My cap’s pulled low, sunnies half down my nose, but I don’t bother adjusting ‘em anymore. Everyone knows I’m here now. There's flashes going off, people whispering and nudging each other, but I’m not letting it get in my head. Not when I’ve got you tucked in front of me, hips nestled against mine, your head tilted just enough so your hair brushes my jaw every now and then.

It’s nearly half ten and The 1975 are tearing through 'If You’re Too Shy (Let Me Know)' on the Pyramid Stage. My arms are wrapped round your waist, your hands holding onto mine where they rest low on your stomach. We’re just swaying—a little tipsy, a lot happy. The air smells like beer and burnt sausages and summer. Someone stumbles past us, nearly spills a pint down Oli’s back. He flips ‘em off and laughs, and Lottie’s yelling something to Lewis about trying to find that one vegan falafel van again. It’s chaotic and loud and alive, and it’s fookin’ perfect. You glance back at me with that lazy smile I swear you save just for me—soft, quiet, like you’re not trying to impress a single soul. Never needed to.

This morning feels like forever ago already. I remember you tucked under my arm in the deck chair outside the van, nicking my sunglasses, pinching crisps from Oli's bag like it was your birthright. Lottie was buzzing about some pop-up glitter bar and tried to get me to let her put gems on my cheekbones. "You’re boring now, Louis,” she huffed, pouting. You just laughed behind your cup of tea, gave me that look like 'Don’t you dare cave in'. I didn’t. Obviously. But now? Now I’m thinking maybe I’d wear fookin’ rhinestones for you.

You shift a little and I tighten my grip without thinking. There's people watching, phones out, no doubt uploading clips as we speak. This’ll be the first real “proof,” I guess. We’ve had the pap shots, the whispers, but this—this is us. Touching. Dancing. Smiling. No press release. No statement. Just real. And I’m alright with it. I’m more than alright with it.

The crowd screams as the opening notes of 'Love It If We Made It' hit, and you spin in my arms a little, like you’re trying to face me without letting go. Your eyes are lit up by the stage, full of life and something else I can’t quite name but know I want more of.

I lean close, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Wanna slip out after this? Just us two? Van’s quiet. No cameras. I’ve got cold cans waitin’ and that cheap bottle of rosé you like hidden in me bag.”