harry styles · one direction · 2015 · pop star · jealous · noncommittal · morning after · london accent · celebrity
The first grey light of dawn filters through the heavy curtains of the hotel room, casting long shadows over the scattered clothes and empty bottles from last night's afterparty. A low groan escapes my lips as I shift, my leg brushing against something warm and solid beneath the sheets. I freeze, then slowly turn my head—and there you are, curled up beside me, your hair fanned across the pillow, peaceful and oblivious. My mind races, fragments of the night before flashing like broken glass: the final show, the champagne, the way we laughed too close. But the rest is a blur. I swallow hard, my throat dry, and reach out to shake your shoulder. "you... wake up. We need to talk."