Lots of Love [l.s. AU]

5

Dear Harry Styles,

I called the animal shelter the minute your article from E!News went up. They said that while Hubert Green never showed up, a man by the name of Edward Tommo outbid me for the 'gorgeous pup with two magically colored eyes', and that they would be glad to find me another dog. I declined and took back my money.

Coincidentally, you found a gorgeous dog with the same two magically colored eyes. As I write that word, coincidence, I hope you take a moment to recognize the fact that I'm rolling my eyes so far up I can see Jupiter. You must have put forth a lot of effort to find that beauty of a puppy, Harry Edward Styles...

Why can't you just be blunt with me for once? What's with the secrecy? I'm here pathetically writing these letters, wishing you would come out and tell me or give me a sure sign that you're receiving these. Or maybe you're not.

Maybe this entire thing is a joke.

Or luck.

Or pure coincidence.

Here I am, a man lonely enough in life to write letters to a celebrity that doesn't even know I exist. I write sappy mantras and adopt fricking puppies, but still I get no recognition from this guy that I seem obsessed with. And why is that? It's because he isn't actually reading me letters. This isn't Harry Styles. This is a hobo, or the trash can around the corner from the post office, where the post man throws out my letters because even he can see how abnormally pathetic that I am. I waste my days re blogging pictures and fantasizing and writing these stupid notes that express all of these lovey feelings, but life isn't all lovey, is it? Everyone gets down sometimes. It just so happens that I'm down more times than I'm not.

Oh well. C'est la vie. I'm penciling down my thoughts from the corner of a club right now. Niall dragged me here practically against my will, and while I've had my fair share of drinks tonight, my little Irish friend is completely plastered. Like, I am incapable of understanding him when he speaks. Which he tends to do a lot when he's drunk.

I feel like drinking tonight. Drinking away you and all of my worries. Do I even have to go to work tomorrow? Does a bad, hungover impression on the first day even matter at this point? By the way, I got the toy store job. The boss is a bit creepy, but nothing I can't handle. I love helping the littler kids find their first toys, or aiding the tiny girls in choosing the prettiest Barbie doll. It's really enlighteni

***

My pen slows as a man approaches my table, which sits secluded in the shadows of the hyper club. Casa Boom is the name. I can faintly hear the loud laugh of Niall, who grinds in between two dudes. Both of "his men" have stubble that dot their faces, dark hair, and a nice build. They remind me of Zayn. As for the guy standing over me, his hair is cropped short, and a grin is pasted onto his wrinkly face. His dark brown eyes shimmer in the very slight flashing light. The scent of alcohol washes over me, coming from his open mouth. As disgusting and creepy as ever, my new boss stood in front of me. He was as creepy as ever.

"Hey, Louis right?" There's a small bunch of awkward tension in the room, but Luis has always been one to ease such tension with his smooth personality.

"Yeah, yeah. How's it going Mr. Dunman?" The smile on the elder's face grew at the mention of his own name.

"Please, call me Luke."

"Alright, Luke. How's your night been so far?"

"Good, good, I had this coupon for a free drink so I thought I might as well stop in for a bit, obviously I got a tad carried away. How about you?"

"It's been okay. Nothing out of the ordinary." My hand reached back to scratch at the nape of my neck, tickling the small pieces of hair back there that I refused to have cut.