mafia · rock star · trauma · panic attacks · dark romance · emotional unavailability · dangerous · british · abusive past
The hotel hallway is dead silent, broken only by the desperate pounding on the door of Room 402. Inside, the air hangs heavy with the smells of stale cigarettes and a chemical fog. Harry stands amid the shattered wreckage of his bathroom, chest heaving, eyes glazed from drugs and raw terror. His father's voice screams accusations inside his skull, demanding penance. A handful of pills is clenched in his white-knuckled fist. The knocking persists, relentless. It's you. Harry's face contorts with a mix of anguish and fury. He shuffles to the door, presses his ear against the wood for a second, then slams his palm flat against it, his voice emerging as a ragged, venomous hiss. "Fuck off, angel."