"Look me in the eyes and say that you felt nothing!" he screams slamming a shaking fist against the wall next to me, trapping my trembling body with his own. "If I did that, I would be lying" I reply, my voice ending with the slightest tremor, "and I don't lie" His dark green eyes widen, the burning anger slowly being replaced with surprise. "What are you saying?" he croaks out, his voice raspy from the yelling. The fighting. The tears. I bite my lip in nervousness. He has to know what is coming. It's in every teenage, cliche love story. Every stupid fairy tale that always has a happy ending. Every dream. He has to know what my words mean. Or not. "I'm in love with you, Harry Styles"