I wanted to tell you the story of how I almost fell in love with a Parisian boy. I wanted to tell you the story. I didn't say the words out loud. I wanted to tell you the story of how my best friend fell in love with this Parisian boy. I wanted to tell you. She is kissing him now. I don't want to tell stories anymore.
I keep wanting to write that story in which One Direction is just Louis, Liam, Harry and Zayn because Niall didn't think he'd ever make it. And then when they go on tour, he goes to audition to be the guitarist of the band instead (and gets the spot of course
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--- None of this is real, but you're probably aware of that. Niall/Harry, blowjobs and contemplations of corruption. No plot at all, but possibly part of a longer story now that I've started this? ---