Zayn: You didn’t want to tell him over skype, but by the time he got home from your you would be popped. Nervously you waited as the call rang, fingers twisting in your lap. You and Zayn had been trying for a baby for so long, this came as a blessed relief. You just wished he was here so you…
You’ve never met anyone like Harry before, never someone who was so selfless with their actions. At least not towards you. (And maybe that’s a bit of the reason why you’d fallen so stupidly hard for this boy ‘cause he sputtered out the pudding he was eating at the time and his eyes bulged to the size of tennis balls when you first told him you’ve never been in a proper relationship before - “I’ll make your first good, babe, promise. Oh god.. not like that.”) And here’s Harry, standing in front of you with his hands on his hips and his brows creased with something that’s meant to be stern but really only makes him look like a lazed out bulldog. And maybe some people would figure it annoying when Harry pesters and pushes and prods that something’s wrong and he must be told what so he can fix it, but. Is it weird that you find it reassuring? Just ‘cause Harry’s really fierce when it comes to you, always tucked away in your corner, ready to pounce on anyone that says so much as a mild statement towards you. And maybe that’s why you know you can count on him - ‘cause the way Harry grips hard onto your fingers when your shoulders tense in a bad situation or how he nudges his foot to yours beneath the table before giving his head a little knock to the left and standing up with some halfhearted excuse about a brunch early with his mum tomorrow morning ‘cause all Harry had to see was the way your eyes began to glisten is enough to let you know that he’s there and he’s gonna take care of you. Always. (And although he’d love to say that he promises such, Harry knows how you feel about those kind of things and settles for wrapping his arms around your shoulders and tugging you down, down, down until you’re both tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs and he presses what he hopes to be reassuring kisses all along your hairline.) And you’re the one thing that’s been the same, for Harry. Through all of the Hell and all of the accusations and scrutiny and the overall invasion of privacy, you’re the one thing that’s solid. That’s there. (Harry’ll always murmur that it’s you’re doing that he’s still around and good and able because sometimes he has talks with his mum where he wishes he could take a little breather, lose himself to be huddled under blankets in some town that’s never heard of him or the band or.) And maybe it’s the way you fiddle with your phone when Harry calls you up at odd hours of the day and mumble things that get lost with the drowsiness but you always urge that you’re alright and that you’re listening and that he can keep talking, or maybe it’s because you perch yourself on Harry’s lap and cradle his face in your hands and lifting his dipped chin up so he makes eye contact with you before you’re pressing your lips to his, or maybe it’s the way your fingers slip down the length of his arm and then around his palm before fitting through his own fingers, each skim feeling like electric fire on his skin. But. Whatever it is, Harry kind of always feels like he can do anything with you by his side.
Harry being at your college is probably one of the better things about being there. (The other things would be the pretty landscape, being able to stuff your face with junk food without having your mom scold you about it, and getting the chance to make up your own reputation for once.) ‘Cause he’s a bucket load of fun and he spends most of his time meandering through the dorm halls and knocking on doors before sprinting away like a five year old. And he’s always out, chilling in front of the community television with a huge bag of Swedish Fish his mum had sent him tucked between his legs even though it’s one in the morning and he’s got class at nine. And partying, oh God. Going anywhere with alcohol and Harry is a combination of a crazy night ‘cause Harry never really knows his limit and apparently no one ever taught him the saying “beer before liquor, never sicker and liquor before beer, in the clear” because Harry nearly always ends up passed out on some beanbag or the community sofa with a blanket some stranger dropped over his shoulders before he’s ambling into your room and stumbling into the bathroom. And there was this one time where Harry ended up smoking with a bunch of his roommates and he thought it’d be so funny to switch your car into park when you two were at a red light after he begged and pleaded and pouted for a quick midnight McDonald’s run. ("What the f—Harry! Are you insane?” Giggle only halfheartedly muffled by the back of his hand. "Nope. ‘Ve always wanted to do that. Sorry, love. Can I get a large vanilla milkshake when we get there? Please? I won’t do it again! Scout’s honor!") But at the same time, Harry makes sure he gets his stuff done. So he’ll be the one to barge into your room after charming your roommate into opening the door despite your tiredly grumbled “leave him out there to die" and he’ll tug at your ankles until you’re sitting yourself up right and you’ll see Harry packing up your bag with your math binder before tossing it at the foot of your bed and proclaiming you two are gonna do some studying in the library. And he makes sure that you go to your (stupid) 7:30AM class by knocking on your door on his way to the elevator, vanilla latte being shoved in your hand before you two stride along. And when it snows and classes are thankfully cancelled and everyone in the dorms are fleeing outside like they’ve never seen snow before, Harry’ll toss you over his shoulder before he’s running out into the pile by the firepit and dropping you both down. ("Are you mad!? I’m not even wearing a sweater! Harry, put me down!" "Snow angels!") And Harry’ll always come around once dinner time hits because he knows if no one’s offering, you won’t eat for the night. ("You’re a growing baby, you need your proper nutritions." "You’re an idiot. I’m in college, I’m not a baby." "You’re like two feet tall. You’re a baby." "No, you’re just a giant bean pole.") And Harry’s just very good company, always tugging a smile on your face even on those nights when all you want to do is toss your shit out the window and drop out to play the banjo at the bottom of a New York City sub station.
am I sick from anxiety or am I actually physically ill? a memoir by me
am i lazy or horribly depressed: the sequel
does everyone hate me or am I just very insecure: the completion of the trilogy
in 2014, its going to be 100 years since WWI began
how long until it ends? fuck this war