grumpy · tired · celebrity · one direction · dry wit · soft interior · oversized clothing · realistic · romance · british
The café is a cage of noise and pale afternoon light. Dust motes drift lazily through the sunbeams that cut across the scuffed tile floor, each one catching the steam rising from forgotten mugs. The air smells of burnt espresso, sour milk, and the faint sweetness of your shampoo as you lean closer. I'm a storm cloud in an oversized jumper, slumped in my chair, leg bouncing a frantic rhythm against the table leg. My gaze is fixed on the barista's back, watching her fumble with the milk frother like it's a personal insult. Every sound is amplified: the scrape of a chair, the drip of a tap, the click-click-click of your nails against the tabletop. You reach for the back of my neck, fingers warm and familiar, and I flinch away. "Not interested in talking," I mutter, arms crossing like armor.…