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I'd just finished cleaning the cup I'd drank tea from when my doorbell rang all of sudden. I furrowed my eyebrows, as it was still a bit too early for something like that, and I peeked out of the kitchen window, discovering that Harry's black car was parked in front of my house.

My confusion not having been lessened in the slightest, I made my way towards the front door, stopping in the way to put on a pair of shoes. I stood up again when I was done and opened the front door, discovering that Harry really was waiting out of the door. "I didn't think you'd come here so early" I commented, trying to make sense of what was going on. Had he argued with Niall again? Or even worse, had something happened at his house?

He passed his fingers through his dark curls, nothing in the action proving that he was distressed in any way. "We aren't going to class" he said simply and matter-of-factly, and I was suddenly torn between instantly agreeing and wanting to slap him.

"What?" I said, not understanding what was happening. Why did he want us to skip? It made close to no sense, and it was coming rather unexpectedly, as well. I was glad that I was doing quite well in all my classes, because I wouldn't have been able to keep skipping them with no repercussions on my grades if I wasn't, but I still preferred not to do it too often.

He played with the hem of the sleeve of his black coat, the action making his rings catch the light of the silver morning sun. "We can talk in the car, it's a long drive" he replied instead, the faintest hint of unsettledness in his voice.

"Alright" I said, perfectly knowing that, despite the fact that I didn't have the slightest idea of what was going on in his mind, I would've ended up going with him anyway.

He turned around as soon as I spoke, sliding his keys out of his pocket as he walked towards his car, unlocking it quickly when he reached it and getting inside, leaving his car door open as he waited for me to get in as well.

I took my coat and put it on, making sure I had my wallet, phone and keys before stepping out of the house and locking the door behind myself and walking towards the car. "Where are we going?" I asked him as soon as I sat on the passenger seat, and he simply gave me a glance in reply, that made me quickly understand that I shouldn't have expected an answer at all. "Alright" I muttered, buckling up my seatbelt and turning to look out of the window as he started the car and drove out of his parking spot.

After a few seconds spent in silence, he sighed. "We're going to Manchester" he said quietly, and I looked at him quickly, more surprised by the fact that he'd replied than by the answer itself.

"Manchester?" I asked, confusion evident in my voice, and he just nodded, as if there wasn't anything of slightly weird in him deciding to drive for over three hours to go to another city all of sudden.

"We're going to see an art collection" he shared quietly. "It has some paintings by famous artists, so I figured you'd like it."

I nodded, still feeling like there was something that he wasn't telling me, but deciding to just go with it, because I knew that pushing him would've led nowhere good - and I also knew that he would've told me eventually, if he wanted me to know. "That's cool" I replied, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the headrest. "How did you find out about it?"

"Some... papers" he simply replied, lowering his voice all of sudden, making me understand that he had no intention of clarifying his answer.

"Alright" I said, letting him get away with it. I opened my eyes when a heard a button click, and all of sudden a soft piano music invaded the car. Before I could say anything Harry switched it to radio quickly, lowering whatever was playing to nothing more of a background sound.

A silence fell over us quickly, mostly because, considering the early hour in the morning, none of us was up for conversation, and before I knew it I fell asleep with my head against the glass of the car window.

• • •

I woke up a few hours later and I glanced out of the window, quickly losing interest when I discovered that there wasn't anything interesting to look at. I turned to look at Harry, observing him as he drove.

He'd got rid of his coat sometime while I was sleeping, the white shirt he was wearing underneath showing, the fabric seeming a bit too light to be worn in mid-January. As I'd previously noticed, he was wearing all his rings on that day, and whenever he changed the position of his hands on the wheel they clinked lightly. Suddenly noticing my gaze on himself, he turned to look at me and, considering that I wasn't quick enough in looking away, I found myself staring into his green irises.

"Who's your favourite painter?" I squeaked, thinking that it was a stupid question in the second I asked it, and I found myself wishing I could've just opened the door and left the car.

Harry, however, didn't seem to find it stupid because, even though he took his time in replying, he did. "When I was young I liked Van Gogh, now I find myself preferring William Turner."

I nodded at his words. "The Fighting Temeraire?" I asked him, trying to guess which was the painting that had made him choose him as his favourite.

