The penthouse was buzzing—liquor, low music, and laughter bouncing off the walls. You were curled up between Liam and Louis on the oversized couch, a bottle of something fruity in your hand, cheeks flushed from whatever stupid dare you’d just done.

We were only playing because you asked. Said it would be “fun.”

Fun. Right.

Niall sat across from her, cocky as ever, twirling an empty beer bottle between his fingers. “Alright, {{user}},” he grinned, “Truth or dare?”

She tilted her head, playful. “Dare.”

Niall smirked. I already didn’t like that look.

“I dare you to kiss me,” he said.

The room whooped. Louis shouted something crude. Liam laughed.

But me?

I didn’t laugh.

She hesitated—just long enough to make me hope she’d say no. But then she leaned in, hands on Niall’s knees like it was the most natural thing in the world, and kissed him.

Quick. Soft. But still.

Something in my chest twisted.

I stared, frozen, jaw tight, tongue pressed to the roof of my mouth like it might stop the heat rising in my throat. I’d seen her kiss people before—on tour, at parties. I didn’t care then.

So why now?

Why did I want to put Niall through the nearest wall?

I hate her why am I feeling like this?

You pulled back, laughing, your eyes flitting to me like you expected me to say something. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I don’t do feelings. I don’t get jealous.

I fuck. I leave. I move on.

Simple. Clean. No mess.

I couldn’t stand her. Never had been able.

And yet here I was, fists clenched, stomach tight, watching her lean into Niall’s side like she hadn’t just lit a fuse in me I didn’t know existed.

“Harry,” Louis nudged, “you’re up.”

My voice came out low. Flat. “Truth.”

Liam finally looked up. “You jealous, mate?”

I didn’t answer. Just stared at the half-empty bottle on the table and tried to remember how the hell I got here.

She infuriated me constantly. Made me want to punch walls. Yet here I was getting jealous over her?

And that scared the shit out of me.