Harry Styles One-Shots

Work of Art

Summary: You're an artist, and you've had quite a few muses throughout your life, though you might be partial to a few.

Hi!!! This is a short blurb, much shorter than pretty much anything else in this book will be!! It starts out kind of angsty, but it's really cute toward the end. Hope you like it!

Chapter Warnings: mentions of drug use, mentions of cheating (though not between you and Harry)

You had had many muses throughout your life.

The first was your childhood home. A typical house in suburbia, it might have seen average or unexciting to the naked eye. But to you, it was everything. It held the kitchen where you baked cakes with your mom, the living room where you and your older sister played dress up, and the music room where your dad taught you the drums. It was where you had your first dog, where you and your childhood best friend would run around in blankets with sticks calling yourselves Jedi, and where you experienced all of the joys and pains of growing up. The setting sun would always paint the cornfield in your backyard with shades of red, pink, and orange. Whenever you weren't overtaken by the emotions that attached you to your home, you could just sit on the patio and paint the sky over and over again. The gray of the outside walls hid the secret of your most beautiful memories.

The second was your first lover. You fell in love when you were just 16. High school sweethearts, just like your parents. He did everything right. He held the door for you when you got into the passenger side of his car. He wrote you cheesy love poems just to hear you laugh. You would often find yourself coloring the chocolate brown of his eyes, or scanning over a sketch of a pair of hands, making sure the calluses matched his. You had believed he was your forever and always; that in ten years, you would have two kids and a white picket fence of your own. But when you left for art school, you found out that he gave all of the love you handed him to another. Suddenly, the drawings you had made of him were stained with a bitterness you weren't sure you would ever be able to shake.

The third was the psychedelic kaleidoscope you experienced nearly every night. Your passion for art in college could only be matched by the desperate need for the drugs your roommates brought home from their midnight excursions. Everything in your life had become as dark as the sketchy alleyways behind your apartment. You couldn't find inspiration in anything; the football thrown across the field at halftime reminded you of the lover who was never truly yours, the twinkle in your roommate's ocean blue eyes made you think of the life that had left your father's, and the stars that twinkled above the city at night made you long for the times where you laid in your backyard, starting at the night sky with your childhood best friend, in whose brain you had become but a passing thought. Every night, you would swallow a pill, just so you could find something to live for. The trippy patterns and bright colors of your trips would be etched into your skull, and first thing the next morning, they would be on paper. You knew it was bad, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop. Not when it numbed the pain.

The fourth was your true love. The deep brown of his curly locks were complimented by the deep green of his eyes. The clunky rings on his long fingers were often the subject of your drawings, with a particular fondness for the wedding band on his left ring finger. His cherry lips were another common subject of yours; whether turned up in a dimpled grin, down in a rare frown, or belting the lyrics to a brand new lyrical masterpiece. You loved to draw him singing. Whether his hands were plucking the strings of a guitar, or he was prancing around the largest arenas in the world, the passion in his eyes was what kept you hooked. One of your favorites of him was when he was asleep in your lap, another when he was holding your hand while meandering down the beach, and yet another was modeled after a picture of his bare back with angry, red scratches down the length of it from the passionate night before. Though signing your works as "Styles" had been a strange change at first, you knew that it had been the best decision you had ever made.

The final muse was the sparkling green eyes of your daughter. She was the spitting image of her father, all sweet smiles, soft giggles, and pure love. More often than not, your drawings of her included your ebony cat snuggled up in her lap. Her gentle nature was reflected in the soft lines your pencils danced across the pages. You sketched the vibrant purples of her flower crowns, the blues of her favorite light up sneakers, and the browns of her long, curly hair. Your favorite picture of her, though, was when she was seated in your husband's lap while he guided her tiny hands across the strings of his guitar. Your final two muses were your undeniable favorites. Even though most of the art you did was for work now, you always found time to sketch your perfect little family. They were the most beautiful works of art that no medium of your creation would ever be able to touch. But you would capture them for the rest of your life.