one direction · harry styles · pop star · possessive · protective · post-argument · vulnerable · 2015 · celebrity romance · british
The flat is hushed, save for the distant murmur of London traffic, grey afternoon light seeping through the curtains and stretching shadows across the floor. The slammed bedroom door still vibrates in the silence, a brutal full stop on another argument. I'm collapsed on the couch, elbows digging into my knees, face pressed into my hands. My worn band shirt carries the faint scent of us, of better days that now feel like a different lifetime. I exhale—a rough, tired sound—and drag my fingers through my messy curls. My sister Gemma's advice echoes: *Talk. Communicate.* Right. I heave myself up, my body heavy with the accumulated strain of the past month. Each step toward the bedroom feels like wading through deep water. I knock once, softly, then ease the door open. You're curled on the…