THE ARTIST || HS

prologue

"Harry Edward Styles, you better get your fucking ass back here!" I scream in the midst of the crowd, and all I earn back is many glares from the people surrounding me, but not what I wanted, which is an answer from Harry.

"I swear to God, you are one of the most difficultest people I have ever spoke to in my life," I mutter as I grab the back of his paint-stained black shirt, pulling him back in the process.

The grip on his shirt isn't tight, but the feeling and emotion in this situation is deadly. There are no more people surrounding us to get to that damn cafe, and luckily, we are under the cover of the restaurant so the rain will not pellet our skin anymore. Our clothes are drenched, but more rain adds more emotion and tears for our heated conversations.

"What the hell do you want? I told you to stop chasing after me," he harshly yells, his large hand coming to grip onto my wrist. The grip is so tight, not to the point of hurting me, but to make my brain register to let go of his shirt, but I don't.

"Harry, just please stop. I need to know what you are afraid of. Hell, I just let out my fucking feelings for you, and you throw down that damn paintbrush and walk away—"

"I don't feel the same," he cuts me off, his grip on my wrist becoming slightly looser. Harry's voice is beginning to get lighter, while the weight on my chest is becoming heavier. "I can't fall for you, that's not how life works. Avrace, I'm not sorry, you just need to learn."

And he's gone.

But, I know better. Harry feels something, even if it is in the slightest manner, he feels some sort of emotion between us. The way his lips had moved when he told me he liked me a few weeks ago felt like the whole world was in the palm of my hands, but the way his paint brush stroked the canvas in a harsh manner told me he was hurting, as I am not, and he was afraid that I would hurt him more. He tells me that he isn't falling for me, and he hurts me instead, hoping to give me the pain that he had felt years ago.