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A small smile plays on his lips as he makes his way down the street which is quickly becoming a familiar one. The art gallery lies at the end of it, and suddenly he's thankful for his homework this week. 

His hands are shoved into the pockets of his long, black coat, and his boots tap quietly against the concrete as he heads along it. His phone buzzes, and he fishes it out of his pocket, eyebrows creasing as he concentrates on reading, the text from his sister. 

'Goodnight Haz xx sleep well but not too well cos your bed is more comfortable here which is why I've taken it xoxo'

He scoffs, a soft laugh leaving his lips as he types a response before slipping his phone back into his coat pocket, and continuing down the street. He curls his finger below his nose, itching it subconsciously as the typical chatter sounds from the gallery building, and he pushes open the door with slightly less hesitation this time.

"Harry!" a shriek sounds before he's even completely through the open doorway, and he flinches, eyes widening.

"Layla," he forces a smile, hiding any form of irritation as if it was never there. She was a little too loud, for his liking - a little too pushy. 

"What a coincidence that you're here, too!" she squeals, and he blinks again in slight surprise, "you still like Art?"

Harry doesn't know what to say. This is the second time she's asked him if he likes Art, and probably the fifth or sixth time she's seen him with a camera around his neck.

"Uh," Harry rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, "yeah, it's the homework to be here tonight, so.." he trails off, eyes unintentionally searching around the room for a particular girl with a particular face.

"Yeah," she giggles, somehow unaware of Harry's wandering eyes. "I can't believe Michael set us homework. He's so annoying."

"I like him," Harry says honestly, forcing his eyes back into the conversation and trying not to sigh at his fruitless search.

"Oh, I do, too," she changes her mind a little hastily, "Mikey's cool."

Harry furrows his eyebrows a little, eyes landing on a familiar source of light in the corner of the room, laughter escaping the possessor's lips as somebody says something funny. Her eyes crinkle slightly, stray curls falling over her face.

"Harry?"

He stirs from his thoughts, eyes landing back on the blonde in front of him, "oh, m'sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if you wanted to look around together," she repeats, and Harry parts his lips momentarily before closing them.

His eyes drift back towards Sophie in the corner of the room, still deep in conversation before her own eyes drift to meet his momentarily. He catches a hint of a smile playing on his lips before he quickly looks away, cheeks flushing a definite shade of red. 

"Harry," Layla says a little more forcefully, and Harry flinches a little again.

"Um.." he chews on his lip. How does he say no? How does he politely tell her that, in fact, he doesn't want to look around the gallery with her - instead, there's a very beautiful girl in the corner of the room who makes his heart race without any real explanation for it who he'd rather browse beside. 

His eyes dart back to the corner, and now notice that Sophie is no longer there - she's a mere metre away, gently brushing past him as she makes her way to the gallery door and slips out of it. Harry blinks, confused.

"I need to get some air, actually," Harry lies straight to her face, voice rather unconvincing as he does. He's never been a good liar, and it's clear this occasion isn't an exception.

"Oh, do you want me to come with you?" she asks genuinely, eyebrows raising.

"No!" Harry says a little too quickly, almost shouting and catching her by surprise, before he lowers his voice, "sorry, I just don't feel very well." He feels guilty for lying, but his legs are already carrying him outside into the cool night air. 

It's pretty dark, and his poor eyesight causes him to squint in order to see properly, despite the contact lenses sitting comfortably in his eyes. His forefinger and thumb close around the ring on his right ring-finger, fiddling with it as he walks around the outskirts of the gallery.

"Are you stalking me?" He recognises the voice instantly, looking up.

"No," his face flushes, but she doesn't notice due to the darkness surrounding them, "wanted some fresh air."

"Funny, I did, too," she responds in a teasing manner, her jacket-less arms covered in arising goosebumps, "maybe we're in sync."

"Maybe," Harry smiles shyly, knowing that she's aware of the fact he basically followed her outside.

"You and Layla seem to be getting along well," she says, raising an eyebrow as Harry's eyes widen. She bursts out into laughter at his reaction, and he struggles not to stare as the beautiful sound echoes through the alleyway. 

"She's a nice girl," he says hesitantly, as Sophie nods teasingly.

"She looks like she's plotting my death every time I make eye contact with you," she points out, and Harry scoffs.

"That's not true. Why would she do that?" he's genuinely unaware.

"She thinks you're hot, obviously," she tells him. Obviously. He bites back a smile, as he swears he hears her mutter a, "who wouldn't?" 

"Obviously?" Harry finds himself pressing, a slight shock prominent in the pit of his stomach as he notes the odd spur of confidence, instantly regretting his question.

Sophie's teeth graze over her lip as she mirrors an action similar to his own, biting back a grin threatening to spread across her face. 

"Do you want to go back inside?" she asks him, and he bites the inside of his cheek in thought.

"Do you?" he counters, though it lacks wit. He's asking a genuine question.

"No," she smiles cheekily, "there's nothing new from the last time we were there."

"What about the homework?" he frowns, real concern on his features. Harry Styles is somebody to turn in homework early, not somebody who doesn't even bother to do it. Sometimes, even, in secondary school he would ask for extra work. He still loves to go the extra mile; to put effort into everything he does, and never give it anything but his all.

"I'm doing the homework, Camera Boy," she says as if it's obvious, noting the frown on his face and responding with another smile, "and so are you."

"But if we're not going to the gallery.." he trails off, confusion settling in his features. She watches him, wondering if he's aware of what a bright green his eyes are, or how smooth his skin is. 

"Find your muse," she tells him, "that's what Michael said, isn't it?"

"Yes.." he trails off, waiting for whatever she's plotting to click in his mind.

"So, you can either go back in there," she offers, "or you can be spontaneous, and you can find your muse."

Harry's eyes fall to meet hers, and he's suddenly disregarding the years of being someone who wouldn't even dream of starting a piece of homework any later than the day it was set. Instead, he faces a beautiful girl with intense brown eyes offering to help him find his muse. A girl who arises some kind of feeling in the pit of his stomach and brings some kind of smile to his face. The sudden wave of hesitation is lifted from his shoulders, and though the lingering nervousness remains - he finds his head tilting forward to give her a nod. 

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