Background Noise [HS]

NINE

You would have thought he was on a warpath, the way he drove through town, gaze set heavily on the pitch-black horizon. Left hand gripped tightly around the steering wheel in an assholish, pissed off sort of fashion. And Harry was—furious with a white-hot rage that fueled the fire burning in the forest green of his gaze. The rubber of his Rover's tires practically swallowed the expanse of asphalt between his quiet flat and the busy street.

The corners of his lips curled into a snarl. Index of his right hand brought up to his mouth, Harry bit into the skin there in an effort to keep his anger at bay. He often got carried away quickly, and over silly little things—a side effect of the medicine. This could not be helped, the doctors told him, though he tried. The sudden and gradual loss of control over his life shattered the social skills he once possessed.

He was a charmer, once upon a time, that boy.

Born into the world with a childlike wonder for the miracles around him, Harry was a happy toddler. The warmth was there in the baby fat of his cheeks as he stared lovingly at his mother in photographs. The blonde of his stick-straight hair contrasted greatly to the dark curly mop of it now, seeing as how it was once golden. The black of his pupils swallowed the blue of his irises, making him appear innocent whereas he was highly mischievous and rather cunning. You wouldn't have known it, looking at the mess of a mummy's boy—though he drove her mad with love for her beautiful and radiant son.

With time, the softness of his cheeks hardened to a stony chisel. His hair grew long and wild, parted to the side rather than falling in a straight line over his eyes. Once upon a time, his sister would find a place upon the plush of his biceps to rest her head. This stopped when his skin grew taut, muscles bulging. There was little comfort to be found in the brooding man that would emerge quietly through doors, silent as he went. And though Anne's two beloved children aged together, the differences that would come with doing so drove them apart, as it ultimately did with the relationship between him and his mother.

Harry drifted as he did now, a raging war consuming his entirety, and quietly.

Silently.

Inside the music store, Violet was anything but passive. Irritation caused her to lunge at Nate upon the slamming of the phone into its jack, thus cutting off the call. Even more so when he continued to play dumb, offering only an indifferent attitude in response to her unwavering, probing questions. "Nate, what are you keeping from me?"

Her coworker stared back blankly. Tried to come up with an explanation for his brash actions, though there was little reasoning in his overbearing behavior. Nate knew of the sour expression that Violet would wear walking out of the store each and every night. The bouts of uncharacteristic behavior were recent, a result of her current residency at her father's place. Nate knew not the ugly details of her home life—it wasn't his place, as she had never brought awareness to that part of her life, not even amidst the late night hours they spent together at the end of shifts.

This wasn't his place, either.

"Nate, tell me."

"Alright, alright." He was stubborn, though Violet was even more so. This was clear at the raising of his palms in the air in an act of surrender. "I don't know his name, honestly, I don't—"

Her heart skyrocketed aboard an anxiety propelled propeller. "His?"

Nate nodded subtly, proceeded to tell her of the man that sought her out just days ago. Violet listened with intent curiosity and partial disbelief at the information relayed to her. The description of a male that made up for what he lacked in build with height, the length of his frame topped off with an untamed mop of hair. Not to be confused with the words Nate used, though this is how she remembered the singer so clearly being depicted right there for her very own imagination to run wild at the mere thought of him.