Over Again

I'm Miranda, an art colledge student, living in London with a fairly average lifestyle. That is, until I meet a few colourful characters that pull me from the streets into the limelight where unfortunately, I will never ever be forgotten.

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3. Chapter Three

I groan and sit down on the cold curb next to my art, that painting has so much energy and memories in it, it captures the whole moment of our first night. I blink my eyes as the memory flashes itself on my closed eyelids.

Memory of Painting.

I huff as Harry, yet again, shifts around and brushes his curls out of his eyes.

"Harry!"

"What?"

He groans imaptiently as he fixes a stray curl, trying desperately to flick them to the side,

"I put them that way purposely!"

He huffs and glares at me, why did I have to accept this job? I mean, I could very well have gotten an art job somehwere else or retired to selling my art on the streets again. He groans and moves again, twitching,

"What is it now, Harold?"

My english accent makes it more funny but my client, one of the hottest members of One Direction, Harry Styles is not in a laughing mood today.

"Starters, don't call me that and second, my arm is soo itchy!"

He whines and starts stratching his left arm gruffly, I huff and leave my paint brushes down, walk over to him and grab his arm, stratching it ruffly with my sharp nails. He squeals like a baby pig and yanks his arm back, I chuckle and walk back over to the awaiting canvas, I'm nearly done the mural of him. I honestly don't know how I got pulled into this job but I'm stuck with it for now. I sigh at the beauty of the painting I painted, I thought it would be impossible to capture this god's features on canvas and capture the pure beauty and essence of his face but I somehow managed it. I smile as I finish off on the last curl before dropping my paintbrushes and sighing loudly, he grunts and looks up at me before glancing back down at his arm. Its been actually impossible to keep him sitting there still for three hours but somehow the painting came out life-like and not disformed like the one I had in my nightmares. I decide to play him as I want to give him a taste of his own medicine, I have stood here for three hours listening to him whine and nagon about how tough it is to sit for three hours. He deserves it, I pick up a tube of paint, pretending to continue the painting, my attention is grabbed when he loudly squeals, again.

"Look at my arm!"

His voice is getting more high pitched by the second, I glance up from the beautiful painting to see the real-life god practically shoving his toned bicep in my face, there's a blotch of green paint on his arm. I chuckle, he glares, a glint of playfulness shining in his emerald orbs. I laugh loudly, throwing my head back, blocking my vision so its a big shock when Harry picks me up and lands me on a white couch the other side of the room. I squeal and kick my legs as he bounds over and leans over me, his body hovering over mine before he plants his soft plump lips on mine, they felt just like how I imagined them when I was painting, soft and gentle.

End of flashback.

I shudder at the beautiful memory we made, it was the first time we did it, yes, shock! We did it, what do you expect? Harry can't keep it in his pants and its a true fact, my head snaps up as I hear his anglelic voice call over me, I glance up into his emerald orbs that are just the same as the day we broke up,

Hello there love.

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