HE FINDS OUT ONE OF YOUR SECRETS BY READING YOUR DIARY

Louis: He was just looking for your mother's old recipe book, he was. But he was digging through the box in the attic and he found a whole box full of books! "All I wanted to do was make her breakfast and now I'm digging through boxes," he grumbles, even though he can't wait to see your expression when he makes a (hopefully) successful plate of your mom's famous Blueberry Crepes. Now, where was that damn recipe book? He pulls out a stack of books, tossing an old yearbook back in the box. He sees the familiar "Mommy's Recipes" notebook and sets it aside, but a very sparkly red book catches his eye. Curiously, he picks up the book. It must've been yours, from your younger years. It's got your name scribble on it, and 'FUTURE MRS.TOMLINSON ' doodled all around. Louis lets out a small chuckle and opens it, wondering what other exciting things about him are inside. But the first entry chills him to the bone. "Dear Diary, why am I writing in this stupid book anyway? I cut again today. I need to stop, I know. But I can't." He carefully turns the next page. "Diary-- I cut once more, right on my stomach. I hope no one sees." Next page. "Another one on my stomach." He turns pages and pages, each one a new cut until the last page fills him with relief. "Dear Diary, I stopped. I'm too good for this. I stopped and I'm never going back." He shuts the book slowly, the recipe book long forgotten. You're still sleeping, and he loiters in the doorway for a moment. He watches you lying in the sheets, looking so delicate and beautiful. Your hair splayed around you, like a halo of some sort. He's proud of you for stopping, but it hurts him just a little that he'd never known. Of course it was before you met him, but it still hurts him that you'd ever felt so bad that you'd harm yourself. He instinctively walks over to the bed and sits beside your form gently, careful not to wake you up. He slides the hem of your over-sized shirt up slowly, seeing tiny scars he'd never noticed before. How had he not seen them? They were so pale--the kind of scars you wouldn't notice unless you knew they were there. Unless you were looking. He places his hand over one particularly dark scar, his warm skin meeting yours. He leans over and kisses one of the scars, one right near your hip, just as you stir awake. "Louis," you breathe, noticing him and your scars. "I'm so proud of you, I didn't mean to find out, but I'm glad I did..." he says softly, running his hand over the scars once more. "You're stronger than I ever imagined, (Y/N). I love you so much." A tear slides down your cheek and he wraps you in his arms, the two of you sitting and just...being together in comfortable silence. "I love you so much, Louis," you tell him quietly, burying your head against his bare chest. "I love you more. So, so much more," he replies. 

Harry: "HARRY, CAN YOU PLEASE CHANGE THE SHEETS ON THE BED?" you call out from the shower, crossing your fingers that maybe just once he'd do some chores around the house. With a sigh, the green-eyed boy agrees, getting off the couch and heading to strip the bed. As he pulls of the sheets, a cheeky thought passes through his mind. "(Y/N), I wish I was stripping you instead of the bed!" he shouts to you cheekily, laughing at his own joke. You roll your eyes and laugh despite yourself. Whatever makes him get chores done, yeah? Harry, still smiling to himself reaches over and yanks the pillowcase off his own pillow, tossing it aside. As he reaches over for your pillow, he notices an odd bulge inside the case. What could it be? Curiously, he yanks the pillowcase off, sending a small leatherbound book to come sprawling onto the bare bed. A diary? He's about to put it back and respect your privacy, but it'd fallen open to yesterday's date and his name caught your eye. With curiosity, he leans over and his eyes scan the pages, his heart sinking with each word. "Dear Diary...I hate myself for feeling this way, but I'm just...so scared of losing Harry. I love him more than anything, he's my world, you know? But there's so many other girls falling all over him, prettier ones, better ones, smarter ones...I wonder how I still have him. I don't want to lose him xx" You walk into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, droplets of water grazing your skin. "Kitten, I hate myself for letting you feel this way," Harry whispers, turning around. "What? What do you mean..." your eye catches the familiar book lying on the bed and you turn away. "Oh." He quickly walks over and gathers you in a hug, kissing your lips softly. "Please don't ever feel like that. You're never going to lose me. I'm always afraid of losing you--I never thought you felt that way about me," he breathes. "I love you so much, babe. You're the most beautiful and perfect. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you, and I'm not leaving anytime, ever. I love you so damn much, and I'll be damned if I let you go." You let a tear drip down your cheek and mix with the warm water from your recent shower. Your towel slides off, but you ignore it, just burying yourself in his arms. You can just feel in his words and his whole being that he means what he says. And you won't be losing him anytime soon.

