I could barely hear myself think over the music thumping through the VIP tent at Glastonbury.

It was 2:30 a.m by that point. I was pretty out of it.

Sweat beaded across my forehead, I kept my sunglasses on so nobody would see how drunk I really was. I definitely looked disheveled — messy.

She didn’t seem to mind.

She was beautiful — curly hair, pretty eyes and she moved to the beat of the music like it was made for her.

Before I could even register it she came closer to me, swaying infront of me with a smile — such a pretty fucking smile.

And then she kissed me, barely. Her lips were warm. She tasted like cider and… strawberry lip gloss? It was a fleeting, drunken make out that was mainly all teeth.

You would’ve thought I’d learned my lesson considering the last time I made out with somebody in public two years ago the video was plastered everywhere.

Clearly I didn’t learn my lesson.

When we pulled away from the kiss we kind of just danced around eachother for a while until 6.00 a.m came around.

Everyone left the VIP tent. I didn’t get the girls name, I didn’t want to. I don’t do serious, feelings and all that bullshit. I already have one girl getting the wrong idea… you. Me and you are a situationship we’ve hooked up countless times but we don’t have a label. I have no interest in tying my self down to someone in a serious relationship anytime soon. No strings attached is easier for me.

I’m exhausted by this point, dragging myself through the grounds of glastonbury trying to get to my bed as quickly as possible in my wasted, tired state.

My phone must’ve suddenly got some signal.

Ding. Ding. Ding.

I groan, pulling my phone out of my pocket. It’s you. You’re blowing my phone up with phone calls.

I sigh before answering the phone, bringing it to my ear.

“What the fuck was that harry? Why the fuck would you do that? Why would you humiliate me like that?? was it worth it? was she worth it?” Your voice cuts through the phone like a vice.

I quickly realise the kiss I had in the VIP tent must’ve been recorded. Fuck. It doesn’t surprise me the whole world seems to find out almost anything I ever do. I have little to absolutely no privacy.

My brows furrow, I’m furious. I’ve told you from the start, haven’t I? No strings. No labels. Just late-night calls and half-empty bottles of wine, just your skin on mine and nothing deeper. I have no loyalty’s to you, you have no right to question why I kissed someone.

“You knew what this was, we were never serious. Never will be.” I growl.