Chapter Text
Harry skimmed his long fingers over the railing, a soft sigh leaving his parted lips. His always messy and curly hair was held back with a bandana and he was wearing black jeans and a white t-shirt. His arms were covered in tattoos, there was barely an inch of skin that was not inked, but he liked it. The tattoos covered his scars and they told his story, so he was quite content with it. Below him the river was flowing by carelessly, the water dark and deep. He'd die if he jumped, he thought. It would be a nice way to go, he found himself thinking of suicide for the umpteenth time. It wasn't even like Harry was depressed, or like he had any sort of problem. Harry was just tired, just like every human being every once and a while.
Glancing at his wristwatch, Harry noticed his break was almost over and that he should head back to the flower shop where he worked. That was another surprising thing about Harry; he worked at a flower shop. He had always liked flowers, which had resulted into other guys bullying him. Not that Harry ever really cared, but he wouldn't lie and say it didn't effect him - it did. Harry straightened his posture, beginning to walk back to the flower shop that was really just around the corner. People around him were all happy and smiling where as Harry was, well, the complete opposite. His once so green and bright eyes now only held sadness and this dull look in them, all the happiness was gone. He hardly smiled, let alone laughed. There was just nothing to be happy about, he thought. Many people often thought Harry was depressed, but that wasn't the case. Harry was fine, at least he claimed to be. He was perfectly fine, well not as fine as everyone else, but he was not different. He was okay, he wasn't crazy or anything. He was completely fine, he'd never been better - as he liked to describe it himself. As he walked, people passed by smiling and laughing, walking hand in hand with each other. Harry sort of envied happy people, he wanted to be happy, but he couldn't. He'd lost the ability of feeling any sort of happiness. He was just, numb.
All of a sudden Harry felt himself bumping into someone smaller than him, causing him to snap out of his thoughts. He heard a small shriek and then a pained hiss from below him and as he lowered his gaze he saw, oh God, the most gorgeous man he'd ever seen. His light blue eyes stared at Harry and his mouth was twisted in a frown. He looked beyond annoyed. As the man stood up, he fixed his hair and then turned his attention back to Harry, who was just gaping at him.
"Mind to watch where you're going, dickhead", the guy spat angrily. Harry didn't even have the time to stutter out an apology, before the guy was already walking off. His blue eyes ghosting around in Harry's mind as he made his way into the flower shop. Harry somehow couldn't take his mind off the man, there was just something special about him. Whether it was his eyes or the way he did seem a little temperamental - he stayed on Harry's mind as if he were glued. And even though Harry knew he'd probably never see this man again, he still thought about him all day as he packed up flowers, occasionally forcing a small smile at the customers. He liked his job, he just didn't like how everyone expected him to smile, to be happy. Because that, Harry was not. He wasn't happy, hadn't been for a long time.
It was already late at night when Harry finally finished his shift at the flower shop, walking outside into the cool air. It was dark, the streets were practically empty apart from the few drunken people stumbling around in the streets and cars driving by. Harry felt so lonely, everyone else had someone to talk to, someone to hand out with - most people had a family who loved them. But that too wasn't the case for Harry. He ran his fingers through his hair to sort out his messy, slightly tangled curls as he made his way home, crossing the bridge he spent most of his breaks on. The only light provided was by the streetlamps, you couldn't even see the dark water below the bridge. Harry heaved a sigh as he pulled out a cigarette, taking it between his lips and lighting it up. He leaned against the railing, taking long drags from the cigarette. He didn't notice the footsteps trailing towards him, nor did he notice the person standing next to him before they spoke:
"Those are bad for you, y'know?" Harry was startled by the sudden voice from beside him, so startled that he almost dropped the cigarette. He turned to look at the person beside him, and was shocked to see the guy he'd bumped into earlier. Harry didn't speak to him, he merely shrugged, hoping it's be enough of an answer to the stranger's question. He studied the shorter man who stood next to him. He looked about 22 years old, Harry himself was 20. The guy beside him frowned a little, his beautiful blue eyes focusing on the cigarette as Harry brought it to his lips, taking a long drag.
