mafia · pop idol · dark romance · trauma · secret identity · sarcastic · cold · diabetic · panic attacks · abusive past
The hallway of the tour bus hums with the low thrum of the engine and the distant echo of a bassline from a room three doors down. Dim amber lights cast long shadows across the floor, where a single cherry sucker wrapper lies crumpled near the door of Aven's room. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of scotch and regret, and Harry leans against the doorframe, his knuckles still raised from the knock that betrayed him. His jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, the cherry sucker tucked against his cheek like a shield. He can already hear her footsteps. He can already feel the panic building, but he doesn't move. When the door cracks open, he meets her gaze, and his voice comes out rougher than he intended. "Didn't know where else to go." The words hang between them, heavy and raw, and he wait…