One Direction | Preferences

'I'm just tired.'

‘I’m just tired.’

A/N: I say this everyday… whoops. Feedback maybe? I hope you like it xx

Niall: “I’m just tired,” Niall says, brushing off your concerns, and he sinks further into the couch, keeping his gaze firmly trained on the television, where a football game is playing. “Niall,” you sigh, and sit down cross legged at his feet, making him glance down. “What’s wrong?” He rolls his eyes, but turns the TV off, pulling his feet up onto the sofa into a cross legged position as well, resting his chin in his hands to peer down at you. “It honestly doesn’t matter, baby, it’s a long story and you don’t know the people involved. It’s just band stuff. Don’t worry. I’m fine. It’s just a bit frustrating. I promise, I’m fine.” You look up at him for a bit, weighing your options  but he smiles, soft and tired, and you nod, crawling up into his lap, where he tucks you against his body, “Sorry,” you murmur, and he shakes his head, “You’re fine, love. Thanks for worrying.”

Harry: You’re the intern at the radio station One Direction are appearing up, and god, you’ve been here since five a.m. preparing for the band, and all the screaming fans have taken a toll on your head, which is now pounding and spinning, so when you trip over a wire and stumble into a warm, strong body, you have to resist the urge to just stay resting against the person. “Whoa, you okay?” The person, who you’ve now identified as a boy, says, resting big hands on your shoulders to steady you, and you look up, only to find Harry Styles peering down at you, eyes worried. “I’m fine, sorry!” you manage to chirp, and he raises his eyebrows, “You look exhausted, are you okay?” “I’m just tired, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. Sorry for bumping into you.” “Don’t worry about it, babe, do you wanna go get some coffee with me or something? That’ll wake you up.” You blink up at him for a second, and then nod, smiling a bit, “Okay, thank you.” 

Liam: “I’m just tired,” you mumble, looking down to your feet, Liam’s palms warm on your cheeks, keeping you close. “No, no you’re not just tired.” And there’s something in his voice, something that makes you look up, finding him gazing right at you, eyes warm and comforting, but determined. “You’re upset and sad and unhappy, and I don’t like that. So please feel better.” He sticks his bottom lip out, and you tap it gently, keeping up a bright smile, but his eyes are very, very brown and very, very worried, so it falls quickly, your forehead coming to rest on his shoulder, nose nestled in his collarbone. “It’s just hard, you know?” He kisses your temple, big hands smoothing over your back, “I know, babe. I know.” 

Louis: “I’m just tired, okay, (Y/N)?” You flinch back at the harshness to Louis’ tone, and he turns around from where he’s sitting on the couch, sighing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.” You shake your head, running a hand through your hair. “No, no, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have bugged you about it.” He smiles, soft and small, “Don’t apologise.” He rests his chin on the back of the sofa, eyelids fluttering as he tilts forward to yawn into the material. “Do you want to go to bed or something?” you ask, walking forward to brush some hair from his eyes, and he looks up through his eyelashes, sleepy and exhausted. “Yeah, sorry, babe.” “It’s okay,” you laugh, bending to kiss his forehead, “You’re a pop star, you deserve a break.” 

Zayn: “Shh, stay,” you mumble into Zayn’s shoulder, and he stops shifting beneath you, kissing your temple as his hands smooth up your back, “Sorry.” You hum quietly, the sound vibrating off his skin and his palms still, brushing his foot over yours. “Are you okay?” he asks, and you can feel his eyelashes fluttering as he opens them. “M’fine, just tired,” you breathe, and he smiles, fingertips beginning to trail over your body again, memorising it, “Go to sleep then.” “You sure?” He kisses your head again, “Positive.”