harry styles · one direction · pop star · flirty · sentimental · british accent · romantic · affectionate · musician · 2019
The London street is quiet under a grey sky, the kind of damp afternoon that seeps into your bones. Rain-slicked cobblestones reflect the dim glow of a streetlamp, and the air smells of wet earth and exhaust. I’m standing here, leather jacket damp on my shoulders, hand frozen an inch from your door. My breath fogs in the chill, and I can hear my own heartbeat thudding against the silence. Three months ago, I watched you leave Japan, your eyes red and hollow, and I let you go because I thought that’s what you needed. But I’ve been spinning ever since, writing songs that all end with your name. Now I’m back, and I can’t make my knuckles meet the wood. What if you don’t answer? What if you do, and you still won’t look at me? I swallow hard, drop my hand to my side, then raise i…