Shy||l.t. a.u.

day three

The looks you give they hurt. They hurt no less than getting shot by a bullet because that's how much I love you.

But I still think your beautfiul. Angelic. Perfectly flawed. I'm in too deep to ever hate you or dislike you in a certain way, shape, or form.

I've always wanted to talk about your body.

How it's not too skinny not to fat.

I love the way your not as skinny as society wants you to be.

Like those woman I always see in the magazines my mother orders.

I don't like those womans' body.

I love your body.

Your body with curves in all the right places. But not too thin and not too chubby, just right.

I will never forget the day you cried. Tears streaming down your pale cheeks when someone called you fat that first day in middle school.

All I wanted to do was hold you and tell you how much you were perfect and that you weren't fat at all. They were just jelous bacause you're just amazingly imperfect.

I love your feet when you wear sandals, your legs when you wear those shorts, theighs when I once saw you in a bikini at that party and you laughed when I was thrown into the pool by the football team;but  it was okay after since I saw you smile, but it still hurt; I love your eyes when they shine outside because of the blazing star in the sky that hits them; I love your ears; your mouth when you smile and laugh; your stomach; just everything about you.

And I can't seem to express this enough. I can't express how much I love you enough. There's this feeling inside of me that wants to just rip out of it's cage to finally have the strength to yell, 'I love you'.

But a bigger feeling holds me back. I'm too shy.

I'm Louis Tomlinson, the outcast.

Love,
    Louisx

The boy runs a hand through his hair as he looks around the green field, quietly sitting underneath the hot bleachers. His other classmates of his P.E. hour run around the field, doing laps up and down the perimeter. Louis hides to avoid the workout and bullying of his classmates give him by tripping him and spitting on him not shortly after. It's vulgar and disgusting and Louis wants to avoid it. He sees the coach looking around the field warily before he blows his whistle and all heads turn to him. "Where's Louis Tomlinson!" he questions, yelling. Louis' heart instantly begins to race and he looks down at his lap nervously to hide his face.

He flinches as a small yelp escapes past his lips when he hears a soft voice say his name. "Louis?" the voice says it softly again before the crunching of grass is heard and the person sits next to him. He slowly turns his gaze to the company and his breath hitches in his throat as he feels is if his world stops. Her face is serious, but no less beautiful. He bites his bottom lip, quickly gathering his books and holding them against his chest. A small smile slowly grows onto her cherry, red lips. "I won't rat you out, promise." he turns his head to look that the rest of the class continue to run and the coach sits back in his seat carelessly. No one cares about him anyway.  He looks at Holland again and he is blown away. He can not believe she's under the bleachers, her scent intoxicating his nostrils.  She's so much more beautiful up close. Her long lashes frame her brown eyes beautifully and her prominent cheekbones are even more distinct. She furrows her dark brows. "Are you going to talk?" she asks him with a small giggle. Louis' lips part and he doesn't have the voice to say anything. He's frozen and he most likely looks like a fool in her eyes.

"H-hi." he stammers quietly. Her lips turn up once again, making his heart flutter inside his rib cage.

"How come your hiding?" she asks. Louis shrugs and slowly a smile works it's way onto his lips.

"I-I don't know. I don't really like this class."

"Why?"

"I just don't." he shrugs again.

"Are they mean to you?" Louis looks away momentarily, his breathing heavy as he feels his heart beating quickly agaisnt his chest.

"Yeah." the bell suddenly rings, breaking Louis out of a trance he was in. He darts his gaze to the girl that sat next to him, but she's already gone. He watches as she runs off the field with her friends and he feels guilty and stupid. Stupid for beilieving that maybe she would be just a little kinder to him and guilty for not carrying that conversation further. The guy is supposed make the first move. If only he wasn't so shy.