camp cherry | hs

twelve

@ harry styles (specifically dunkirk era) please punch me thank you

warning: mention of abuse

✩︎

HANA

When I wake up, the sleeves of Harry's hoodie unrolled and covering my hands. Most people are still sleeping soundly, the odd early riser yawning or grabbing a cup of coffee from the table on the other side of the room. Harry is nowhere to be found, his stuff still next to me as it was last night. Maybe he went back to his cabin a little while ago.

I tiptoe through the sleeping bodies, sneaking outside and rushing towards Harry's cabin, hoping he's in there. I can hear clinking in the bathroom, signalling that he is here, probably brushing his teeth, "Harry?" Something metal clatters to the floor, the sound resounding through the room before coming to a stop.

"Hana?" he questions, his tone off.

"Yeah," I knock gently on the door, pressing down on the handle and opening it slowly, only reaching about an inch before an obstruction stops the movement - Harry's body I presume, by the way it shuts a second later.

"Could you, um, give me two minutes?" his voice is shaky, his mind unsure of what to say maybe, or he's nervous.

"Are you alright?" I ask, beginning to worry.

"I'm fine, just sit down, I'll only be a moment."

I do as he says, flopping down on his comfortable bed and listening to small noises of Harry moving around. A few minutes later the door finally opens, Harry soon appearing with large sunglasses and a cap restraining his unruly curls.

"What's with the glasses and hat? It's not sunny, Harry," I gesture out of the window where a grey, stormy sky and small spots of rain spattering across the glass are visible.

"Wanted to. You know, fashion," he replies, not convincing me at all.

"Right. Could you take them off for a second?" I tease, raising an eyebrow in an attempt to cover the concern in my voice.

"If I wear sunglasses or a hat, I like to commit, which means wearing them all day."

"Harry, take them off, please?" my tone becomes more serious, his eyes widening.

"I don't want to," he defies, taking a few steps back when I reach up to remove them.

"Why not?"

"I told you, I like to co—"

"Harry," I interrupt harshly, closing the gap between us and smiling softly when he lets me bring my hands to his face, fingertips tracing his jaw, moving round to his chin, trailing up his cheeks and copying the sharp line of his cheekbones, holding the sides of the glasses but making no action to remove them. "Can I?" I ask softly, my voice faint and gentle.

He exhales a sigh through his nose, whispering, "please don't."

He sounds so broken and hurt, his voice unstable and his hands shaking on my waist.

"I need to know if you're okay, baby," I murmur, inhaling deeply in anticipation, although no amount of oxygen in my lungs for what I see. Harry's left eye is swollen, almost to the point of being shut, only a small sliver of his eyes visible, usually bright and green, now dark and bloodshot, an awfully coloured bruise surrounding the area, angry purples and violent blues stretching across his cheekbone.