The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

three

Harry spends his first night in his art room. Mr. Tomlinson emptied a small shed just by the stables for him. Since he'll be sculpting outside once the material comes, the family thought it would be best for him to sleep in his work area. Harry didn't complain considering it's furnished with a slightly better bed than what Mr. Payne gave him, and he's welcomed to breakfast every morning with the maids and butlers. He has paper, pencils, and sculpting material arriving soon enough.

With the candle at the corner of his desk, Harry works to draw his muse's eyes in the best detail possible. Normally, he would be asleep by now so he could wake up early for food. However, there's something about the swarming storm in Louis' eyes that keeps Harry restless. They're screaming to be seen, heard, recorded, and saved for future storytelling. They wish for something Harry never dreamed of, and the sculptor wonders what that desire in Louis is. He's seen it in his past lovers, he saw it in Niall or Liam when they're forced to be separated for society's sake, but he's been so content that he has never felt it himself. What is it?

Regardless, Harry draws until the rooster on the fence of the stables crows. The artist drops his pencil, massages his hand and wrist, and blinks a few times. Beneath him, on the paper, sits a pair of eyes drawing him in just as they did in real life yesterday. He bites his lip, and stands with a stretch.

He stumbles to the doorframe, and leans on the wood. Early caretakers are preparing their tools, and some are departing from their significant others for the long day ahead. Harry places his hands on his hips, and sighs softly as the breeze blows and whistles in his ear.

"Lord, give me strength." He mumbles, and starts his walk to the back door leading to the kitchen. He plans to eat a few slices of bread with some water, and go back to work. However, he's shocked when he sees Louis in the kitchen eating an apple as the chefs prepare breakfast. No one notices him so he takes the time to silently close the door behind him, and watches the dynamic. Liam would never do this.

"You shouldn't spoil your appetite." The heavyset woman says, and points a wooden spoon in Louis' direction. Louis, who is half dressed with his blouse untucked and half-buttoned, hums absentmindedly. The woman laughs softly before mixing the batter in the bowl. "Your father would have your head right now."

"Don't remind me." Louis sighs as he stares at his bitten fruit. "I work so hard to be perfect for him. I deserve a few minutes of relaxation."

"Don't we all." The woman whispers breathlessly, and Louis gives her an apologetic look. "Don't worry, my boy. I'm sure pretending is just as tiring as this. At least I'm able to curse my heart out."

Louis laughs softly, and Harry notes the crinkles by his eyes. The sculptor clasps his hands in front of him, and coughs slightly to gain their attention. Louis looks, and his eyes widen. He sits up straighter, hides the apple, and wipes the juice from his lips as the woman spares him a quick glance before continuing with her work— this time, with a sudden distance involved.

"Good morning," he greets and approaches the counter, "I just came for something to eat."

"Breakfast is hardly ready." The woman informs as she begins to roll the dough.

"Oh, that's alright. I don't eat full meals. I just need some bread, and water." Harry notices that there is no bread, and washes his hands as he eyes the apples in front of Louis. "Are they good?"

Louis jumps slightly at his question, and looks at him. There's no answer for a few seconds until Harry motions to the eaten apple in Louis' hand. "I can assume so, yes?"

He reaches in front of Louis to grab an apple, mumbling for Louis to excuse how close he is, and he bites into his own fruit. He hums at the sweetness, and nods. "I see why you're eating it."

Louis looks away from him, and to his own apple. His head is down, but Harry can see a soft grin on Louis' face— one the muse tries to hold back before lifting his head. He holds the fruit up, and clears his throat. "You would be correct. Mary chooses the best apples at the market."

The heavyset woman smiles at Louis' words, and Harry assumes that she must be Mary. He turns to her, and bows. "Thank you for the apple, ma'am. My name is Harry. I will be sculpting for the Tomlinson's."

She hums. "That's all well, and good. Finish your apple, Harry, before Mr. Tomlinson's personal butler comes down. You too, Mr. Louis."

Harry turns back to Louis, and the blue eyes that seemed so anxious yesterday are now blooming. The feeling he caught Louis craving during their introductions is now in abundance in this moment.

Harry is fetched later in the day, right after lunch. He's spent more time drawing Louis' eyes, but with a more enjoyable expression. Now, the paper holds two pairs of eyes. He closes his notepad when a young woman approaches his shed, and he stands to greet her.

"No need." She mumbles with a soft blush. "Young Master Louis is waiting for you. I'm here to guide you to his room."

"His room?" Harry turns his head slightly, but grabs his notepad, pencil, and meter stick. "That's an odd place to work."

"Young Master Louis hardly leaves his room. He only leaves for meals, or when Master Tomlinson requests his presence." She explains. "You will mostly be working there, and at your work space during the project."

"Is there a reason he doesn't leave his room?" Harry asks quietly as she follows her through the home. His hands stick to him, afraid to touch the pretty walls, the pictures, and wooden rails that are attached to the stairs.

"... It's best that you keep your questions to yourself, Mr. Styles." The maid mumbles softly, and stops at a pair of large, double doors. "This is Young Master Louis' room. I hope you remember the way."

"I do, thank you." The young woman blushes again at his smile, and ducks her head before descending down the long hall way and staircase. Harry looks at the tall vases on either side of the doorframe, filled with pretty oranges and reds. The artist can't help but find it odd that the male heir has such feminine decoration. He scratches his chin slightly before knocking on the wood. "Mr. Louis, it's Harry. I'm here to start my work."

There's silence, just as there was when Louis was caught eating the apple, but the door opens. Slowly, it reveals a young man with a slightly swollen bump on his forehead, and a wet cloth in his hand. Harry opens his mouth slightly, bothered that such a handsome face is damaged, but Louis gives a tight-lipped smile.

"I fell earlier." He dismisses Harry's curiosity, and lets the sculptor inside. "Please have a seat at the vanity. I know there isn't much room for you to work, but hopefully you understand that I cannot go out like this."

"Yes, I understand." Harry whispers, and sits as Louis takes a spot on the bed. This time, he is dressed formally with perfect posture and a steeled look. It's a complete change from this morning, but one thing remains the same: the craving in Louis' eyes.