The Story // Harry Styles AU

Part 8

Harry’s POV

I stood staring at myself in the mirror for a good ten minutes.  I’m nervous.  Not only about having a piece in this art show, but also about being with Poppy tonight.  All I wanted since the day I walked into Starbucks and first saw her is her attention.  That’s all I’ve wanted.  Before her, girl after girl would come over and I’d wake up before them, untangling myself from the sheets, and I would lock myself in the extra bedroom in my flat and I would draw.  Only when they come looking for me, would I come out and tell them I’d call them, urging them to leave. 

When I first saw Poppy that Sunday afternoon, just before classes for the new semester began, I lost all interest in girls other than her.  I’d meet plenty of nice women out at clubs or on campus, but I denied every offer because I had my eyes set on someone else.  And tonight, I’ll be at a show with one of my pieces in it, standing beside that someone.  I hadn’t been this nervous last Sunday night when she came over because that was so casual.  But now, things seem more serious, I’m wearing dark jeans and a white button down Oxford shirt.  I tear my eyes from the mirror and look around my freshly tidied room.  I check the watch on my wrist and realize I’m running a little late.  I check my wallet, making sure I have everything before stuffing it in my pocket along with my cellphone.  I slip on some black suede Brogues.  I look in the mirror again, dropping my necklaces underneath my shirt and buttoning the last few buttons up to my neck.  I take a deep breath then turn away, heading out the door.

The walk to the gallery is quicker for me than Poppy because I live closer.  I walk inside and people greet me by my name.  I shake hands and smile and make small talk, just wanting to look around for Poppy.  At last, it seems I have a free moment.  I shove my hands in my pockets, looking around.  I hadn’t even made it through the first room since I got here.  Luckily, I saw a lot of the artwork in the show last night when we were here setting up for it so I scan the room, looking for Poppy, and when I don’t find her, I move to the next room.  I spot her immediately.  She looks beautiful.  It feels just like it did when I saw her last Wednesday at the Senior art show on campus.  She’s looking at the work skeptically, deciding what she thinks about it. 

I step forward to walk over to her but I freeze.  My drawing is hanging next to the work she’s looking at now.  My heart starts thumping beneath my clean shirt and I find myself holding my breath as Poppy moves slightly to the right, looking up at my work.  I watch a smile grow on her lips and I feel like I can breathe again.  Slowly, I make my way over, turning to stand beside her.  In my peripheral vision, I see her glance over at me.  I bite my lip and my eyes flit to my right and she looks away, facing my drawing again.

I smile, doing the same. “What do you think?”

“I didn’t think I could love it more,” Poppy shakes her head. “But I do.  It’s amazing,”

“Good to hear,” I look over my shoulder. “Have you had a drink yet?”

“No, but I’d love one,” she answers.  I nod and spot a man with a tray of drinks and I walk over, plucking two off the tray.  I join Poppy again, handing one drink to her.  It’s just champagne, as far as I know.  I follow Poppy as she observes the art on the walls.  I look at some of them, but since I’ve gotten to see them all already, I spend most of my time looking at Poppy.  She catches me looking multiple times but I don’t shy away from it.  I just smirk and she blushes a pretty shade of pink, looking away from me and back at the art.  Poppy takes her time but she’s pretty quick.  Our empty champagne flutes are collected and I take Poppy’s hand gently in mine.  She lets me hold it gently, intertwining our fingers and pulling me along as she goes from work to work.  People came up to speak to me from time to time and Poppy politely smiled and said hello when I introduced her, and after they left, we’d go back to our observing.  We reach the front room, having made the rounds in about an hour.

“Do you have to stay?” I hear Poppy ask me.

“I only had to make an appearance,” I tell her. “Did you have a jacket?” I point to the coat closet where people are collecting or handing back jackets.

“Um, yeah, I brought yours to give back to you,” she says quietly. “Here, I have the ticket,” Poppy digs her hand into her purse before pulling out a ticket with a bold number 64 on it.  I hand it over and the man quickly returns my jacket.  I take it, hanging it over my forearm and gently pulling Poppy out the front of the gallery and onto the sidewalk. 

“So, are you hungry?” I ask her and she nods eagerly.  I lead her to my favorite restaurant and we get a table.

“What was your favorite piece tonight, other than mine?” I wonder, after our food has arrived.  Poppy grimaces at me and I smile.

“I liked the set of photos of the couple,” she tells me, looking down at her pasta.

“Of course,” I nod. “You would like the photography,”

“I’m a little biased,” Poppy shrugs. “Yours came out really nice though,” she adds.

“Thank you,”