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Here’s a small gift for my girl P pigletstyles on her birthday. Love you, peanut.

These are the things that Louis Tomlinson will never tell Harry Styles:

1. In the pocket of Louis’s most loved pair of joggers is the tea bag wrapper from the first breakfast they ever shared, strangers about to spend a full day learning choreography and making absolute tits of themselves for the cameras. It wasn’t particularly good tea, the wrapper long since rubbed clean of the brand name, but Louis never liked coffee that much. It’s not so much the bitterness of it, he had tried to explain when a tall bloke in the over 25s mocked him, just that it leaves a rough sort of coating over his tongue hours after, like dried clay or charcoal. The bloke drifted off after staring blankly at him, but Harry had nodded and said, ‘I kind of like tea, too,’ sitting at the little table Louis had spread his breakfast out on, elbowing Louis’s overflowing bowl of Cocoa Puffs out of the way and digging into his cornflakes. Louis knew it was a lie, even then, but he pulled his feet back to his side of the table and made room anyway.

2a. After Louis moved into his new house in London, the one Harry had been looking at for months, the one he snatched up under Harry’s nose and then forced Harry to help him move into, he leaned a ladder he found in the back garden against the side of the stucco walls and climbed to the roof, making himself taller than everyone he knew, taller but frighteningly transparent, shouting at the sky—

(are you making a reference to heaven just now, Louis, are you telling me a fucking parable, Harry had interrupted, his face confused and unreadable. He looked small from so high up and it had made Louis’s stomach swoop and burn. Harry had also asked, why. Louis didn’t climb down until Harry left)

—because he felt like hell, dissatisfied and cruel, and couldn’t to talk to someone, singular and specific.

2b. If he had to sit down and analyze it, Louis would be able to draw the line between being eight and thinking he felt flight in his bones and being twenty and weighted with a different kind of gravity, never mind the way his shadow stretched back on the roofing tiles, how it kept trying to lay itself at his feet. That was just the moon after daylight. It didn’t mean a goddamn thing.

3a. That there are some days Louis feels really, genuinely sorry for everything that has ever happened, ever. Not that one thing with Harry’s shirt he purposely ruined because he hated how carefree Harry looked wearing it, or that other thing with the song he criticized even though he knew Harry could tell he was lying through his teeth, because Louis doesn’t regret his pettiness on the worst of days, but that so much time had to pass before they felt they had fought their futile battles long enough, that they had stuck to their principles for the honorable, prideful amount of time.

3b. That he actually held off trying to fix all of their loose ends just because ‘it didn’t feel right at the time’, he was too busy attending meetings and too busy disrupting the ones that didn’t concern him, too busy going over the same shades of anger in his head, over and over and over again. That everything depended on a feeling in his gut when really, he was too afraid of how small he’d feel with an apology between his teeth.

3c. That this is the stupid tragic thing about life: everything can be saved, but bad timing prevents it.

3d. That he’s never been sure if he deserves the chance at good timing.

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stained coffee cups just a fingerprint of lipsticks

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I guarantee its been too long since you last watched this video

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"No, I haven’t read fanfiction"

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casually crying over louis’ stag and zayn’s tiger lined up against each other so nicely

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N O C O N T R O L S Q U A D

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me when i see liam

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ok but

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*sleigh bells jingle ominously in the distance*

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I MEAN

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