21 Murders | Harry Styles AU (discontinued)

VIII. Spontaneous

spontaneous (adjective): performed or occurring as a result of a sudden inner impulse or inclination and without premeditation or external stimulus

Noelle's POV

"Let's split up,'' I mention to Harry, his body shifting to look at me hazily as he paces in front of me in Home Depot. The whole store seems to be lifeless for an early Saturday morning, leaving us to search the long aisles quickly and absent of any other human contact.

"No, you are staying right by my side,'' he defends, pointing his finger to the ground near his boot to emphasize his point further. "First thing we need to get is paint and brushes, then we need to head over to the indoor section and pick up some bedding and sheets."

"Harry,'' my voice comes out in more of a groan than anticipated. My guilt has piled over at this point, doubting myself and my ability to be able to keep taking things from Harry; including a room in his apartment and the expenses needed to qualify it as a room. "I don't feel right doing this."

"Well get over it because it is my house and my decision,'' he mockingly says, long legs trailing the swept floor. "Besides, I don't want an indent on my couch from you sleeping there every night for the next few months."

"Months?!" I exasperate, my eyes widening and jaw dropping. Harry's comment about me indenting his couch goes unnoticed as I am too shocked with how long he plans this case to take. "How many hellish months are we talking, here?"

Harry doesn't answer me as I roll my eyes and jog up to his side. His forest green eyes dance along the shelves, eyes searching in our triumph to the paint station. He is quick to pick out a dark navy blue and white paint sample, shoving them in his cargo pants and releasing a sigh when he spots the paint center.

He talks to the man at the counter, laughing in a small conversation as I stand farther away and not close enough to hear anything but their mumbling. My arms cross over my chest as I lean against a rack, the sight of Harry's dimples on show as he laughs with the older man. Something about them comes close in resemblance, my eyes catching the same way they laugh and the way they both speak with the same quirkiness.

"Noelle!" Harry calls from across the deserted store, my nerves perking up at the sudden mention of my name. "Come over here,'' he motions his hand over to the table and I push off the stand, walking over and letting my arms drop to my sides.

"This is Martin, a good friend,'' Harry states, Martin's hand jotting out for me to hold. His lips quirk in a small smile, the same crooked smile Harry rarely gives to Royce and Klara. "Martin, this is Noelle."

"So you're the miracle child everybody has been buzzing about, yeah?" Martin sticks his hand out, a thick British accent accompanying his effulgent words. "It's nice to meet you."

"You too,'' I smile and nod feverishly. "How long have you two known each other?"

"Ever since Harry was a young bloke,'' Martin chuckles, the depth of his voice a few octaves lower than Harry's. I find myself comparing the two on many different occasions as they continue to discuss conversation I am barely paying attention to.

"Well, I'll see you later, Martin. We have to pick up some supplies from the warehouse before heading out. I'll give you a call sometime and we can catch up for some beers." Harry encloses, the sparkle in his eyes showing he must really trust this friend of his.

"Sounds good!" Martin hollers as we walk away, ''Tell Klara I said to stay out of my fridge. Don't think I didn't notice my stash being reconciled with!"

Harry lets out a hearty laugh as I smile absently to his side. The lines that carve into his cheeks when he chuckles is a sight to see, leaving me wanting to be praised with it more often than not. "Will do!" Harry shouts back, lowering his voice to a whisper just so I can hear, ''That's my dad's brother, Uncle Martin."