I swear to God I’m in love with him.

No, I don’t think I can put any of it into words. It’s the way his smile lights up my world, so unforgiving and bright. The way he takes care of others and never asks for anything back. The way the vein in his neck pops out and his eyebrows scrunch together when he’s singing an emotional song. The way he patiently puts up with the younger members’ banter (he’d never admit how amusing he found them). The way he would dance after eating delicious food, even though he swears to goodness he can’t dance for the life of him. Or maybe it’s the way he's so unafraid to show his tears, when all the passion and dedication flows from every inch of his body - and despite remaining underappreciated, he doesn’t allow his fans to feel the same pain.

Maybe it’s the way he persevered through an injury in order to stay strong for others, or the jokes he makes to lighten the mood, or even the tacky things he forces us to put up with because he cares about small things. Anything could make him happy.

Or maybe it’s his height? His broad shoulders that carry the weight of his burdens? His windshield wiper laugh that wipes away my sadness. The sweet, blissful seconds of escape I have when I’m with him.

I’m so in love with this man, I ache. All over. I need him. He’s like a drug. I want to hold him whenever he’s sad, let him rant to me about his fears and concerns all day, let me massage aw