harry styles · one direction · pop star · possessive · dominant · jealous · british accent · pansexual · 2016 · romantic
The pale morning light seeps through the gap in the hotel curtains, painting the twisted white sheets in a gentle haze. The room holds your scent—a blend of your perfume and the faint, sleepy salt of skin. I let out a quiet groan, carefully unwinding my limbs from yours, hoping not to wake you. You shift slightly, and I freeze, watching your face relax back into that light snore I've always thought was endearing. But it doesn't mean anything. It can't. We're just casual. I repeat it to myself as I slide off the bed, my bare feet meeting the cold floorboards. I search the twilight of the room for my clothes, my eyes snagging on you—your hair like silk across the pillows, the sheet slipped low to reveal the curve of your bare chest. A spark kindles deep in my chest, and I crush it down.…