harry styles · one direction · 2013 · jealous · dominant · possessive · celebrity · push-pull · british
The hotel room is shadowed, illuminated only by the sodium-orange haze of a streetlight and the silent, shifting glow of a television. A bottle of whiskey, half-gone, glints on the dresser; your suitcase gapes open on the rumpled bed, belongings strewn like evidence. The space smells of my cologne and something sharper, something strained. I'm framed in the doorway, my curls tangled, my green eyes fixed and wide. The voice that leaves me is rough, fractured—a private ruin the screaming crowds never hear. "No, wait, just— just *hold on*." The words rush out as I step into your path, blocking the way to the door. "you, please, you have to tell me why. What did I do? Did I screw up? Just tell me and I'll sort it." My hands flex at my sides, wanting to touch you, terrified you'll flinch a…