The Sculpture and The Sculptured (l.s)

five

When the rooster crows the next morning, Harry wakes up expecting to be alone. However, sitting at his desk is the young man who turned him away before their allotted time was over yesterday. Half-dressed again, Harry silently watches Louis sleep in the chair while laying his head in his arms on the desk. His hair is a mess, his face is sweaty to show how hot he feels, and Harry wonders how long Louis's been there.

Regardless, Harry moves the covers off of himself and stands to stretch. He grunts softly, and walks over to his client. He gently holds Louis' shoulder, and shakes him slightly. "Louis."

"Mm." The muse blinks his eyes a couple of times before lifting his head, and leaning back to stretch. He tosses his head back, Harry moving to dodge Louis from touching his stomach, and Louis opens his eyes fully to gaze up at Harry who's already watching him. "Oh, good morning."

He sits up straight, and turns to face the sculptor. Harry clears his throat, and places his hands behind his back. "Did you need something from me, Mr. Louis?"

Louis turns his head slightly at the formal name, seemingly confused, until he notices a maid not too far from the shed approaching them. Not only that, but Louis left one of the doors open. His cheeks turn red slightly, and he quickly turns from Harry and the young woman.

"Chef Mary noticed Louis out here, and wanted to give you both an early breakfast." The young woman says as she holds two plates of chopped fruits, and sandwiches. Harry thanks her, and takes the plates. With a slight bow, she leaves. Harry closes the door, and places the plates on the desk.

"I'm going to assume the plate with more food is yours." Harry mumbles, and sits on the edge of the bed. He eats the sliced fruit with his fingers while Louis uses the fork. Silence takes over, but Harry waits for him to talk rather than filling the silence himself.

Nothing is said as they eat, and the plates are soon stacked in the back corner of the desk. It's only after their meal that Louis makes his move. He keeps his eyes on the wood in front of him, and holds out the same hand Harry was sketching yesterday. Harry stares at it then leans to the side slightly to try and look Louis in his eyes.

"What happened yesterday," Louis turns his face further away but Harry sees his ears turning red, "was unprofessional of me. I should have let you finish your work."

Harry looks back down at his hand, and gently takes it in his own. Louis flinches slightly, but relaxes as he  clears his throat. He reaches onto the desk to pull his notepad, and pencil into his lap.

"I gave an inappropriate answer to your question, even if you were teasing." Harry tries to comfort him. "I apologize."

"No need." Louis whispers, and silence falls on them once again. All that can be heard is the pencil, and eraser on the paper. "Harry?"

"Yes, Louis." The sculptor stops to look up. Louis' face and ears aren't red anymore. He looks calmer, more relaxed, and he's meeting Harry's eyes with his own.

"What do you like about your job? What makes you so passionate?" Louis looks at the notepad, and Harry subconsciously uses his hand to cover his sketch.

"I would guess," Harry begins as he takes his hand from Louis', "that I'm passionate about it because it's putting life in something lifeless."

Louis nods slightly, and he purses his lips as if he's holding back a more brazen comment or question. Harry finishes with his hands, and closes the notepad. He stands, grabs his freshly washed clothes, and peaks at Louis slightly.

"I understand that I can't ask you to leave half dressed, but I would like to retain some modesty." He jokes slightly.

"Oh— of course! Pardon me!" Louis hurriedly turns away, bumping his knee on the desk. He rubs his joint, hissing slightly, and Harry holds in his need to laugh. However, a snigger finds its way out and Louis turns his head.

"I apologize. I—I didn't mean to laugh." The more Harry talks, the more his laugh bubbles out. Louis tries to keep angry, but soon a smile is stretching across his face. Rather than answering, Louis takes Harry's pencil, and tosses it at him. The sculptor laughs some more, and soon Louis is joining him.

When Harry enters the home, he hears wonderful music being played. It echoes off the walls, and sends a shiver down his spine. It's after lunch now, Louis left his company a long while ago to do his studies, and this is the first time Harry has heard music in this home. The workers seem brighter, more chatty, and it matches the happiness in the chords and scales being played.

He follows the sound, and finds a handsome man sitting in front of a large piano. He's tan with dark hair, clearly foreign, and moves his hands with an elegance across the keys. Sitting in the chairs as his audience are two of the Tomlinson daughters. Out of respect for the pianist, Harry stays at the door and listens. Once he finishes, the girls clap and whisper to each other with admiring smiles. Ah, Harry thinks, more than just a professional eye it seems.

The man turns his body to face the girls, and his eyes gaze upon Harry. The sculptor clasps his hands in front of him, and bows.

"I heard the lovely music, and wanted to see who it was." He excuses himself, and the man stands to greet him. They meet half way, and shake hands. "My name is Harry Styles. I've been commissioned for a statue for the Tomlinson's."

"Ah, yes, Mr. Styles. You seem to be the talk of the estate." The man looks him up, and down in scrutiny before giving an unimpressed look. "I see being the source of rumor doesn't get you any higher in the favor of Mr. Tomlinson, though. Good to know I still have his ear."

"I beg your pardon—?"

"My name is Zayn Malik, pianist for the Tomlinson's for the last six years. I've been the only artistic staff on the estate so you can imagine how amused I was to learn that another would join me."

"While our professions are different," Harry maintains his etiquette, "I hope you can learn to appreciate my work as I just have with yours. I can't wait to hear more of your music, Mr. Malik."

"I can't wait to see your work, Mr. Styles." Zayn squeezes his hand tightly before releasing it with a smile. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have more practicing to do. I also have to teach Ms. Lottie here a new scale."

"I would rather listen to you play." Lottie mumbles, but Zayn ushers her towards the piano. With that, the introductions are done and they leave Harry with a feeling of dread. Rather than think about it, though, Harry takes his leave and towards the front of the home where his molding clay will be arriving. The sculptor in him jumps for joy as the carriage arrives, and boxes are placed at his feet. Now, he can finally move past the painstaking sketching and begin some of his early design work.