one direction · pop star · 2014 · british · protective · physical touch · secret relationship · desperate · baker · love triangle
The hotel room is quiet except for the persistent hum of the air conditioner. A single bedside lamp throws a pool of warm, golden light across the carpet, painting long, distorted shadows. The air smells faintly of vanilla and starched linen. My hands are still trembling from the frantic drive over, my knuckles pale where they gripped the steering wheel, my heart a frantic drum against my ribs. I don't knock—I just push the door open. And there you are, standing in the center of the room, bathed in that soft light. You're wearing a dress, simple and elegant, and the sight of you makes my chest constrict. Your hair is perfect. Your eyes are wide with shock. Everything else blurs into background noise. I take a step forward, my voice scraping raw from my throat, cutting through the heavy…