One Direction | Preferences

I can tell your heart isn't in it

‘I can tell that your heart isn’t in it.’

A/N: I like this one a whole lot. So. I hope you do too!! x

Niall: The air sits heavy around the two of you as you stand, quiet, in the kitchen, lips bitten red and hands stuffed in pockets. “So.. this is it.” Niall mumbles, scuffing his foot against the floor before looking up at you, an ache curling in his stomach. “Yep.” The words stick in your throat, and you rub your eyes fiercely, swallowing hard. “I don’t want it to be like this.” You whisper, and Niall’s voice is rough and desperate as he murmurs, “It doesn’t have to be.”

Harry: His face is plastered across practically every magazine you see in the grocery store, and you make sure to stand in front of them at the counter, smiling happily and grabbing a couple of crunchies and a pack of gum, making sure to lean across him and peck his cheek on the way back as you dump them on the conveyer belt, just to remind him that you’re here. But his gaze flickers over their glossy front covers anyway, and he sighs, lips tight when he nods at the cashier, angrily beginning to pile the items from the trolley onto the counter. You’re at a loss as to how to help him.

Liam: “Why do you study it if you hate it?” Liam murmurs, after another night of you bursting into frustrated tears at your desk and him rushing to comfort you, and even now, huddled up in his arms, even just thinking about the major you’re struggling with sends a stab of anxiety through your chest. “I need it to be able to study what I want later.” He makes a soft noise, pressing gentle kisses to your neck, fingers twirling through your hair, “Then it’ll be worth it later then, darling.” Your rest your head against his chest, hear his heart beating steadily by your ear. “Yeah.”

Louis: He introduces her with a tight smile and your fingers clench around the glass of your drink while the party swells around the three of you, people brushing past. You’ve quite proud of yourself, actually, because you shake her perfectly manicured hand and make polite conversation before excusing yourself and hurrying away to find something stronger to drink. Later, when there’s less people and more danger of you crying, you glance over to find him watching you, lip tucked between his teeth and eyes sad, before he sighs and rubs his mouth, turning away. His shoulders are heavy with the weight of the world, and he wants you to be the one to help him free.

Zayn: When you answer his Skype call, the immediate gut reaction of ‘something’s wrong’ hits him, twisting unpleasantly in his stomach. There’s grey bags beneath your eyes and your hair is thrown up into messy bun, the straps of your most comfortable tank top visible in the fuzzy screen. “All okay?” He murmurs, leaning forward with eyebrows creasing, wanting to just fall through the laptop to you. You smile and nod, but it’s quick and small, and everything is very obviously not okay. “Miss you,” you breathe, the words sacred and aching, and his hands scrub over his face, nose inches from the screen, “God, I miss you too.”