Art | Harry Styles

21

this chapter has been rewritten - make sure you read this updated version ! enjoy <3

"Isn't it weird to think that we're just floating on a little blue dot with no true purpose?"

Harry's lips curve upwards, as he glances up from his book, eyes landing on the girl lying at the end of his bed. "What?"

"I mean," Sophie sits up, as Harry's head rests gently against the headboard, his back pressed to the wood, while Sophie crosses her legs and sets her own book down, "have you never thought about it?"

"No," he says honestly, resting his book on his thighs, the corners of his lips turning up to form a small smile, "should I have?"

"Yes," she says as if it's obvious, laying her own book down on the mattress. She shuffles a little closer to Harry, before recrossing her legs and resting her elbows on them, her chin in her palm. "How could you not think it's weird? We're all just.. here.. Floating. No real purpose..? It's not weird that we're a majority here on this planet and we're just.. going along with it..?" she trails off, and Harry raises an eyebrow.

"D'you think?" he asks her, lifting his arm to push his curls back from his forehead, "I think that's a little pessimistic."

"Or realistic."

"Ouch," Harry remarks, putting his hands behind his head, arms bent at the elbows as a light giggle leaves his lips, "who hurt you?" He pauses, realising there's an actual answer to that question and wincing, "I'm sorry."

A tiny, near-sympathetic smile etches itself onto Sophie's lips at Harry's poor wording, her lip falling between her teeth for a mere moment, before she dismisses it at the sight of his nervously heating cheeks. "Please," she says, "oh, very optimistic one, give me your insight."

His hands fall back to his sides, his left palm grazing smoothly over the surface of the duvet next to his thigh. 

"I think," he pauses, pursing his lips a little in thought, before repeating, "I think.. maybe it's a little weird..? But the point is that we create our own purpose, no? And then the point is to fulfil it?"

Sophie's quiet in brief thought, before she sends him a teasing grin, "I don't buy it." Harry sends her a mocking hum in response.

"Then continue with your existential crisis," he tells her, attempting to keep a straight face, "but do so in silence." His voice is even, but a small chuckle manages to escape his lips as he catches Sophie's mock-offended expression.

"You're a dick!" she exclaims with a short laugh, sitting up on her knees and reaching over as if she's about to hurt him, only for her hands to be met with his own. His ring-clad fingers lace together with her bare ones, a small smile tugging on Sophie's lips as the pad of Harry's thumb runs smoothly over her knuckle, his head tilting back to rest it against the headboard of the bed. 

"No I'm not," he pouts slightly, eyebrows furrowing. He drops one of Sophie's hands only to close both of his around her other one, bringing her knuckle up to his mouth and allowing his lips to gently brush over the surface, "m'not," he repeats, pressing his lips briefly to her skin once more.

"Mhm," she hums in agreement, "you're not." She watches as his eyebrows shift back to their original position, his green irises warm as they watch her, watching him. 

"I liked it when we kissed before," Harry tells her, his voice barely a whisper, his thumb continuing to aimlessly trail over her skin. His cheeks heat a little at his own declaration, his long eyelashes brushing over the height of his cheekbones each time he blinks - his eyes gleaming and lips slightly parted, his curls framing his face perfectly. 

"Mm?" she hums again, raising her eyebrow only so she can hear him repeat himself.

"I want to do it again," he whispers, his voice not daring to speak louder as now he found his face only an inch or two from her own, "can I kiss you?"

"I think you just did," she teases lightly, watching his cheeks heat a little more as she refers to her hand, still in his gentle grip. 

"Properly," he tells her, a small shiver running up his spine at just the thought of feeling her lips on his again. Having felt it once; it's not enough. He's aching to feel that fire igniting in the pit of his stomach as he had earlier; the only time - for him - where his shaking hands and furrowing eyebrows have felt justified. "Can I kiss you properly?"

She's not sure she's ever been asked that before. Nobody ever seems to ask; all anybody seems to do is take. While, here's Harry: gently clasping onto her hand while his eyes burn into hers, softly requesting to kiss her. Everything about him screams diligence, from the way his fingertips are trailing over her own to the way his eyes continuously shift subconsciously from her own eyes to her lips.

Sophie's head tilts forward in a nod, and Harry lifts his hands up to cup her face in them. A short giggle leaves her lips as he shakily tilts his head upwards to meet her mouth, their lips meeting and the inevitable heat spreading across the surface of his face and neck.

Truth be told, he doesn't know what he's doing. Each action is often not even made of his own account - but, rather, it's instinct; it's subconscious - he's never seen someone before, he's never done this before. Not properly. He's simply doing what feels right, trying to suppress the flushing of his face and the shaking of his hands as best as he can. 

It's only a mere few seconds before their lips separate, neither of them daring to open their eyes as their faces hover only centimetres apart; their mouths are practically brushing over one another's, able to feel the other's breath fanning over the surface of their lips.

Sophie's hands have shifted to rest upon the front of Harry's shoulders, as she now drags them along the surface of his chest to rest them against his collarbones, and then against his jaw. The whole thing is so foreign, yet it feels so right in this very moment - the close proximity of their faces achingly and wholly right. 

"You can get it," Sophie tells him, breaking the silence, "if you want to."

"Hm?" he hums.

"Your camera," she clarifies, reading his mind, "I know you were thinking of getting it."

"How do you know that?" he asks, eyebrows arching.

"Because," she runs her palm smoothly over his sharp jawline, "if I had a camera this would be my time to grab it. You look really pretty right now."

Harry's cheeks start burning immediately, and he lifts his hands to go and cover his face, a soft, embarrassed giggle leaving his lips as a wide grin spreads onto Sophie's own face, her fingers curling around his wrists to pull his hands away with a laugh of her own. 

"Can I get it?" he murmurs, the flush in his face beginning to fade as Sophie nods, and he stands up, grabbing his camera from the desk and adjusting the lens with his careful finger, "Stay there."

Harry leans forward, tucking a strand of Sophie's hair behind her ear as she sits up against the pillows, a soft grin on her lips as Harry fumbles with the camera and squints his eyes a little.

"Y'know what?" he asks quietly, his voice barely audible as if he doesn't expect an answer. Sophie tilts her head a little, inviting him to continue as his finger drags over the button, pressing it to snap a second shot of the girl in front of him. 

"I think I found my muse."