Art | Harry Styles

4

The first day of school reels around far faster than Harry could've predicted, and suddenly it's Monday morning, and he's in a panic.

His hair won't sit right, and he's tempted to rip it all out. He wants to scream, and slap himself in the face all at once - he's stressing like he did on his first day of secondary school. He's stressing like he did at the beginning of every day throughout secondary school, each day spent fearing when he'd next be picked on or abused for looking and acting different. His glasses were pushed from his face more times than he could count, and he began to wear skinny jeans and only skinny jeans in fear that prints would attract more attention. He liked experimenting with fashion more than most guys his age he'd come across, but it was often he didn't dare to - but here, for whatever reason, he's taking the chance.

His contact lenses are in. He doesn't expect the college kids to act like the high school ones, but he still doesn't dare take that chance. One risk at a time.

He's wearing a hoodie, a little big for him, almost khaki in colour. It's paired with his black skinny jeans and brown boots, as well as one of his favourite coats, black with white stripes and reaching just above his knee, while his camera hangs comfortably around his neck by its strap.

The black nail polish on his nails is barely there, but  he doesn't have the time or bother to repaint them. Instead, his rings cling comfortably to his fingers, and he slips his wallet and phone into his pocket. It's eight-thirty, and he doesn't have long. Why had he picked a nine o'clock class?

His keys are put into his pocket as he exits his apartment building and heads straight for the coffee shop - the one he has been visiting and revisiting since the day he arrived here. He walks in, holding the door for the people behind him as he flashes a smile and a nod in response as they thank him and pass. He then follows, getting into line and ordering a black coffee to go when it's his turn. He pays, adding one sugar to the cup after he receives it - and then he's on his way. 

Google Maps guides him to the campus, and he makes it with ten minutes to spare, his coffee cup clasped in his fingers as he walks down the hall, anxiety starting to settle in the pit of his stomach. This isn't high school, he reminds himself.

He pushes the door open to the room labelled with the same room number on his schedule on his phone. He takes a sharp inhale before exhaling once more, as nobody even turns around at his entrance. There is only about half a dozen other people in the room, mostly girls but a couple of guys are there, too, none even shooting Harry a glance as he enters. A wave of relief washes over him, and he hastily makes his way across the room and takes a seat. The chairs are laid out in a circle formation, and he sits where there are a few seats either side of him, bringing his coffee cup to his lips and taking a sip of his drink.

More students gradually enter the room as the time edges closer to nine, and soon enough more or less all of the seats are filled around him, only one remaining to his left and one across from him, where he assumes the teacher is supposed to sit.

The girl on the right of him has been staring at his side profile since she'd sat down, mindlessly twirling a thin piece of hair around her finger as he doesn't look up, unaware to the staring.

She clears her throat, and he looks up, not expecting the noise to have been directed at him, but quickly realising that it, indeed, was directed at him.

"Hey," she smiles, her lips painted pink. He of course, returns the smile out of courtesy, and lays his phone in his lap. 

"Hello," he warmly returns, raking his fingers through his hair as he turns his head to look at her properly.