Habit

Chapter 1: Perfect

Y/n knew better than to think of it as anything serious, but she also knew that whatever it was, it went far beyond casual.

It had started innocently enough, she was just the band's hairstylist after all. A soft smile from him when he'd caught her adjusting his collar before a show, his hand lingering on hers just a moment too long. After that, it seemed to spiral out of control in slow, quiet ways, moments shared in the shadows, under the soft haze of stage lights or in the silence of backstage corridors. He'd draw her into empty dressing rooms and empty stairwells, where the world faded to nothing but the two of them.

They hadn't put a name to it, and she wasn't sure they ever would.

Harry Styles, for all his charm and warmth, was as secretive as he was open. There was always something held back, something elusive. It made her crave him more, like she was grasping at water, always slipping through her fingers just as she got close.

Sometimes, they'd find themselves talking late into the night, tucked away in his hotel room where no one could find them. He'd bring up his childhood in that quiet, contemplative way of his, sharing bits and pieces he rarely mentioned to anyone. And she'd find herself doing the same, telling him things she'd never thought she'd say out loud, especially to a guy she hardly knew. He listened with a patience that both soothed and unsettled her. His green eyes held hers, deep and unwavering, as if her words were the only ones that mattered.

And then there were the kisses—fleeting, soft, and always tinged with the sense that they were borrowed moments. She could never predict when he'd pull her close, only that it was always when she least expected it. She'd feel his breath on her neck, a hand at the small of her back, and then he'd kiss her, his touch as gentle as it was electric, like he was afraid she might vanish if he held on too tightly.

Once, after one of their stolen kisses, she'd asked him, almost against her better judgment, "What are we doing, Harry?"

He'd only smiled, that familiar, knowing smile, the one that had drawn her in from the beginning. "We're having a good time, yeah?"

It was a question, but she knew it was also his answer. He didn't want to label this, whatever this was. It wasn't that he was distant—he could be thoughtful, attentive, funny, and sweet in a way that made her heart ache. But it was never straightforward, never easy to define. Like he was always half-present, half somewhere else, existing in the space between the worlds of who he was and who everyone wanted him to be.

Despite how much she tried to hold back, Y/n was already in too deep. She'd catch herself watching him during rehearsals, stealing glances, feeling her pulse quicken whenever his eyes found hers. When he laughed, the room felt warmer; when he was quiet, the silence felt heavier. It was like she was bound to him, but with a thread so thin she was afraid it would snap if she held on too tight.

Their secret moments were everything she wanted, and yet, they weren't enough. The kisses, the talks—they all felt like parts of a bigger whole she couldn't quite grasp, like he was only ever offering her a sliver of himself. She knew it was all he could give, all he was willing to give, but she couldn't help wanting more.

Harry seemed to live in contradictions. He was incredibly attentive and distant all at once. When they were together, he'd open up in a way that felt raw, vulnerable. But afterward, she'd see him laughing with everyone else as if nothing had happened between them, as if the moments they'd shared were secrets meant to stay in the shadows. It left her feeling suspended, like she was caught in a story that only half-existed.

She wanted to ask him what he really felt, to dig deeper, but there was a part of her that was terrified of what he might say. He made her feel alive, and that was enough—for now. But in the back of her mind, a tiny voice whispered that this was all temporary, that it was only a matter of time before he let her go, slipping back into the spotlight, back to a life that could never quite include her.

But for now, she would take what she could get. For now, she would let herself believe that maybe, in these hidden moments, he was hers.