Capture

Caught In The Middle

I stood frozen in the middle of my apartment, the door clicking shut behind me. Liam's kiss still burned on my mouth. My skin hummed from where his hands had gripped me, pressed me to the wall like I was something he couldn't help but touch. It hadn't been gentle. It hadn't even been romantic. But it had sparked something I hadn't felt in a long time—heat, want, a rush of dizzy, dangerous chemistry.

That scared me more than anything.

I stumbled backward, trying to breathe. The toaster exploded behind me, flinging breakfast into the air like a fire alarm had gone off. I jumped, sloshing coffee down my shirt, and braced myself against the counter.

Get it together.

This was Liam Payne. My maddening, infuriating neighbor who kissed like he meant it one second and mocked me the next. Who slept with women and forgot their names by morning. Who smirked when I was angry and flirted when I wanted to scream, and I had let him kiss me.

Worse—I had wanted it.

No. I wasn't doing this. Not again. Not after what my ex had put me through. I wouldn't get sucked into another mess with a beautiful man who made me feel unsteady and small. Liam was chaos. A walking red flag in jeans and smirks.

I reached for my phone, needing a tether. I called in sick to work, citing some vague virus, then texted Niall to let him know. He replied with his usual warmth, joking that he'd miss my office banter. I smiled weakly at the screen, grateful for his steadiness.

After a few minutes of scrolling, a message pinged on my laptop. It was Harry.

"Aren't you supposed to be working?"

I hesitated before replying. Something about Harry made my stomach flutter—but in a different way than Liam. Harry was calm, clever, genuinely kind. He made me feel seen, not unsteady. And yet... something held me back. Maybe it was how perfect he seemed. Too easy, too good, like falling for him would be safe—but not electric.

Still, safe sounded appealing right now.

We chatted briefly. He told me he was bored, on call, and teasingly accused me of faking a sick day.

Then came the question: "Want some company?" I stared at the message for a long time.

Part of me wanted to say no—out of guilt, out of confusion, out of the lingering sensation of Liam's lips. But another part of me—the rational one—knew that Liam wasn't going to become anything real. That he kissed to shut me up. That he was already moving on, probably seconds after his door shut behind him.

I wasn't going to be his placeholder.

So I typed: "Door's open."

Harry arrived not long after, arms full of groceries and a crooked smile on his face. He made the apartment feel instantly lighter. He claimed he had over-shopped and needed help eating it all, but the soup container with my name on it told a different story.

He told me it was his mum's recipe. That she'd made it yesterday. That he'd thought it might help me feel better. No games. No teasing. Just kindness. Steady and warm.

We ate soup and made small talk. He'd even brought a stack of DVDs—classic rom-coms his sister apparently swore by. We picked Love Actually, and curled up on the couch under a shared blanket. The comfort of it all made my body relax for the first time that day.

Eventually, I drifted off, head resting on his shoulder. When I woke up, the apartment was dark, and Harry stirred beside me. "I didn't mean to fall asleep," I said, embarrassed, pulling away.

He smiled. "Me neither." 

It had been a quiet day, but it felt significant. At the door, he leaned in and kissed me. Not urgently. Not like he needed anything. Just soft, and kind, and honest.

I leaned into Harry's kiss, willing myself not to compare it. He was warm, steady—his lips soft, unhurried, like he was asking permission with every movement. It felt safe, comforting. I liked the way he kissed me, but I didn't burn.

My hands slid up the firm lines of his chest, craving something deeper—something rougher, hungrier. Kiss me like you mean it, I thought. Kiss me like he did. Then just as Harry's hand moved to my waist, just as he began to lean in again a door opened. 

Laughter. Footsteps.

We broke apart instantly, my breath caught in my throat as I turned. Liam and Zayn stood in the corridor, mid-conversation—until they saw us.

Zayn froze. Liam's eyes locked on mine, and just like that, everything warm turned cold.

Harry nodded politely, offering a simple, "Evening," before turning to me and brushing a quick kiss on my cheek. "I had a really good time," he whispered making me blush, then he slipped into his flat, door clicking shut behind him.

I stepped back inside, my heart in my throat, but Liam's hand slammed against the door before I could close it.

"Well, doll face," he said, voice low and full of something sharp. "Didn't expect you to bounce back that fast."

"Let go of my door, Liam," I said, steady but firm.

He leaned in, his breath warm against my skin. "Maybe next time I come in you can tell me who is better." He suggests as I flush an even brighter pink. My stomach twisted.

"Liam. Enough," Zayn called behind him.

For a second, I wasn't sure he'd listen, but he stepped back, finally, and let the door close.

I stood there, hand on the handle, breath shallow. A door between us as I relived this whole encounter. 

Harry had been warm and safe. Liam had been fire and smoke. Neither of them knew the full story. Hell, I didn't know the full story.

But one thing was painfully clear—I was standing in the middle of something I wasn't ready for.