Harry - and it stirs like a pit in his stomach and it makes him drop his bags at the airport and turn on his own worn heel, not worried where they end up or who they end up with, running until he catches you by your name in his throat all blocked and hoarse, “(Y/N)!” So that he can hold you in his arms for another twenty seconds before someone has to tug on his sleeve to get him to move, his lips hushing by your ear, telling you he’ll be back, before you know it, kissing you again, kneading his lips over yours and feeling what you feel, such a hurried heartbeat for a moment that should be calm.
Liam - and it makes him lurch out a palm to slam the front door before you can walk out of it, pressing up to you again and cradling your face in his hands like it’s made of glass and nothing in the world means anything more, his thumbs brushing your cheeks to swipe the tears away, let them settle in drops over his own skin so he can carry their weight, not you. His lips suddenly closing over yours, capturing the last protest you were going to attempt, a little shaky and almost lazy when you give in and let him hold you again.
Louis - and it’s raw and vulnerable like a secret fiddling his lips when the interviewer looks at him and he blurts your name, and the fact that you’re dating, catching glimpses of the cameras all around the press conference, flashes every second and his nervous grin in the midst of them, hands clasping together and all he can think of is how you’d hold them. So he runs his fingers over one another like he can pretend you’re there, a million questions in a mind suddenly throbbing, headache pouding in, and they’re asking how you met, how long it’s been, but he only says one thing, “I… I just love her.”
Zayn - and it’s as harsh as looking directly into the sun, when he fumbles on his way down onto one knee, blushing up at you and shaking so hard he’s convinced the box is going to fall from his warm palms before he can even wedge it open, so scared of your expression that still when he murmurs it, “will you marry me?” And you don’t enclose his palm at first because you can’t move, too convinced that it’s not real before it sinks in and you remember that it is, smiling so he smiled even harder, eyes searching every part of you in that moment, “y-yes.”
Niall - and he can’t let it slip, because it’s such a part of him, watching that front door swing every time, or the car door or you rounding the corner, smile lighting up his eyes when he sees you again, and jogs over or runs over, does whatever it takes and then he’s scooping you up, calling you his baby for all the days he was away, finding your lips so he can kiss for every night he turned over to the other side of the bed, just as empty as the first, hands cupping your body with fingertips dotting every day he hated the fact that a phone call wasn’t enough, holding you tightly like he’ll never let go of you again.
