Art | Harry Styles

18

It's long overdue by the time he steps foot back into his apartment in New York, shifting through the doorway and setting his bags down with a gentle huff.

Christmas had been savoured - somehow. After a heartfelt apology to Gemma and a ridiculously long heart-to-heart with his mother, all was well, and Harry had managed to smile his way through Christmas and New Year. And now he's back - and tomorrow is Monday, and he has to face the inevitable.

Sophie Ashford.

He's not quite sure how he's going to do it; but he knows he has to. She's not quite sure how to go about it either, but she knows it's unavoidable.

Sophie wants to talk to him - but she doesn't know how to. She knows that he arrives back in New York today, and she knows that she should approach him before they return to class - but she can't do it.

Alice had gotten a flight home yesterday afternoon, after - thanks to Harry - a long week and a half with Sophie. Sophie has no idea how to thank him for that - where to even begin.

The next morning, Harry's alarm sounds at nine. He's not sure he's ever dreaded a Monday so much in his life - except maybe in primary school when his class would visit the local swimming pool on the first day of every other week from March to June, and the other boys would poke fun at him in the changing rooms for being 'too lanky', or act as if 'the gay one' 'might try and touch them'.

He has three texts to respond to. One from his mother, one from his sister - and one from his new friend, Elle. He'd ran into her twice more in the period between Christmas and New Years' - and it was nice to make a friend who hadn't gone to his high school, and jumped on the bandwagon of making fun of the feminine boy who liked to paint.

Elle had a slightly weird vibe to her - but nothing that Harry would take note of. She was friendly, and she'd caught him in a moment of weakness - and so when she'd asked for his number and offered to meet for coffee the next time he was back in town; he saw no evil. But, then again - Harry's optimistic. He looks for the good in just about anyone.

Harry gets up - slightly reluctantly, but he's up all the same. He looks in the mirror, pushing his face in slightly and watching the blood rush back to his cheeks. A sigh leaves his lips, as he tears his t-shirt over his head and strips down the rest of his clothes, getting into the shower.

Thirty minutes later, he's out of the door, in a baggy striped sweater, and his typical jeans and boots, with his camera sitting comfortably on the strap around his neck. The cold air whips at his face, but he chooses to ignore it as his bag hangs from his shoulder, and he heads for the coffee shop.

He picks up his regular coffee, sending a warm smile in the direction of the barista as he wishes her a good day. He walks out of the coffee shop, and for a moment - he feels okay. Though it's only a matter of seconds before his worries return, the dark cloud of anxiety drawling back over his brain and he makes his way towards campus.

It'd be wrong to say he hadn't paid it much thought. In fact, it would be incredibly far off - even while preoccupied back home in Manchester, his lingering thoughts had been of - and only of - Sophie. How to address her; whether he should address her at all. It's not like he has the will or the confidence to do it; he was sort of lacking in that department.

What is he going to say to her? Is he even going to say anything at all? No - probably not. He should stay out of her way - she'd rejected him and that should be enough. Maybe the ability to reject him was almost a scapegoat for her - she'd needed a reason to get rid of him and he'd given her one. Maybe she'd been sick of him for weeks and finally she could make her escape - that would make sense, no?