About A Girl

it's a song for a girl

   Harry was beautiful, and Chantry hated it. She hated the strong planes and juts that sculpted his face, the soft curves of the curls escaping his bun, the dark ink that stained his arms. She hated how badly her fingers itched for charcoal when she sat across from him with her sketchbook on her lap. She hated the ever-watchful eye of her older brother, sitting beside her with a clear view of her clean pages. If she drew him, she'd never hear the end of it.

Despite hating Harry's effortless pulchritude, she'd certainly begun developing a fondness for him. They'd known each other a week, but he remembered her coffee order in the mornings. He took the time to tease her when he sensed her boredom and he liked to ask her opinion on lyrics and chords, though she constantly reminded him she had no real knowledge concerning what did and didn't make a decent song. That was her brother's forte.

Technically, she was an intern. Elliot had pulled some last minute strings at the studio to allow an addition to the intern list. When they'd told him she'd have no allotted job to perform (those were given to the real interns, Chantry was just on paper), he'd taken her under his wing, which meant locking himself in a room with Harry Styles and a few other musicians to write songs.

"This is Chantry," Elliot had declared that first day. "She's an art history major but her internship at the museum fell through so she's earning her credit here with us."

"Why isn't she at orientation?" a man she would later come to know as Whit had asked. Elliot waved a hand dismissively.

"She's just on paper. There's nothing for her to do, so she's gonna hang with us and get a credit out of the way."

"Sweet deal," Harry nodded with approval, and Chantry found herself holding her breath when the dimples appeared in his cheeks. Later that night, she'd spent hours holed up in her room getting the shading just right.

Harry suddenly hit a stray chord on his guitar and grinned sheepishly, mumbling an apology. Chantry realized she'd been staring and adjusted her gaze accordingly. It was all the same; everyone was so wrapped up in coming up with lyrics that they hadn't noticed. She ran a hand through her caramel hair and continued drawing the lines into the petals of a hibiscus flower.

"I can't do this anymore," Elliot finally grumbled, rubbing his palms to his eyes as he stood. He appeared stressed and Chantry refrained from poking fun at him for the worry lines on his forehead. "I need a cigarette."

Beside Whit, Len got to his feet. "I'll grab us lunch. Who wants what?"

"Where are you going?" Harry asked.

"Somewhere greasy."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll stick to a salad from the canteen, then. Thanks."

"Chantry?" Len raised his brows.

"Standard burger and chips. No-"

"Tomato or pickles," Harry finished, grinning proudly as he pulled open the door to scavenge for his own meal. She barely had time to process before he'd disappeared down the hall. Len only fished his keys from his pocket before following after him, Whit by his side.

With the room to herself, she sprawled out on the couch she occupied, her legs not quite long enough to reach the other end. Her back was supported by the arm of the sofa, padded with a throw pillow behind her back. Setting down her pencil, she took a moment to examine the flower on the page.

She'd begun with a bush, losing herself easily in the clean lines of the leaves and stalks. The flowers, however, were coming out less detailed than she preferred. The lines weren't as thin as they should have been and her hand had become unsteady in certain points. The pistil in the center wasn't properly shaped and even the flower's placement on the bush seemed unsatisfactory. With a sigh, she flipped to a clean page and began to sketch a single, large hibiscus flower in the center.