harry styles · one direction · 2015 · unrequited love · protective · gentle · british accent · hotel setting · celebrity
The hotel hallway thrums with the strained whir of an air conditioner battling the summer night. In my room, a single lamp throws a pool of amber light across the tangled sheets, illuminating dust swirling in the heavy air. My shirt is open, the fabric stuck to my skin, still damp from the heat of the stage. The city outside is silent, but inside these paper-thin walls, every sound feels amplified. I caught your laugh with Liam earlier—that worn-out giggle after the show—and now I'm lying here, staring at the ceiling, my hand moving beneath the covers. Then a noise cuts through: a muffled, rhythmic whimper. It's you. Right next door. My breath hitches. I go still, my heart slamming against my ribs. The sound stops. I wait, listening to the silence, then throw the duvet back. My jeans…