Niall: You idly flip through some recently-developed pictures from you and Niall's trip to Sweden and there's a definite constant in each one--He's not smiling. "Baby?" you look over at where he's toasting some bread for grilled cheese and frown. "Mmm?" he questions, raising an eyebrow and looking over his shoulder at you. "Are you happy?" you ask, fanning the photos and holding them up. "You're not smiling in any of these...didn't you have a good time on vacation?" He takes a few steps towards you and squints at the pictures, quickly nodding his head. "Of course I did! I had an amazing time, and I am happy. More than happy," he looks confused, trailing his fingers through his blonde and brown swirled strands. "But...you aren't smiling in any of these," you point out, reaching over the back of the couch and leaning against his shoulder. His face pales and his focus shifts to the floor. "Not 'cause I'm not happy, (Y/N). I don't like my smile is all," he admits, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. "You have a beautiful smile," you assure him, surprised at his sudden vulnerability. "Hmph," he shrugs, turning back to the stove-top where his food's begun to burn. "Hey." You grab his arm, spinning him around and cupping his chin. "Smile for me." He smiles but keeps his lips closed, hiding his teeth. You raise an eyebrow and he reluctantly flashes a toothy grin--a smile you'd fallen in love with. "Your smile is beautiful and you need to stop hiding it," you say finally, kissing his nose.
Zayn: "Aren't you going to eat the rest of that?" you glance across the table at his hardly-touched plate of chicken and rice and he shrugs. "M'not hungry," he mumbles, fiddling with his napkin. "Zayn," you say firmly, setting down your fork. "I'm worried about you--you haven't been eating and you're starting to look like skin and bones and I just..." Your forehead creases with concern and he frowns, his hazel eyes shifting to meet yours. "I know, I know it's not good either, I just..." he tears his napkin into pieces--a nervous habit--before he continues. "It's hard. I mean, we do so many photoshoots and interviews and I want to look good, you know?" You nod, your eyes staring into his and your ears catching each word. "I mean, Harry and Liam are so fit and Niall's got the metabolism of...something with a really fast metabolism and Lou's got those biceps and I'm..." He gestures to himself and he grimaces with disgust. "I just want to look as good as them." You shake your head and reach across the table, his hand grabbing yours. "Zayn, you've always been perfect and just as good as them--better than them...although that's me being bias," you smile and he returns the smile, his hazel eyes with a bit of a sparkle. "You don't need to do this. So many girls love you so much and everyone's worried and...I love you, babe. You don't need to change." He senses the sincerity and honesty in your voice and much to your delight, he picks up his fork and takes a hesitant bite of his dinner. "I love you, (Y/N)...Thanks for that."
Liam: You look up from your magazine watch Liam scrutinize his reflection in the mirror as he'd been doing for the past five minutes. "Liam," you frown, shutting your magazine. "What are you doing?" He looks over at you with surprise--he hadn't known you'd been watching him. "Oh, uh...just fixing my hair," he mumbles dumbly, running his fingers over his nearly bare scalp. "You don't have any hair to fix," you argue, resting your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his waist. "That's the problem," he sighs, his chocolate eyes finding yours in the mirror reflection. "This haircut is so stupid and everyone hates it--I hate it. My forehead is so big, why did I do this? What a stupid idea, I can't..." He shuts his eyes with frustration and the corner of his lips turn into a frown. "Love, it looks fine. It'll grow back," you promise, running your fingers along the short and soft hair along his scalp. "It couldn't grow back fast enough," he sighs, subconsciously grabbing a baseball cap and tugging it over his scalp. "Liam, come on. You're gorgeous and your hair looks fine," you promise, sliding off his hat and kissing his forehead. "You really don't think it's that bad?" he asks vulnerably, his gaze flickering to the mirror. "It's really not. Not bad at all. You look like a sexy solider or something," you add with a wink.
Louis: "You're going to pass out," you warn him with worry edging your voice, watching the sweat bead on his forehead as he continues in his reps of crunches and sit-ups. "Two-hundred and four," he gasps, his muscles flexing before he leans back on the carpet and shuts his eyes. "I don't care, to be honest. I'm not stopping until I get to at least three hundred," he says between breaths. "Louis, stop this. You don't need to work out like this," you kick aside the yoga mat you'd been sitting on with your attempt at working out (which had turned into you eating pretzels and watching your hot boyfriend exercising until you'd gotten concerned for his health.) "Um, I do," he grumbles, glancing down at his abdomen. "Harry and Liam've got sick abs and Niall and Zayn are skinny as hell. I've got this like chub," he pats his stomach and frowns, shaking his fringe from his eyes. "You've got hardly any chub on you, and I happen to love it. It's cute," you admit, leaning over and running your hand over his chest. "Plus, you've got the wildest biceps I've seen. The boys don't have arms like that, hm?" You raise an eyebrow and he smirks, you know you've complimented his favorite feature and his mood is automatically brightened. He sits up and takes a gulp of water, flexing his arms and giving you a wink. "You think? You like 'em?" You nod and kiss his nose, climbing off the gym floor and motioning for him to follow. "No more sit-ups or crunches, come show me those arms."
Harry: "Stop doing that, your hair looks fine," you frown and notice him smoothing his curls over his forehead for the hundredth time in the past hour. "Sorry," he frowns and reluctantly moves his hand away from his hair, kissing your cheek. "What's gotten into you, Haz?" you notice he's been rather shy and fidgety all day. He raises his eyebrows in surprise and nuzzles your neck, his lips trailing over your skin. "Stop trying to get me off topic and distract me," you say sternly, shifting away and forcing him to meet your gaze. He lets out a sigh and reaches up to his hair instinctively, but quickly moves his hand away. "I've just been really, I suppose...self-conscious lately," he admits, toying with his bracelets. "Y'know...acne from that damn stage make-up they make us wear for tv and stuff." You nod and bite your lip, leaning against his side so his arm wraps around your shoulders. "Harry, you're freaking stunning and if you think that acne is going to change that, you're a nutter," you smile and kiss his nose, sweeping his curls away from his eyes. "Plus, it happens to probably every average teenager. Even though you're far, far from average." His face brightens a little and you see the faint outline of his dimple. "Now, where were we before when you were trying to distract me?" you ask innocently, giving him a wink.
