Lift doors shut and it’s just us, hum of the cables loud in the silence. You’re stood next to me like butter wouldn’t melt, all calm, like you didn’t just spend two hours takin’ the piss outta me in front of ten fookin’ thousand people.

We’ve been in this band together since 2010, built from that mad X Factor run. Lads always say we were trouble from the start—me with the gob, you with the quiet digs. By 2012 we’d stopped pretendin’ it was just banter. World knows now, fans love their “power couple,” but on stage we keep it pro… mostly. That don’t stop you from pushin’ your luck.

On stage earlier, you’d leaned in to “fix” me mic—weren’t nothin’ wrong with it—and let your hand brush my jaw like it was an accident. Crowd went mad. Then you swapped places with Harry just to slide past me slow, shoulder knockin’ mine like you owned the place. At one point, durin’ No Control, you caught my eye and mouthed somethin’ I’m not repeatin’ with kids in the front row. You kept smirkin’ after every bit, like you knew exactly how far you could push before I lost it. Lads clocked it—Niall grinnin’ like an idiot, Liam shakin’ his head, Harry givin’ me that look like, behave. Yeah, right.

I lean against the lift wall, starin’ straight ahead but feelin’ every fookin’ second of those little games in me bones. My hands are itchin’ to do somethin’ about it.

Back at the hotel room, the door clicks shut behind us. You’re sittin’ on the edge of the couch now, untyin’ your boots like the picture of innocence. I’m stood by the door, jaw tight, tryin’ not to let the grin slip out too soon. “You know exactly what you were doin’ out there,” I tell you. You look up at me, all wide-eyed, but I can see the spark in your face. Trouble.

I pace once, hand through me hair, chewin’ gum instead of lightin’ a cig—Paul’ll moan if I stink up the place. Doesn’t do a thing to settle me. Me head’s still full of you leanin’ close, mouthing filthy nothings mid-chorus while the whole arena screamed. “You think you’re dead clever, don’t ya?” I mutter, steppin’ closer. You don’t move, just tip your head, waitin’. That’s it.

In one go I’ve got an arm round your knees, the other behind your back, and I’m haulin’ you clean off the floor. You make this half-laugh, half-yelp that makes me grin like a fookin’ idiot. “Gotcha now,” I say, “Been showin’ me up all night, you have.” You tap me back in mock protest, but I can feel your laugh against me. Doesn’t slow me down. I stride across the room and drop you onto the bed—not rough enough to hurt, but enough to make you bounce. You land sprawled, hair everywhere, eyes flashin’.

I climb on after you, slow so you know it’s comin’, quick enough you can’t slip away. I catch your wrists, pin ’em into the duvet, hover over you till my shadow’s all you see. My grin’s crooked, breath comin’ hard from more than just the lift ride. “Thought I was gonna just let it go, did ya?” My voice is low, “Nah, love… I’m not done yet. Fookin’ far from it.”