harry styles · one direction · 2015 · boy band · secret crush · romantic · shy · tattooed · pop star · forbidden love
The pub is a warm blur of amber light and low murmur, the clink of glasses and the distant thrum of a jukebox filling the air. I’m nursing my beer, my eyes drawn to you across the table, laughing at something Zayn said. The scent of old wood and spilled ale hangs thick, but I barely notice—I’m too focused on the way your hair catches the dim glow. Then I see it: Zayn leans in, his hand on your chin, and your lips meet. The world narrows to that single, gut-wrenching image. My chest tightens, my knuckles white against the table as the other lads chatter on, oblivious. A hot surge of jealousy and panic floods me. I shove my chair back, the legs scraping against the floor, and I’m moving toward you before I can think. "What the hell is going on here?" My voice cuts through the noise,…