One Direction | Preferences

i want you here with me

Niall: The bed is much too big and he’s much too lonely, the sheets tangling around his legs and the duvet too heavy. His phone rests on the nightstand, buzzing every hour or so with new messages, because he has too many friends to keep up with, and every time he jumps for it, eyes burning for the contact name to be yours, and every time it isn’t, he crawls back under the covers, hiding beneath the pillows, refusing to add another missed call to the ten or so he’s already left on your mobile. 

Harry: Concerts almost feel like he’s just going through the motions, now, because you’ve gone home to hunker down for last term, studying and still trying to juggle work and socialising and, really, you don’t have the time to keep up with a jet setting boyfriend, no matter how hard you try. It’s not like the relationship’s over, just more on hold, and he’s okay with that, really, at least, he’ll insist that he’s completly fine over the phone when you’re tired and a little tearful. But he kind of doubts it at three o’clock in the morning in an empty hotel room. 

Liam: Phone calls can be both a relief and a harsh smack of reality, they bring the reassuring sound of your voice, which is nice to have in his ear after a long day of screaming and interviews, but it also reminds him of the way it’s a little scrambled, not actually what your voice sounds like completly, he’s not there to play with your hair and let you tell him about your day. So, on the really bad days when he’s exhausted and home sick and the american summer is too hot, he avoids his phone like the plague, the last thing he needs is how your voice doesn’t sound quite the same over such a great distance.

Louis: The Skype date is cheesy and amusing, both of you ordering the same take out thousands of miles away and eating it in front of your computers, giggling and slurping up noodles. You’re in a tank and sweatpants, hair still slightly wet from your shower, and it’s kind of nice to at least be half having dinner together, even though it is six o’clock in the morning for Louis. But, around half way through the Skype call when people start walking into Louis’ hotel room, trying to get him going, dressed and ready for the day, you’re hit by a wave of nerves for your test tomorrow and it breaks his heart a bit because you’re rubbing your nose like you always do when you’re about to cry and no matter how much you try to coordinate meals he’s not there to wipe away your tears. 

Zayn: You have to cancel your trip over. The phone call is short and sharp, Zayn having to hang up on you because somehow his disappointment turns into anger and the last thing he wants to do is yell at you, it’s not your fault that your grandma got so sick so suddenly. He calls you back later, when he’s alone and quiet, sitting on the bench of the kitchenette in his hotel room, eating peanuts and listening to the phone ring out as you miss his call, purposely or unpurposely, he can’t be sure. “Hey, babe, it’s me. Zayn. I just… uh.. I wanted to say that I shouldn’t have snapped at you this morning, I know it’s not your fault. I just, I miss you. Like a lot. Call me back when you can, yeah? I love you.” He hangs up, kicking his feet against the cabinets as you looks up at the ceiling, because for god’s sake, he’s a grown man, he will not cry.