You fight and make up.
Harry: With his busy schedule, there hardly ever seemed like there was time for him to take you out on a nice date. Normally you didn't mind, just spending time with him when he was on break was more than enough to make you happy. However, Harry loved taking you out and showing you off. He loved letting everyone know you were his. So whenever he got the chance to have you all to himself, whether it was reserving a nice, private table at yours and his favorite restaurant or having a night in with himself cooking a nice meal, he never failed to wow you. You sit on the couch in your flat, listening to the sounds of him fumbling around in the kitchen, silverware clattering, glass clacking. It's hard to stay turned, to let him surprise you with whatever he was doing in the kitchen behind you, but you remain still until you hear his voice rasp out an almost silent, "Okay, love, come on." Immediately your head turns, taking in the sight of the dining room dimly lit with candles on the table and the food he had put together for the both of you. "Bit cheesy, isn't it, Styles?" you giggle as he pulls out your chair for you. "But you love it," he laughs along with you, ushering a nod from you. Within the span of several minutes, he already has your sides hurting from laughing at his ridiculous, corny jokes. You'd always laughed easily at his puns and jokes and he loved that about you. Barely moments after he's reached across the table to lay one of his large hands over yours, his phone goes off. He lets it ring, staying focused on you. But it rings again and you can tell he's starting to get worried. He ignores the call. It's the third time when he sighs loudly, pulling the device from the front pocket of his skinny jeans before answering. You listen to his end of the conversation, realizing almost instantly that it had to be management. Shaking your head, you stand, taking both his plate and yours into the kitchen to place them in the sink before leaning against the counter. It wasn't the first interrupted date; it wouldn't be the last. You were just fed up. Your eyes meet his as he comes into the kitchen, his hand's running through his hair furiously. "Babe, I have to-" he starts, only to be interrupted by you. "Go? Yeah, I know. Not the first time, Harry, I'm used to it." "Look, I'm sorry, I can't just stop being who I am, you know this," he states, his eyes growing darker. "Yeah, I know that too. But it seems like every time we're doing something together, management calls. Can't you just not answer if for once? Let them blame me for all I care. I just want one date with you without being told 'I have to go, I'm so sorry'," you yell. "I can make it up to you," he yells back. "And there's that! You always say that too!" you shout, an aggravated groan emitting from your mouth. "You know what, Harry? Go. Your job's more important than me anyways. Because you'll always have money from that; you'll always have your dreams and be passionate about it, but who knows? I could be gone tomorrow." You run past him, heading straight for the bedroom, lying down face first in the duvet for what seems like hours until you hear the door creak open. "Baby?" his voice cracks, and your gaze flies up to see him standing in the doorway, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his eyes looking directly into yours. "What do you want?" you ask harshly. He comes over, sitting down beside you on the bed, testing to see if you'd leave, but you don't. He lays down next to you, now barely inches from your face. "My job's not more important than you," he whispers. "But you went didn't you?" you scoff, only to be surprised when he shakes his head. "I couldn't bring myself to go. I called and told them you were sick and I was taking care of you and that I could come in tomorrow if they'd like, but not right now. I wanna always be here. Let my job go, so be it. I want you to be here with me." You sigh, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek. "I'm sorry for yelling, Harry," you mumble. He only shakes his head, "I deserved it. But never forget that I love you, alright?" You smile slightly, gaining a grin back from him as his lips brush against yours lightly.
Niall: "You can't tell me what to do," he slurs in his drunken stupor stumbling around his house while you look on, arms folded across your chest. "Ni, I'm not trying to tell you what to do. I'm trying to help you. Yeah, go off and get drunk sometimes, that's who you are, but this happening every night is just bullshit and I'm not gonna put up with it," you warn, half-heartedly knowing he isn't going to take it very kindly considering he is in fact too drunk to even stand. "Then why don't you just go? You don't have to put up with it if you don't want to. I told you that you could always come with me, but no, you never wanna go anywhere with me," he glares at you. He's drunk. He doesn't mean it, you think. Maybe it wasn't anything major, but his words had stung. "I don't drink that much; I don't wanna watch you get completely wasted," you whisper. "What?" he shouts, "Too much for you?" You just shake your head, settling for going to bed instead of arguing with him. Let him nurse his own nasty hangover in the morning, you didn't plan on helping him a single bit. That whole night you're restless, you can't sleep for anything. Niall doesn't come to bed, but your best bet is he's probably passed out on the couch or somewhere within the living room. Finally around 10 AM, you drag yourself out of bed in search for food, not caring whether you saw Niall or not. As you're rummaging around in the kitchen, a pair of arms go around your waist, the faint hint of alcohol still lingering in the air as he rests his chin on your shoulder. Your efforts to pull away are useless; he holds on tight. "What did I say this time?" he whispers, his hot breath tickling your ear. You sigh, "I said I couldn't deal with the drinking every night and you asked me why I didn't just go," I replied, resting against him now. As much as you hated it, you couldn't resist when he had his arms around you like this. You hear a sharp intake of breath as he nuzzles his nose into your neck, "I don't deserve you. You always put up with me when I do something so fucking stupid that you should just leave. Yet you stay. Why?" Leaning forward, you turn to face him, your hand firmly taking his chin to make him look at you. "Because I love you, stupid. That's all you are sometimes is stupid. But I love you and I can't just leave." A tear flows down your cheek and he's already wiping it away before it even gets halfway down your face. "I love you, too," he whispers, finding your lips with his own quickly as you melt into his arms.