He shook his head. "Snow Storm: Hannibal and his Army Crossing the Alps" he replied, and I couldn't help but realise that it really made so much more sense. I wondered if he recognised a bit of himself in that painting, and that was why he liked it, or if it had only been chosen from an artistic point of view. "What about you?" He then asked, dragging me out of my thoughts.

"It's Monet" I replied with no hesitation, "but my favourite painting is the Mona Lisa."

He sent me a side glance as soon as I spoke. "Oh yeah?"

I shrugged under his stare, refraining the sudden urge to cross my legs over the seat, knowing that Harry wouldn't have appreciated it if I'd dirtied it. "I have a thing for portraits, in case it wasn't obvious already" I said quickly, "and that one is like... the best."

"I don't know, that drawing of Liam you made seemed quite good" he replied, and it was impossible not to sense the irony in his voice.

I widened my eyes at his words, giving him a shocked glance. "Oh my goodness, why would you say that?" I said laughing a bit, finding myself smiling widely when he let out a little chuckle as well. I sighed after the little happy moment dissipated, changing my position so that my back was against the car door so that I could look at him better. "Harry?" I asked him gently, and he glanced at me quickly when he sensed the change in tone. "How's it going with... everything? At the house?" I continued, feeling slightly worried. He'd gone back home a couple of days before, and I couldn't help but worry about he was doing, considering that he was in the same house of the boy that tried to ruin his life and of the man that simply seemed to hate him.

He went silent at my question, and focused his attention out of the windshield again. "It goes" he said quietly, the way he said it making me feel like it wasn't going that well at all. "Distract me" he murmured after a couple of seconds, putting his hand on my lap to hold mine, that was sitting on my thigh, and I intertwined our fingers, putting my other hand on top of his as well.

After some more minutes, in which the only sound disrupting the silence was the radio playing in the background, the car suddenly came to a stop, and I glanced out of the window, discovering that we'd stopped in front of what looked like a mansion - or a really big house anyway - a bit out of town.

He turned off the engine and got out of the car, quickly followed by me, and locked it quickly before making his way to the main gate. We stopped in front of it and he rang the doorbell, saying his name when he was asked through the intercom.

"Come on in" the male voice on the other side replied, and a few seconds later the gates started opening.

"This is a private collection, isn't it?" I asked Harry as we walked on the white gravel of the street that connected the gates to the building, and he nodded, putting on his coat when he started to feel the cold of the air. "I didn't know you could visit private art collections just like that" I asked him, the feeling that there was something he wasn't telling me rushing through me again.

He shrugged, keeping his gaze focused in front of us. "I had a connection" he replied, and I didn't get the chance to ask him to elaborate because as soon as we hit the last of the three steps that brought to the front door, it opened, revealing a man that seemed to be in his mid-fifties, with a white bristly beard and clear blue eyes.

"I'm Elias Atkinson, it's a pleasure to officially make your acquaintance, Harry" he said as soon as we reached him, offering him his hand to shake before turning to look at me. "And you must be?" He asked, a twinkle of interest in his icy irises.

"Sierra" I simply replied, starting to feel a bit awkward under the man's scrutinising attention.

The man nodded, shaking my hand as well. "What a beautiful name" he commented, seeming to sense my nervousness. "Shall we go in?" He asked us, momentarily adjusting the dark blue turtleneck he was wearing, and we nodded, allowing him to lead the way into his home.

I stared in awe as soon as we entered the atrium of the house. It was big, with white marble floors and equally light walls, a big staircase starting from the middle of the room and bringing to the upper floors. It was clear that the man was incredibly wealthy, and considering that he seemed to be the proud owner of an art collection, it didn't come as much of a surprise.

"Well" he said, stopping in the middle of the room and turning to look at us. "Shall I start by saying that I'm incredibly grateful that you chose to come here on a day in which my wife isn't home?" He said. "Nothing against her of course, she's a wonderful woman, but she never got my family and I's interest in art."

I smiled slightly at his words, since it seemed quite clear to me that he was trying to lighten the atmosphere in the room, and he smiled back at me.

"I've never been one to hold people back with no purpose, so shall we start?" He asked, not waiting for our reply before moving again, with us following him.

We walked to the side of the large room, and I glanced up to the ceiling, discovering that it was painted to represent a sunset. I observed it for a couple of seconds before looking ahead again, not wanting to trip over anything, suddenly stopping in my tracks when a statue blocked the way.

