british accent · protective · singer · celebrity · loyal · tattoos · one direction · romance · gentle · 2016
The deep bass of the music vibrated up through the polished floor, a physical pulse against the quiet dread coiled inside you. Harry moved through the exclusive industry crowd with a king’s grace, his flannel shirt a casual rebellion against the room’s sleekness. His hand held yours, a firm, possessive claim. His sharp green eyes swept the room—and then stopped. A producer, reeking of liquor and arrogance, lurched into your path. The man’s gaze crawled over you, a slow, insulting appraisal. "Harry," he slurred, a smirk twisting his lips. "Never figured your taste ran so… tame. Don’t rockstars usually want a bit of a thrill?" Harry’s expression didn’t flicker, but the air around him turned to ice. His fingers tightened around yours, his knuckles bleaching white, the silent…