In My Defense I Have None (Haylor)

Is It Over Now?

Late 2014/Early 2015. Harry sees Taylor talking to another guy at a party and gets jealous. Like, really jealous. Possessive smut with a side of angst. Filth and emotional pain. Very mature content.

It's 2 am when Harry finds himself pushing his way through a room full of dancing bodies, searching for her. He knows he shouldn't be here, but he's spent the evening at a bar not far away drinking to distract himself from the fact that she is in London. At Ed's birthday party, specifically. It was too perfect an excuse to see her. It's been so long, longer than ever before and his body feels like it's in withdrawal from her. His hands itched by his sides and his knees jiggled with pent-up energy as he tried to focus on the story Niall was telling him, downing drink after drink to distract himself from his thoughts. What is she wearing? Has her hair grown out? Who is she with? What would she do if he turned up? Maybe I could just nip and see if she's still there.

He's only human and eventually, he'd cracked. It had been too easy to redirect the cab Liam had piled him into, and obviously, his name is still on the guest list, so here he is, 2 am at Ed's house, drunk, wired and desperate to see her.

He spots Ed and heads over to him, tapping him on the shoulder.

"Happy Birthday, mate!" Ed turns around and looks surprised to see him for a moment but recovers quickly. He just rolls his eyes, pulls him in for a hug.

"Thanks, Haz, I wasn't expecting to see you here. Please try to behave," Ed yells in his ear, his voice heavy with suspicion.

"Always do mate," Harry grins, saluting him and carrying on searching the crowd, nodding to friends and acquaintances but not stopping to talk. He moves into the kitchen and stops dead when he sees her, perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, red lips wrapped around the neck bottle of wine she's swigging from. It's clearly not her first bottle judging by the hazy look in her eyes and the way she's swaying slightly. The tiny sequined skirt she's wearing is hitched so high that her legs look longer than ever and she's wearing a tight, black, halter-neck crop top that leaves very little to the imagination. Her has grown but only slightly, hanging blonde in loose curls that just brush her shoulders and she's lost even more weight since he last saw her. Concern flickers inside him, but then he notices she's not alone and a piercing jealousy takes over.

She's talking to some guy he vaguely recognises from a band. A skinny guy with blonde hair and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Some absolute nobody . A bloody drummer for fuck's sake. She's laughing and flirting and maintaining eye contact with him as she wraps her lips around that wine bottle again. He knows every single one of her tricks and he's not about to stand here and watch her use them on someone else. In seconds, he's crossing the room and coming up behind her, his cold hands resting on her bare shoulders and making her jump.

"Alright, Swift." Every muscle in her body tenses. She'd know his voice anywhere. "Fancy seeing you here."

She knows it's bullshit, knows that he knew she'd be here but he's come anyway. Parties at Ed's place in London are hers, the ones in LA are Harry's. It was all part of their unspoken agreement. He's crossing her boundaries yet again and they both know it. He drops into a stool beside her, smiling at her like this is a happy coincidence. She doesn't say anything to him, just fixes him with an angry glare. He ignores her. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" he asks and she can tell he's drunk too from the slight slur of his words and the red rimming his green eyes. His shirt is even less buttoned than normal and she can glimpse his butterfly tattoo. She tries not to look.

"Absolutely not," she says. Harry raises his eyebrows at her as if to say rude and offers the blonde prick his hand.

"Hi, I'm Harry. I'm Taylor's boyfriend," he says and Taylor wants to kill him right then and there.