It represented three young women, naked, that were hugging each other. Their pose was dainty and the hair was done with admirable detail, the proportions of the body instantly reminding me of Greek art.

Mr Atkinson turned to look at me, a smile forming on his face when he saw the marble art I was looking at. "This is a copy of The Three Graces by Antonio Canova. It's a mesmerising piece, isn't it?" He commented, stopping next to me, while Harry stayed behind us. "My nephew made it" he shared, his tone letting out how proud he was. "He also said he's working on a copy of Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss for my little art collection. If he manages not to break Cupid's wings like the last two times, it'll be here by March." He looked up at it, a serene look in his blue eyes. "Have you studied it?"

I gave him a little shrug. "Barely" I said, saying the truth, but instantly regretting it when I saw his face fall.

"Ah that's a shame, it's a beauty" he said. "It's so mesmerising to stand in front of, isn't it?" He asked, barely waiting for a reply for a few seconds before continuing. "And this is just a mere copy, imagine how it would feel to stand in front of the original. I can't help myself but visit St Petersburg every summer just to see it once per year. A beautiful, beautiful work of art."

I nodded at his words, walking around it, amazement in my eyes when I saw that the painstaking attention for detail didn't diminish in the slightest on the back of the piece. I'd never been particularly interested in sculpture, but standing in front of it, I couldn't help but be mesmerised by it, and wonder how it would've felt to see the original piece. It was incredible to think that someone could transform a piece of marble in something as delicate and soft-looking as that.

"You can touch it if you want, although I cannot guarantee the surface is as smooth as the original's" the man commented, a gleam in his eyes, "even though the original by Canova itself is a copy of a Greek ensemble, on a side note."

I did, the marble cold under my fingers, quickly seeing as he meant as my touch revealed that the piece wasn't as smooth as it seemed, a little detail that proved that it was a mere copy, although a beautiful one.

Mr Atkinson nodded, looking back at the group when I found my way back in front of it. "From left to right, Euphrosyne, Aglaea and Thalia, respectively beauty, mirth, and elegance" he said, the names easily rolling off his tongue, showing his passion and rehearsal - and a striking attention for detail as well. "The Greeks did have a fascination for all that's art and beauty, didn't they? Graces, Muses... imagine believing with such passion in the importance of them all, that you associate them with the divine."

I nodded at his words, starting to see what Harry meant when he'd told me I might've found our visit interesting. The man seemed to love art and everything about it, his interest showing in his knowledge of it. He seemed to be an observer and a thinker at the same time, and there was something of incredibly entrancing in listening to someone like that speak.

I glanced at Harry, he was quiet, his gaze drifted to the statue, but not seeming to be looking at it. It was clear that something was on his mind in that moment, and I stepped closer to him, hesitating a bit before taking his hand, not daring to intertwine our fingers while he seemed to be so distracted, not wanting to risk him distancing himself.

"The waking of the soul in front of what is artistically pleasing, that's what distinguishes the man from the animal" Mr Atkinson said, completely unaware of Harry's detachedness from the situation, and I couldn't help but turn my head to glance at him again, not leaving Harry's hand as soon as I realised he wasn't going to walk away from the touch. "You'll never see a bird flying around singing the lodes of Dante, Petrarch, or even Shakespeare. We are drawn to art, we linger in it, which may be useless if you think of it, but doesn't it make everything a little more worth it?"

I was that lost thinking of what he was saying that I almost jumped back when Harry suddenly intertwined our fingers, and I gave him a quick glance, discovering that he still seemed to be concentrated on something else.

The man nodded to himself. "And what better representation of beauty in art, than Greek sculptures? That's what's so amazing about Canova, he translated into modernity their beauty, which was, in the centuries, left unmatched. But this is just my humble opinion, shall we move on?" He said quietly, not waiting for us to reply before rounding the statue, and going through the door that the marble piece was hiding from view.

We followed him, and we were instantly greeted by a long, large corridor, that seemed to turn at the end, paintings and little artefacts hanging on each side of the wall. We started walking slowly, glancing at each side, scanning the multitude of paintings representing people and landscapes, waiting for something to capture our gaze.

