She | H. S.

8

*2 weeks later*

"Knock knock."

You look up from your sketchbook, smiling when you find Harry at your door, "Hi! What are you doing here?"

"I have some free time and was wondering if you'd like to grab lunch, if you're not too busy?"

"Oh, sure." You gather your things and join him, "Is today the day you'll let me introduce you to sushi?"

"Hell no." He shakes his head and you roll your eyes.

"I'd expect more from you, Harry Styles."

"You still have many things to know about me, y/n y/l/n."

"So, which song will I hear you scream today?" Harry teases when you both get in the car. You're about to protest, but your attention is suddenly dragged to his hand.

"Your nails!" You exclaim, your eyes widened as you grab his fingers without thinking twice, "I remember I saw that you painted them once or twice when you were in the band, they're so pretty!"

"Uh, thanks..." He mutters shyly, and that's when you realize you've been staring at his hand like a psycho, so you quickly drop it.

"I'm sorry-"

"It's okay. I haven't painted them in a long while. You really like them?"

"Of course! Why did you paint only two fingers though?"

"We were kind of controlled with the band's management, so I couldn't really paint them and go to the public eye." He shrugs, "And when I did, it was only a few, guess I got used to it."

You smile sadly, "You guys were told even how you should get dressed? That's fucked up."

"I always thought about what people would think, too."

"Harry, you're free to do whatever you want. Look at David Bowie or Freddie Mercury, they didn't give a fuck about what people thought, and look at what they achieved." You tell him and he smiles slightly, "I have an idea, let's go to my house before lunch."

"Why?"

"Just drive and you'll see."

---

"Nice decoration." Harry compliments when you let him inside your apartment.

"Thanks. Now sit there and wait."

"Are you going to murder me or something?"

"How did you know?" You joke and he laughs. You disappear into your hallway and return a few moments later with a bottle of nail polish, "I think pink is your colour."

"y/n-"

"Come on, give me your hand." You demand and he blinks at you, but then nods shyly, running the fingers of his free hand through his hair, "I think painted nails make you beautiful." You whisper as you start working.