 
Zayn: He didn't mean to snoop through your things, honest. He was just looking for a T-shirt to wear, since the one he'd been wearing got kind of ripped in...activities last night. But in your drawer, he found the tiny blue book. And he saw a broken heart etched on the front in black, and he wanted to know what was inside. He wanted to know why it was a broken heart. You were in the kitchen making breakfast, so he had to be quick. He picked up the book carefully, not wanting to invade your privacy, but wanting to make sure you were okay. At least, that's what he told himself. He flipped through the pages slowly, but all he saw were numbers. Numbers and dates. And broken hearts. "july 20, 250," broken heart. "july 21, 50," "july 22 560" three broken hearts. He wondered what they all meant, but when he got to the last page, it clicked. "stop eating so many calories! 0" today's date. Broken heart. Calories. Weight. He let the book fall from his hand, shaking. How could he not notice. You were his GIRLFRIEND for God's sake! He was so, so angry at himself. He couldn't control it. He swung out his fist and punched the wall, making a small indent. "Zayn! Christ! I heard a bang, are you okay?" you run into the room quickly, face filled with concern. "Am I ok? The question is are you okay? God, I'm so, so sorry," he whispers, shaking his head. "Zayn? What are you taking about?" you ask, voice quivering. He walks over to you, his hazel eyes edged with tears. He places a gentle hand on your waist. "How could I have not noticed, I'm awful," he breathes. You notice the open drawer and you know he must've found it. Your book. "Zayn, I'm fine, that book is just..." you try to explain feebly. "Just nothing, (Y/N). That's so...bad...I don't want to lose you, please let me help you," he says quietly, placing his hands on either side of your face. Tears slide down your cheek and he brushes them away. You give him a nod, deciding you'll go to rehab or therapy or whatever it takes. You can't handle him blaming himself, and you can't stop on your own. "You're good enough," he says softly. "You are perfect." 

Niall: Niall couldn't help it. You'd been so quiet lately. Whenever he asked what was wrong, you'd lie. You'd say you were fine, but he saw right through it. He was worried, so worried. He asked your best friend if she knew, but she had no idea anything was even wrong. He knew that you weren't okay, and you wouldn't talk. So when you were both outside by the pool, he said he'd be right back, he was going inside to get a snack. He wasn't. Feeling guilty, but powered by concern, he snuck into your room. He checked under your pillow, your nightstand--looking for what? A diary? Maybe. He stuck his hand under the bed, letting out a silent gasp when he felt something. A notebook? He pulls out the composition notebook, one like the ones kids use in school and turns it over in his hands. He shouldn't open it, but if you won't open up to him...Swallowing thickly, he opens the book. He was expecting, well, he didn't know what he was expecting, but he knows it wasn't this. His eyes flicker across the words, his hands are shaking. Today's date. "Dear Journal, it's been one year since I tried to do it. Commit. I'm glad I didn't, but it's still hard to remember. Who would've known one moment saved my life? x Love, (Y/N)' He can't believe it. You always seemed to happy and...but one year ago. One year ago. Shit. One year ago was the day he met you. He saved your life. He can't help but let a tear slip down his cheek as he shoves the book back beneath your bed frame. He runs down the stairs and gathers you into his arms. You're so confused, but he's crying and smiling and mumbling how he's so happy to have you and how he loves you so much, so you just lean into his hug and brush away a lone tear. "What's going on, babe?" you whisper quietly. "I saw..I'm so sorry...I was worried...but I can't believe..." he manages to get out, stroking your hair. "Niall, what are you talking about?" you breathe, even though you're pretty sure what he's talking about. "Please don't ever...try to commit again, please. I don't know what I'd do if I," he says softly, kissing your cheek. "If I lost you." You want to be mad at him for going through your personal things--your journal for God's sakes! But you can't bring yourself to do it. Because truthfully, he deserves to know. He is the one who saved your life, after all. 

Liam: "Can you help me look for it? I can't find it and I really need to wear my black dress to work today," you sigh, digging through a pile of dirty clothes on the floor. "Of course I'll help," Liam replies, thumbing through hangers in your closet. You both dig through nearly everything you own, looking for the stupid black dress with the criss-cross back, when Liam finds something odd in one of your drawers. A notebook? "Babe, what's this?" he asks innocently, holding it up. You turn around and freeze, shaking your head. "It's my diary," you mumble, your cheeks turning red. "Oh," he replies simply, turning it over in his hands. You don't tell him not to read it, though. In fact, maybe you're glad that by some random turn of events, by some chance he'd found it. He goes to put the book back in the drawer where he'd found it, being respectful of your privacy, but you stop him. "Liam, you can read it if you want," you say softly, taking a step closer to him. "No, it's okay. I don't want to invade your privacy," he shrugs. "No, I want you to read it," you say quickly, before you can take back your words. He looks at you with confusion, but places the book back in his hands. "Why? What's in it?" he inquires, running his hand over the cover. "Liam, I need you to know something and it's really...embarrassing and I hope you don't think I'm a complete freak or loser or crazy, but..." you trail off and push the book towards him, urging him to read. "Babe, nothing could make me think you're a freak or a loser or crazy..." he replies, opening the book. His eyes scan the first page. The second. The third. Next page, next page. His face doesn't show much of a reaction, he's not that easy to read. You hope he doesn't find it completely bonkers that this notebook isn't much of diary...it's more of a collection of writings. It's actually more of a book filled with dreams and things, kind of like a bunch of imagines or scenarios or one shots, with you and him as main characters. "(Y/N), these are really good. I didn't know you wrote," he says after a few moments. "Why did you think I'd think you were a freak? Or crazy?" He pulls you into a hug and smiles, shaking his head. "Liam, but, I wrote all these made up things about us, that's a bit 'out there' and crazy," you tell him, raising an eyebrow. "It's not, I think it's sweet," he says honestly. "Maybe we can make some of them come true."

Qotd: If I made a book where y'all got to write questions for me in the comments to answer, would y'all like for me to do it?

A: THE Q&A BOOK WAS MADE