Unmistakable.

ELEVEN - Do I have to cry for you?

The next day

y/n's POV

I wake up late since I'm taking the day off work, I feel too drained to do anything, so I stay in bed for most of the day. I'm absolutely pissed with Nick, I can't believe I let myself trust someone so quickly. Now it's come to bite me in the ass, yet I can't help but almost feel as though I reacted too strongly. No, I'm just letting my emotions take over. "y/n, you can't just stay in bed forever, I know what Nick did was shitty but you can't let it control you." Izzy says, appearing in the doorway. I pull the covers over my head and groan, rolling away from her. I feel a weight sit down on the edge of the bed. "You're sitting on my feet." I mumble, the covers distorting my voice. Izzy shifts so that she's sat beside me. "Is it all that bad? So what if he's famous, isn't that good?" She asks, resting a hand on my back. "No. He lied to me about who he was Iz, you know how I feel about trust." I mumble again. "I get that, but you can't just hide from your responsibilities because some guy broke your heart." She says.

I pull the covers off my head and turn my head to face her. "I really liked him." I whine. "I know you did, even I thought he was a decent guy." She smiles at me. "You did?" I ask, turning around fully. "Yeah, he's a good guy, y/n." She says, getting up from the bed and walking towards the door. "I think he just didn't want someone to use him, yknow? He may have taken it too far, yeah, but he really did love you, y/n." Izzy walks out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Maybe I was a little harsh.

Nick's POV

I start packing some stuff for the show like my change of clothes and some water bottles for me and the guys. "How you feeling, Nicky?" Howie asks with a mildly concerned expression. "Shit." I reply, not looking up at him and shoving more things in my bag. "What's up?" He says. "I told y/n." I finally look up at him and sigh. "I'm guessing she didn't take it well?..." He frowns. "She blew up at me. We aren't talking at the minute." I say. "Don't worry, man, things will work out in the end, even if it means you don't get back together." He pats my back. I huff and pick up my bag, following the others out of the hotel. We arrive at Frankfurt's arena and start walking round the back only to be met by paparazzi. "Nick, what's with the long face?" One says, almost slapping me with her microphone. I ignore her rudeness, pushing the mic away, and we try to get past them. "Nick, what's wrong?" Another says, noticing my expression. I wish they'd just leave me alone.

With the help of security, we make it past the paparazzi and into the arena to start unpacking things like our clothes in our changing rooms. Hopefully, the show tonight will help take my mind off of y/n.

y/n's POV

I decide to get out of bed because it isn't healthy. I sloppily walk into the living room and drop down onto the couch with a blanket and reach for the remote. I switch the TV on and flick through the channels like how Nick showed me. I frown angrily, remembering the argument. I stop on a news channel and see a huge crowd outside of a huge building. They have mics and hundreds of flashing cameras, everyone is yelling and screaming. That's when I hear his name. "Nick, what's with the long face?" One of them say. The camera then zooms onto the boys and focuses on Nick, who's pushing the woman's mic away. He looks depressed and angry at the same time. Did I do that to him? I turn the TV off and go back to my room quickly, climbing back onto my bed. The guilt I feel right now is astronomical. I break down crying as I pull my knees to my chest, my sobs filling the room. I should've just let him explain instead of getting so angry. Perhaps we'd still be talking.

Time skip

Nick's POV

We get back to the hotel after a long show, we're exhausted, so we all go straight to bed. Except for me. I can't sleep no matter how tired I am. My mind is too busy racing at how I could've handled yesterday better, I wish I could turn back time. Maybe y/n would've understood me if I had worded it all differently. Once the guys are in their rooms, I sit down on the couch in the dark. There's no point in turning the light on. I lay down and look up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the little details of how the paint has cracked in certain areas, but I can't even do that. I feel that big lump in my throat rise again as tears start forming in my tired eyes, stinging them. There's only one thing I can think of right now.

Do I have to cry for you?