why?" he pouts in a curious frown, "she's alright, no? Y'don't like her?"

"Bad feeling," she shrugs, as his fingertips ghost over her wrist and he reaches for her hand, "we only have a few minutes before the curtains come down - d'you want some water?" Each display piece was covered by its own individual, deep red curtain, ready to drop and dramatically reveal the pieces when the official event began.

"Mm," he hums, nodding and allowing his lips to press lightly against Sophie's jaw before turning towards the bar. He clasps her hand tightly, using her arm for balance as she turns to bid a quick goodbye to India and Liam, while Harry is already messily en route to the bar. Sophie takes quick strides to keep up with the typical pace of Harry's long legs; despite his drunken demeanour, he's still far quicker than she is, and she races to grab his hand. "Hi, pretty," he murmurs once she reaches his side, and it takes everything she has to stifle the giggle threatening to fall from her lips.

"Back already?" the bartender raises a playful eyebrow at Sophie, and Harry frowns, not piecing the facts together that the drink he'd had only moments ago was retrieved from this bar. "What can I get you?"

"Two waters, please," Harry sulks at him, feeling an odd flutter in his gut as he catches the blonde eyeing the girl beside him. Sophie catches his narrowing eyes and can't help but laugh; even when drunk and irritated, Harry is still polite.

When their drinks are handed to them, Harry downs his quickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Have mine," Sophie gently nudges his side, and Harry shakes his head, but accepts the glass all the same when Sophie shoves it into his hand. He takes a few sips, exhaling against the rim of the glass.

A soft pout forms on his lips as he glances at the girl beside him, her head tilting a little as she catches his stare.

"Like you," he mumbles, and though it's a rarity - he's not mumbling due to nerves, but rather out of drunken mannerisms. "Like you a lot."

The warmth of her palm presses lightly to the smooth surface of his cheek, the gentle movement of the pad of her thumb against his skin enough of a response. There's no point bothering with words when he's still far from sober.

He leans into her palm, a lazy smile spreading on his lips, as he blinks slowly; his vision slightly hazy. Harry turns his head an inch or two further, his lips puckering briefly against her palm before he turns his head back again.

"Curtain," she whispers to him, catching the time on the clock over his shoulder. The music dies down, and the crackling noise of a microphone sounds throughout the room.

The man with grey-blonde hair steps up, his voice captures everybody's attention. Harry - as he slowly, but surely begins to sober up - recognises the man as the one who he'd seen on the first night he'd visited the gallery. The night he'd admired Sophie from afar, while tonight he's admiring her up close, his chin resting comfortably on her shoulder as her back presses to his stomach, winding his arms around her middle and holding her close to him.

And then the curtains drop.

A roar of cheers and applause fills the room, and it doesn't take long for Harry's eyes to land on his own piece. Three panels, a bright, colourful theme continuous throughout them. It's flowers; it's badly strung-up fairylights, and it's completely and utterly Harry in one piece, but it's Sophie's face filling the canvas. A small smile pulls on his lips, a sense of pride filling his mind as he sees his pieces; his photographs of his person.

Harry's lips ghost over the back of Sophie's shoulder, before his chin moves back to rest on the surface, her head turning a little to look at the boy with his arms around her.

A wonky grin tugs on his lips, now, an elated feeling occupying his mind, "Look how pretty you are."