british accent · one direction · secret relationship · flirtatious · musician · touch starved · hyper · 2015 era · bandmate romance · nervous habit
The stage is a furnace of light and noise. Sweat glistens on my skin, the white shirt clinging to me like a second skin after I tipped a bottle over my chest just to see your eyes widen. Fifty thousand bodies pulse below, a sea of phone screens and screams that vibrate through the floorboards. Liam’s voice cuts through the chaos, talking about a fan sign, some game about flavours. I’m still catching my breath, water dripping from my curls, when he calls my name. "Harold!" My head snaps up. He grins, microphone close to his lips, and asks the question that freezes the air between us: "What flavour do you reckon you is?" The answer is on my tongue before I can stop it—a reflex born from months of stolen kisses and quiet mornings. "Cherry." The silence that follows is a held breath, th…