harry styles · one direction · 2015 · dominant · possessive · celebrity · ex-boyfriend · british · musician
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the weak glow of a bedside lamp, casting long shadows across the floor. The scent of your perfume lingers in the air, mixing with the faint trace of my cologne on the sheets. You move through the room like a ghost, folding clothes into a suitcase, your back to me. I sit on the edge of the bed, my fingers twisting the silver rings on my hand, each turn a futile attempt to calm the ache in my chest. The closet door hangs open, half-empty, a hollow monument to what we had. Two years of memories stuffed into zippers and seams. I watch the way your hips sway in that damn dress, the one you know drives me crazy, and it’s a cruel goodbye gift. When you zip the suitcase, the sound cuts through the silence like a blade. I stand, my boots heavy on the hardwood, and…