There's an awkward silence between the group, as if there's an invisible barrier drawn out along the pavement. On one side, there's Harry, his fingers laced together with Sophie's, as they stand alongside Gemma and Anne, who appear equally as confused as they do.

And on the other side, there's Elle.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asks, his expression fading to one of complete and utter perplexity. Sophie, on the other hand, hasn't a clue who this girl is, and as she receives a look from Anne, she realises that both her and Gemma haven't a clue, either.

"A friend can't visit a friend?" Elle asks rhetorically, her eyes landing on the rest of the group now, "Hi, everyone. I'm Elle, Harry's friend."

Sophie's never seen her before - not even heard a word about her. And judging by her accent, in addition to these facts - it becomes clear she isn't from here - the bag in her hand pointing to the conclusion that she'd travelled here.

"Never heard of you," Gemma mumbles, voicing what her, her mother, and Sophie are all thinking.

"I-I still don't get why you're here, I- how did you know where I live?" Harry tries to remain polite, but still stammers in confusion.

Elle shrugs, "Word travels fast at home, you know that! I just thought it'd be cool to visit, y'know? See what all the fuss is about.."

"Fuss? It's college," Sophie mutters, unable to hide her growing annoyance, despite her attempts to remain open-minded.

"Who are you?" Elle asks, rather rudely.

"Sophie," she returns simply, feeling Harry squeeze her hand in his own.

Elle glances down at their hands, "A friend of Harry's?"

"Something like that," Sophie refrains from rolling her eyes, as Gemma snickers from beside her and Anne simply looks uncomfortable.

"Right.." Harry speaks up, unsure of how else to move forward, "it was really nice to see you, Elle, but we have somewhere to be, and-"

"The gallery reopening?" Elle replies, "that's exactly where I'm headed, too!"

Of course it is.

Harry bites his lip, "Oh, cool. Well, let's go, then."

They move forward, and Sophie's face holds a bitter look as Harry's hand separates from hers, and Anne leans forward to whisper into Sophie's ear.

"Be patient with him," she says, "doesn't know how to tell somebody to piss off." Sophie glances over at her, thankful to know that she's not just being overzealous with her irritation towards this visitor of theirs.

Harry's deep in conversation with Elle by the time Sophie looks back towards him, and they turn onto the street of the gallery.

"If it's any consolation," Gemma speaks up, "you're far prettier. And despite only meeting you both a few minutes ago, you have far more personality."

Sophie laughs at this, shaking her head. Not that it's of any importance, but Elle is quite simply a very attractive girl, but Sophie also knows Harry won't notice that. He simply isn't that kind of person.

They arrive at the gallery, the five of them entering one after the other. With the hold up of Elle, there's only fifteen minutes until the curtains drop.

"Would anyone like a drink? On me, for tonight," Anne smiles warmly.

"I'll have some wine, if you're offering," Elle speaks up, and Anne's smile doesn't falter. Gemma rolls her eyes.

"Would anyone else like a drink?"

Sophie's standing in the centre of the room, which is quickly filling up with spectators, as Gemma and Anne order the drinks for everybody. Last time Sophie had checked, perhaps a few minutes ago, Harry was still occupied with Elle, and she can't pretend it isn't annoying her a little.

"You're angry at me," Harry's voice sounds in a quiet murmur against the shell of Sophie's ear, and she sighs, feeling his arm snake around her waist.

"I'm not angry," she returns, exhaling as she speaks. She catches the slight raise of his eyebrow, as he doesn't buy what she's saying. "Not at you," she clarifies.

"She's a nice girl," he pouts at her, "couldn't exactly tell her to fuck off."

"I could've," she mutters.

"Baby," his voice is soft, his eyes mirroring his tone, as Sophie feels the knot in her chest loosen a little at his words, "please don't be angry. I don't want to be mean to her."

Sophie goes to argue, before nodding her head slowly. She knows that he's far too nice; far too genuine to tell her any different.

Her head tilts to rest on Harry's shoulder, his lips pressing to the side of her head for a moment. Sophie doesn't dare to ask where Elle is - simply because she doesn't care to know the answer. She'd rather revel in Harry's presence for the moment she has; inhale the scent of his cologne, and feel his fingertips grazing over the curve of her waist.

Anne and Gemma soon return with the drinks, and they only have a mere few minutes to themselves before Elle returns, a wide grin on her face as she picks up conversation with Harry once more, making no effort to do the same with his family.

Though, this time, Harry's arm remains around Sophie's waist, gently dragging the pads of his fingers over her hip. Nobody else can see his movements under the fabric of her coat, and his touch is feathery light; barely there. But it's enough.

Sophie's not the jealous type. In fact, she never has been. Not with anything. But she doesn't know whether to label it as jealousy - this burning, indubitable sensation of irritation; a rare lack of patience settling itself in the pit of her stomach each time she lays eyes on Elle. She doesn't even know her last name, but it's something about this girl that makes her want to snap. She wants to explain to Harry how ridiculous this whole thing is - how somebody who he clearly isn't close to, would just show up uninvited in a different country, while she just so happens to know Harry's exact location, and has no problem with harassing his family while she's at it.

As the group conversation continues, she decides to ignore Elle's presence as best as she can for tonight, and she'd ask Harry more tomorrow. But for now, she would make the most of the night ahead.

"Overthinking, you are," Harry remarks so quietly that it's almost inaudible, directing his comment at Sophie and causing her to glance up at him. "Are you nervous?" he asks, and Sophie realises he's talking about the fact it's only a minute or two until the curtains drop.

"A bit," she replies honestly, as the music comes to a halt, "okay, very."

"It's amazing, I already know it is," he murmurs to her, itching to connect their lips, but he refrains, only due to his family's presence and a slight underlying fear of PDA.

"'Glad you have so much faith in me," she tells him, a short chuckle leaving her lips.

For the second night in a row, the curtains drop - a roar of applause filling the room as they do so. Sophie's nervous eyes spot her own work in an instant, as does Harry and his family - her name on the card beside the canvas acting as clarification.

"Oh my-" Anne begins, cut off by her own gasp, Gemma sharply inhaling in unison.

"Soph.." Harry's voice is low, as he struggles to find the words to continue, his fingertips digging into her hip a little further than he intends them to.

It's a background of pastel pinks and purples, each shade blended seamlessly into the next, white wisps of cloud strung across the canvas in its entirety. Towards the bottom half - it's Harry, undoubtedly and unmistakably. His green eyes, glistening in the artwork in the very same fashion they do in reality, his dark curls contrasting against the background, a half view of his face painted to perfection.

Sophie's watching the real version of him; the tall frame beside her as his face lights up at the piece on the wall, his lips parting slightly and his green irises softening at the sight.

The same sense of pride that had filled Harry's mind a day previous is now occupying Sophie's senses, as that undeniable, elated feeling now overtakes her. Her lips twitch into a grin, her hand reaching upwards to push a strand of Harry's hair back from his face.

"Look how pretty you are."