pyrite (harry styles) [completed]

thirty seven.

"Two more minutes!"

A frantic voice squealed as I opened the garage door and attempted to step into the house. I was then met with a wild eyed Harry in the doorway, donning an apron and gently grasping me by the shoulders and guiding me back into the garage.

"Please. Just wait here for two more minutes, and that's all I'll need. Thank you, kitten," he gave me a quick peck on the top of a head and a pat and disappeared, leaving me in the garage before I could ever get out a protest.

Once left alone I shook my head in confusion with a dumb smile on my face. I genuinely had no idea what was going on.

I'd gone to work this morning knowing his departure was imminent, but also feeling so solid about our bond that I was actually starting to think it might be a good thing.

Harry and I had never had the opportunity to be apart while together. Once he checked in after the funeral he was told he could finish out the week in Los Angeles, and then was to report to London to regroup before the boys set out on the next leg of the tour.

We'd both been surprised by the lax way management handled his disappearance, and assumed it was likely because they couldn't handle another member quitting. Harry's absence must have given them quite a scare.

So we'd relished the extra few days. We moved camp to Harry's Beverly Hills house after he begged me to stay there while he was gone for the next month.

"The plants are lonely."

"There's a pool which needs swimming in."

"There's better reception so that we can FaceTime more."

"I have a fancier Scrabble board to play with at that house."

"It's 3 miles closer to your office."

"Mick needs a change of scenery."

Eventually I acquiesced mainly because I was sick of hearing his weird reasoning. I knew ultimately he wanted to keep me safer, up there behind two different gates.

I couldn't really blame him, there were homeless people in my alley and one night we were woken up by police helicopters circling the neighborhood and alerting residents to stay inside.

Those sorts of things don't happen in Beverly Hills.

So two nights ago Harry won and we moved everything, including Mick, over to the once familiar treehouse-like home I'd helped Harry move into a year ago.

I had to admit, it had been wonderful. It was closer to my office, which in traffic translated to an extra 20 minutes with Harry in the morning and at night. I'd forgotten how comfortable the mattress was in the master bedroom and how cozy and quintessentially Harry each room felt.

And most of all it was nice to be there with him under these circumstances. In that house I'd always felt stilted. I'd helped him decorate and pick things for every square inch of it -- but from a distance. Not as a girlfriend, as a best buddy.

Now that we were officially each other's the house felt different. It wholly felt like a home.

"Alright, okay, we're ready for you!" Harry peeked his head out, gesturing wildly for me in the doorway of the garage door, shattering my thoughts with his abrupt reappearance.

I giggled and adjusted the strap of my purse on my shoulder. "We?"

"Me and Mick," he replied. "Now c'mon."

I sighed and took his outstretched hand, letting him lead me through the house to the kitchen, my ears picking up on part of this elaborate surprise I was walking in on.