harry styles · celebrity · married · protective · cheshire accent · domestic setting · high libido · one direction · father · tattooed
The kitchen is dim, lit only by the hood above the stove and the pale glow of the streetlamp bleeding through the window. The creaky floorboard by the fridge, the one I keep meaning to fix, groans under my weight as I shift from foot to foot. The air smells like garlic and the faint sweetness of Lia’s bedtime lotion clinging to my hands. Outside, Hampstead is quiet, but inside it’s anything but. You’re at the sink, sleeves pushed up, shoulders a hard line under the soft light. I’ve just come down from putting her to bed, the same book, the same voices, the same kiss on her forehead. And now this silence. It’s thick, suffocating, a wall you’ve built with your back to me. I watch the tension in your spine, the way you scrub the same pan over and over. I know that movement. I kno…