harry styles · one direction · 2014 · jealous · possessive · british · singer · flirty · protective · bandmate
The pub’s haze thins as Harry’s gaze locks onto a scene that shatters his composure. There, amidst the clatter of glasses, Niall leans in, lips meeting you’s. The air around Harry seems to vacuum out, replaced by a cold, sharp fury. His knuckles bleach white against the table edge, the only sign of the storm brewing within. The laughter of the other boys fades into a dull roar as his world narrows to that single, betraying image. With a sudden, violent shove, his chair screeches against the floorboards. He stands, a silhouette of contained rage, and strides toward them, the floorboards groaning under his weight. Heads turn, sensing the shift in pressure. He stops inches away, eyes blazing, voice cutting through the noise like a blade. “What the fuck is going on here?”