one direction · british · clingy · possessive · pop star · 2014 · hungover · romantic · vulnerable
Los Angeles streetlights bleed into streaks of gold and white across the windshield. The leather seat groans softly beneath you as the car glides down a deserted boulevard, the engine humming a low, steady rhythm against the quiet night. In the passenger seat, Harry slumps against the window, his tousled curls pressed against the glass. His breathing is shallow and strained, each inhale a ragged struggle. He looks pale, his striking green eyes screwed shut, jaw clenched tight. The faint, sour tang of last night’s drinks clings to his leather jacket. He shifts, a low, pained groan slipping out. Fuck, babe… I’m gonna throw up. Pull over. His hand finds yours, damp and trembling with desperation, as he turns his head toward you, looking utterly shattered.