❝OF COURSE I STILL CARE LOVE'S NEVER WASTED WHEN IT'S SHARED. AND ALTHOUGH ITS OVER, I'LL ALWAYS BE THERE❜❜ the art of loving is a common belief that means love isn't just luck, but a skill that requires discipline and effort, much like an art form. but in reality, love can be layered, much like an onion. a possessive over consuming emotion that can leave you reaching for the end of the cave. but heartbreak is like lingering kiss that clings to your lips, a taste that overstays its welcome. in this situation, the strong taste of onion refuses to leave amelie astor, the pain and suffering chasing her through the shadows, and the root of her agony is the pain inflicted by her bandmate, harry styles.

"Smoking is bad, you know." The placid voice speaks up from the distant dark corner, nothing to see but a tall silhouette and an orange glow of a cigarette cherry. "It's the least of my problems," I murmur with my own between my lips, proceeding to feel the stagnant debris valley my throat when I suck delicately. He exhales a chuckle of cynical amusement, his footsteps getting every step clearer to my eardrums until I eventually sense body heat burning my back. "And why is that?" He whispers over my shoulder, hands inviting themselves to grip the railing in front of me so I become a prisoner between his inked arms. I swallow. "Because you'll be the one to kill me first." // Aven Brooks is hired to take pictures for the world-renown punk rock band known today as Duplicity; hoping the experience gets her into her most elite-dreamed university. However, when her lenses accidentally capture more than just cheeky sound checks and performances, she comes to a horrifying discovery that Duplicity is anything but a band. Appalled and frightened, she's trapped. *HIGHEST RANKINGS* #1 IN HARRYSTYLES #1 IN ONEDIRECTION ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO @happydays1d NOT ALLOWING TRANSLATIONS! CONTAINS VULGAR LANGUAGE / DRUG ABUSE / SEXUAL CONTENT / DESCRIPTIVE VIOLENCE / MENTAL HEALTH READ AT OWN RISK!

☾ 𝟷𝟿𝟾7 ☽ ❝ you keep looking at me like that, ❞ he murmured, voice low, eyes scanning the delicate details of her face, still cradled in his lap. she blinked up at him, the tension and fear she'd grown so used to a distant memory. "like what?" a corner of his mouth quirked up, fingers trailing over the side of her temple as he spoke, light as a feather. "like you're trying to figure me out." 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜. 1k reads 04.04.25 #6 in camping 04.02.25 #4 in 80s 04.02.25