Harry Styles Imagines

19. He Draws You

Here she comes. Just after school ends, before the busses leave. Her hair that always seems to be down is tied up with a rubber band, for she always seemed to find them on the ground, after she realizes she forgot her hair tie at home.

Y/n.

She reads. She reads adventure trilogies, she reads romance novels, everything that describes her in 200 pages of fiction. She's delicate, pure. She's someone nobody could figure out, for she never spoke. She would just sit in the back of the class, of course, as if she were like any other student. But she isn't. She's mute, just another shy girl who'd sit and lose herself in words, yet found herself in them at the same time.

He loves it. He loves her, there was something about her. She is so much more than a quiet girl, Harry knows she has something hidden inside of her. She has to be someone else; something else.

Harry knows that.

Y/n takes her seat in the corner of the art room, the third seat from the left, just like always.

Harry wonders that if someone were to replace that seat with another if she would notice.

She takes out her 25th Anniversary Edition of The Princess Bride. There is a moment where she inhales the scent of the book, her eyes closing leisurely.

He notices how her thumbs rub against the dust jacket.

She takes a quick look to see if Harry's there. He is. Thankfully. It wouldn't be like any other day if he wasn't.

She reads her book for the fifth time since she was a child, it was always a story of life to her. It's so much more than a book, it's something else. She doesn't know what it is, per say, but she feels that something. She feels it every time she steps into this art room, too.

Maybe it's Harry. Maybe it's his presence, the way he's always so passionate about what he paints. He's always investigating, always breaking down the bits and pieces of what he produces so that he can reach whatever he sees as perfect. And when it doesn't, he shakes his head softly, and exhales through his nose in annoyance.

She wonders if he does his own tattoos.

"I like how he says 'I love you'"

Y/n's nose twitches, her gaze not leaving his as he speaks to her. Harry's eyes don't leave his canvas, he just keeps wetting his paintbrush and filling in the blanks.

"'As you wish', it's different. It's unique, it's indirect. I like how she says it, too. It's unexpected, for him, though. Who knew a woman could ever be so confident? You know, last minute speeches about loving him because she got jealous."

Harry still hasn't looked at her. He's too focused on painting his own version of The Princess Bride. He wanted to paint every character. He wanted to include Inigo, Fezzik, Prince Humperdinck, and every other character that had made up the story. But he just couldn't stop imagining Y/n and Buttercup, and himself as Westly. All he seemed to draw was her, or her with him. As if his paint and paintbrush were made for her.

"I liked The Announcement. That chapter was like a whole other world. I don't think I've ever felt more involved in a story in my life."

He finally turns to look at her. She's looking at him with such peace and love, she's more than positive it radiated throughout the room. But she doesn't care. He is capturing every bit of her heart with his, and she can't stop lookingat him.

"Have you?" He asks, his paintbrush that's faded with her hair color, held loosely between his pointer and middle finger.

She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips as she blushes, looking back down at her book.

"I'm reading that chapter now" she whispers.

She wonders if he heard her,

He had.

He wonders why she doesn't speak much. Her voice is angelic, almost surreal. Just like he imagined.

Harry smiles, barely. He doesn't want to make her think he heard her, she might be uncomfortable with that, and that's the last thing he wants. For her to be uncomfortable.

But that's the last thing she could ever feel, especially with him.

"Well, I'm glad somebody feels the same I do. Nobody reads that book anymore. It scares me. I fear the written word will be gone soon. I don't know how I'd deal with that."

She nods. She understands. Maybe because it's Harry, and everything Harry had done, she understood.

He's different. But the same as her. That'ssomething she doesn't understand.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but he freezes. He thinks twice about his actions, but he can't help himself. He feels connected with her somehow, in ways that aren't found. But he does, and he doesn't want it to end.

"Would you like to go out to an art museum with me this weekend? Or maybe a library, a book store? Just, do something with me, yeah?" He asks.

She smiles, wide. Teeth showing and everything. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are glistening, her heart is pounding. She couldn't seem to control herself.

"As you wish." She whispers.

She wonders if anything will ever be the same.

A/N 

I really like this one because I'm very artsy