oddball, Styles. ≫ narry

three.

After our time in the tunnel--which concluded of Harry describing some of his paintings to me and I attempting to draw, but failing miserably; it soon started to get dark out, and so we retreated back to the subway.

Now, we sit. Harry's back against the window with his legs resting on my lap as I once again, write on my journal.

"What do you write about anyways?" Harry's voice fills my ears.

I say, "You."

"Me?"

"Well, us. I usually write about everything that happens to me, and well, you're something."

Harry smiles, "So, why do you write?"

"Why do you draw?"

He frowns, "Is this conversation really going to happen?"

I send him a cheeky smile before saying, "You an artist, right?"

Harry nods. "And you draw your emotions, am I correct?"

Once again, he nods.

I say, "We're practically the same; we both stare at a white sheet of paper before expressing everything we're thinking. The only difference being, you express your feelings in pictures, I express mine in words."

"But you also write stories, don't you?"

"I write stories based on the people whom have inspired me."

"Have any of your stories ever been published?"

I puff, "I'm a struggling writer. Note the word 'struggling."

He chuckles, "Note taken."

From there, we were silent.

Harry traced small sketches on his thighs with his fingertips, just like how he had done to my arm earlier. There was chattering all around us, the subway being full with hundreds of people, but we still didn't say a word.

I wrote about Harry and our trip to the tunnel. Mainly about Harry, though.

Harry Styles. An oddball. I guess I can call him that since he is quite the strange lad. Maybe it's the fact that he wears flower crowns and likes the moon. Never in my years of living have I ever met a person as strange as that.

"Harry are you real?" I ask, my conscience speaking out loud.

"I'm sorry, what?" He asks in confusion. (Funny, he seems to always be confused when we talk.)

"Never mind. Forget that I ever said anything. Tell me, though. Why do I find you so odd? Yet so intriguing at the same time. You don't say much and I know you hide a lot. You're an artist. I'm a writer. Like said before, we're practically the same people. Although, I can't read you all too well. We share different similarities. So explain to me, who are you really?"

"Well, m'Harry."

"Who is Harry?"

Harry sighs, looking defeated.

"Just a lonely, lost boy is all he is."

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Guys omfg, I got the highest grade on our reading exam, wtf! I got a 96! Though, I did fail history. . . (I got a 50, whoops.) I just need my math and science scores is all. I hope I at least passed those two with 80's.

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-Much love, K. x