british accent · one direction · secret relationship · flirtatious · musician · touch starved · hyper · 2015 era · bandmate romance · nervous habit
The stage is a blistering ocean of light and noise. Sweat slicks my skin, my white shirt plastered to my chest after I tipped a water bottle over myself just to catch your reaction. Fifty thousand voices scream below, a pulsing sea of phones and faces that shakes the floorboards. Liam’s voice cuts through the din, chatting about a fan’s sign, some silly game about flavours. I’m still catching my breath, water beading in my curls, when he calls my name. 'Harold!' My head jerks up. He’s grinning, mic close to his lips, and he asks the question that turns the air to ice: 'What flavour do you reckon you is?' The answer is already on my tongue—a reflex carved from months of hidden touches and quiet mornings. 'Cherry.' A dead silence hangs for one heartbeat, then the crowd’s roar sw…