camp cherry two | hs

forty

um hello

this is the 100th chapter of the camp cherry series 🧍‍♂️

which is kinda crazy bc it means i've written at least 250,000+ words for these books

so i'm emotional i suppose

✩︎

HANA

The flight seems to last much shorter, I'm not sure why. Harry had claimed he'd felt sick around the six-hour mark - he had appeared rather pale - and he proceeded to spend the rest of the flight with his head on my shoulder, whining and complaining about how much his stomach hurt, or in the bathroom.

Nevertheless, he seems to have freshened up a little now we're currently making our way through security, thankfully not encountering any altercations or obstacles, and we can finally step back onto American ground. It's ten minutes past three in the morning, so it's obviously pitch black and I'm absolutely exhausted, as is Harry.

I spot Carl first, and I hope Harry'll be okay on the journey home; he appears fine when we reach Carl, but I can feel the way his fingers tighten around my hand instantly and his entire body tenses that he's struggling.

"Baby," I nudge him lightly, and his hardened features immediately soften as he glances at me, and his lips twitch into a smile eventually. "You're okay," I state, and he nods with a small smile, almost like he's trying to convince himself.

"Hi," he greets Carl quietly, silently placing our bags in the trunk of his car.

"Don't throw them, what the fuck are you trying to do?" Carl reprimands him seethingly, and Harry flinches as he nears him, repositioning the bags slightly and, to be honest, I really can't see a difference. Carl's expression is stormy as he climbs back into the driver's seat and slams the door, loudly enough the startle a passing woman. I really want to tell him to shut the fuck up - maybe do it for him with a punch.

Harry breathes out shakily, clearly trying his hardest to avoid a panic attack with five minutes of being back in America, "fucks sake."

"Harry, just hold my hand, ignore whatever fuck shit he says - he doesn't matter, right? It's just us, okay?" I calm him quietly, and he tenses as the car horn blares suddenly, that obviously being Carl's way of telling us to hurry the fuck up.

"Okay, just stay with me, I need you, Cherry," He doesn't sound like the confident, jokey Harry I left Italy with anymore; he sounds terrified.

"I'm right here, Harry," I whisper reassuringly, and he winces at the glare he receives through the rearview mirror as soon as we climb into the back of the car.

We remain in complete silence; no music, no how was your trip?, absolutely nothing, though I'm sure Harry prefers it that way. Just the rumbling of the engine breaks our uncomfortable quietness, and Harry's gripping my hand so hard I can barely feel it.

He drives for fifty minutes, multiple stormy glances sent directly Harry's way, all of which he cowers further into me at, and I'm struggling to control my fist as it'd really love to punch someone right now. Abruptly, Harry tugs away from me, placing his hand on the top of the passenger seat to stabilise himself as he speaks, "Could you, uh, drop us off here?" he asks timidly, his hands shaking slightly and I lower my eyebrows in confusion.

"Why?" Carl combats his request roughly, and Harry inhales calmly.

"Please? I'm sorry for making you come out so late and thank you for picking us up," he rambles, sitting back into his seat and grasping my hand again.