A/N: The picture above is Harry's outfit, and the song mentioned in this chapter is Fleetwood Mac's 'Over my head'!
When I awake, my body is aching and it's not in a pleasant, 'morning afterglow' way either. There's a kink in my neck that throbs stronger with each slightest move I make—the result of the messy position I had fallen asleep in. The only thing giving me some form of comfort is the blanket strewn haphazardly across my frame... Looks like Harry had covered me up before leaving last night.
I stretch my arms groggily as I realise that there's no sign of said man anywhere in the room. The morning light is only beginning to seep in through the curtains, which means I'd slept for no longer than two hours at most. Harry must have left sometime during the night.
It's when I roll over to my side that I feel something cold bump against my nose. There's a pink carnation that looks like it's been freshly plucked from my garden, along with a note written on the back of my grocery receipt from last night.
My traitorous lips begin to quirk up before I swiftly turn to press my face into the pillow with a groan. I will not be smiling at his notes like a goofy fool. No.
The memory of his apology from last night comes rolling back like a wave, and once again, I find myself having to suppress a sigh. He wasn't even trying to, and he's already managed to worm his way into my brain. I have never been the kind of person to let someone affect me so easily, and yet, Harry had managed to do that even before actually meeting me.
I know now that the reason we had connected so easily from the start is that we are, in fact, very similar. Our backgrounds may be very different—Harry, as far as I know, had a relatively normal childhood—but we have dealt with a comparable amount of media attention in the past.
Last night, there had still been a part of me reluctant to admit how badly his mocking words that one night have affected me. For anyone else, a small harmless joke would probably seem like nothing, but to me, the way people view me means literally everything. It always did, and it always will.
But then Harry once again surprised me by bringing the matter up himself to apologize; something I'm sure I would have been afraid to do had the situation been reversed.
Now that I know that Harry understands why my reaction had been so extreme, it feels like a massive burden has been lifted off my chest. He gets me—probably even more than Asa who has so far been the only person I could discuss the topic of my fame with.
With my mind still spiralling over the events of last night, I vaguely register the sound of the buzzer echoing around the room. When it becomes obvious that whoever's on the other side of the door is not leaving, I trudge slowly to the door to look at the intercom camera feed only to see a black Range Rover in my driveway, a familiar tattooed arm waving at me.
What the heck? Wasn't he just here?
I buzz him in before looking down at my clothes with a frown… Yes, the same ones I had worn last night. There's no time to remedy the situation though since the car is already pulling up at my door; all I can do is open it and wait at the threshold.
"Hi!" Harry says merrily as he walks up to me. He's wearing a bright orange t-shirt today, with a pair of black joggers coupled with the most dazzling grin I have seen on him so far.
"Why are you so happy?" I mumble grumpily. "I literally just woke up… I'm dying here. We slept like two hours."
He throws his head back with a laugh, bumping a fist into my shoulder. "Cheer up, it's our official one-daysary."
"What?" I rub my eyes as he slips past me and into the house.
"Our first full day of officially knowing each other! Obviously, we've got to hang out to celebrate."
"Obviously," I mock with a smirk, "or maybe you just needed an excuse to show up here."
"Don't call me out like that... At least I've got the coffee I'd promised," he holds out a bag bearing a logo of my favourite cafe, "and the donuts."
I peek into the bag, my stomach already reacting to the delicious aroma seeping out. "Okay, fine, since you got the berry one… But you need to give me a heads up before coming over next time. If you ever got spotted outside my house, I'd never hear the end of it."
"Relax, I've been doing this for a long time. Took a car with tinted windows and circled around a couple of times to make sure it's safe."
My lips part to tell him that paps are sneaky bastards. That they have their ways of avoiding being spotted, and he should be way more careful the next time. But, my thoughts are cut short when he abruptly turns around and I end up nearly bumping into his chest. He then takes a couple of long strides towards me until my back hits the wall, and we're left in a very awkward position with him hovering over me.
"I also got this for you," he pulls out a single violet flower, leaning down to stare into my eyes intently. I match his gaze with my own, completely taken aback by his abrupt actions.
He's so... odd.
