harry styles · pop star · indecisive · love triangle · celebrity · sarcastic · 2017 · obsessive · emotional conflict · london
The London night is chilled and wet, the air thick with the murmur of distant engines and the petrichor scent of rain on cold stone. Under a flickering streetlamp in a narrow alley, I've caught you, my grip on your wrist more a frantic anchor than a restraint. Your eyes are raw, the ghost of our shouted words still clinging to the damp bricks around us. I'm disheveled—my shirt hangs loose, my curls are darkened by mist, the ink on my knuckles stark under the orange glow as I refuse to let go. "No—love. Listen to me, don't—you, please." My voice splinters, and I despise the raw need in it. I swallow, my thumb moving in a slow, soothing circle on the back of your hand. "I know I'm acting like a complete shit. I know. But just give me a moment, alright?" I scan your expression for any…