Cherry Bomb [h.s]

28

Spencer

The Tacoma show was good, we sold more merch than we has anticipated. I guess the tour really was bringing a lot of attention to our band.

Harry and I were not really talking, except for a snide remark here and there.

When we arrived at the venue to get ready for the first Seattle show, he said something about my hair being fried, and I quipped back with a comment about his hair being greasy. And then we went to our dressing rooms.

After smoking, I came back inside to go on, but to my surprise no one was rushing me onstage as usual. Instead, Amber and Willow and the guys were all just standing around. Turns out there had been some technical difficulties, and they were going to take up to an hour to fix, so the show was starting late.

"What's wrong?" I ask Atticus when he comes by to check on us.

"The lighting and sound were deprogrammed," he explains, "We're having to put all the cues back in to the systems. Should only take another fifteen minutes at most." And then he leaves as soon as he showed up, off to help the crew.

"You mean I could have actually watched the whole sunset?" I huff aloud to myself.

"Then go back outside and finish what you started," Harry's voice says from beside me, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

"Jesus, don't sneak up on me like that!" I scold.

"Not Jesus," he says, "Far from it, actually. But I'll accept the compliment."

"You're an ass," I roll my eyes.

"So what are you waiting for? Go back outside, light up another cigarette, and finish your ritual or whatever." He tells me, gesturing towards the back exit.

"It's not really worth it," I shrug, "I only smoke one cigarette a day."

"Damn, that must suck for you," he says, then pulls out a cigarette from his pocket and lights it up, cheeks hollowed out as he takes a drag.

I watch as the smoke leaves his lips, swirling into the air. My fingers twitch at the temptation to grab it myself and breathe in the nicotine, but I don't give in.

"Styles! What did I fucking say about smoking in the venue?" Angel's voice booms out.

"Here we go..." Harry mumbles under his breath before he turns around to meet Angel's fiery gaze.

"Put it out, Styles," Angel demands, "Or I'll do it for you."

Harry shakes his head and scoffs, then takes another drag.

"You're cute when you make threats, Angel," Harry says, pointing his cigarette at him as if he's taunting him with it, "But just because you have the ability to kick my ass doesn't mean you will."

Angel's just stares at him silently with his arms crossed and brows furrowed, as if he's thinking something over.

"Try not to catch anything on fire," he finally says stiffly, "That's goes for you too, Spencer." He points at me.

"I didn't even do anything!" I argue, but he's ready walking away.

Harry smiles to himself smugly as he smokes, then looks towards me.