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She's confident. She hasn't always been. Her mom had never pushed her; she always knew it would only be a matter of time before she came into herself. She'd always been willing to venture out, to meet new people. You'd never know if she's sad, or if she's hurting - because she has that smile. Relatives, friends, and even teachers had never been reluctant to point out that smile of hers - a beautiful one. A bright, beautiful smile that could light up any room, that could light up a bloody funeral. Any trouble she finds herself in, that smile is her secret weapon, partnered with her soft brown gaze. But if you were to point it out, she wouldn't have a clue. She's unaware, entirely, of the captivation she holds.

She dips the brush into the watercolour, dragging the fibres over the canvas, her tongue resting between her lips as she works. Soft music fills the room as she quietly hums along, enjoying her free hour before her three o'clock class. She has to leave in around ten minutes, and she doesn't mind in the slightest. She's excited for class, even. To her, nothing is more enjoyable than art.

"Sophie?" a voice sounds from downstairs sounds, and Sophie lays her brush back down, dragging her lip over her teeth. She gently tugs material over the quickly-drying water-colour piece, covering and sheltering it from any prying eyes. Though art is important to her, she prefers it to be kept just for her.

"Yeah?" she responds at last, slipping out of her bedroom and heading down the stairs.

The call had been that of her mother, and Sophie follows the call into the kitchen, where her mother's back faces her.

"Hi, honey," her mother looks tired, but her smile is still bright, "I'm about to go and pick Skylar up from school, and I thought you could do with something to eat."

Skylar is Sophie's little brother, twelve years old. Sophie's father had left when she was only thirteen, on her thirteenth birthday. Skylar had only been seven years old, and so had slightly less memory of his father, but still enough - he knew he'd left. But now, to the young boy, his family was his sister and his mother - and to Sophie, her family was her brother and her mother. That was all she needed; all they needed - each other.

From a very young age, Sophie had been close with her father. She was a daddy's girl, and for him to leave so suddenly, in her eyes, it just didn't make sense. Of course, at the time she was unaware - Mommy wasn't crying on weeks on end simply due to his exit; she was crying without end because of who he'd left with.

'A work colleague'.

"Thanks, Mama," Sophie smiles, "I'll be gone for class before you're back."

"That's okay," her mother nods, as Sophie takes a bite of her sandwich. "How is class, anyway?"

"Great," Sophie says genuinely, a small smile twitching at her lips.

"Are the people nice?" her mother asks casually, sitting down in the chair opposite her. "I suppose they're not all from New York, are they?"

"A lot of them are," Sophie shrugs, "a couple from different states. There's a boy from England."

"Oh, a boy?" her mum asks, a sly smile on her lips.

"Yes, Mom, there's boys in a college class," Sophie says dryly, as her mother shrugs.

"But you just singled out a particular boy."

Sophie opens her mouth to speak, before closing it again. As a knowing smile begins to pull on her mother's lips, she rolls her eyes.

"No," she says firmly.

"Sophie," her mother almost whines, resting her chin in her hand as Sophie finishes up her sandwich. Sophie shakes her head, brushing off her mother's suggestion. Their relationship is more best friend-like, rather than a strict mother-daughter one.

"No boys," Sophie declares, "this is college," she stands up to rinse her plate, interrupting her mother before she can continue again, "which I'm late for."

"You have plenty of time-"

"Bye, Mom," Sophie grins, pecking the cheek of her mother sincerely, "love you." And with that she heads back upstairs to gather her things, and then makes her way out of the front door.

The weather is mild, with a slight breeze, and so her light jacket is enough. She pushes her curls back from her face, her bag hanging from her shoulder as she makes the short walk to the campus. She's there before three, but she makes her way to class all the same, unbothered by the timing of it all.

She smiles politely, directing 'hello's at people who she walks past, before she finally reaching the classroom and pushing the door open, eyes landing on a head of brown curls in an instant.

"Are you always early?" she directs the question, and as he realises he's the only other person in the room, his lips twitch.

This is the fifth time they've met. It's Monday, and the two of them had a total of three classes together that week, and after sneaking a peek at her schedule, Harry knew that this week they had four.

"S'a habit," he shrugs, glancing up from his book to lock eyes with her for a moment, before forcing his eyes back onto the text as he felt his cheeks redden.

Her eyes land on his book, and she tilts her head as she takes the seat beside him.

"You Get So Alone At Times It Just Makes Sense," she reads from the cover, "Bukowski."

"Do you know him?" his face lights up.

"Eh.." she trails off, a small smile playing on her lips at his evident excitement. "You begin saving the world by saving one man at a time," she waits to catch his eye, and when she does his iris is visibly filled with awe.

"All else is grandiose romanticism or politics," he finishes, before muttering a, "fucking hell."

She can't help but grin as class commences and the room fills up, students far brighter than they are during the morning class.

As the end draws near, and everybody stands up to make their exit, Michael calls out.

"Homework, delinquents," his tone is light as the class groans, "compulsory, I know, but nothing major. I want you all to attend the weekly gallery exhibition down the street," Harry's face lights up, and his eyes land on Sophie, whose eyes momentarily meet his own as Michael finishes, "find your muse."

Art | Harry StylesWhere stories live. Discover now