"Okaaay… Thanks," I breathe out, trying to slip underneath his arm that's braced against the wall next to my head, but he playfully moves it lower so that I remain caged in. With my irritation rising rapidly, I narrow my eyes at him. "Uh, what are you doing, H?"
"Checking," he murmurs, leaning closer to my face. "Still checking…" We both stare at each other for a couple more seconds, unblinking, until he mutters, "Nah."
I'm left completely befuddled as he pulls back and starts walking deeper into the house. Slamming the front door behind me, I jog to catch up to him.
"What the hell, H?" I laugh incredulously.
"I finally have the means to test your reaction," he explains. "Was just checking if I finally chose the right one."
Oh.
"Wait, you're still trying to guess my favourite flower?" I ask, glancing down at his gift in my hand. "Is this why you brought me one?"
I'd honestly believed that he had gotten tired of this game by now.
"I won't stop 'till I get it right," he plops down onto the sofa, arms spread wide apart. "Besides, it's our thing."
"You mean the flowers?" I ask with a quirk of an eyebrow.
"The flowers, the notes… Now that you can't ignore me anymore, our habits are back on." Judging by the look on his face, this clearly isn't up for a discussion. "I'm so bloody close too, I can feel it in my bones," he adds, crossing his ankles on my sunflower-printed carpet.
Yep. You really are, dummy.
"And if you want me to announce my presence next time, you might need to consider unblocking me," he adds cheekily.
"You could have dm'ed me on Twitter," I remind him with a playful roll of my eyes, although I'm already unlocking my phone and handing it to him, just so he can add his number into my contacts again.
"You're right," he grins as he types something on my phone. When I try to peek over his shoulder at whatever he's writing so passionately, he playfully holds it out of my reach. "Maybe I should have scrolled up to recap our discussion about your watermelons. Or should I say juicy apples… That's more accurate."
"Give it back, asshole!" I laugh as I lean over to snatch the phone from him. "And stop talking about my tits."
"Sure," his eyes move lower for a second before I playfully smack him across his head. "Kidding, kidding, not looking!" he holds my phone out with a laugh. "Some 'Emil' is blowing up your phone. Did you give the poor lad a taste of the infamous Cherry treatment? A striptease, perhaps? Or just your usual cold shoulder behaviour?"
"Give me that," I grumble, snatching my phone out of his grasp. True to his word, at least five texts are waiting in my inbox, all of them with similar content: Can we meet today? Why aren't you answering? Do you have someone, is that why you're not texting back?
I let my head fall against the cushions with a deep sigh. Hooking up with Emil had been a huge mistake, and now I'm left suffering the consequences of my actions. I should learn to control my emotions better, though admittedly, it has never been my strongest suit.
For the first time in a while, I feel kind of bad for Emil. Yes, he may have been a pretty lousy friend to me lately, but using him for sex and bolting immediately after isn't considered exactly nice either. No matter how you look at it, he was there for me after I moved to Malibu...and nothing will ever change that.
Suddenly remembering that I'm not alone in the room, I turn to look at Harry only to see him just as engaged with his own phone. Lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed in concentration, he's completely absorbed by texting someone.
"Sorry," he mutters, eyes snapping to mine. "What do you want to do today?"
"Well… We can continue our Game of Thrones binge?" I glance down at my clothes. "After I shower and change, that is."
"It's pretty nice out… Kind of a shame to let it go to waste," he suggests.
"Yeah, hate to be a bummer, but it's been really hard for me to go out recently," I admit, suddenly feeling a bit embarrassed since it's always me who ends up being the most problematic of the group. Even though the last year has been quieter for me, the fresh scandal has brought me straight into the spotlight again. And no one wants to hang around a girl who's constantly getting papped.
"More than usual?" Harry prompts.
"Yeah, because of the whole photo drama going on," I mutter, still unwilling to bring that up.
"You don't like them?" Harry asks, clueless. "The pictures?"
"I didn't want them to be posted…not to mention they've been altered," I sigh, tired of explaining the same thing to everyone. "I'm going to take a shower now. How about you figure out what we're doing in the meantime?"
