Guys this story got so much response that I did a continuation! It is posted right NOW! I really hope after you read the epilogue you will go to my works and see Locker 161 2 the continuation! Thank you for reading!
He looked so adorable, so handsome. His dress pants were snug to his body, his dress shoes shiny. He had on a very proper dress shirt and jacket, no tie though, that wouldn't have been his style.
It had been two months since we left that graveyard, never to come back. Harry was still aching over the loss of his father, all over again. It was like the father he idolized, loved, had died all over again. He actually wrote a letter to his mom, unable to talk to her in person. He hadn't heard from her, but he did invite her to his big night tonight. Tonight was the gallery.
He didn't show me the piece, but I didn't mind. I would be proud of him no matter how he did. Our relationship... it was amazing. It was so wonderful; it was loving and affectionate, so happy and warm. I think I gave him that love he always wanted, and I knew he gave it to me.
"You look good," I smiled, holding his hand as we walked down the busy block to the gallery.
"You look beautiful," he brought my hand to his lips. I glanced down at my simple sky blue dress, and little white flats. "Thank you for having me do this."
"No problem. I'm proud of you, no matter what."
He had clear nervousness in his smile. He held the door open for me, and we stepped inside. "Wow," he breathed out. There were so many people, so many pieces.
"I want to see yours," I tugged on his arm with a smile.
"Harry Styles," a woman came over, with a clipboard. "Harry, right?"
'Here you are," she handed him a name tag that had the name of his piece underneath. It was titled, always. He pinned it on his jacket. "Have a great night, awards are announced in an hour or so."
He nodded and held my hand again. "Let's check out the competition?"
"It's okay of she doesn't come Harry, she might not be ready just yet."
He took a breath and nodded. I knew he was thinking of his mom. He gave my hand a squeeze, and we started looking at the amazing work. There were thirty five pieces or so. We started down a wall, seeing everything from pottery to abstract works.
"Wait," he said, looking over the heads of people to the far back wall, that's where everyone was crammed around. "This way," he pulled on my hand and brought me to the opposite wall. Everyone was staring at me. I didn't get why. We started looking down the other wall. "There is a lot of talent."
"So you should be proud, because you made it here." I smiled. 'Mrs. Hollas said there were five hundred entries, and you made it. You are just as talented." He smiled, kissed the top of my head and we kept roaming. "Where is your piece Harry?" I stamped my foot. "Come on,"
"Okay," he sighed. "Shut your eyes." I did as I was told, and he brought me through the crowd. He positioned me, his hands on my shoulders. He stepped behind me. "Open,"
I stared, in complete and utter shock. I felt my jaw drop, my eyes grow large. He was silent too for some time, I felt everyone staring at me. He stepped to the side. I could see him out of the corner of my eye.
"You hate it, don't you? I'm sorry, I couldn't... I didn't..." I shook my head. "Finley?" I shook my head. "Why aren't you talking?"
"I-I'm speechless. You took this photo?"
"It's not a photo Finley, it's a painting. I dabbled in hyperrealism. It's a style where you pay attention to detail and make it look real as possible. I've been working on it for weeks."