#harry styles

joshdevinedrums: Happy 16th birthday to the band that changed my life! What an honour it was to tour the world time and time again drumming with @ onedirection. Memories that will last a lifetime, with people who truly deserve every ounce of success they have. Blessed to have been able to be a tiny part of the giant puzzle! ❤️

♡ HAPPY 16 YEARS TO ONE DIRECTION ♡

Stuck Between Floors

They have thirty to forty-five minutes, no service, and every unsaid thing they’ve been carrying for months.

Word count: 6.1k

Harry was watching you when you opened your eyes, already smiling before you’d even fully focused on him, his hair pushed flat on one side and curling behind his ear on the other with a crease from the pillow running across his cheek.

“Hi,” he said.

Your voice came out rough. “How long have you been awake?”

“Little while.”

He reached over and tucked a piece of hair out of your face, fingers brushing your cheek, and left his hand there. Through the gap in the curtains a thin bar of grey morning light fell across the foot of the bed, and somewhere below the window a delivery truck was reversing, beeping in slow, patient intervals, and further out underneath that the city was already running at full volume, taxis and construction and someone on the sidewalk forty floors down shouting something that didn’t make it all the way up. You’d slept with the window cracked two inches because Harry always ran warm and the room had felt close when you checked in, and now the air coming through smelled like exhaust and coffee and something bakery-sweet from the place on the corner that opened at five.

Harry’s thumb moved against your cheekbone.

“I was thinking we could walk around this afternoon,” he said. “Before dinner. Find somewhere for coffee, just the two of us. That bookshop you saw yesterday, the one on the corner with all the stuff in the window.”

“You noticed that?”

“You slowed down in front of it for about thirty seconds.”

You had. You hadn’t thought he’d seen.

“No work after lunch,” he said. “I mean it. We’ll get ready together, take our time, make a night of it.”

He was looking at you with the steadiness he had first thing in the morning, before the day got its hands on him, before the phone started and the calls stacked up and he became the version of himself that belonged to other people. His eyes were still soft with sleep and the pillow crease cut across his cheek and his hair was genuinely terrible and he meant every word he was saying, you could see that he meant it completely, which was the thing that made it so easy to say what you said next.

“Okay,” you said.

He pulled you closer and you tucked your face against his chest and outside the delivery truck finished whatever it was doing and moved on, and for a little while the only sounds were the city doing its thing forty floors below and Harry’s heartbeat under your ear, steady and unhurried, like he had nowhere else to be.