He nods curtly, a frown embedded deeply onto his face. Most probably he's only just realising that he had also made fun of my so-called nudes; his face a literal picture of embarrassment and regret.
Well, good, because he should be feeling bad about it.
__________
Thirty minutes later, I am freshly showered with my hair wrapped in a towel and a fluffy white robe covering my still-damp skin. Exiting my bathroom, I am met with the sight of none other than Harry Styles laid on my bed, green eyes focused on his reflection in the ceiling mirror.
"I see we're getting comfy," I quip sarcastically, unwrapping my hair to run my fingers through the wet curls.
"I got bored so I gave myself a tour of the house. Loved the underground party room with the pole, by the way. Now I see where you got the stripping idea from." I don't have to turn around to know he's grinning.
"It is a very fun way to exercise," I tell him honestly. After my recent move to Malibu, I have been trying out all sorts of classes to occupy my time—be it yoga, zumba, pilates, tennis or even pole dancing. I wouldn't say I'm a professional by any means, but I can pull a couple of moves if I'm in the proper mood. "Close your eyes."
Not waiting for his response, I drop my robe to the floor and pull on a pair of red lace panties. There's a familiar tingling sensation in my spine, and I can feel that despite my warning, Harry could not resist sneaking a peek. Now, a different person would have gotten mad, furious even, that he's looking.
Not me, though.
Don't get me wrong—I'm not into voyeurism or anything, but I really fucking love the thrill of knowing someone is checking me out. Call me a narcissist if you want, but I love the attention—as long as it's not coming from paparazzi, but rather someone as hot as Harry Styles.
Wait… Maybe I am into voyeurism after all. Nevermind.
"I have a disco ball in my house," he coughs out just as I put on my bra, finally glancing at him in my closet mirror. He's looking at the ceiling again, although I do spot a previously absent tint of redness on his cheeks.
"That's pretty cool."
Fully dressed at last, I step in front of the bed and into his line of vision. He braces himself on his elbows as he stares at me, and I can tell that he's going to try to cover up his embarrassment with one of those idiotic jokes of his. Just please don't let it be a knock-knock one.
"What's with all the mirrors?" he asks at last, referring to both my ceiling and the entire left side wall. "You really can't resist admiring yourself every minute of the day, huh? Can't say that I blame you—"
I scoff, "Oh, please. You're such a narcissist. Don't act like you're not the same."
"Can't argue with you on that," he smirks, "though I must say the ceiling mirror is a first, even for me. Whatever do you need it for, Cherry?"
There's a momentary pause during which I silently debate whether to go with an avoidance tactic, or good old bluntness. In the end, I opt for the latter. I've always been the bold one in the room and no one—not even this annoyingly charming guy—can change my ways.
"You see, the thing is…" I finally answer with a coy smile. "I just really love watching myself in the act. Weird flex, I know."
"Fuck me," Harry mutters as I silently applaud myself for once again throwing him off his game.
"Yeah, yeah, you got it right. I love watching them fuck me," I add, pointing to the terrace behind my bedroom window. "Should we hang out in the backyard?"
I don't wait for his response, instead turning to walk out of the room. Harry's heavy footsteps echo behind me, but he's entirely quiet, so I'm guessing my sexual commentary has stunned him into complete silence for a few minutes, at least.
Once outside, we both take our seats on the loungers, basking in the hot Malibu sun.
"You have a beautiful garden," Harry comments, referring to the section of my backyard dedicated solely to growing various types of flowers.
"Yeah, I really do love my flowers. Don't judge me."
Intentionally, I omit the fact how I used to be indifferent about them until three years ago. This definitely is not a tale for a nice day such as this.
"Kind of figured it out, seeing as you've kept the ones I gave you."
Oh right, I forgot about the garland I had made from his gifts, hanging proudly above my bedroom windows. "Don't make a big deal out of it," I roll my eyes playfully.
"I'm not," he gives me a lopsided smile, clearly trying to compensate for his lack of confidence earlier. "Why would I make a big deal out of a girl keeping my flowers even after she'd ghosted me—"
"Are you ever going to let me live that down?"
"Never."
