Liam Payne, cradling roses like they’re made of the same sharp magic he is. Thorns in his gaze, velvet in his touch—the contrast burns. His eyes cut like winter, but there’s summer hidden in the curve of his smile. He holds those crimson petals the way he holds a note:

Liam Payne, cradling roses like they’re made of the same sharp magic he is. Thorns in his gaze, velvet in his touch—the contrast burns. His eyes cut like winter, but there’s summer hidden in the curve of his smile. He holds those crimson petals the way he holds a note:

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