The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

twenty-six

"He said a Mr. Styles did rent a room for a few months, but he's been long gone since. Apparently he made some money from selling fake paintings, and left for a smaller town." Zayn explains once he reaches Louis. The muse is anxiously standing next to their horses, and he kicks a rock with a huff.

"So, we lost him?" Zayn hums at his question, and Louis yank his hat off to run a hand through his hair. "I have all of this money, and not one person can tell me where Harry Styles is. Is this a joke!?"

The pianist rubs his back, and clears his throat when a bald man stops with his children. The little boy is holding a fake cat in his arms, and is petting it. Knowing that this kind of toy doesn't usually exist, Zayn leaves a tantrum-throwing Louis to approach the father and son.

"Excuse me," he says gently, "may I ask where you got this?"

"A man in our town made this for him since he lost his cat." The man answers, and Zayn nods.

"Where's your town?" The man points west. "I see. How far?"

"If you're walking, half a day." He explains. "By horse, it's a few hours."

"Thank you." The man bows slightly as he walks away with his son in his arms, and Zayn goes back to Louis who is still losing his mind over having reached a seemingly dead end. "Get in the carriage, Louis."

"What?" The muse looks up at his friend, and the pianist opens the door.

"Go on, get inside." He repeats. "I have a place I want to stop by, and look at. If you don't mind."

Harry lays in bed, drowning out the children knocking on his door and calling for him as he stares at the cufflinks he got so long ago for Louis. He never found a chance to give it to his muse, and now they've been sitting in a box on his nightstand. On days where he finds it hard to move, or when his hands just won't stop seizing on him, he hides from the townspeople and stares at this expensive gift. They're definitely out of fashion, the design on them is at least, but he knows Louis would have worn them until old age simply because Harry got them for him.

The artist feels a familiar bubble of anger expanding in his stomach, and he clenches his jaw. He could've had it all if he had just been more stern, more discrete, and if he had just minded his own business instead of becoming friendly with Elizabeth. He closes the box, and stretches before rolling onto his stomach and attempting to sleep away his dread.

When he wakes up, it's night time and his body is aching for food. He makes his way to the kitchen, and eats the leftover breakfast he never finished earlier. The window in the room isn't shut, and he takes the time to look out at the black void. Most certainly there are town drunks wandering the roads, and the few women of the night are keeping them entertained, but Harry sees little lighting to assist his vision— meaning that everyone is asleep. He finishes his stale bread, and reaches over the counter to close the curtains, but stops when he hears the heavy steps of horses and the creaks of unoiled wheels. A large carriage rides by his house slowly, two lanterns hanging around the rider, and Harry watches as the visitors stop at the inn across the road.

As they empty their luggage, Harry finally closes the curtains and goes back to bed. He has neither a need, nor a want to get involved with anyone more than he has. He's a kind man here, a respected man and trusted figure for the children. The women like him, the men respect him, and not one person has bothered him about his past— nor have they figured it out. He lives quietly, peacefully, and— albeit— lonely. For a man with no room to love another, and traumatized by his experience, he has no time to make way for another life or path.

Louis leaves the inn as soon as day breaks. The townspeople are working, the children are rushing around, and everyone is curious as to why such a man is here. He's dressed casually, as to fit in the best way he can, and scratches his growing stubble. Zayn steps out beside him, and hands him a ribbon for his hair.

"I think it's time you see the barber." Zayn says as he ties his own hair back. "The same goes for me."

"Let's do that after we find out if he's here or not." Louis takes out some coins, and hands it to the inn owner. "Please take proper care of our rooms, and horses. Thank you."

The man stutters before bowing as he counts the tip money. "Thank you!"

The two men saunter off the porch, and onto the road where working men are riding off to their jobs. Women are doing the house chores outside as children run and play. It's peaceful, small and quant, and just the place for Harry. Louis grins, and looks around. Most homes have their doors open, with the families out and working, but one home has it's doors closed with some children knocking on it. Must be the orphanage, Louis thinks as Zayn stops a woman carrying some groceries.

"Pardon us," he begs and she blushes at how handsome he is, "but we've come here to look for a man by the name Harry Styles."

"Mr. Styles?" Her heavy accent inquires, and Zayn gives a curt nod. Louis looks at her now with hope in his eyes. "He's usually teachin' the children 'bout sculptin' by now. Perhaps he's runnin' late. Lord knows why he does it seein' that the children won't ever get to do it once they start workin'. Ah, well— keeps us women free to work, I suppose."

As she rambles, Louis notices the door to the isolated home open, and the little children cheer before rushing inside. The muse motions to the home. "Why is the orphanage just now opening?"

"Orphanage?" She turns to look, and laughs. "I know the front of his home isn't as decorated as some of ours, but he surely does not run an orphanage."

"Ah." Louis puts his hand down as Zayn gives him a disappointed look. "My apologies."

"Not my home." She shrugs, and points to it. "That's where Mr. Styles stays. If we've been talkin' about the same man, you'll find him outside in the back of his home. I should be goin' now. Have a good day."

"You as well, ma'am!" Zayn smiles, and she rushes by them. Louis doesn't wait for Zayn, nor does he look for any traffic, as he rushes across the road. He takes some breaths, and tries to collect himself as he enters the home through the opened door. Harry must have forgotten to close it, or he really trusts the people here. Either way, the ball of anxiety in his stomach subsides as he sees hand painted pieces hanging on the walls— a style so unique to Harry that Louis's memorized it. The muse walks the small area of the first floor, and it seems so ordinary until he sees the crinkled papers on the kitchen table scattered around a burnt out lantern. Louis doesn't have to touch it. He knows the handwriting.

"Louis!" A hushed voice calls from the front door. "Get out of there! If the owner isn't Harry, and they see you in here—"

Louis waves a dismissive hand towards him, and proceeds to make his way to the back door. This one is open as well, and the sound of giggles and hushed voices can be heard. He stands in the doorway, and watches a man crouching on the ground with children surround him. The sound of someone playing with wet clay is distinct, and Louis looks ahead of them to see some statues already finished. It's clear which ones have been finished by a professional, and which have been done by children. Nonetheless, it warms Louis' heart to be surrounded by such familiarity again.

"Who are you?" A young girl asks, and everyone stops to take note of Louis. A head of long curls is the last to face him, and Louis nearly falls to his knees when he sees the man he's been looking for finally staring back at him.

"What...?" He whispers.

Louis clears his throat, and blinks back his tears. He steps towards the sculptor, and stops just a foot or so away. "My apologies for taking so long to find you, Mr. Styles."

Harry smiles, and chuckles before leaning back. Due to his body being weak from improper eating, he can't stand to properly greet his long lost love. Still, he leans his back against Louis' legs, and lays his head back to smile up at his muse. Louis smiles down at him, and both feel a gush of happiness when they see the same love and affection from all those years ago in each other's eyes.

"Please," Harry takes Louis' hand, "call me Harry."

Complete xx