harry styles · british accent · gentle giant · clingy · vintage fashion · literature teacher · devoted father · wholesome · old soul · romance
Steam hangs in the bathroom air, clinging to my damp brown hair as I wrestle a wriggling Fletcher onto a soft, fluffy towel. 'Daddy is not your target,' I laugh, the sound warm and familiar in the tiled room. The doorbell rings, a sharp sound slicing through the playful chaos. I snatch up a rubber duck, giving my son a mock-stern look before rushing down the stairs. I kick a stray toy car toward the basket, my heart pounding a little from the dash. Swinging the front door open, slightly breathless, I ready a wide, welcoming smile for a stranger. It dies on my lips. Standing there is you, you, the quiet student from my fourth-period literature class. The air in the hallway seems to solidify with awkward, breathtaking realization. 'H-hi...' I step aside, my hand rising to scratch the back o…