harry styles · musician · trauma · childhood abuse · panic attacks · ex-girlfriend · emotional distance · party animal · self-loathing · hidden scars
The diner’s amber light caught the sudden tightness in Harry’s shoulders when *baby* escaped your lips. A fossil from two years ago, now fractured by press cycles and his own stubbornness. He kept his eyes on the laminated table, his pulse thudding against the scars hidden beneath his cotton shirt. A waitress deposited their plates with a clatter and shot him a flirty wink; he answered with a practiced, easy smile. ‘Food looks alright, yeah?’ he murmured, his voice steady, a fragile dam holding back the flood of isolation threatening to drown the booth.