Part 32

                                    

                                          
Dylan
After the show ends, Paul leads me through the pitch-black backstage area, my hand gripping the back of his shirt so I don't get lost in the darkness. Paul pushes open a heavy door, and we step into the familiar main room.
The boys are already sitting on the couches. Niall spots me first, and he's on his feet in an instant, practically bounding over with that teasing grin of his. "So, how'd we do, princess? Did we blow your mind or what?" 
'Eh, you were a bit pitchy tonight," I tease, folding my arms. "better than yesterday though!"
Niall's smile widens, and he moves closer, crowding into my space with a challenging glint in his eyes. "A bit pitchy? Come on, Dylan," he says, dropping his voice a little. "Don't lie. I saw the way you were looking at me during my solo. Admit it—you were totally into it."
From the corner of my eye, I see Harry shift on the couch. He's watching us, his expression tense and jaw set, and it sends a thrill through me—equal parts guilty and satisfied. I think he wants to be above jealousy but he's totally not. I want to push him, to see if I can get under his skin just a little.
I shake my head at Niall. "You wish." I say rolling my eyes.
His eyes flicking down to my lips for a split second before meeting mine again. "Guess I'll just have to try harder to impress you next time."
"Oh, I don't know if you could handle that," I say, my voice teasing. "You might get too cocky."
I can feel Harry's stare like a physical weight, and I know I'm playing with fire. It's reckless and stupid, but right now, I don't care. I just want him to react, to do something besides sit there and pretend like he's above it all.
"Trust me," Niall says, his hand brushing mine in a way that's almost casual, almost not. "I can handle a lot."
There's a low noise from the couch—Harry clearing his throat, sharp and loud, like he's trying to cut through the tension. "Alright, Niall," he says, his tone clipped and tight, "quit hogging her. She's not your only audience, you know."
Niall pulls back with a laugh, not bothering to hide the amusement in his eyes. He's also seems to enjoy messing with Harry, and I wonder if he knew exactly what he was doing the whole time. "Relax, mate," he says, throwing a careless arm around my shoulders like it's no big deal. "Just having a bit of fun."
Harry's eyes narrow, and I can see the muscle in his jaw twitch. I should feel bad, maybe, but I don't—not really. I'm so sick of the way he looks at me like I'm something fragile, something he has to protect, but never really touch. I want to break that careful distance he's always keeping between us, even if it means pushing too far.
Niall's arm is still around me, his fingers warm against my shoulder, and I can't help myself. I lean into him just a fraction more, throwing a smile over my shoulder. "Don't worry, Harry," I say, my voice sweet with just a hint of sarcasm. "I've got plenty of attention to go around."
Harry's eyes flash, his jaw clenching tight as I throw that smile over my shoulder. For a moment, I think he's going to keep playing it cool, keep pretending like this whole thing doesn't bother him. But then, just as Niall opens his mouth to keep teasing, Harry stands up abruptly from the couch. The sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor is sharp and sudden, and it makes me jump.
He's on us in a few long strides, eyes locked on mine with an intensity that sends a shiver down my spine. "Alright, Niall," Harry says, his voice low and dangerous, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes pulling at his lips. "I think you've had enough fun for one night."