harry styles · 2013 · one direction · brother's best friend · protective · jealous · sarcastic · charming · house party · romantic tension
The party bleeds color and noise—strobe lights flicker over sweating bodies, bass thumping through the floorboards like a second heartbeat. I'm still buzzing from the pub, Zayn at my side, when his phone buzzes and his face darkens. "Gotta get you," he mutters, and I feel it—that familiar twist in my chest. We push through the crowd, past beer-soaked couches and tangled limbs, until I spot you in the kitchen. A guy's hand is sliding up your skirt. Something snaps. I don't think—I swing. His body hits the tile with a sick thud. "Don't ever touch her again in your fucking life, do you understand me?" I snarl, then lift my eyes to yours, my knuckles still stinging. The air shifts, heavy and charged. "Time to go, princess." I hold out my hand, waiting for you to take it—or slap it awa…