One Direction | Preferences

Your World Is Falling Apart - Part Two

Your World Is Falling Apart - Part Two

A/N: Someone asked me to write this quite a while ago, and I finally thought of a second part to Liam’s, and then it all kind of fitted together, so I’m sorry it took me so long, I just never planned to write a second part! x (Also, Harry’s is really long, sorry!)

part one

Niall: Looking back, it’s the worst week of your life. Niall is quite literally hovering between life and death, sometimes the doctors are hopeful, sometimes they’re not, and you don’t know what to think, there’s a boy band in pieces around you, family members flying in from Ireland, and your head hurts, and you can only hope. Hope and pray that please, please let him be okay. Let him wake up and smile and laugh and speak. You’ve stayed behind after everyone’s gone back to various apartments and hotel’s after Niall’s been unconscious for just over eight days, reading by yourself, curled up in an armchair, when there’s a quiet cough, and then a sucking sound as Niall tries to draw air through the ventilator. “Niall?” you breathe, standing and hurrying over, smoothing some hair back from his face, and his eyelids flutter a little, revealing a strip of faded blue, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never pressed a button faster in your life, calling the nurses, and gripping his hands tight as he begins to surface back into the land of the living. 

Harry: The evening goes relatively well, you manage to hold back the tears as the girl, Lilly, her name is, eats from Harry’s spoon during desert, and smile and laugh and engage in conversation, so you’re pretty proud of yourself, really. Harry hails her a taxi outside the restaurant. kisses her quickly before she gets in (you manage to look away just in time) and sends her off, before coming back to you, resting a hand on your shoulder, eyes worried as he looks down. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing, nothing’s wrong, Harry. She’s lovely.” He shakes his head, “No, what’s wrong?” You sigh, and god, this is so typical of Harry, to know exactly when something’s bothering you. “I just - I mean - It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, Harry.” “No, it does matter. Tell me.” “I’m kind of in love with you?” And there it is. It’s right there. Out in the open, washing away in the wind to spread through the city. And in a movie, Harry would kiss you now, tell you he loves you back, but he’s just kind of staring, blinking, mouth forming around words that he doesn’t speak. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, slipping from his grip, but he reaches out again, dragging you back to his chest, hugging you tight. “Jesus, (Y/N), I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t even know, and I just put you through that dinner. Why didn’t you say anything?” You shake your head into his jacket, not wanting him to let go of you, because this is possibly the last time you’ll ever see Harry Styles. “I don’t want your pity, Harry. It’s fine. I’m fine. She’s great.” He huffs, and warm hands are cradling your cheeks, tilting your head up to look him in the eye. “No, what I mean is I’m sorry. I love you, too. Really love you. Proper love you. I didn’t - I didn’t think you felt the same way.” You don’t really know how to answer that really, you’re too ecstatic to speak, but he’s Harry, and he gets it, so he simply smiles, and kisses you anyway. 

Liam: Your brother doesn’t make it. No one expected him too, but still,  you wanted him too. You wanted him to pull through and emerge smiling and laughing and feeling better. But he doesn’t. Cancer does that too you. Rips up families, pulls away the most innocent of people, drags them out of safety and into harms way. So, you’re left to sob into Liam’s shoulder in an empty hospital hallway, crying and grabbing at his t-shirt, and you hate it, you hate this empty feeling in your chest, this gnawing ache that’s creeping up through your belly. “L - Liam,” you whimper, and can feel his tears seeping into your hair as he holds you, smoothing his hands up and down your back. “Shh, it’s okay. Everything will be okay. I’m here. I’ll look after you.” And even though he’s wrong, even though nothing will ever be okay again, Liam’s here, and he’ll look after you.

Louis: There’s a backlash, there always is with these type of things. People tweeting cruel things, reporters writing mean articles, but there are also fans coming up to you in the streets, asking to rub your stomach that’s just starting to swell, a definite roundness beneath your shirt. There are family members and friends and members of One Direction already buying baby clothing and suggesting names, and it’s kind of a whirlwind, sweeping you up in this haze of, oh my god, I’m having a baby. But, it’s in the middle of the night when it all comes back into focus, when it’s a sticky summer, and you’re somewhere in America, with the boys on tour, and Louis’ hand spreads over your seven month pregnant stomach, his lips brushing over the skin of your abdomen as he mumbles complete nonsense to it, things about what he did today, and how excited he is to meet the baby, and you lace your fingers in his hair, and yeah, the two of you are going to do this.

Zayn: Zayn calls you at three o’clock in the morning, two weeks into the american leg of their tour. You answer groggily, and he’s already apologizing before you can say hello, the panic clear in his voice, tilting it up a note higher, making him ramble, and you can picture it all in your head, him gripping the phone, knuckles white, sitting somewhere,  rocking back and forth, and you kind of hate him for leaving you behind, but you slow him down anyway. Tell him to breathe, lie down, relax, everything will be okay. He grows quiet and you’re left in an empty bed, in an empty apartment, fiddling with the sheets, hovering on the decision to either forgive Zayn and go back into the long haul of a long distance relationship, or to leave him, let him go. “Zayn…” “Yeah?” You glance out the window, and maybe it’s just a coincidence, or maybe it’s fate, but a shooting star flashes past, and you bite your lip. “I love you, too. Hurry home.”