Harry:
You were used to being overlooked. The "funny one," the "best friend," the "one with the great personality." It wasn't a role you wanted to play, but somewhere along the way, you decided it was safer. If you made them laugh, they wouldn't notice your insecurities. If you were self-deprecating first, no one else could use your size or flaws against you.
Dating Harry was surreal—a whirlwind of stolen moments, shared laughter, and endless charm. But deep down, you couldn't help but wonder why he chose you. Out of all the beautiful, glamorous women who would kill for his attention, he picked the one who avoided mirrors and dreaded being in photos.
One evening, as you sat on his couch in a pair of oversized sweats, your knees pulled to your chest, Harry caught you staring at the floor.
"What's going on in that brilliant head of yours?" he asked softly, sitting beside you and resting a hand on your knee.
You hesitated. "It's nothing."
"Don't do that," he said, tilting his head to catch your gaze. "Don't brush it off. Talk to me."
The words spilled out before you could stop them—your insecurities, your fear that he'd realize you weren't good enough, your constant battle with yourself. Tears blurred your vision as you admitted, "I don't understand why you're with me. I'm not... enough. Not for you."
Harry didn't say anything at first. Instead, he pulled you into his arms, holding you as if to shield you from your own thoughts. "You're more than enough, love," he murmured against your hair. "You're kind, funny, brilliant... and so beautiful."
"But—"
"No buts," he interrupted firmly. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. "You don't see yourself the way I see you. The way anyone who knows you sees you. You're not someone's sidekick or a punchline. You're you. And that's extraordinary."
It wasn't an instant fix—your insecurities didn't magically disappear. But with Harry by your side, reminding you of your worth every step of the way, you started to believe him. Bit by bit, you learned to see yourself the way he saw you: someone who deserved love, respect, and all the happiness in the world.
Louis:
You were used to being the one no one really noticed. The "reliable friend," the one who was always there for everyone else but never the one people stayed for. You perfected the art of fading into the background, masking your insecurities with jokes and smiles. It was safer that way.
Then Louis came into your life.
He was bright and chaotic, his energy filling every room he walked into. At first, you couldn't understand why someone like him would even notice someone like you. But he did. Every time.
One evening, the two of you sat in his living room, your knees tucked under you as you scrolled through your phone. A group photo from a party you'd attended together popped up on your feed. Everyone else looked effortlessly radiant. You? You felt like the awkward one shoved to the side.
You sighed softly, hoping Louis wouldn't notice, but of course, he did.
"What's that face for?" he asked, leaning over to glance at your phone.
You quickly locked the screen. "Nothing. It's stupid."
"Nothing, my arse," he shot back, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Talk to me."
"It's just..." You hesitated, the words feeling too raw. "I always feel like I'm just... there. Like I don't matter as much as everyone else. Like people only notice me when I'm useful, or funny, or—"