After a while I furrowed my eyebrows as a peculiar painting caught my attention, and I stopped in front of it. It seemed to be a bit older than the others, which made me understand that it probably was at least a couple of centuries old, and differently from the others, it was very dark, something of unsettling in it, that made it impossible to look away.

I stepped closer to it, ignoring the slightly confusing glance Harry gave me, wanting to take a better look at it, frowning when I realised that the thing dominating the scene was a sarcophagus, a skeleton painted on top of it in unnerving detail, a Latin sentence written above it.

"Oh, I see, you too have been captured by that particular canvas" I heard a voice say, and turned my head quickly, discovering that Mr Atkinson had made his way back to me, Harry in tow. "Quod tu es, ego fui. Quod nunc sum, et tu eris. I was what you are, now I am what you'll become" he said, easily reading and translating the mysterious sentence. "It's a quite peculiar thing to say, don't you think? That's a memento mori, it was really used in the past. I think that sentence specifically comes from a tomb in Ravenna. The author of this is unknown, even though it is quite clear he was strongly inspired by the Holy Trinity by Masaccio, he just changed the sentence" he explained quickly, nodding to himself, and I found myself wondering if he'd studied it all before we arrived, or if it was just part of his day-to-day knowledge. "I had the pleasure of seeing that one personally in the Santa Maria Novella Church in Florence a couple of years ago. It seems way less aggressive in Italian, I must admit."

I stepped to the side so that the light wouldn't hit the glass so weirdly, allowing me to look at it better. "It's... a bit dark" I admitted, finding it slightly creepy, and wondering how such a piece had found its way in his art collection. His main focus had seemed to be all that was beautiful until that moment, and I was more than taken aback.

He nodded at my words. "It can seem at first glance, but if you think of it it's just factual. It's just part of the circle of life, in the moment we come alive death will linger in our future until it'll come out of the shadows and sweep everything we worked for away, and us with it" he shared, and I couldn't help but agree with him, despite how cynic it sounded. "Do not fear what is inevitable, you can do much better things with your time."

I looked at Harry, he was looking at the painting attentively as the man spoke, finally seeming to have found something interesting enough to focus on. I wondered what was his take on what had just been said.

"The skeleton" Mr Atkinson said all of sudden, catching my attention for yet another time, pointing at the figure dominating the canvas. "It was used to scare people, you know, in the past. Which is kind of odd if you think of it, as it truly is an inevitable part of life. But after all, nothing scares us more than the unknown."

He walked on as soon as he was done talking, and we followed him. I wasn't quite sure why he'd decided to become our guide for the visit - especially because he'd been already kind enough to open his house for us, which I was quite sure didn't happen often, but I surely wouldn't have complained, as it made everything a little more interesting, and he was answering questions I wasn't even sure I would've thought of on my own.

He stopped a few seconds after in front of another painting, that gave me a slightly familiar feeling. "On a happier note, here is one of the versions of The Kiss by Klimt. That man did more versions of his paintings than I do of my business emails" he joked, and I let out a little laugh, observing the painting more carefully. With the new piece of information, it was easy to see the similarities, and I wondered why I hadn't caught on earlier.

I glanced at Harry, discovering that he was already looking at me, and I mouthed a faint thank you to him, wanting him to know that I was happy that he'd taken me with him.

"I'm not entirely sure of how it ended up in my collection, however" the man said, carefully observing it. "I suppose I could search the registers and find out, but I've always been scared of it turning to be a copy of one of the originals, and I'd like to keep thinking Klimt painted this one" he continued, chuckling. "It certainly isn't as fascinating as the one in gold, but it still has a dignity to it, doesn't it?"

I nodded, and we walked on again. I furrowed my eyebrows as we moved to the next one, realising that Harry not only had been completely quiet for the whole time we'd been there, but that he also hadn't seemed to pay attention unless in some rare occasions. I frowned, not understanding why he was so detached. Why had he driven for over three hours to get there, just not to seem interested at all for the whole time?

I suddenly glanced up from the floor when we stopped again, my musings quickly dissipating from my mind as I took in the new canvas we were standing in front of. It was dark, and it represented a man, seeming to be tortured by something, scrambling to write down on a piece of paper, the bottle of ink fallen on the ground, staining what seemed to be a wealthy floor.

