One Direction | Preferences

He Finds You Crying

Preference #94: He Finds You Crying

A/N: I hope you like it! Feedback? x

Niall: “Baby?” He’s soft and quiet, the bedroom door creaking slightly as he steps in, eyes worried and concerned when he finds you curled up beneath the covers, shuddering and hitching as you try to gasp in air without making a sound and revealing how upset you are. “Are you okay? Is everything alright?” “Yes,” you whisper, but your voice is crackly and thick, and you can hear him padding across the carpet, lifting the duvet, shoulders slumping when he finds you lying there, face wet and pink and teary. “Oh, babe,” he sighs, stepping out of his shoes before crawling in with you, the sheets rustling as he tucks you up against him, kissing your head, “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.” 

Harry: “(Y/N)? Harry’s here!” Your Mum’s yell jolts you out of your pit of self misery, hastily rifling through draws in the bathroom in search of tissues and make up to disguise your red eyes. Harry’s footsteps can be heard coming up the stairs as you wipe your cheeks, chest still stuttering  over sobs. “Babe? You in here?” The door cracks open just as you’re shakily applying eyeliner, having to hold your hand steady with the other just to keep the black line straight. “Hi, Harry,” you chirp, smiling at him in the mirror, but instead of grinning back at you, his brow furrows, “(Y/N), are you crying?” “No, I’m fine.” He crosses over towards you, twisting you around to look at him, taking the eyeliner from you, cupping your face in his hands, his comfort making a few stray tears slip down your cheeks. “Hey, hey, hey. Baby,” he coos, pulling your forward gently and into his chest, kissing your head, “It’s okay.” 

Liam: “(Y/N)?” Liam knocks quietly on the bedroom door, and you suck in a shuddering breath, rolling onto your back and rubbing your cheeks. “Can I come in?” You don’t answer, but the door opens anyway, and a very apologetic Liam peers in. “I’m so sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m just tired and this tour’s so stressful, and I feel so incredibly bad. I’m really, really sorry, I shouldn’t have - Are you crying?” You blink up at the ceiling, holding your breath for a second, “Oh my god, babe, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Shit.” He crawls onto the bed, looming over your, eyes big and worried, brushing some hair out of your face. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.” You squeeze your eyes shut, exhaling slowly, and he shifts to lie beside you, rolling your body over carefully to tuck you up against him, kissing the top of your head, “I’m so sorry.” You shake your head, snuffling into his jumper, “It’s alright, Liam.”

Louis: The One Direction fandom is a lot to deal with on a good day, and coming home after being on your feet for sixteen hours, only to log onto twitter and find a barrage of hate, is pretty awful. So, when Louis comes home to find you sitting on the couch, tears slipping quietly down your face while you scroll through it all, he’s really not that surprised, but it still breaks his heart, dropping everything to rush over, pushing the laptop away. “Hey. Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay, babe. I’ve got you.” You’re maneuvered around so he can bundle you up against his chest, smoothing your hair back, murmuring comfort as he rocks you back and forth gently, while you let out watery sobs into the wool of his sweater, probably getting tears and snot everywhere, not that he minds, holding you for as long as you need him.

Zayn: You’ve left the lounge room to answer your Mum’s call, leaving Zayn to finish the movie on his own, and by the time the credits roll, you’ve been away for a good forty five minutes, and while you usually natter on to your Mum for a while, he can’t hear you talking in the bedroom, so he gets up and goes to find you, poking his head in, expecting to see you smile at him, and gesture to your mobile, listening to whatever your Mum’s talking about. Instead, he finds you sitting on the floor, your back against the bed, head in your hands while your knees are pulled up to your chest. “Babe? Hey, what’s wrong?” He crouches down in front of you, and you look up, eyes red rimmed and wet, “Zayn, Zayn.” You reach forward, and he pulls you tight against him, rubbing your back, “It’s okay, it’s okay, baby.” You shake your head into his shoulder, fingers curled into his hoodie. “No, it’s - it’s my brother. He’s in hospital. They don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Zayn pauses for a second, but then keeps going, this time clinging to you tighter, lips brushing your ear as he promises that everything will be alright.