SIX - One Direction

62

The release day for Made in the A.M. dawns grey and chilly, but the atmosphere among the group is anything but cold. It's a strange mix of elation and quiet introspection. They've done this before—albums, press, fan reactions—but this one feels different. Special. Final. None of them says it out loud, but the thought hangs heavy, lingering like the final note of a song.

Alex is curled up on the sofa in their shared flat, a steaming mug of tea in her hands as she scrolls through social media. The fan response is overwhelming: heartfelt messages, photos of the album, videos of fans crying as they listen to the songs for the first time. It's all love, pouring in from every corner of the globe.

"Have you seen this one?" Niall calls from the kitchen, holding up his phone. He's grinning, but there's a softness in his voice. "This girl's made a whole scrapbook of our songs—look at it! She's even drawn little doodles for each track."

Alex smiles, leaning over to look. "That's adorable. I swear the fans put more effort into this than we do sometimes."

"Speak for yourself," Louis quips from the armchair, flipping through a magazine. "I'm a creative genius. The fans just recognise that."

Harry snorts, leaning against the window with a cigarette in hand, the smoke curling lazily into the morning air. "Creative genius? Mate, you rhymed 'history' with 'you and me.' Proper Shakespearean, that."

Louis flicks the magazine at him, and Harry ducks, grinning. It's moments like this that make it easy to forget the weight pressing down on all of them.

By afternoon, the buzz of the album's release has them all in high spirits. Interviews flood in, reactions from radio DJs, chart updates—everything pointing to the fact that Made in the A.M. is already a success. But under the excitement is a quiet understanding. They've poured their hearts into this album, and it shows. Every lyric, every note, every harmony is tinged with the experiences of the past few months: the late nights, the tensions, Zayn's departure, and the bittersweetness of what might be their last record together.

That evening, they've planned a low-key celebration with close friends and family. Nothing over-the-top, just a few drinks, good food, and the people who've been there through it all. The rented townhouse in London is warm and bustling by the time everyone arrives, the smell of roast dinner and laughter filling the space.

Alex stands in the kitchen, helping Niall slice up a massive chocolate cake. "Do you think they'll bring it up tonight?" she asks quietly, not looking up.

"What, the break?" Niall shrugs, his knife pausing mid-slice. "Dunno. We all know it's comin', but no one wants to be the one to say it, do they?"

She sighs, setting down the plate she's holding. "It feels weird, doesn't it? Like, we're celebrating, but..."

"...but it's a bit of a goodbye too," he finishes for her, his voice soft. "Yeah. It's weird."

Louis bursts into the kitchen then, grabbing a handful of crisps from the counter. "Oi, less whispering. It's a bloody party, not a funeral."

Alex smiles faintly. "Leave some crisps for the rest of us, Tomlinson."

"Fat chance," he says with a wink, popping a crisp into his mouth before vanishing back into the lounge.

By the time the night is in full swing, everyone has loosened up. Liam is chatting with some friends by the fireplace, Harry's perched on the arm of a sofa with a drink in hand, and Louis is deep in a conversation that seems to involve a lot of gesturing and laughing. Alex finds herself on the balcony with Niall, the cold November air biting at her cheeks as they look out over the city.

"It's mad, isn't it?" he says, breaking the silence. "This life we've built. Feels like we've been running nonstop since we were kids."

"Because we have," she replies with a wry smile. "But we've done something incredible, Niall. Something not many people get to do."

He nods, his gaze distant. "Yeah. But I'll miss this, y'know? The late nights, the touring, even the stupid inside jokes. It's not just a band—it's... family."

Alex doesn't say anything, just leans her head on his shoulder, and they stand there for a while, the hum of the party behind them.

Later, as the night winds down, the boys gather in the living room, their closest friends having trickled out the door. The room feels quieter now, more intimate. They're sprawled across the furniture, drinks in hand, and it's Liam who finally breaks the silence.

"We did something amazing with this one," he says, his voice quiet but firm. "*Made in the A.M.*... it's not just an album. It's... us."

There's a murmur of agreement, Niall nodding solemnly, and Alex can see the emotion in his eyes. "It's like... everything we've been through, innit? All of it in one album."

Harry speaks up next, his voice low. "It's personal, this one. Feels like we left a bit of ourselves in every track."

Louis, for once, doesn't make a joke. He sits forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze serious. "We've had a bloody good run, haven't we? Whether this is it or not, no one can take that away from us."

Alex feels a lump rising in her throat as she looks around at them. These boys who have become her family. She knows, deep down, that this is a moment she'll carry with her forever.

"To us," Liam says, raising his glass, and they all follow suit, their voices overlapping.

"To us."