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burningred1989 · 2 days ago

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CHERRY FLAVOURED

A/N: Hiii!!! Haven’t posted in a long while, hope you enjoy reading this one.

Based on the song “Cherry Flavoured” by The Neighbourhood

MASTERLIST

<<<<<

The night was heavy with silence, the kind that felt both suffocating and freeing. Harry found himself wandering aimlessly, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat, his head bowed against the cool breeze. He didn’t know what he was looking for—solace, maybe, or just a break from the weight pressing down on his chest.

Eventually, his feet led him to an old, abandoned bridge on the outskirts of town. The wooden planks creaked beneath his boots as he walked, the faint smell of rust and damp wood filling the air. A set of train tracks ran below, but they hadn’t been used in years. The bridge had become a relic, a quiet place for people to escape to when they didn’t want to be found.

Harry took a seat on the edge of the bridge, his legs dangling over the side. The night stretched out before him, the stars scattered across the sky like tiny pinpricks of light. The breeze was cool against his face, carrying with it the faint scent of pine and earth. For the first time in days, he felt like he could breathe.

As he stared out into the darkness, he noticed a faint glow out of the corner of his eye. Smoke curled lazily into the air, illuminated by the moonlight. Turning his head, he saw her—a blonde girl with a layered wolf cut and bangs, her lips painted a striking red, eyeliner framing her eyes like art. She was leaning against the railing a few feet away, a cigarette perched between her fingers. She wore a faded band tee under a leather jacket, paired with baggy jeans that hung loosely around her frame.

“Oh, sorry,” Harry said, his voice soft, almost apologetic. “I didn’t realize someone was here.”

The girl didn’t respond. She didn’t even look at him. Instead, she took a slow drag from her cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a steady stream. Without a word, she slid her box of cigarettes and lighter across the wooden planks, stopping just in front of him.

Harry hesitated for a moment, surprised by the silent gesture. Then he smiled—a small, genuine smile that he hadn’t felt in a while—and took one. He lit it, the flicker of the flame briefly illuminating his face.

In return, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of cherry-flavored suckers. He slid them across the space between them, mirroring her silent offer.

The girl glanced down at the pack, and for the first time, a faint smile tugged at her lips. She picked one out, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth, the red of the candy matching her lipstick.

Harry swore he felt butterflies in his stomach.

They sat there in silence, the occasional flicker of their cigarettes and the soft crunch of the sucker the only sounds breaking the quiet. The stars above seemed to shine a little brighter, the breeze carrying an unspoken understanding between them.

For Harry, it was a rare moment of peace. He wasn’t Harry Styles, the pop star, the icon, the face on every magazine cover. He was just a man sitting on an old bridge, sharing a quiet moment with a stranger who didn’t seem to care who he was.

The girl leaned back against the railing, her gaze fixed on the sky. Harry followed her line of sight, his eyes tracing the constellations. The silence between them wasn’t awkward—it was comforting, like an unspoken agreement to just exist together in this moment.

After a while, Harry turned his head to look at her. She wasn’t looking at him, but there was a softness to her expression that made his chest ache. He didn’t know her name, her story, or why she was here, but he felt an odd sense of connection to her.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, holding up the cigarette.

She didn’t respond, but she tilted her head slightly, acknowledging him.

Harry smiled to himself and leaned back, letting his head rest against the railing. The night felt lighter now, the weight on his chest easing just a little. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.

<<<<<

The abandoned bridge became Harry’s sanctuary. Whenever the weight of his world became too much—whether it was the relentless pressure of fame, the hollow ache of loneliness, or the nights when sleep wouldn’t come—he found himself drawn to the quiet solace of the bridge. It was a place where the world seemed to stand still, where the stars shone a little brighter, and the breeze carried a strange kind of peace.

Each time he arrived, she was already there. The blonde girl with the wolf cut, red lips, and a leather jacket always seemed to appear like clockwork, as if she knew he’d be there. She sat on the same spot, leaning against the railing, her cigarette glowing faintly in the dark.

Harry never asked why she was there or what she was escaping from. He never needed to.

Without fail, when he sat down beside her, she’d slide her box of cigarettes and lighter across the wooden planks without a word. It had become their unspoken ritual. Harry would smile softly, take one, and light it, the flame briefly illuminating his face. In return, he’d pull out a cherry sucker from his pocket and slide it toward her.

She always accepted, unwrapping the candy and popping it into her mouth. The faint crunch of the sucker and the soft exhale of smoke were the only sounds between them.

They never spoke.

At first, Harry had found the silence strange. He wasn’t used to it. His life was a constant stream of noise—interviews, concerts, fans, cameras flashing. But with her, the silence felt like a gift. It wasn’t awkward or heavy; it was easy, natural, as if they’d known each other for years.

Sometimes, he’d steal a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. She’d always be staring off into the distance, her expression calm, her lips slightly parted as she exhaled smoke. He often wondered what her voice sounded like, what thoughts ran through her mind. But he never asked.

He appreciated her silence. It was what he needed most on those nights when his own thoughts were too loud.

