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Louis: “You coming, love?” He’d asked, his voice slurring with sleep as he’d tossed his glasses to the bedside table and crawled onto the bed. “Yeah, yeah give me a sec.” You’d responded, your fingers still tapping away at your laptop as a tired sigh leaked out of his nose. “Did you call Zayn about tomorrow?” he asked, eyes closed and palm rubbing forehead. “Yeah, he said they’d get there around six and we could come whenever we wanted.” You’d nodded your head, eyes still fixed on the screen. A small silence sat in the air as he’d patiently waited for you to finish whatever it was you were doing. Sure, he could’ve fallen asleep in a heartbeat if he’d let himself, but it wouldn’t have been as nice as falling asleep with you next to him. And after what felt like a hundred years, you’d finally finished and folded the computer, traipsing to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed. He’d rolled lazily to the side to catch a glimpse of you through the cracked door, hoping that by some combination of his exhaustion and need to have you near you’d just be done already. But his eyelids began to win the fight before you’d finished brushing your teeth, so by the time you’d made it back and begun crawling up next to him with a flick of the light, his breathing was already slowing and his features relaxed. You’d smiled and hovered over his face for a moment before leaning down to brush a kiss somewhere between his cheek and his ear, which made him stir just enough to mumble an “I love you” through closed eyelids. His head searched for the perfect place on his pillow as his arms blindly reached for your waist, pulling your body into his, and you allowed yourself to be tucked up underneath his grip. “I love you too.”
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Zayn: Just like every other night, you’d stood in your closet and flipped through shirts and skirts and pants and dresses, trying to decide on what you’d wear the next day. It usually involved trying on a variety of combinations before really deciding anything, but even then sometimes you’d choose something entirely different the next morning. Zayn never really understood why it was that you had to think so hard about what to wear, but he didn’t really mind it so much because, well, you did always look so lovely that is must have some sort of affect. And honestly his favorite part would always be sneaking glances at your indecisions, hair tussled from the on and off of shirts, brows furrowed as you’d look down the length of yourself in the mirror, hands frenzied with different belts and cardigans and necklaces. He’d pretend to sketch or read or text, but really he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off the part-comedy, part-beautiful scene that was portrayed in front of him. And that night you’d turned around to ask him his thoughts on a particular outfit (which he didn’t understand why you did anymore, because you never seemed to think he was being honest anyway) and caught him with the impish smile he couldn’t help, the smile that tattle-tailed his amusement with your adorable indecisiveness every time. “What..” you’d asked suspiciously and he’d shaken his head, grin growing. “I just really love you.” he’d half-laughed, his eyes both silly and serious. And you couldn’t help but smile and make your way over to his lounge on the bed. “Really.. do you?” you’d poked, making him laugh again. “Really, I do!” he’d playfully exclaimed and you’d giggled, his hands steadying your waist as you’d leaned a knee on the bed beside him and bent over to give him a kiss. You loved to see him playful and he loved to see you smile. “But honestly.. what do you think of this?” You’d asked and he’d responded as usual. “I think it looks great, babe.” And, as usual, you’d sighed and dismissed his opinion. “Ugh, but you’re biased! You always say that!” “Well you always say that!” he’d retorted as you’d leaned back, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “Because youare.” You’d playfully whined, a grin showing on your face before you’d stood back up and started to make your way back to the closet. “Babe, you could literally wear a potato sack and still look beautiful.” he’d called and you’d let a small laugh. “Shut up, Zayn.” You’d called back and disappeared into the closet again, forcing another smile to pop on his face.
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Niall: Having you around had been the best part of the whole tour, in his opinion. There wasn’t really one thing in particular that’d changed, but that was sort of the beauty of it all—you’d fit in so perfectly with the crew and the boys and, well, just having you there for breakfast and in the audience and after the shows and everything in between made everything seem a lot better. He hadn’t missed home as much then and even though he was exhausted he felt his excitement coming back and the days didn’t seem quite as long. Probably his favorite times were the late night tour bus shenanigans with the other boys and a few of the crew members. He’d always loved the after show “wind down” of drinks and video games and stupid conversations, but you’d made it that much funnier. Between you and Louis he’d be in cackles nearly the whole time until he felt like his stomach was going to get stuck in one massive cramp of laughter and he’d die right then and there. And it was even worse when Harry was around, because you and Lou would just find it way too easy to make him the bunt of your jokes, his embarrassed grin sending Niall into even deeper convulsions. And it’d be in those times of almost shocked laughter, amazed and amused and in complete stitches from your latest quip or comment, that he’d just shake his head with a “You’re so crazy, woman.. I love you..,” his eyes squinting together, his fingers pinching his nose, his mouth opening with another belly laugh that’d make you giggle too.
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Liam: Being away from you’d be as hard for him as he knew it was for you, but he’d do everything he could to make it seem as painless as possible. Every morning (well, every morning for him..) he’d send you a text, “morning, babe. u alright? thinking about you today, love youuu xx” and any time he’d be able to throughout the day he’d keep you on the up and up of what was happening, same as you would for him. Honestly, even though you’d been in a relationship for quite some time, he’d still get excited when you’d text him back or text him first or even tweet something about him because it made him feel loved and, well, he needed that just as much as you did. And he’d call as often as he could, every time being intentional to tell you as many times as he could fit in the conversation how much he loved you, because he’d just thought you needed to know, needed to be reminded and assured and amused at his silly attempts to make you laugh. But as your conversations would close, his voice would get a little more serious and he’d assert himself one last time, making sure you understood the truth behind his words. “I miss you, babe, I love you. You promise everything is going well?” and your answer would depend on your day, but most of the time you’d give a small laugh and respond in the affirmative. “Yes, I promise. I love you too, Li. Go hit some high notes.” And really, that’d be all he’d need—to know you were okay, that you loved him too, that you were proud and supportive and, well, there. Always there and always would be.
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Harry: It’d been a nice day out with his mum and sister— lunch and a matinee, nothing too exciting—but it was just good to spend time together. He’d missed them an awful lot, and he’d been really glad you’d had the time to spend with them too. They obviously loved you and you obviously loved them, and honestly he’d felt a little bit like he shouldn’t be there, like it was a girl’s day or something. But not enough to actually let you go and hide upstairs somewhere. No, his arms were happy where they were, gripped onto themselves around your stomach, his chin falling to your shoulder, his chest folding over your back as you chatted with his mum. She was busying herself with something in the kitchen while Gemma scrolled on her phone, propped up by a barstool. “Gemma, help me with this?” his mum had asked in the middle of a thought, prompting Gemma to hop up and lend her services. The task proved to be a bit harder than expected, so while they concentrated in a bit of laughter and frustration, Harry took the opportunity to kiss the side of your cheek and steal a small moment with you. His playful banter made you giggle quietly and dance from one foot to the other, glad for his family’s distraction. He’d grinned at his ability to make you laugh and leaned his head down again, but before he’d been able to say anything else, Gemma had spoken up. “Haz, stop flirting and come help us already.” You’d heard the sarcasm in her voice and it’d made you giggle. “Okaayy.” He drawled in fake defeat before whispering a quick, impish, “I love you.” and releasing you from his arms.
