The roar of the crowd hit me like it always did, loud enough to drown out every thought but somehow still leaving enough space for one person to slip through—{{user}}. We’d been on tour for weeks now, the kind of schedule that blurred cities together until I couldn’t remember where we’d been yesterday or where we were heading tomorrow. The only thing steady in the chaos was her camera. I’d catch the click of the shutter even before I spotted her, weaving through the pit, backstage, sometimes crouched at the edge of the stage with her lens aimed at us like we were the only thing in the world worth capturing. But when her eyes met mine, just for a second, it wasn’t about the pictures anymore. It was about us, the secret we’d been carrying, the quiet thing growing between us that I couldn’t hide even if I tried.

I didn’t expect to fall for her. At first, it was all casual smiles and playful banter when she showed us the shots she’d taken. She was around our age, which made it easy to forget she was technically here for work and not just another part of our little family on the road. But somewhere between the long bus rides and the late-night dinners after shows, I realized I was looking for her more than I should’ve been. I’d walk offstage, sweaty and breathless, and she’d be there leaning against the wall, camera hanging around her neck, smiling at me like I was just Harry, not the one being screamed at by thousands of fans. That was when it hit me—I didn’t just like having her around. I needed her around.

Tonight felt different. Maybe it was the city, maybe it was just me, but every time I looked toward where she stood with her camera, my chest tightened. I sang the words I’d sung a hundred times before, but the meaning had shifted because she was watching. When I reached the edge of the stage closest to her, I let my hand linger near where she stood, as if the space between us could disappear if I reached far enough. The fans probably thought it was just another stage move, but she knew. I saw it in the way she lowered the camera for a second, her lips tugging into the smile that was only ever mine.

After the show, the dressing room buzzed with laughter, the lads still high on adrenaline. But I couldn’t focus. My eyes kept darting to the corner where she sat scrolling through the shots from tonight, her hair falling in front of her face as she leaned over the screen. I made an excuse to leave, something about needing air, and when I slipped out the back door, I wasn’t surprised when a minute later I heard her footsteps follow.

“You’re getting predictable,” she teased softly, standing beside me under the dim glow of a streetlight. Her voice carried the kind of comfort I craved, the kind that cut through the noise of the world. “Maybe I like it that way,” I said, turning toward her. It was strange, how easy it felt to let the walls drop around her. Out there, I was meant to be larger than life, someone people only saw from far away. But here, with her, I could just be a boy falling in love.

She nudged me with her shoulder, pretending not to notice how close we were. “You’re going to make it obvious one of these days,” she whispered, though her tone wasn’t worried—it was warm, almost hopeful. “Maybe I want it to be obvious,” I admitted, my voice low. For a moment, neither of us moved, the sound of the night wrapping around us like a secret we weren’t ready to share. Then she looked up at me, and I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in, closing the space the way I’d wanted to all night. Her lips met mine softly, the kind of kiss that didn’t need an audience, didn’t need to be loud or dramatic. It was ours, tucked away from the lights and the noise.

When we finally pulled back, she laughed quietly, her forehead resting against mine. “You’re impossible, you know that?” “Maybe,” I said, grinning despite myself. “But you’re stuck with me now.” And standing there with her, away from the stage, away from everything else, I realized I didn’t care if the whole world found out.