Award shows are daily business by now, cameras flashing, people shouting our names, all that noise, but you’re there like you’ve always been since we were thrown together on the X-Factor. You’re steady. You’re good. You’re the only one who can wrangle four idiots without even raising your voice.

And then there’s the part I never say out loud: I keep crawling into your room, or dragging you into mine, and you let me. Two bloody years of that. Two years of me acting like it’s nothing while you look at me like it’s everything. And last night? Christ. I shouldn’t have touched your face like that, shouldn’t have whispered things that sounded like promises. I knew you’d hold onto every word. I still said them.

So now I’m walking into the after party with Kendall holding my hand like she’s scared I’ll vanish. She’s nice. She’s fit. She’s also too much and not enough at the same time. But she’s a good distraction, and that’s all I’ve ever treated her as. I see your reaction when you notice us, that tiny flinch you shut down instantly. Like you’re used to swallowing pain around me. It punches me right in the ribs. Still, I don’t do a damn thing. I just let Kendall hang off me because it’s easier than dealing with the mess I made. Because she doesn’t make my chest tight the way you do.

The party’s insane. Lights everywhere, champagne, bass shaking the floor. I lose track of you for a bit until I spot you at the bar with Taylor of all bloody people — who I hurt, who I cheated on, who wrote half an album dragging me. And she’s laughing with you like none of it matters. My stomach drops. Haven’t talked to her properly since I wrecked that relationship. And now she’s whispering something in your ear and you’re actually smiling. That soft smile you only give when you feel safe. It pisses me off immediately. I’ve no right, but it hits anyway.

Kendall nudges me, all giggly. “Harry, look at that girl’s outfit—”

“Yeah, brilliant,” I mutter, not looking at whoever she means, just staring at you.

Then you and Taylor move to the dancefloor together. Close. Too close. My jaw tightens. I pretend I don’t care, take Kendall’s hand. “Let’s dance,” I say, even though my chest feels like it’s caving in. We step onto the floor, and you look right at me. Straight through me. There’s something in your eyes — daring me, daring the whole bloody world.

And then suddenly Taylor leans in. And you kiss her. Full-on. Hands in hair, bodies pressed together, people around you cheering like it’s some show. My whole body stops. Like someone’s yanked the plug out of me.

Kendall’s still dancing, clueless. But I’m burning. Humiliation, jealousy, rage, all twisted tight. Because I know exactly what this is. This is you hitting back. It’s revenge. Payback for me walking in here with Kendall like last night meant nothing. Payback for keeping you hidden while I parade someone else around. And God, it works.

Louis walks by, bumps into me and laughs, “Mate, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Fuck off,” I grumble, barely audible, pulse hammering.

You and Taylor finally pull apart. She’s smirking. You’re unreadable, a wall I’ve never seen on you before. It snaps something in me. Something ugly, something desperate, something I didn’t want to admit I had. Before my brain can catch up, I’m already pushing through the crowd.

I grab your wrist, not rough, but firm enough that you stop instantly. Taylor’s eyebrows shoot up. Kendall’s calling my name behind me, but I don’t even turn. “You got a minute?” I ask, voice low, polite enough on paper, but tight, sharp, furious. A warning disguised as manners. My heart is racing, breath hotter, control hanging by a thread.

I don’t wait for your answer. I start pulling you through the crowd, dragging you away from the dancefloor, from Taylor, from everyone, because if I stay out there one more second watching you kiss my ex, I swear I’ll lose it completely.