The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

fourteen

Louis spends hours with Alexandra. The tea is gone, the biscuits are eaten, and the sun starts to take its rest so that night can fall over them. Alexandra makes him laugh, relax, and forget his worries at home. She's a woman of ease, grace, and comfort while simultaneously exuding her own charm and peace. Louis must admit that she would make a beautiful wife, loving mother, and wise business partner. He wonders if his mother shined this brightly before marrying his father, and the thought nearly wipes the smile off of his face. He will be nothing like his father if a woman like this broke under such cruelty.

He stands once he sees Mr. Rodgerick approaching with his jacket— a sign that it's time to return to the hotel. He bows deeply to Alexandra. "It's been a great pleasure meeting you, Ms. Williams. I hope our talks are just as lively in the future."

Alexandra stands as her maid fans her. "It's awfully late, Mr. Tomlinson. I say that you sleep here for the night. We have a beautiful guest room that's vacant tonight. You can return to the city in the morning. Riding so late will bring you to the hotel after the staff is gone. You won't be checked in."

Louis opens his mouth to deny her request, thinking of Harry and how worried he must be, but Mr. Rodgerick clears his throat while giving him a pressuring look. He closes his mouth, smiles thinly, and nods. "I think I will accept that offer. Thank you for your extended kindness."

Harry drags his pencil across the paper at the desk, using the candle light to see his bare sketches. The lines are sloppy, rushed, and everything is slightly uneven. He uses his eraser on some parts, redrawing repeatedly as his mind fights itself for focus. He spent the entire day at the dock looking, examining, and discussing imported goods for art. He found nothing, and soon returned to the hotel with his muse as the only thing on his mind. Louis never came back after the meeting with his match, and Harry grew too anxious just watching the street so he closed his shutters when the sun had set, and decided to draw whatever came to mind.

He's drawn five times already, all of five pieces ending up torn and balled up before landing in the far corner of the room where he threw them. This last one is the most intimate. While it didn't expose the true nature of their relationship, any smart man or woman could look at this and tell that Harry— at least Harry— held feelings deeper than business or friendship.

After another hour, Harry tugs lightly at his curls and stares at the small flame a few inches from him. It dances with every change in the air, fragile and easy to blow out with no way to rekindle. It reminds Harry, a man always connecting his life to nature, of his vulnerable relationship with Louis. He knows the older male wants to be stronger for them, and is constantly building up the courage to face their adversaries and preparing to leave his life behind for the artist, but Harry knows that kind of spirit too well.

He, too, faced the world the same way when he was younger. That's what led to his father beating him senseless, and leaving him to explore art in the pits of the mud behind the male brothel of the city, before Niall found him and convinced Mr. Payne to give Harry an education. It was in that brothel that Harry found what he believed to be love. With so many aristocratic figures frequenting the brothel, Harry soon became familiar with the code of silence expected from male prostitutes especially. It was during a trial that Harry's frequent customer, a man who promised to love Harry deeply and in spite of everyone, abandoned him and rebuked him when the young boy confronted him on the streets. The harsh lesson that people speak bravely, but lose their backbone when in the heat of the situation forever stuck with Harry.

He learned to be even more discreet while living with Niall, and seeing his teacher's love bloom with Liam. They were an exception, of course, and Harry knows they will come to face this same situation soon enough when Liam is sent arrangement invites. The reality is that Harry is a man, as is Louis— their relationship is as fragile as the flame heating Harry's skin, and can be swayed and smoked out by someone simply blowing in their direction.

The sculptor looks at his fresh drawing, smiles softly, closes the pad, and takes a deep breath. "Well," he mutters as he blows out the candle, "I'll be by his side regardless."

Louis arrives at the hotel early the next morning. With a silent, isolated night in a large bed, the muse slept comfortably. He wonders if Harry did as well. It's Sunday, meaning many would be attending church, but Louis always had a private lesson since the establishment took too much time from his studies. On a day when many cease working, Louis has to continue to please his father.

It's before breakfast so Louis knows the workers are busy preparing food and washing sheets. He checks himself in, but doesn't go to his room. Mr. Rodgerick, who carries his luggage, says nothing as Louis stops in front of Harry's door.

"The carriage will be ready after breakfast." The butler informs him, and takes the key to get into Louis' assigned room. "Please be present, and dressed properly for the departure."

"Yes, I will be." Louis nods, and tries the knob on the door. Luckily, it's unlocked and he sees his way in. Across the small room, on the bed with the sheets kicked off like before, laid a sleeping man with tossed curls, and discolored hands from blending whatever art he worked on while Louis was away. Louis sits at the desk, and examines the messy room. He spots the paper in the corner, and the scattered eraser shavings on the desk, and trails a finger over the notepad.

He's tempted to open it, but stops himself when he sees Harry roll onto his back. With a grunt and a stretch, the sculptor opens his eyes and wipes the sleep from his vision. It doesn't take long for him to notice Louis, since the muse is dressed in dark clothing, but it does take Harry a quick minute to recognize him.

"Goodness," the artist puts a hand over his heart after his flinch and Louis holds in his giggle, "when did you return?"

"Just now." Louis removes his jacket, and moves to sit on the side of the bed. He leans down, and kisses Harry's cheek. "Good morning, though it's awfully late. I'm sorry we couldn't spend more time together."

"When does the carriage arrive?"

Louis checks his pocket watch. "A few hours. Why?"

Harry stretches, and sits up. He gets out of bed, and dresses himself quickly. Louis watches silently, lost on what the sculptor has in mind. Harry turns to him, and motions to the door. "It's my first time in Port City. I don't want spend it in a hotel so come with me, and let's walk."

"Walk?" Louis raises an eyebrow, but stands when Harry grabs his hand. "Are we children?"

"I have a chance to properly court you." Harry says. "Allow me this one chance."