I shake my head with a laugh, watching as he jumps to his feet and walks up to the fence connecting mine and Georgie's properties.
"Look, this is me going mental the day after you blocked me." To demonstrate, he starts to pace along the length of the fence, gripping a fistful of his hair dramatically. "Cherry, is that you? Are you back?!" He puts his whole arm through the fence, pretending to cop a feel of an imaginary person on the other side. "Cherry, please, I am drowning in my sorrow!"
"Stop, you idiot. You're scaring the cats with all that yelling," I choke out through my laughter, cuddling Nicks who's indeed shivering in fright on my chest.
Again, Harry completely ignores me. "Cheeeerry, just give me a sign!" he drops to his knees, gripping the fence with both of his hands while lightly bumping his forehead against the steel poles. Before I have a chance to stop him, he throws his head back and starts to sing loudly.
"You can take me to paradise,
And then again you can be cold as ice…"
"Oh my god, it's your song, Nicks!" I pretend to gasp to the cat on my chest, and she purrs happily as I stroke behind her ear lightly.
"I'm over my head,
But it sure feels nice—"
I'm guessing this little performance would have carried on for quite a while if not for a very awkward cough sounding from somewhere behind us. Startled, I nearly throw Nicks to the ground in my haste to turn around.
"Uhm, excuse me…?"
It's a boy, no older than sixteen, with a mop of curly blond hair on his head. A shy, anxious smile adorns his face as he nervously steps from one foot to another. His entire posture conveys awkwardness, which instantly puts me at ease. Creepy stalker crisis averted.
When I try to catch his gaze, he quickly averts it to the pair of scruffy old Vans on his feet. "I'm sorry, um- My grandma sent me to look for her, well, c-cats."
"Oh." An easy smile slides onto my face as I point to Harry, now holding said furry menace in his tattooed arms.
"I've got her, buddy!" H says as he comes up to us, handing Nicks over to the boy, who instantly pales at the sight of the pop star in front of him.
"I had no idea that Georgie has a grandson," I say, though the poor soul has trouble holding my gaze for a single second, let alone actually engage in a conversation.
"I d-don't visit often," he mutters. His eyes flicker between myself and the man next to me, clearly unsure who to focus on first. I can't tell whether Georgie has shared the identity of her neighbour with him, but he sure as hell wasn't expecting to bump into Harry Styles here. "I'm Benny."
H remains completely unbothered by the little starstruck moment unfolding in front of him.
"Hi, I'm Harry," he introduces himself with an easy smile. When he gives the boy a small side hug, I have to hold back a laugh because Benny looks like he's about to pop an aneurysm.
"Hi, and you're A- A-" he stutters, but I cut him off with a chuckle.
"That's me! Oh my gosh, I hope Georgie hasn't spilled too much exposing shit about me." Benny rapidly shakes his head, catching my eyes for a moment before his cheeks flame red and he abruptly turns around. "Do you want to join us? We're just- Wait, I don't know what we're doing except for his horrible renditions of Fleetwood Mac," I point to the still-grinning Harry.
"Hey!" he protests. His fingers pinch the back of my thigh, causing me to squeal loudly as I send him a nasty look.
"Okay, fine, semi-decent," I appease him.
"You're free to join, Benny," H offers again, but the boy is already hastily inching back with a rapid shake of his head.
"No, I gotta-" his voice wavers when Nicks begins to struggle in his grasp. "Need to get her back. N-nice to meet you though."
A quiet chuckle falls from Harry's lips as we both witness the boy's hasty departure. "Someone's got a tiny crush," he comments as soon as Benny's out of our earshot.
"Oh please, don't be such a narcissist," I roll my eyes, plopping back down onto the lounger.
"No, I mean you. He's clearly obsessed; trust me I know it when I see it," Harry goads. "Poor lad couldn't keep still for a single second around you...understandably so. Now, back to the topic of mirrors—"
"A closed topic,"
"—I'm still very much intrigued. Care to tell me some more 'bout all the fun ways of using them?" he finishes with a coy grin, inching closer until I playfully push him away by pressing a hand flat against his cheek. He falls back against the lounger dramatically, as if I just pushed him with all my might.
