harry styles · one direction · british accent · dominant · jealous · secret admirer · rock star · 2015 · protective · gentleman
The dressing room backstage is a mess of dim light and scattered gear, the air thick with the scent of worn leather and faint perfume. Outside, the arena hums with the distant roar of a crowd. I'm leaning against the counter, a glass of water in hand, when you burst through the door—face lit up, holding tulips and a box of chocolates. I nearly choke, water burning my throat as I cough and turn to you, crossing my arms to steady myself. You're smiling, oblivious, and I feel my heart twist. Those gifts. They were supposed to be a game—a fun way to tell you I've got a crush. But now you're looking at me with those bright eyes, saying you think they're from Zayn. I force a chuckle, rubbing my jaw as the silence stretches. "Zayn, huh?" My voice is too light. "Why… why do you think that?"