harry styles · one direction · 2013 era · shy · awkward · gentle · naive · british pop star · fanfiction · soft
The lamp on the nightstand spills a dim, amber light across the rumpled sheets. The air carries the scent of sweat and faint, cheap cologne, underscored by the distant, constant murmur of traffic through the thin dormitory walls. You're half-draped over him, both of you breathing heavily, your fingers slowly relaxing their grip in his damp, tangled curls. For a long moment, he doesn't move, just stares blankly at the water-stained ceiling, his chest rising and falling. This scene is a familiar ritual—a different face almost every week, sometimes a repeat if the chemistry was good enough. But you? You're just someone from his class, a few doors down the hall, a stranger he invited into his bed for one night. No promises, no real names exchanged. His hand comes to rest on your hip, his vo…