Zayn: "Babe, would you just listen to me? Stop, no, don't start packing, GOD," he shouts in frustration as you arrange all the things you had at his place in a bag of yours, trying not to listen to a word he says. "Please, stop. You're different. I swear I didn't do anything with that girl at the club. Tabloids like to blow things up," he frantically speaks as your storm around the bedroom. "Why should I believe you, Zayn? It's not like it's not the first time something about you cheating has been in the media. It just wasn't on me. I mean, what's so different about now? About me?" you scream at him, taken aback when you notice his eyes appear watery. His hands are running through his raven locks, a disgruntled groan making its way out from deep within his chest. Within seconds he's in front of you, his hazel eyes on yours, "Listen, okay? Just listen. I know I've fucked up before. But I love you like crazy. I can't just let you go. I could never put you through anymore pain or heartache then you've been through before with anyone else. I hate to see you hurt, hell, I hate to see you angry with me. But I can't fucking lose you. I can't do it. So please, just please give me a chance to prove to you that I could never do anything to hurt you," he sighs, looking down at you. A smile forms on your face as your teeth catch your lower lip, "You love me?" He chuckles, realizing what he'd said as well as his runs a hand over the back of his neck. "Yeah. I do." All of your anger's melted away as you stand on your toes, your arms reaching around his neck to pull his face down to yours, lips connecting and molding together in perfect unison before you pull away, a smile on the both of your faces. "I love you, too."
Liam: "I'm tired of you hiding me. I wanna be able to go out with you and not worry about getting in trouble or kiss you whenever I want to and not care if the whole world sees," you whisper as his fingers go through your hair delicately, ever so often twirling a curl around his finger to watch it bounce back into place. "I-I don't know," Liam stammers, "You know what management said." You roll your eyes, sighing as you lay against his chest, "Screw management. They're not dating you." He pulls away slightly; you look up at his expression. "What do you mean by that?" he almost shouts; you're taken aback by his sudden outburst. "I didn't mean anything by it; I'm just being honest. You're not dating management. You're dating me. I wanna be able to go have dinner with you or go out and not be afraid to hold your hand just because there's paparazzi around. I want you to show me off, but you obviously don't want that!" He sits straight up and you're pushed away, not by him, but by his actions. "Did I ever say I didn't want that? I wanna show you off to the entire universe for god's sake! I just don't wanna get in trouble. Love, you have no idea what management puts us through!" he groans in frustration, already letting you know he doesn't like this bit of arguing. "Liam, I-" he holds up a hand, stopping you. "Y'know what? Go find your favorite dress, your favorite outfit, just whatever. You're right. Screw management. Let's go somewhere for once," he smiles up at you, his brown eyes shining. You grin, jumping off the bed to race to the closet.
Louis: "Could you stop with the sassy attitude for once, Lou?! Be serious for just one minute, please," you yell at him, only watching his eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead as his arms cross over his chest. "That's just who I am-" you hold up a hand, cutting him off, "No, don't say that. Don't say that's just who you are. Yes, sometimes, I really, really love your sassy attitude. It's really cute, actually, but sometimes I need you to be serious. You can't be sassy two hundred percent of the time. If you came home from the studio and here I was with some sassy, bitchy attitude, you wouldn't like it now would you? You'd want me to stop because you're more than likely tired. Well, sometimes I'm tired and I just want you to listen, but no, I get your attitude instead." You take a deep breath, unable to contain yourself. "Do you.. have I really made you feel that bad?" he whispers as you nod. "I didn't know." You fold into his embrace when he walks over to you, your face buried into his chest as he rests his chin on top of your head. "Tell me when I need to turn the sass off. I can always try." You nod against his chest, his lips pressing against your hair in a silent apology.
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