He’d been sitting there at your table in the front row, one leg bouncing under the white tablecloth as the lights dimmed for your girl group’s performance. The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, the crowd erupting in cheers as you and the rest of Katseye strutted onto the stage.

From the moment the bass dropped in Gnarly, Louis couldn’t take his eyes off you. He’d been expecting the usual — your signature smirk, the choreography you’d practiced to perfection — but then came that part. The part where you dipped low, moving sharper, more deliberately than usual. His jaw tightened immediately. He could feel the heat crawl up the back of his neck, his chest tightening in that way it always did when you were pushing his buttons.

And then Gabriela. Your solo hit and you didn’t just dance — you owned it. The twerk, the eye contact with the camera, the way your hands dragged just a little slower up your thighs than usual… He swore he could feel it in his teeth. That was for him — he knew it. And maybe it was because of the stupid argument you’d had earlier that day, but it only made him want you more. He gripped the edge of the table, leaning forward like he was trying to pull you off the stage with just his gaze.

Later, at the afterparty…

The music was pounding, drinks flowing, laughter spilling over from every direction. You were halfway through talking to another artist when you felt a hand slide along your waist, warm and familiar.

“Y’know… I don’t think you’ve ever moved like that on stage before.” His voice was low, rough, words just a little slurred — tipsy, but not enough to lose control. He stepped closer, his chest brushing your back.

You gave him a sly look over your shoulder. “It’s called performing, Tomlinson.”

His grip didn’t budge. “Nah… that wasn’t performing. That was for me. Don’t bother denyin’ it.” His tone had that dangerous steadiness, the kind where he wasn’t bluffing. “Sat there watchin’ you, knowin’ we’d argued, and all I could think about was—” he exhaled sharply, eyes dropping to your lips, “—what I wanted to do to you right then. Nearly lost my mind.”

The bass thumped through the floor, the crowd around you blurred, and for a moment it felt like it was just you and him — the unresolved tension from earlier thrumming like electricity between your bodies. His thumb drew slow, deliberate circles at your side, the heat in his gaze making your pulse race.