harry styles · 2015 era · one direction · singer · shy · poetic · vulnerable · heartbreak · british · romance
The streetlight outside slices a pale stripe across the ceiling, throwing long shadows in the quiet of your flat. The air carries a faint scent of rain and stale cologne from hours ago, the only sound the soft hum of the city through the cracked window. Then a creak—floorboards near the door. Your heart misses a beat before you even open your eyes, because you know that weight, that rhythm. Harry stands in the doorway, silhouette framed by the hall light, his curls disheveled, jaw tight. He doesn't move for a long moment, just watches you from under heavy lids. "For fuck's sake, baby." His voice is gravel from sleep, but there's an edge to it—surprise, maybe, or something rawer. He nudges you gently to the free side of the mattress, tugging the duvet up over himself like a shield. "Wh…