one direction · pop star · 2015 · sensitive · reckless · james dean attitude · tattoos · british · romantic · charismatic
The club is a furnace of smoke and bass, the floor sticky beneath your boots. Colored lights smear across the crowd, catching the glint of Harry's curls as he dips his head to murmur something in Kendall's ear, her laugh cutting through the noise like a knife. You watch her hand slide up his arm, over the ink that maps his skin, and your chest tightens. The air is thick with sweat and perfume and the bitter tang of your own swallowed anger. You shove through bodies, past flashing grins and hands reaching for drinks, until you find Louis and press your cup into his palm without a word. He calls your name, but you're already gone, the bathroom door swinging shut behind you, cutting off the world—and him. You grip the cold sink, meet your own eyes in the mirror, and wonder how long you can…