A Haylor One Shot: The Only Way To Save Us

Taylor’s Pov:

I pick my laptop off the ground with one hand and hold my steaming coffee in the other hand.

"You got yours?" I ask quietly to the handsome male sitting on my bed.

"Yeah love. But I really don’t want to do this"

"I know Har.. but we have to" I say putting my coffee down and taking Harry’s hand in mine.

"Okay I start touring in two weeks. I only have two days off every week. I don’t know how many times I can fly back and forth" Harry says looking up from his laptop.

I open my laptop also and go into calendar.

"Ugh I have shows this entire month.. in Sydney and Melbourne"

"My shows are still within America until August"

"Well mine aren’t" I say my voice cracking and the intake of a sharp breath.

"How are we going to see each other? We have no excuses Harry. It’s not like I’m pregnant or anything" I look up to Harry staring contently at his screen.

"You could be pregnant. We could try in the next few weeks"

"No Harry I don’t want to rush this. I don’t want to have a baby at this point in my life. It’s not good for our careers"

"You said so yourself, we have no excuses. Why not get pregnant?"

"Harry I don’t think you get this. I can’t just get pregnant. We would have to make sure I am able to. Go to a lot of appointments. What would happen if I actually turned out pregnant? Then what do we do? Then we have a child Harry. You have to see where I’m coming from" I say rubbing my eyes and pushing a strand if hair behind my ears. I push my glasses a little bit farther up my face and look back to Harry.

"I do. It just seems like our only way of being together"

"I don’t know I just don’t" I lean my head onto my hands and let out a deep breath. I feel vile climb up my throat and I nervously swallow it and hold back tears.

"But what about-"

"Harry I’m done talking about this" I snap. I see Harry look up out of the corner of my eye. He’s looking directly at me.

"Come here babe" he opens his arms and I scoot over along the sheets and climb into his lap.

"I don’t know what to do. I feel pressured to get pregnant now. If it’s the only hope of us stating together than I have to do it" I cry into his chest.

"Don’t feel pressured baby. You don’t have to do anything"

"Yes I do Harry. What you’re saying is that the only way we can stay together is me having your child. I can’t take that big of a step Harry. That terrifies me" I say in one long breath.

"Listen just calm down okay? We can talk later. Aren’t you tired? We can sleep"

"Yes I’m tired. Very tired" I smile weakly.

I lie myself gently onto Harry’s chest and put one hand on my lower abdomen. My finger hover over my belly button area, imagining how this would all work out.

tayswayfanfic
youthfawn:

thisiscasey7:

forgott-en:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.
This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.
But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.
Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.
That’s what love is. Attention to detail.
And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.
But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time. She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.
But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:
One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.
And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.


I just cried at this

this is so perfect

youthfawn:

thisiscasey7:

forgott-en:

nedhepburn:

This one time I painted a living room with a girl.

This was a handful of years back. It was about eight months before the huge, flame-out of a breakup. That day, though? That day we painted the living room? It was pretty uneventful. We painted my parents living room for $50 between us and a pizza. That was it. I think we watched Anchorman or something after that.

But it still holds as on of the most indelible memories I have. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not still in love, it happened, it was good, it ended, and we’ve both moved on. But I’ll never forget that day. Because it’s never, in the long run, about the grand gestures. You can fly across the world and show up on her doorstep with a rose in your teeth and a ring in a little velvet box but I can guarantee you that - more often than not - she’s going to remember the time you built the birdhouse in the back yard, or what have you, a whole lot more.

Life wasn’t meant to be taken in large movements. The next day will inevitably arrive, you’ll sleep, and the moment will have passed. But when you have a hundred thousand small moments, you can step back and appreciate the picture a lot more than metaphorically blowing your load on some grand moment that, in all honesty, look, you’re not Bruce Fucking Springsteen, you’re not going to be able to blow everyone’s mind every single night. You’re not Romeo and/or Juliet. There’s no reason to drink the poison together in some flame-out gesture. So that leaves us with the small stuff. It’s all about the detail.

That’s what love is. Attention to detail.

And the moment will end. And then things will get boring. And it might get a little quiet. And it might all end horribly. And you might hate eachother at the end. And you might walk away from eachother one day and never speak again. But that’s just how it goes.

But she’ll remember the time you held the door open for her on your first date.
She’ll remember the time you laughed at her impression of the landlady.
She’ll remember the time you stayed up all night that first time.
She’ll remember the small things a lot longer than the big ones.

But everything ends. And I’ll tell you why you have to make the small things, the small moments count so much more:

One day, probably a while longer from now, when old age takes ahold of someone, she might just only remember your smile. Everything you ever did together, every second, every moment, every beat, every morning spent in bed, every evening spent together on the sofa, all of that - gone. Everything you ever did will be reduced to the head of a pin. She won’t remember your name. She’ll just remember your smile, and she’ll smile. She won’t know why. It’s a base, gut reaction. But she’ll smile, uncontrollably, and it will come from somewhere so deep as to know that you touched her on a primal, honest, and true level that no scientist, scholar, or savant could ever begin to explain. There is no more. There is nothing else. There is just this: She’ll remember your smile, and she’ll smile.

And you know what? That’s all that really matters in the end.

I just cried at this

this is so perfect