blushing
Niall: The heat settles in your cheeks when he’s all pretty and laughing and high off the adrenaline from the concert, and you’re just so happy that he’s happy and it’s all a mess of emotions, and he chuckles when he finds your hands pressed over your cheeks backstage, trying to hide the blush. He peels your fingers away, kissing you once, twice, three times, before he rests his forehead against yours, “You’re cute when you blush.”
Harry: He’s the one blushing when you come out of the bathroom, all done up for your evening out, and he laughs sheepishly, rubbing his jaw as his gaze drops to the floor. “Does it look weird?” You immediately doubt, hands fiddling with the hem of your dress, and his eyes shoot up, widening, “No, no!” He insists, crossing the hallway to slip his hands onto your hips, cheeks still pinker than usual, “You just look absolutely stunning.”
Liam: You’re stepping out of the dressing room in a dress that is much shorter and much tighter than usual. When you first put it on, you weren’t even going to show Liam, ready to strip it off already because it just wasn’t what you usually wore, but you’d caught sight of yourself from the side and noticed the way it curved over your hips nicely, and so you peeked out, cheeks red, arms wrapped over your stomach. “What do you think?” Liam’s mouth drops open for a couple of seconds, before he shakes himself out of it, eyes focused firmly on yours, “I think that no one should see you in that except me, because I might have to punch someone.”
Louis: There’s a pink tinge to his cheekbones while he holds your hand, tangling and untangling your fingers, gaze trained to the way they slip together, and you lean over the table, tapping his cheek gently. “You’re blushing.” He rolls his eyes, leaning back in the booth as he returns your smile. “Am not.” “Are too,” you insist, resting your back against the red leather as well as the waitress brings you your food, setting the plates down with a clink, “Why?” He shakes his head, laughing under his breath, before he shrugs, “I’m just having a really, really good time.”
Zayn: It’s quite nerve wracking when the church doors open and you’re left to make your way down the aisle with everyone staring at you, your last bridesmaid already reaching the altar, and there’s nothing really left for you to do except keep a hold tightly to your Dad’s arm and focus on putting one foot in front of other, hoping desperately that you aren’t bright red. But then your eyes fall on Zayn, his hands clasped in front of him, and he’s positively beaming, eyes bright and shining. And then, everything’s okay.
