harry did both don’t let me go and if i could fly like he continuously went that hard, can you imagine all those feelings at that intensity for years and years, never stopping, holy fuck harry and louis love each other
When Niall walks through the gate at Dublin Airport at four in the morning, jet lagged to hell and back, he feels like he’s home. He thinks he’s never felt so happy to hear an Irish accent, and he certainly has never been so happy to have no fucking clue what he’s doing.
(Well, he has some idea of what he’s doing, he just isn’t sure it’s going to work out the way it does in his head.)
(An AU where Niall dreams of his lost love and finds himself going home to search for him.)
tell me about the silent city inside your chest. i can see the streetlights going off, the cigarette trails rolling off your back, the disappointment pooling at your feet. the homeless sitting by the curb of your ribs. the jazz clubs with blinking neon lights, the night drowning out the tales of dead men. i can hear the infants screaming for their mothers with flushed cheeks, bruised skin. the rebel kids and their city hearts yelling for more, more, more. the cul-de-sac that never changed. the businessmen who used to run down the streets with their shirts undone, now come home to a cold dinner. tell me about them. tell me about the dead town no one talks about anymore. is it still in your chest or have you moved it out?
I imagine women must see him in a certain light. ’Oh God? A cad?’ He groans. He is not on Tinder, but ’probably would have been’ back in the day. ’I’m pleased camera phones didn’t exist. I would’ve been caught in all kinds of compromising situations. I was completely f***ing feckless.’ - Colin Farrell