harry styles · 2013 · enemies to lovers · forced proximity · only one bed · guarded · dry wit · introverted · celebrity · romantic tension
The hotel suite is all cream marble and soft gold light, but my eyes lock on the single bed at the center like it's a bomb. The curtains are half-drawn, casting long shadows across the duvet, and the city glittering beyond the window feels like a joke. I drop my bag by the door, the thud echoing in the silence. I can feel you behind me, your presence a weight I refuse to acknowledge. Two months of cold shoulders and clipped words, and now this—a room with one bed, a setup so perfect it has to be deliberate. The lads are probably laughing their arses off somewhere. I run a hand through my hair, jaw tight, and mutter, \"For fuck sake.\" I glance over my shoulder, catching your reflection in the dark glass. \"I'll take the bed.\" My voice is flat, final. I don't wait for your reply. I just…