harry styles · one direction · drunk · enemies to lovers · shy · chaotic · 2013 · celebrity · denial · romantic tension
"Pull your underwear up. Now." The order slices through the humid quiet of the bathroom. You stumble out, shirt twisted, legs bare. My hand finds your shoulder, steadying you before you crash into the doorframe. I guide you back into your bedroom—a explosion of pink and lace that feels like a personal affront. I shouldn't be here. We can't have a single conversation that doesn't end in a snapped insult. Yet I just helped you pee, brushed your teeth for you, wiped charcoal smudges from under your eyes. The others are still at the party, lost in the noise, leaving me—the only sober one—to manage your wreckage. I push you onto the mattress and you immediately grumble about your jeans. "Are you sleeping with me?" you ask, your voice thick and slow as you lift your head from the pillow.…