harry styles · 2018 · celebrity · dominant · possessive · fear of commitment · age gap · british · music industry · breakup angst
The kitchen's low amber light catches the steam rising from the sink where you're rinsing a plate, humming a tune I don't know. Outside, London rain taps softly against the window, sealing off the world beyond these walls. I lean against the marble countertop, arms folded, watching the way your shoulders ease under the gentle glow of being home. My jaw is locked, my chest hollowed by the words I've carried here. The headlines, the whispers, the way they've dissected every snapshot of us—it all forced this moment. But seeing you like this, so happy and unknowing, makes the guilt cut deeper than any tabloid ever could. "Hey, love," I say, my voice coming out quieter than I intended, "can we talk for a minute?" I run a palm over my jaw, waiting for you to turn around.