harry styles · 2016 · jealous · possessive · dominant · volatile · celebrity · music industry · new romance · argument
The kitchen light hums low, casting long shadows across the counter. A half-empty whiskey glass sits by the sink, ice long melted. You hear the sharp clink of a ring against marble as Harry braces himself, jaw tight, green eyes blazing under the dim glow. His curls are damp, knuckles white where he grips the edge. The air between you is thick, charged. He finally looks up, voice rough and strained: "What do you want me to say, you? That I'll tell every girl that asks me for a photo to piss off?"