HARRY STYLES AU.
Harry is an art student, and Skye is his model in his figure drawing class. You do the math.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: cursing, alcohol use, talks of tainted parent/child relationships, sexual content, body dysmorphia, adult themes. PLEASE...
(please read trigger warnings in the story's description. you MUST be 18 or older to read this. thanks!!)
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Harry had never been the best at approaching girls.
He grew up in a wealthy family, and the consensus for people with money is that they have everything they could ever want. That may be true when it comes to material possessions, but money does not buy confidence, it doesn't make people want to be around you (at least not for organic reasons), and it certainly doesn't earn the approval of parents — it just makes their standards for their children that much higher. At least that was Harry's experience.
After graduating high school, Harry took a few years to figure out what he wanted to do with his life, much to his parents' dismay. The disappointment they expressed came as no surprise to him, and they were even more disgruntled when he'd finally decided what to do with his trust fund at the age of twenty-three. He was going to go to art school.
He would have plenty of money left over even after paying for the school program in full, and it was much less expensive than the typical undergraduate degree. This wasn't the issue his parents had — there had already been a plan in place that was determined a long time ago. He was supposed to go to Stanford and double major in business and engineering. It was expected for him to eventually take his father's position as CEO of Styles Engineering when his father retired. That plan was shot to hell now, as his father had menacingly ranted time and time again.
In June, after buying his townhome in the Silicon Valley near the Santa Clara Art Institute, his parents all but cut off contact with him. He had been left with his trust fund finances with nothing to fall back on, but he didn't care — he had millions and he was determined to be successful as an artist.
His mother texted him from time to time, but he hadn't heard from his father in months. This came as no surprise and Harry decided that he would certainly not be the one to reach out to his father should there ever be a reconciliation.
Harry's good friend Mitch was sitting next to him on a luxurious velvet loveseat in the middle of a college party across town — they always went to the Stanford parties because their school was small and not very well known. He met Mitch on his first day of school in their ceramics class, and the reason they got on so well is because they were both quiet yet passionate souls. They could sit in comfortable silence together without it ever being awkward, or they could talk for hours about art, books, film, music, history...anything really. Nothing was off the table and they never judged one another. Harry surmised that everyone needed a friend like Mitch in their lives, so he felt quite fortunate in that regard.
Mitch's eyes traveled to where Harry was gazing intensely, spotting a petite and shy looking girl who wore a simple black midi dress, yellow sandals and a matching sun hat over her long blonde locks. Yep, definitely Harry's type.
"Just go and talk to her, man," Mitch nudged Harry, who then flashed his eyes back on his friend in amusement.
"You know I can't do that." Harry leaned closer to his friend and spoke in a lower volume than usual, despite the loud music blaring all around them. "When have I ever been able to go up to a girl in the time that you've known me?"
