Picture Perfect [UNDER REVISION]

A Million Questions

It is better to ask some of the questions than to know all of the answers."— James Thurber

4 Days Later

Why does he make me do this?

I asked myself over and over again as I continued to sketch the bowl of fruit centered in the middle of the classroom.

These are the types of assignments I hated most in college. There's no way to accurately measure someone's artistic skills in one class period. It can take a person weeks just to learn how to draw a perfect square, yet Mr. Rivera expects all of his students to be able to draw a bowl of fruit in twenty minutes. I'll never understand the way that so called brilliant mind of his works. I just really wish he'd let me teach. It's like my degree doesn't count for anything in his eyes.

"Alright. Pencils down," Mr. Rivera said as he rose from his desk.

I didn't know this was an exam.

I thought as I rolled my eyes and set the pencil down next to the canvas. Looking over my work now, I wished I had payed more attention to detail. He'll probably scold me for not doing that.

"Show me your work," The man's words were directed toward everyone.

Papers rustled and chairs croaked as everyone readjusted themselves after turning their canvas around—everyone except for me. I didn't feel like my work was ready to be shown yet, and I preferred not to anger my teacher by presenting the class with a drawing that would be considered "incomplete." Mr. Rivera took his time walking passed the group of students circled around the classroom, carefully evaluating their work down to the very first stroke.

Patience. Precision. Perfection.

Those are the only words he writes on the chalkboard everyday. No one exactly knows why they are there, but I have a feeling it has to do with the way he views art. Nothing is complete until every line is precise. Only then can perfection be born. But he has no idea about the degree of perfection that embodies a single man. A single man who has hair that's always kept in a quiff, and green eyes that twinkle in the night. A single man who bears a smile that can light up your world and a laugh that can get you through the day. A single man whom I've grown affectionate towards these past few days. A single man I must see today.

"Ms. Grayson," My teacher called, interrupting my train of thoughts. "I was very clear when I told everyone to show me their work. Now let me see yours," His voice was stern as he eyed me up and down, folding his arms.

I slowly shook my head before muttering, "I made a mistake, sir. It's not ready yet."

"Stay a couple of minutes after class Ms. Grayson. I'd like to speak with you," Mr. Rivera sighed before proceeding to the next student in line.

Audible gasps and whispers sounded about the classroom as my peers stared at me crudely. That was when I realized I wasn't allowed to make mistakes. In reality, I was the only one who didn't finish. Everyone else did, and I just failed to complete the task. It was hard to avoid meeting their unpleasant glares, but I found myself focusing on a familiar set of gray eyes that brought me a sense of tranquility in this sea of unwanted judgement. They were sympathetic towards my indiscretion and full of understanding.

I wished I could stare into them all day.

Once the students cleared out of the room for early dismissal, I carried my canvas over to Mr. Rivera's desk and slowly set it down. He placed his glasses on and picked up the board, bringing it close to his face. A million questions raced through my mind.

Am I going to get fired?

Is my work good enough for him?

What if he thinks I'm a horrible artist?

This man's judgement could make or break my career. I took in a sharp breath when I saw the corners of his mouth twitch down in a frown as he inspected the drawing, knowing the inevitable was coming next. It was silly to think I even had a shot.

"I know what you're thinking. It's no good. Anyone can see that by looking at it which is why I didn't want—" I started to say.

"Hush, Ms. Grayson. You've got it all wrong," He placed his index finger against his lips while setting the board down, "I mean, of course, your detail could be much better, but it's well drawn and..."

I couldn't process the words that left his mouth afterwards, for I was in complete, utter shock. Well drawn. He thinks it's well drawn. My work is finally good enough for him. I'm finally good enough for someone.

"So will you?" Mr. Rivera asked me, raising his brows.

"P-Pardon?" I stuttered out.

"Will you teach a lesson on contrast and hue? I believe it will be a great learning experience for you and the students," He repeated himself while adding my work to his collection.

"Of course. I promise that I won't let you down, Mr. Rivera," I nodded and walked back to my desk to get my stuff.

We exchanged a few more words before I left the school building, and he went back to doing his work. I was on my phone texting Harry and Anya the good news, and they both insisted that I spend the night celebrating. The only flaw in their idea, however, is that I can't celebrate with the two of them at the the same time. I have yet to tell my best friend about my little rendezvous meeting with Harry in the park that night.

To Anya:

I made plans to hang out with a friend from Art class. Can we do something later tonight? sent at 11:43 am

To Harry:

Yeah. Lunch at your place sounds lovely. I'll be over soon. sent at 11:45 am

I forced a smile after reading over my sent messages, feeling satisfied with my responses. I did promise Harry I would see him today, so it's only fair if we celebrate together first, but for some reason that didn't change the guilt I felt as a result of lying to Anya.

Why couldn't I just bring myself to tell her about Harry the night he walked me home?

Do I even feel comfortable being seen with him in front of my friends?

I don't know if I'll ever figure out the right way to answer to these questions, but, god forbid, I hope it won't ruin the relationships I've worked so hard to maintain.

I've been questioning a lot of things lately because reality just seems too good to be true. Sometimes I lie in bed, waiting to be woken up from this crazy fantasy, and think about how different my life was only a year ago. I never thought the touch of man could be so soothing and pleasurable after what Dylan did to me. I never thought I'd rediscover the beauty of romance again, and I most certainly did not think Harry Styles would be the one to enlighten me. He already means more to me than I'll probably ever mean to him. That's the scariest part of entering a relationship where there are no labels attached yet; you never know when and if love will come around to bite you in the arse.

A/N:

Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure Harry Styles is feeling 22. I just can't believe how grown up he is. I remember when the WMYB video premiered and he was just a 17 year old boy who had side swept curly hair, green eyes, and a thing for Blazers. He has currently changed in the last 5 years, but I'm proud of his growth as well as the rest of the boys' progress.

What do you think of Pillow talk? I love the song, but the video doesn't make a lot of sense. However, I love its aesthetics, so I replay it every now and again :)

Make sure you vote and comment! There's more of Harcy to come in the next few chapters <3