"Ah, funny you mention details!" I chirp, picking up my phone to ostentatiously type 'Harry Styles' into the Google search box.
It's funny how H's expression goes from playful to alarmed in literally a second. "Wait, what are you up to, pretty?"
"Since you had no qualms seeking out my nudes online, it's only fair I do some research on you," I shrug innocently.
"But it was Mitch who showed them to me! I've never looked you up, swear to God."
However, it's too late. The site has already loaded, and the petty little girl in me is itching to have her payback.
"Well, well, well… Let's see. Harry Edward Styles, born 1 February 1994 is an English singer, songwriter and actor-" I read off his Wikipedia page. "Actor? What?"
"Stop reading that," he grumbles with a pout.
"You act?" I jump on the opportunity for some teasing.
He sighs, "No–"
"Why are you lying? I can see the filmography section," I click my tongue in disappointment, though it turns into a laugh when H tries to snatch my phone away. "This is us– wait, you were in Nolan's movie?"
"It doesn't matter."
Now I'm switching to Youtube, searching up 'Harry Styles Dunkirk'. "Let's see."
The first scene starts playing, which is basically nothing but a bunch of guys in the water, struggling to get out. I'm surprised to see that H is actually doing a pretty good job—both his facial expressions and movements are on point. It's hard to tell what I had been expecting, but definitely not...above average acting. Exceptional, even.
Damn, this was supposed to give me a reason to laugh at him...not make me admire him that much more.
"This is embarrassing, stop," Harry whines when I remain quiet, watching the video intently.
I turn to look at him with a cocked eyebrow, "What is?"
"You," he clarifies, drawing a nervous hand down his face. "Watching this."
"But you're pretty good," I tell him honestly.
"You're a professional Oscar-nominated actress, and me… Well, I had no clue what I was doing."
Plastering a smile onto my face—one that doesn't quite reach my eyes—I shrug my shoulders. "Child-acting is different; it's mostly about the guidance of countless people around you. Acting coach, speech therapist...you name it. If anything, I was the one who had no clue what was happening at the time. I just did what they instructed me to do."
"They may have coached you, but you're the one who acted those scenes out in the end. Besides, you weren't an oblivious kid in your most recent movies," he insists. His eyebrows are drawn together, and he appears to be thinking something through. "Why are you trying to downplay your achievements?"
"Oh come on," I scoff with a roll of my eyes. "You don't have to pretend. I know everyone thinks I got the nomination because of my father."
"What? I didn't even know—" he starts, but I cut him off by cackling loudly. I have just scrolled down to the comments section, and let's just say that what I find there is very amusing.
"How can someone look so hot while just eating?!" I read out loud in a high-pitched tone.
Harry's cheeks grow red as he slaps a hand against his face in embarrassment. "Don't, Cherry… Stop reading this."
I pretend to fan myself as I let out a loud moan, "Harry, mmm, oh Harry, rail me!"
"I swear to God that I hate you right now," he groans, this time succeeding in removing the phone from my hand. Still wiggling seductively on my lounger, I make X-rated noises that even my own promiscuous mother would chastise me for. His face grows even redder, until he finally erupts, "Cherry, for fuck's sake!"
I laugh, finally calming down just enough to say, "I'll stop if you promise that you will never, ever google me again. Most of the stuff you can read online is complete bullshit, and to be frank, I don't want you seeing it."
"Agreed. But only if you promise the same," he bargains.
"You won't google me? No matter what?" I check. "Even if the temptation is real?"
He nods quickly. "I swear to never, ever, do it unless you're right here next to me."
"Okay, H. Just know that I take my promises very seriously," I deliver my last warning.
"As do I," he answers. "As do I..."
______________
Hiii guys, I am so excited to write Harry and Cherry interactions now that they're finally hanging out together... Do we sense some tension? Tell me your thoughts on this update, as well as the new character - Benny.
Here's a little hint about the next chapter too - someone is going to play a very familiar song on a piano!
And oh my God, Cherry's bedroom mirrors - why do I have a feeling they will be making an appearance later in the story?!
Cathy xx
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