2012

Coming back from his first ever tour to find her hanging off another man’s arm was like a sucker punch. He’d thought about her on the drive home, the plane ride — the whole damn tour. She occupied his thoughts, like a continuous notion on repeat in his mind. Now he watched with an uncharacteristically hard expression while everyone else rejoiced, but her hand was in his.

He tried to come to terms with it. She had moved on — reasonable for her to do so since he never quite explained how he felt — but he hadn’t moved on; hung up on what should’ve been. And in his mind, she should’ve been his.

A couple months passed. He tried to visit her more and make up for all the lost time. Unfortunately, her boyfriend was always present; whether she was babbling about him or he was physically there. He swore he wouldn’t get jealous but how could he not be? It was torture. How could she not see it? For years, even before he left with the band, he had felt this way. How was she so blind?

Eventually, he snapped. She was talking about her boyfriend again, trying to catch Louis up on everything he missed while he was away. He couldn’t stand the sound of his name or how his hands had been on her, or how he got everything that should’ve been his.

“Stop it,” he snapped, a bit too harsh in contrast to the normal humor from him.