damn those words are moving

All of Me

If you haven’t heard John Legend’s All of Me, listen to it here.

Liam: “Cards on the table: we’re both showing hearts. Risking it all though it’s hard.”

His gaze meets yours. Brown eyes, normally confident, sparkle with a thin film of wetness as he desperately awaits your response. You have to say something, and soon, otherwise the moment will be lost: lost in the silence, lost in the space between words where insecurities hide, lost like he will be to you if your damn lips don’t start moving. His words hang in the air, those three little words. How long had he been holding them in?
They had come out in a tumble, as if they couldn’t be held in any longer. You take a deep breath, slipping your hands into his, giving them a squeeze of reassurance. “I love you too, Liam,” you whisper. “I love you.”

Louis: “You’re my end and my beginning. Even when I lose I’m winning.”

He slips into your shared apartment sometime in the early morning before the sun has risen. He was out late, an after party for some award show at which One Direction had lost in every single category they were nominated. Normally, he wouldn’t mind, but he had put so much effort into the last album. He had given heart and soul, so the loss was crushing, so crushing he decided to lose himself in the bottom of a few glasses. But he eventually realized that wasn’t the answer, sobered up slightly, and decided to come home to you. With great care to stay quiet, he silently pads down the hallway to the bedroom where you’re sleeping deeply, having given up hope of him coming home last night. He watches you sleep, face buried into his pillow wearing one of his old t-shirts. His heart pounds in his chest, threatening to burst as you mumble his name and reach out in the empty darkness for him. What does a stupid award matter, he thinks, shuffling over to you, when I have this prize to come home to? Gently, he nudges you over and slips into bed, wrapping himself up in your warmth.

Niall: “My head’s under water, but I’m breathing fine. You’re crazy, and I’m out of my mind.”

“Sometimes,” you whisper, “I feel like this is just a dream and I’m going to wake up and you won’t be by my side.” You look into his eyes as he waits for you to continue.“Sometimes when I wake up and you’re actually not here, it scares me.” You reach out and his hand catches yours, pulling it in closer to his chest. “In those moments, I feel like I’m drowning, like I can’t breath even though I’m just lying in bed and everything’s fine.” You blink back your tears, surprised you even admitted this to him. “You probably think I’m crazy,” you laugh, turning your face away from him.

With his free hand, he turns your face back to his. “If you’re crazy,” he whispers leaning in to kiss you, “Then I’m out of my mind.”

Zayn: “How many times do I have to tell you: even when you’re crying you’re beautiful too? The world is beating you down, I’m around through every mood.”

You step into the living room, where he’s sitting on the couch, playing a video game. “Zayn?” you choke out between your sobs. Hearing the pain in your voice, he immediately drops the controller and turns towards you. Tears stream down your cheeks, a relentless torrent of sadness pumping through your body, finding escape where it can. “Zayn I’m… I’m not… I’m not good enough for you.” Your shoulders heave as a cry wracks your body.

“Babe,” he says, walking over to you. “What’s made you think that?” You glance down at your phone, still open to twitter. His face darkens and he rips the phone out of your hand. “This?” he says, volume rising. “This means nothing!” He throws the phone at the wall, shattering the screen causing you to jump and more tears to fall. “Those people don’t know what they’re talking about. They don’t know me, and they sure as hell don’t know you. Look at me, y/n.” He takes your chin and tilts your head up to his. “You’re so beautiful and so wonderful. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Harry: “‘Cause all of me, loves all of you. Love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections”

“Don’t,” you whisper as he reaches for the light. “Don’t turn it on.” He shoots you a questioning look, as if to ask why. “I don’t want you to see,” you answer, looking up at him from your position on the bed. A small smile spreads across his lips.

“I think I’ve already seen everything you have to offer, y/n, especially after what we just did.”

“I know,” you whisper, cheeks heating up. “But it’s different in the light, when we’re not… if you’re just looking at me… I…” Your words fail you, unable to explain how you feel about your body. It’s one thing when you’re in the act, but to be naked next to him, and his eyes on you… it was too intimate, too revealing.

With a swift movement, he peels the blanket off you, leaving you exposed. You cry out in surprise, reaching for the comfort of cover, but he grabs your hand and pins it down. “Harry what are you-” he cuts you off with a swift kiss to your lips. His lips trail down to your jawline, down your throat, over your shoulder. He skips over your chest and kisses the bottom of your rib cage that you feel is to prominent. The sides of your abdomen where you’ve worked to rid those love handles that never seem to leave. Your stomach that’s not as flat as you like. Your hips that are too narrow. The tops of your thighs with the stretch marks from your slight growth spurt in eighth grade. Then he comes back up, pressing himself onto you, and kisses the tip of your nose.

“I know you don’t love what you see,” he says. “I know you see flaws and faults, but when I look at you, I don’t see that. All I see is the woman I fell in love with, and I wish you’d see it too.”