Lots of Love [l.s. AU]

3

Dear Harry Styles,

Okay. Here's the thing. I'm screaming right now. I am literally screaming.

You wore the head scarf to the premiere. You wore the jeans to the premiere. You wore your boots to the premiere. And you looked damn hot, too.

Are you receiving my letters? Are you reading them? To be quite honest, I can imagine you reading my letters. It could be part of your daily routine. They most likely show up the day after I send them, considering we live so close to one another. I can picture you putting on those ugly librarian reader's glasses and sitting down in a chair at the kitchen table. probably at a time after Michael goes to sleep because I know he's a jealous little piece of poo. (I still don't get why you guys live together). You'd read my notes, smiling when I ramble on like I'm doing now. Maybe you would laugh at some parts. I think you would like Niall. 

I'm sure it was just a coincidence, though. You don't actually read my letters. They're probably just being given to a hobo in Whales. By the way, if it is a hobo, go away. You don't need to know about my personal life. Or my relations with Harry Styles (or, lack of, for that matter). 

I'm still saving up to get those concert tickets. Maybe you could lower the price? No, then you wouldn't be making money. I need my future husband to be rich. I'm thinking I could just get a job working at Starbucks. I'd have to deal with obnoxious people and ridiculous orders but I'd get to meet celebrities because they all seem to like Starbucks. Even you. Wouldn't that be interesting? If you hadn't been reading these and you show up at the Starbucks that I work at and you're completely oblivious to the cute guy behind the counter, as you're so entranced by your phone. Suddenly, I ask you some specific question about your drink, and you look up and time stops. There is no you. There is no me. There is us, which is more beautiful then anything else in the entire universe. Your green eyes and my blue eyes would clash in an amazing way, and the every single person there would watch us and know that we were in love. The irony would come in and Michael would text or call you, but you would just ignore it, and ask for my number instead. Then we'd get married and have a million babies together. 

I ramble too much. Especially about things that are never going to happen. 

How are you? You had a certain glow about you last night. I think you were happy. About what, I am not sure. Did something good happen? Did you and Michael break up? Honestly, I'm sorry if I offend you with trashing on your boyfriend constantly, but he's such an awful person that every time I see a magazine with his face and another girl's on it, I'm not even surprised. I wouldn't even be surprised if I found out that every cheating rumor ever created about him was true. Every single one. I'm not dissing your relationship, I'm just saying you should possibly reconsider it. Deeply reconsider it. Ask Zayn and Liam about it. 

Niall wants me to tell you that he likes your friend Zayn. He's completely smitten. He'll never admit it, though. He's got his tough Irish ego (along with an adorable Irish accent). He specifically said, "Oi, tell that long haired hippy of yours that I like his friend, Zayn Malik. He's really hot. Like, he could cook my frozen pizza in ten seconds." So, if/when we ever meet, please hook them up. Much appreciated. 

I'm not sure what else to write, to be quite frank. I have a few facts about me that you may want to read.

1. I'm almost twenty. My birthday is December 24th, in a few months. 

2. I have two best friends, Niall and Eleanor.

3. When I was in high school, I was on the cheer leading squad. I'm pretty flexible (insert non-existent, extremely perverted winking face).

4. I want to be a drama teacher. I'm taking lessons at community college, and hopefully I'll earn my degree for it in a few years.

5. I love you, Harry Styles. Not for your looks, although those are a big plus, but for your actions because you're always so nice to everyone. My cute little flower.

I still haven't given up on the flower thing, by the way. I still think you are a total bottom. Anyway, same time tomorrow. I know you have an interview in the afternoon. Give me a sign if you're getting my letters? I just want to know if I should be embarrassed or not for all of this personal junk I'm writing, even if I told you ahead of time that you were going to be my diary. 

Lots of love, 

Louis Tomlinson