Harry - it’s five o’clock in the morning, and he still has your hand in his, the same cove-like grip that you fell asleep with. But now you’re dipping eyelids from opening too wide, peering over to his chest heaving softly. And he brought in all the bags you packed last night while you were fighting, must’ve woken up after you made up and crashed, walked out to the car and carried it all in. He even re-zipped all the compartments and folded the jackets you’d flung in haste. And no matter how crazy he’d been last night, all you can see is how his eyelashes flicker and lips puff with every breath, head lolled to one side and his curls damp and soft. And he doesn’t open his eyes but he squeezes your hand tighter in his, whether it’s reflex or instinct, some part of him wants you to know that he’s with you, always.
Liam - it’s your birthday, and he flew halfway across the world to knock on your door, and kiss you, lips hasty when he smears them by your cheeks and a smile that he’s widening. And he’s still with you all the way into the night, and it wasn’t for promotion or the idea that he’s being a good enough boyfriend. He just wanted to see you, can’t stand the idea of you being alone today. And the cake he ordered never arrives so he drives down to pick it up himself, and it’s your favourite flavour and you can’t even remember ever telling him that, but he knows, lips kissing your forehead before you blow out the candles, he knows.
Louis - it’s the night before he leaves for tour, and the rest of the world is calling but he’s laying here with you, cradling you to a bare chest and fingers trailing each line of his tattoo, holding you, encasing you with palms that won’t rest, even when you start to drift off from it being so late. He’ll stay up with you for as long as it takes. And he can feel his phone buzzing in his back pocket, the right people telling him to get his ass outside, into the car waiting to take him to the airport, but he waits until you’re asleep, until he can gently drop your limbs back onto the bed and kiss your forehead, knowing you went to sleep in a better way, a better mood than he’s in, knowing he has to leave you again.
Zayn - it’s raining, and he’s laying down with you, staying home for the night when everyone else is out, and he was given every invitation but he turned them all down, so his hands are holding yours, and a movie is playing but he’s watching you, and you realise that he could’ve been out tonight, probably should’ve been, but he said no, to spend it with you because he wants to, and it’s not a big deal, because you’re only sprawled together with a bowl of butter popcorn and cans of coke but it means the world, you’re who he’d rather be with, every night.
Niall - it’s sunny in the morning, and you’re shuffling down stairs in your pyjamas with a headache still throbbing to see the kitchen and the living room, and Niall cleaned up everything that you made messy last night, while you were fighting and kicking him out, throwing his things and smashing every last DVD of his he ever left in your cabinet. You peer around and see that he’s swept all the shards and fixed all the pillows. You move into the living room and he’s asleep on the couch, curled up with tired eyes and ruffled hair and pale skin, waiting for you because you told him to leave last night, but he can’t, he can’t leave you.
