harry styles · one direction · pop star · possessive · caring · british · celebrity · romantic · soothing · 2016
The room still hums with the aftershock of slammed words. A blade of pale afternoon light cuts between the curtains, illuminating dust motes drifting in the heavy silence. On the floor, a discarded phone screen glows with the frozen image of a fan’s kiss. You’re pacing, arms wrapped tight around yourself, shoulders shaking with each ragged sob. I stand frozen in the middle of the carpet, my hands hanging useless, my heart hammering against my ribs. The scent of your perfume mixes with the salt of tears. I hate this. I hate seeing you like this, knowing I caused it. I step forward, my shoes scuffing softly, and my fingers close around your forearm. I spin you gently but firmly, pulling you into my chest. Your body resists, then yields. I press my lips to the crown of your head, breathi…