Louis: “This flight sucks,” he murmurs into your hair, “I’m bored and they only gave me on bag of pretzels.” You hum back half-heartedly, eyes scanning over the page of your book. He harrumphs pathetically, turning to stare out the window with a resolve lasting all of thirty-nine seconds. He whines then, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and biting there playfully, “pay attention to me!” he demands, placing his hands over your eyes so as to take your attention away from the book. Sighing, though you’re smiling, you shut the book and tuck it into your bag and he beams down at you, “hi! do you wanna play i-spy?” he asks quickly, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hand in his, “yes? okay i spy something really super pretty….”
Harry: “Do you know how cute you are?” he coos with a wide grin. You glare at him in the mirror, while he sits on the counter as you grumpily brush your teeth. With hair a mess and skin feeling decidedly subpar, you scowl at him and his antics and compliments; it’s way too early. He hums out in amusement, tapping you on the nose with his pointer finger, “cuter than a fruit,” he announces. You look up from the sink, giving him a disbelieving look, shaking your head and stalking out of the bathroom; he stumbles after you into the bedroom. “Heeeeeeeey, c’mon I’m being serious!” he exclaim, grabbing your wrists in both his warm hands, tucking kisses into your neck and the skin of your face until he’s got you giggling. “See?”
Niall: “C’mon, I don’t know the damn Pythagorean…whatever. Can I just get like, a four on this test and be over with it?” he whines, burying his face in the warmth of your bedsheets, kicking his legs with no abandon. Rolling your eyes, you refuse to let up and he sighs deeply, exaggeratedly. “Can we take a break-” he begins to ask, before shrinking back at your stern glare, “alright, alright, okay what is it again? Pythagorean Theory right? Theorem, that’s the one. Okay that’s the one with the triangles, yeah?” You nod encouraging, gesturing for him to go on, “it’s like, the two sides squared equals the last side, what’s the fuckin’ last side called? Hypothermia? Hyp- hyper, hypotenuse! Yes the two sides squared equals the hypotenuse squared! Am I right?” When you give him the affirmative, he beams, a kiss pressed to surprised lips.
Zayn: He scrambles through the house upon hearing the sound, bounding up steps and bursting through the bedroom door, “Hah! I knew it! I totally knew it was you who was putting all those Les Mis songs on my iTunes!” he exclaims with pride, as if anyone else would have done it. You roll your eyes, leaning up to kiss his lips sweetly, before turning back to the closet and arranging your shoes neatly on the rack. He chuckles, kicking off his boots and settling into more comfortable clothes, before joining you at the closet to help with your bout of spring cleaning. He twirls you around to the tune of the violin’s introduction, before dipping you so your hair skims the ground, singing with a glint in his eyes along to the track, “a heart full of love….”
Liam: “It’s sooooooooooo late,” he chuckles to himself, watching in amusement as you lie upside-down on the couch, legs kicking along rhythmically to your humming, his own position haphazardly sprawled over the arms of the sofa, “want a snack?” he asks, meeting your contented gaze. You shake your head, no, and roll over, all thrashing limbs and loud giggles until you’re perched beside him on the loveseat, his amused laugh filling the room, loud and rich and warm as he tugs you closer, tucking you into his side with giggly kisses pressed across your skin, any place he can reach without moving too drastically. He laughs out loud after a beat, before leaning in close, lips brushing over your ear in warm and breathy words, “hey, I’m a little bit in love with you.”
