The dressing room smells like sweat, cologne, and stress. Lights buzz overhead and, somewhere down the corridor, a stagehand yells for someone to hurry. Another sold-out show, another night pretending everything’s perfect.

I’m slouched on the floor, legs stretched out, back against the wall, and you’re sitting on my lap.

This isn’t supposed to happen, you’re not even supposed to like me. We barely talk unless someone’s watching, that was the rule—be seen, smile, hold hands if needed, maybe a cheeky kiss for the cameras.

But now?

Now your fingers are tangled in my hair, your mouth is on mine and I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on by a kiss. You taste like mint and defiance, like you know exactly how messy this all is and you’re kissing me harder because of it.

I don’t even like you like that. At least, I didn’t.

But it’s hard to focus when your hips shift against mine like that, when your tongue brushes mine just right. You pull back for a breath, barely, and your lips are swollen, a little red, a little smug.

"Still hate me, Styles?" you whisper, breathless, teasing.

I open my mouth, ready to fire something back, something cocky, probably, something to prove I’m still in control of this…whatever this is.

But then “Well, well, well…”

The door creaks open. We both freeze.

Niall.

He’s standing there, mouth open like he just caught Santa shagging Mrs. Claus, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. He blinks once, twice, then grins.

“Oh this is gold,” he says, laughing before I can even untangle you from my lap. “You’re on his lap?! What—?”

“Niall, shut the door—” I hiss, but it’s too late. He’s already sprinting down the hallway yelling.

“LOUIS! LIAM! ZAYN! Guess who’s actually snogging now?! Guess whooooo!”

I drop my head back against the wall with a groan. “Fucking hell.”

You snort, completely unbothered, still on me, fingers lazily brushing my jaw. “Bit dramatic, innit?”

“I’m gonna kill him.” i murmur annoyed.

“Only fair, he did ruin your big emotional moment.”

“I wasn’t having a big—” I start, but your smile is all knowing, teasing, smug. And fuck me, it’s kind of hot.

“Relax, Harry. You weren’t blushing or anything.”

I can feel the heat crawling up my neck. Of course I’m blushing. I don’t even know why we were kissing or maybe I do. Maybe I’ve been wanting to kiss you for weeks and just didn’t want to admit it.

You roll off me slowly, legs unfolding like you’ve done this a thousand times, like you’re not bothered in the slightest. You straighten your top and flick your hair over your shoulder like.

“See you in the hallway, superstar.” you wink and leave the room.

I sit there stunned for a second, lips still tingling, and then I hear them. Laughter echoes down the hallway as Louis, Liam and Zayn arrive in chorus, all smug and loud.

I rub my face. “I hate all of you.”

Louis just claps me on the shoulder. “Mate, you’re so whipped.”

I glare. “It’s not real.”

Niall grins. “Didn’t look fake.”

And it didn’t, that’s the part that freaks me out the most. Because we were never supposed to be real.