"This one too, is an unknown" Mr Atkinson said, quietly observing it with a somewhat drawn look in his eyes that I couldn't quite recognise. "It's sort of a memento mori as well, just a different take on it. It doesn't matter who we are or how wealthy we are, we're all the same in front of Death. In the end, what truly matters is what we've left behind."

I nodded, carefully looking at it, easily seeing how that interpretation had taken place. It felt slightly anxious, nervous, like a rush against time, the last scramble of a man to become someone for who will come next.

Mr Atkinson turned to look at us, and in that moment I found myself fearing that he would've addressed me directly. "Some don't want to be forgotten, others are just content with making the most of it while they're walking this ground. Which one are you?" He asked looking at me, seeming to have caught onto the fact that Harry wasn't paying attention, but not seeming to mind it.

I just stared at him in silence, not knowing the answer to his question, as I'd never thought about it. For the first time, I wondered if I did art because I liked it, or because I too was trying to leave a trace of my passage in the world.

The man shrugged. "That's a complicated question, I don't expect you to answer it now. It'll come to you eventually, maybe while you look at the sky in the middle of the night or when you're sipping a glass of wine. You'll think of the question that crazy man asked you years before, and maybe I won't be forgotten as well." He checked his watch. "Well, I'll leave you to it now, I've annoyed you enough." He started to walk away, but then he stopped, and looked back at us. "The paintings of minor and undiscovered artists are at the end of the corridor" he said before turning around and walking away, and all of sudden I started to have a presentiment of what had brought us there.

We spent the next hour or so walking around, taking our time in front of each painting, Harry's adamance in looking at every single one of them surprising me, considering that he'd seemed completely uninterested earlier. But in a way, his reluctance to reach the end of the corridor quickly did nothing but prove what I'd supposed was going on, so I stayed quiet next to him, following him from canvas to canvas and letting him decide when he was done looking at each one, understanding that maybe a little time was just what he needed.

We stood in front of one representing a man with a cat on top of his head, and I wondered what had possessed the painter to draw something like that, and the owner of the collection to buy it, too. "That reminds me of something" I commented, letting out a little chuckle as I peered at the tag, the name not ringing any bell in my mind. I glanced at Harry again, and I discovered that he was slightly smiling as well, the irony of the painting not missing him as well.

"The cat seems to be doing extremely well on this painting" he commented, his eyes drawn to the red ball of fluff, and I wondered if he was as confused about the actual meaning of it as I was.

I shrugged at his words, pushing the thought away. "We all have our cats Harry, some are just wilder than others."

He let out a little laugh at my words. "Most certainly" he deadpanned, and I was glad I'd managed to release some of the tension in the air.

We kept walking for a while longer, stopping and making a few comments on each painting, and I found myself enjoying my time there even more. It was fun to be so far away from home with Harry, it felt like a little adventure, but a more intimate one, one only we knew about. Harry too seemed to be more relaxed away from the problems he'd left in the house that was miles away, and I realised that I did, actually, enjoy his presence kind of a lot. He was entertaining, but a different kind of entertaining than what he'd been when we'd first come together. He was genuine, and even though he let himself be so rarely, I liked it a lot. More than that, I liked him a lot. It was so easy to fall for him in the moments in which he seemed so free-spirited, I wondered if he was aware of that.

We stopped in front of a painting, that reminded me of Monet almost instantly. I stepped closer, looking at the tag and frowning when I didn't recognise the name of the artist. Despite it not being what I thought it was, I still found myself drawn to it, finding the shades that had been used extremely interesting.

After about a minute I detached my gaze from the beautiful swirls of colour in front of me and turned my head, discovering that Harry had moved ahead while I was distracted, and was standing in front of a painting towards the end of the row. I reached him, momentarily ignoring all the artworks standing between me and him, curious to see what had got him so focused.

He didn't look at me when I stopped next to him, much to my surprise, but his eyes stayed focused on what was in front of him, his attention completely drawn to it.

I looked at it as well, interested in discovering what had got him so entranced, discovering that it was a watercolour painting. The shades of it were light, but still managed to dominate the canvas somehow with their changes in hue, that were slight enough to make them almost unnoticeable unless someone looked at where they'd started, and where they'd ended. It represented the ocean, in wild waves dominated by the wind with a bright sky on top in which the warm golden tints of the sunset had just started to appear. It wasn't in a style I could recognise, but it was mesmerising all the same, and I found myself staring at it, trying to figure out what was it that made it so captivating.

