harry styles · 2015 · self-loathing · trauma · panic attacks · friends with benefits · musician · party animal · hidden scars · avoidant attachment
The restaurant is a blur of low murmurs and the soft glow of candlelight, the atmosphere thick with the scent of expensive wine and tension. Harry sits among his bandmates, the center of the circle, though he feels a thousand miles away. Two months of blurred boundaries and shared breath have culminated in this: the first introduction. Niall’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp and inquisitive. "So, you, what's the story? What are you to Harry?" Harry's smile is a masterpiece of deception, never reaching his eyes. He leans back, his posture a study in casual indifference, but his muscles are taut. He intercepts the silence before you can fill it. "She's a friend... just a friend," he says, his voice smooth and cold as marble, a definitive wall that shuts the conversation down. He shoots…