One night, as they sat together, Harry leaned back against the railing, letting his head tilt up to the stars. “Funny, isn’t it?” he murmured, almost to himself. “How some places feel like home, even when they shouldn’t.”

She didn’t respond, but he saw her glance at him briefly, her lips curving into the faintest smile before she returned her gaze to the horizon.

Another night, the breeze was colder than usual, and Harry noticed her shiver slightly. Without a word, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She didn’t protest or thank him, but she pulled the coat tighter around herself, her cigarette dangling between her fingers.

Their moments together were like that—simple, unspoken, but deeply comforting.

Harry often found himself looking forward to seeing her, even though he never knew if she’d be there. Yet, she always was, sitting in her usual spot, as if waiting for him.

He wondered about her life. Did she have someone waiting for her at home? Did she feel as lost as he did? But he never asked. It wasn’t about knowing her story or sharing his own. It was about the quiet companionship they offered each other.

One night, as they sat in their usual silence, Harry caught himself smiling. He didn’t know her name, her voice, or her story, but in her presence, he felt a little less alone. And that was enough.

When the night grew too cold or the stars began to fade, Harry would stand, brush off his jeans, and give her a small nod. She’d return the gesture, the cherry sucker still in her mouth, and they’d part ways without a word.

The bridge became their meeting place, their quiet refuge from the world. And though they never spoke, Harry felt a strange connection to her—a bond formed in silence, under the stars, with nothing but cigarettes, cherry suckers, and the understanding that sometimes, words weren’t needed.

<<<<<

Harry arrived at the bridge that night, expecting to see her there as always, perched in her usual spot with a cigarette in hand. But for the first time since their silent meetings began, she wasn’t there.

He hesitated, looking around, as if she might appear from the shadows. But the bridge was empty, save for the distant hum of the city and the rustling of leaves in the cool night breeze. He sighed, his chest tightening with a disappointment he didn’t fully understand. He had come to rely on her presence more than he realized.

Sitting down on the wooden planks, Harry leaned back against the railing, his mind wandering. He absentmindedly pulled out a cherry sucker from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers. The stars seemed dimmer that night, the air heavier.

Minutes passed, and just as he began to accept that she wouldn’t show, he heard footsteps. He sat up straighter, his heart quickening, and turned toward the sound.

There she was, but something was different. Her usual confident stride was replaced with slow, dragging steps. Her face was illuminated by the faint moonlight, and Harry’s stomach sank when he saw her red, swollen eyes, the tear tracks glistening on her cheeks, and the cut on her bottom lip. She sniffed, her shoulders trembling as she walked closer.

Harry didn’t think. He stood and closed the distance between them in a few strides. Without a word, he pulled her into a hug.

She stiffened at first, clearly startled, but then her body gave way, and she collapsed into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. She sobbed, her cries muffled against his chest, her fingers clutching at the fabric of his coat as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

Harry didn’t say anything. He just held her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing gentle circles on her back. Her pain was palpable, and he felt it in his own chest, an ache that made his throat tighten.

“It’s okay,” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m here.”

They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, her sobs eventually quieting into soft sniffles. When she pulled away, she didn’t look at him, wiping her face with the sleeve of her jacket.

They sat down in their usual spot, the silence between them heavier than it had ever been. She slid her box of cigarettes in between them, her hands shaking slightly. Harry took one, and she lit it for him before lighting her own.

As they sat, the sound of her exhaling smoke broke the quiet. Then, to Harry’s surprise, she spoke.

“I came from an abusive household,” she began, her voice calm, almost detached, as if she were recounting a mundane story.

Harry turned to look at her, his cigarette forgotten between his fingers.

“My dad’s an alcoholic,” she continued, staring out at the stars. “When he gets drunk, he gets mad. And when he gets mad, he hits me. Sometimes my little brother. But mostly me.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, his chest tightening at her words.

“I’ve been taking care of my brother since I was sixteen,” she said, her voice steady, though her hands trembled as she brought the cigarette to her lips. “Working, making sure he has what he needs, trying to keep him in school. I can handle it, you know? I don’t care what my dad does to me, as long as he doesn’t touch my brother.”

Her eyes flicked to Harry for the first time, and he saw a mix of exhaustion and defiance in them.

“Whenever my dad comes home drunk, I leave,” she said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “I come here and stay until morning. It’s safer that way. For me and for my brother.”

She said it all so matter-of-factly, as if it were normal. Harry’s heart broke for her.

“That’s not fair,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

She shrugged, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “Life’s not fair.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t deserve that,” he said, his voice firm. “No one does.”

She didn’t respond, just stared at the stars. After a moment, she placed her head on his shoulder, her hair brushing against his cheek.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Harry smiled softly, resting his head against hers. “No,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, her tone curious.

“For being here,” he replied. “For letting me be here.”

They sat like that for a long time, the silence between them no longer heavy but comforting. The stars above seemed to shine a little brighter, and for the first time in a long while, Harry felt a sense of peace.

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