"Seriously, you could get lung cancer if you smoke like that", the stranger spoke in a serious tone, his eyebrows furrowed, as he studied Harry. It took Harry a while to come up with any sort of answer. So long, that the stranger raised his eyebrow, as if he were growing impatient waiting for Harry's reply.
"I-I... I know that, but I don't really care", Harry stammered, hating how he sounded so damn insecure. But it his words were true, Harry did not care. It didn't matter to him if he got lung cancer and died of it, or if he jumped off this bridge right now. Nothing mattered to Harry, he'd much rather be dead anyways. He hated this world, the people in it. No one could be trusted, no one even cared for him which Harry thought was kind of sad. He didn't mind being alone but sometimes it would have been nice to just have someone to talk to. Someone who would listen to him and actually care, instead of pretending to do so. The man slowly nodded, looking a little astonished by Harry's reply. He didn't say a thing though, he stared at the city lights, seeming totally in his own thoughts. Harry took one last drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and stomping his boot on it, straightening his tall posture. He stared at the man for a while, not to be creepy, just to admire him. He was, after all, so perfect. Everything Harry eve wanted to me. He didn't want to be this giant with too long limbs and messy curls, he wanted to be small and perfect like this stranger. But Harry would never achieve that - he was just plain Harry, nothing special, nothing to like about him.
"H-Hey um, I'm sorry fr bumping into you earlier. Sorry. I gotta go, bye", Harry spoke hurriedly, stumbling on his own words before turning around and quickly walking off, ignoring the stranger calling for him, telling him to wait. Harry didn't wait though, he just shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked through the city until he got to his flat which he shared with his friend, Zayn.
He walked in, slipping his boots off and walking into the kitchen, where the light was still on. Zayn sat at the table, sipping on a cup of tea and drawing something, Harry sighed, walking into the kitchen and pouring himself a cup of tea too, grabbing a slice of bread as well, not that he was all that hungry anyways. And even if he were, he couldn't eat more than this. He'd get fatter if he did.
"Hey Haz", Zayn spoke and smiled at Harry, who walked to the table and took a seat right next to him. Harry and Zayn had been best friends ever since they were little kids and now Harry was working at a flower shop, and Zayn was an artist. It was odd how they'd managed to stay friends for so long, but they just were. Despite everything that had happened in their lives, their friendship never faltered. Harry rested his head on Zayn's shoulder tiredly, taking a long sip of his hot tea.
"How's your day been?" Harry mumbled tiredly, staring at the small drawing on Zayn's sketchbook. Zayn was, with no doubt very talented - everyone thought so.
"My day was... Well, boring really", Zayn said, chuckling a little and closing his sketchbook so Harry could no longer look at the beautiful drawing that he'd made. Harry nodded a little, taking another long sip of his tea, relaxing a little.
"You smell of cigarettes again, Haz. You need to quit smoking", Zayn spoke, a hint of worry in his tone. Harry just shrugged, not bothering to argue with Zayn. He knew he should stop, he just didn't want to. Cigarettes would provide him a quicker death and they relieved all his stress. So that way, everything was better. He was already stressed enough, he didn't need to have any more stress put on him. Zayn smoked himself too, anyways. But for some reason, he did not want Harry to smoke - whatever his reason was because he'd never told Harry about it. Harry got up, placing his cup in the sink, and turning around to face Zayn again.
"I'm gonna go to bed", he mumbled and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to sort it out at least the slightest bit. Zayn nodded, flashing him a small smile.
"Night, Haz", he spoke and went back to drawing, his eyebrows furrowing together as he focused. Harry nodded and made his way out of the kitchen, to his bedroom. He wouldn't really go to bed, Harry didn't sleep all that much anymore. He'd lost the ability to do that, too. Everything was just crumbling down on him and the way the mysterious stranger ghosted around in Harry's mind didn't make it any easier to fall asleep. Harry didn't even know his name, he only just now realized. But what did it matter, since he wouldn't be seeing this stranger ever again. Or so he thought, anyways. And yet, a small part in him hoped that he would see this beautiful stranger again.