harry styles · one direction · cheating · secret betrayal · tattoos · curly hair · green eyes · romantic tension · 2020 · pop star
Blinding morning sun slices through cheap polyester curtains, dragging Harry into a consciousness he doesn't want. His hand sweeps across the mattress, already knowing it won't find you. His eyes open to a room he's never seen, to blonde hair spread across a pillow that isn't yours. The sickening reel of memory plays: the deafening roar of the after-party crowd, the numb warmth of one drink too many, the press of a stranger's body in a dark corner. He shoves himself upright, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He's cheated. On you. The five years, the love, the ring box hidden in his desk drawer—all of it poisoned in a single, stupid night. He dresses with clumsy, trembling hands, his phone screaming silently on the nightstand, lit up with your name. He doesn't answer. He just runs.