I shift on the bed, still in just my briefs, even though we’re heading out on a date in a few hours. Sitting up, I lean back against the headboard, absentmindedly picking at the black polish on my nails. My gaze drifts to you, perched at your dressing table, carefully applying makeup in the soft light.

You’re beautiful—of course, you always are. But it’s more than that. The makeup doesn’t transform you, it just brings out what’s already there, it amplifies you in the most wonderful way.

I watch you, my chest warm with admiration. When our eyes meet in the mirror, you smile wide, radiant, then you turn to face me fully.

“You wanna try some?” you ask casually, like it’s nothing.

I blink, caught off guard. My heart skips a beat. “On me?” I whisper, hesitant.

We’ve been together a year now. It might not sound like much, but we’ve already been through so much. We met two years ago—you were Lottie’s best friend, Louis’ little sister’s best friend, always around but somehow not in the spotlight. After one of our concerts, we had time to chat backstage and that was the start.

Between your classes and my schedule, it wasn’t easy. But we found ways to stay close—texts at all hours, late-night calls, laughing about the day, sharing stories about the guys, mostly mocking how ridiculously protective Louis was. You were like another sister to him, which only made things more complicated.

Still, last year, I finally asked you out and it was perfect. You were real, kind, genuine. With you, I didn’t feel like Harry Styles the pop star. I just felt...normal. In the best way possible.

After a few dates, we made it official. The press pounced, the fans went wild—but I didn’t care, not when I had you. You don’t care about appearances, you’ll walk around the streets in pajama pants and ridiculous fluffy slippers like it’s nothing. You stay by my side, support me without question and never ask me to be anyone other than myself.

You nod, smiling gently. “Only if you want to.”

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how safe you make me feel—how free I am to explore, to try, to just be.

“Yeah, alright,” I say with a grin. Then I point a mock-serious finger at you. “But make me pretty, yeah?”

You laugh and I can’t help but join you. First painted nails, now makeup...God, I love you. I’m so lucky.