The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

nine

With five days until Mr. Tomlinson returns, Harry has finished a rough mold of Louis. It's a bare frame, with only the exposed body parts holding details, because Harry has yet to see Louis in an outfit. He wipes his hands on his apron when someone knocks on the shed. He peaks over his shoulder to see the young maid from his drunken night watching him. She smiles softly at him, curtsies, and Harry greets her with his own bow.

"Hello, Mr. Styles." She holds her hands behind her, and Harry turns to fully face her. He takes his wet cloth, and wipes the clay off his hands.

"Good afternoon, Miss." He says, and doesn't attempt to hide that he doesn't know her name. Her smile falls slightly, clearly offended.

"Ah, you must have been too drunk to remember that night." She chuckles softly, and nervously. Harry hums, and sits down at his desk where his rough draft stood. "My name is Elizabeth. Everyone calls me Poppy."

Harry waves a hand to gesture her inside. "Well, Miss Elizabeth, is there a reason you've come here?"

"Yes, uhm—" She anxiously sways, and diverts her eyes to the floor boards. With a small lip bite, she takes a deep breath. "I was wondering if you had a lady already."

Harry's mind wanders to Louis, but the sculptor is quick to erase such a thought. The two young men are simply entertaining each other. "I do not."

Elizabeth's eyes light up, but she does her best to hide her excitement. "Is it because you do not want a lady, or has no lady approached you?"

"Every man wants a woman, Miss Elizabeth, and most women I meet tend to approach me first." He teases her, and chuckles at her blush. "Should I take this as you approaching me?"

She opens her mouth to answer, like a mouse making a bargain with a cat, but a small cough stops her. Harry looks beyond her, and raises an eyebrow at Louis' butler. Elizabeth blushes a deep crimson, and turns to Harry swiftly.

"I hope the next time, it's you who approaches me." She mumbles, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and excuses herself. The butler quirks an eyebrow, but says nothing as Harry stands.

"The Young Master is prepared for your drawing. The attire he's wearing is the attire he'll be wearing in the sculptor." The butler turns away. "He awaits your arrival."

Harry nods, gathers his materials, and makes his way towards the mansion. When he reaches Louis' door, he knocks as he takes a deep breath. His clammy hands grabs the cold, gold handle and twists it open when Louis tells him to enter.

"I am here to draw the outfit." Harry mumbles, but stops when Louis turns from the window. His hair is done in the usual style, but his collar is laced ruffles covering his neck with a tight jacket over his blouse. The ruffles puff out at the wrists where the jacket ends, his pants are belted to his hips and clinging to his thighs. The end where the socks starts, midway down the shins, and his shoes are black with gold. His pants and jacket are cotton, but his blouse is silk and the parts that show shine in the light seeping through the window. His face is bare, but Harry knows that the muse's lips will be tainted red with a slight pink blush brushed over his cheeks when the day comes. His entire outfit is blue with gold cuff links, a pin, and a white rose in his jacket pocket to match his blouse.

"They were testing the rose. You don't have to include it." Louis mumbles as he looks away shyly. Harry closes the door, hurries to sit in the chair and open to a blank page in his sketchbook. He stops to catch another glimpse of Louis, and clears his throat as his heart races.

"I will include every detail my eye catches." He begins to draw as Louis takes his pose. Harry doesn't have to draw his face, but he knows he will want to keep this drawing so he draws everything with as much detail as possible.