Sculptures - Larry Stylinson

Five

Harry wasn't someone who experienced dreams very vividly.

Most nights, he'd wake with only a faint impression of what had drifted through his mind, the details slipping away like sand through his fingers. Moments after opening his eyes, whatever fragments remained would fade, leaving only a quiet blankness in their place.

He'd always been a daydreamer, drifting into fantasies about God knows what.

But now, distinguishing dream from reality felt nearly impossible.

In front of him stood the marble boy, once frozen in time, now alive, smiling softly at him. The boy's hands wrapped around his own shoulders, shivering slightly in the cool air of Harry's art room, as though he could truly feel the chill.

Harry stood there, utterly motionless, caught in a state of shock. Every muscle seemed to lock in place, his breath caught mid-inhale. He was frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to move or even blink, as he stared at the boy who'd somehow come to life before him.

"What the... what the fuck," was all he could manage, his voice barely a whisper. The words tumbled out, more breath than sound, as he struggled to wrap his mind around the scene before him.

The marble boy—no, Louis, his Louis—stood there, alive, shifting slightly as he adjusted to the room's chill, his gaze locked with Harry's. There was a softness in Louis's eyes, almost as if he found Harry's stunned silence amusing, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Harry's mind raced, trying to make sense of it. He blinked, almost hoping the vision would vanish, but Louis remained, smiling gently as though he'd been waiting for Harry to finally notice him in this new, impossible way.

"You're... Louis?" Harry's voice wavered, as if he wasn't quite sure who the question was meant for—himself or the impossible figure standing before him.

The marble boy let out a soft, playful chuckle, clearly more at ease than Harry, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous spark. "Am I not supposed to be the one to introduce myself?" he teased, raising a brow as though amused by Harry's bewilderment.

Harry's mouth opened, but no words came. He simply stared, still halfway between disbelief and awe. Louis tilted his head, watching Harry with an expression so alive, so full of curiosity, that Harry almost forgot this was the same statue he'd carefully carved, piece by piece.

"You... you're real," Harry whispered, more to himself than to Louis, pulse hammering as his gaze searched Louis's face, hoping to find some hint of the cold, unmoving stone he'd known.

Louis only smirked, the faintest sound of stone shifting echoing as he shrugged, marble shoulders rolling in an almost casual motion. "Real enough, I'd say." His eyes sparkled with a playful glint, a peculiar warmth emanating from his otherwise cool, polished surface. "Now," Louis continued, his tone light and teasing, "are you going to stare at me all night, or do you think you could fetch me something to cover myself?"

Harry blinked, snapping out of his daze just enough to notice the bare, polished marble of Louis's shoulders and chest. He felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he fumbled for words.

"Oh—uh, yeah, right. Of course!" he stammered, still trying to process the sight in front of him. He managed to pull his eyes away and darted toward the hallway closet, his mind racing.

Behind him, Louis chuckled softly, his voice echoing with an almost musical quality that made Harry's heart skip. It was as if his creation was fully, impossibly alive, yet unmistakably still carved from the marble he had spent hours upon hours perfecting.

By the time Harry returned with a blanket, his hands still trembling, Louis was leaning against the workbench, arms crossed, looking around the room with curious, shining eyes—eyes that now held a hint of gratitude as Harry draped the blanket over his shoulders.