"An incredible painting by an incredible woman" a voice said behind us all of sudden, and I turned around quickly, meeting the light blue eyes of the man that had welcomed us into his home. He scratched the side of his chin, that was covered by the about one inch long white beard, glancing at Harry, that still hasn't turned around, with a courteous look in his eyes. "If you look at it under the light" he added all of sudden, taking a step closer to it and taking a little keychain flashlight out of the pocket of his grey slacks, "you can see there's a slight shimmer to it. I've always found it an extremely fascinating detail."

I stepped closer to the painting as as he turned on the light and pointed it at the canvas, moving it around and allowing me to see the sparkling undertone that was, indeed, there. I glanced up at Harry. He was still looking at it, an enigmatic look on his face as his eyes seemed to go over the painting inch after inch.

"It's achieved by covering the canvas with a slightly shimmering powder before starting. The watercolour is very lightly toned, so it allows it to shine through" he said after having given us a few seconds to observe what he was talking about. "But I bet you already knew that, Harry."

Harry finally teared his eyes away from the painting and sent the man a quick glance. "She never told anyone that" he said quietly, turning his head again and letting his attention get caught by the watercolour again.

Mr Atkinson shrugged. "She told me" he said, and Harry gave him a little nod, still transfixed by the artwork in front of him.

"I remember when she painted this" Harry said, a frown on his face as he still looked at it, seeming to be unable - or just not to want - to look anywhere else. "It was a few years.. before. We went to the seaside and she took this picture of the ocean." He furrowed his eyebrows, a flash of confusion rushing through his eyes. "I don't think she ever painted it, she... she always did that. She took so many pictures but then she would always draw by memory" he continued, a little smile curving his lips as he thought of something. "I spilled water on the floor. It was the water she dipped her paintbrush in, so it was coloured. She got pissed and rushed to clean it, because the floor of her studio was of a clear wood. She kicked me out of the room" he said the little smile not leaving his face as he spoke. It was odd to think that some things that might've caused someone to be upset in the past will seem so trivial after a while has gone by. The smile disappeared from his lips as quick as it had come. "I never saw it finished" he said abruptly, the last syllable dictating a silence over us quickly.

"It's a beautiful painting" I said gently after having observed it for a while longer, not knowing what else I could've told him that would've seemed fitting. I glanced at the canvas again, amazed by it. Looking at it, it was clear where he'd got his attention to colour from - and it was also clear that the only two times he'd painted for me he hadn't used his own style, as I'd thought, but hers. The colours were soft and the line of the brush even, careful and attentive, but at the same time kind of free spirited. It reminded me of Harry's stormy ocean, even though it was obvious that the piece in front of me came from a much more seasoned artist.

"It is, indeed, a beautiful piece" Mr Atkinson said all of sudden after having kept his silence while Harry spoke, and I almost jumped, not having expected him to still be behind us. "I offered to pay for it, but your mother never let me. It was a gift, she said" he told Harry, the new piece of information finally managing to catch his attention and make him detach his gaze from the canvas. "Your mother was an amazing artist, we all miss her greatly" he added gently, his tone soft as he told him, as if he wasn't sure if telling him such a thing would've been a good idea or not.

Harry nodded, finally turning around, his back to the drawing, as if he couldn't find it in himself to look at it anymore. "Thank you for letting us take a look around" he said quietly, his voice low, starting to look way less relaxed than what he'd seemed when we had walked in.

"Oh, it's been a pleasure. I figured this day would come" the man replied, shaking his hand, and then shaking mine.

We thanked him again and then we walked out of the house, silence lingering over us like a cloud as we made our way out of the main gate.

We entered the car and Harry still hadn't said anything, and I didn't dare to say a word as well, supposing that maybe he needed some time to think about it all. He turned the key in the ignition, but then turned the engine off again quickly, leaning back against the car seat, staring at the bare street in front of us.

I glanced at him carefully for some seconds, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. "Thank you for taking me here" I said gently in the end, and my words finally managed to get a reaction out of him.

He stayed still for an instant, and then he straightened his back and got a hold of the key. "Let's get something to eat before we head back" he said, turning on the car again.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. x

Miki

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