Sketchbooks (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction)

"You're beautiful," He whispered, his voice as smooth and light as the wind that coupled with this ghost town, brilliant in a way that couldn't be shown through the pen and paper that she clutched protectively to her chest. She didn't believe him, not for one second, she didn't believe a word that uttered from his rounded heart lips, that fell off of his satin tongue. But oh, did she want to, wanted to fall into every wondrous word that he spoke.

"You're a liar," She countered simply, emotionlessly. He chuckled gently at her arrogance, shaking his head and tossing those curls that she had drawn, sketched, painted, over and over again, and yet it amazed her that the countless hours she had spent on perfecting the ringlets in her sketchbook, her art seemed to be mediocre to the real thing. She didn't think she would ever capture the way the light caught the hints of auburn that hid in underlying tones within the perfectly tossed curls in her drawings, however she longed to more than anything... well, almost more than anything.

"Why would I lie to you, Lauren?" He mused with the most subtle hint of a innocence, his eyebrows furrowing in the slightest as he placed his hand on the cool brick wall by her hip, her breath catching in response. "What reason do I have?" He countered his own question, jade eyes fused with honey widening as he searched her freckled face for some sort of hint that would lead to her answer. Although she gave nothing away, to his avail, her freckled face was kept blank, her hazel eyes down on the leather book in her hands. Her answer was simple, almost painful in a way, but when is the truth ever blissful?

"Because," She began, placing her petite hand on his broad chest and gently pushing him away, biting at her lower lip as she felt the dip of his sculpted muscles, "You're Harry Styles... you lie to everyone."