Louis: "Come on, love, that game starts at six. We’re going to be late!" he’d whine for the third time, and you’d quietly huff at his prodding. With an earbud already dangling from one side of his head— ready to catch the broadcast of the beginning in case you didn’t get to the party in time— he’d shuffle in the bathroom and give you an annoyed look. “Let’s go!" his voice would crack, and you’d shake your head with a sigh. "What am I going to do with you.." you’d roll your eyes and push his chest back. "Alright, let’s go, football boy." You’d never really been into the whole drinking beer and losing your voice to yelling at a TV screen and being so dreadfully passionate about which team won what, but you’d know the World Cup to be a big deal to Louis, so you’d agree for once to accompany him to the party and at least pretend you were interested. And you knew he’d be too preoccupied to really say it, but by the excited look he’d give you as he’d cover your hand with his over the center console of the car, you know just how much it meant to him that you were there, sharing in his love for the game.
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Zayn: Zayn wouldn’t be so concerned with watching the matches— really he wouldn’t be so concerned about the whole thing in general. But, after seeing tweet after tweet on twitter, you’d turn the TV on to let the game play out in the background, and he wouldn’t mind. It’d be a nice accompaniment to your otherwise hum-drum Sunday afternoon— him painting a picture for his mum— on a canvas, no less— and you reading on the couch. You’d smile as he’d ask what you thought of his artwork so far, crinkling your nose in a laugh when he’d hold up a rough sketch of you sat reading on the couch. “Not sure how your mom will feel about that one for her birthday..” you’d giggle and he’d laugh. “Couldn’t help it." And then you’d pat the couch beside you, wishing mostly for a few cuddles. "Come watch with me for a bit?” “Sure.”
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Niall: “Come on— come on!" Niall would yell in increasing loudness, his body rising out of his seat in hinges as his excitement would grow. You’d laugh and sit back, enjoying the atmosphere of the crowded bar. "Ah!" he’d yell in defeat and sink back down, the football deflected by the goalie. "So close." you’d nod and he’d shake his head. "That’s what you get for being a traitor!" Louis’ voice would call out from the next table, causing Niall to shoot him a playful glare. "I’m not a traitor, I just know a good team when I see one!" he’d call back, receiving a silly "Sure, sure.” from Louis. You’d laugh at their banter, amused that the match was between their favorites— England and Brazil, of course. And just as Niall would settle from his jousts with Louis, another play on the field would cause him to jump out of his seat again, nearly knocking over his beer for the fifth time. Pretty soon, you’d join in, and the shouting would be twice as loud— your own excitement fueling his. His eyes would twinkle all shades of pride when he’d look over mid shout at the TV and see you just as involved as him. “Babe, you’re so hot when you get into football." he’d cackle, and you’d respond in kind. "You are too.” And for a second he’d forget about the match and the players and the hat trick he’d just freaked out about, because in that moment all he’d be able to do would be to pull you in and kiss you so hard you wouldn’t be sure you’d ever be able to see straight again.
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Liam: Liam wouldn’t quite understand your obsession with the game, but he would so love to watch you as you practically commentated entire matches, voice rising in excitement and frustration at pivotal moments, cheeks red, arms flailing. “Did you see that? Did you see that?!" you’d ask in exasperation, and he’d laugh a reply. "Yeah, yeah I saw that." "I can’t BELIEVE the ref called that! Unbelievable." Sure, he enjoyed football. But he definitely didn’t enjoy it as much as you did. Your verbal involvement with the TV would never cease to make him chuckle, and he’d fight to pull you in despite your need to make exaggerated gestures every five seconds. "Wow. Wow wow wow. This ref is ridiculous. This is gonna be a long World Cup. I need another beer." you’d mumble with a disparaging head shake, moving to get up. "Do you want one?" "Sure." he’d respond with a grin, probably enjoying your show more than the game. And you’d probably notice as you’d finally stand up and put your eyes on him rather than the screen. It’d make you give an impish grin and lean down to kiss him, his hands catching your waist. "You’re really cute when you’re upset." he’d chuckle against your lips and you’d laugh. "Well you’re really cute all the time. But seriously that ref is dumb." you’d reply with a chuckle of your own before heading towards the kitchen. And for some reason, those moment would just make him all sorts of happy, small and insignificant as they’d be.
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Harry: ”Haz.. I’m suddenly not feeling so great.” you’d mumble quietly, a sick feeling spreading through your stomach. He’d turn from grabbing his coat off the hook and give you one of those concerned, caring looks he’d be so good at. "Maybe… maybe I should stay home. You go on, though." you’d shrug, and he’d frown, moving closer to you and reaching a hand for your cheek. "Maybe we should just wait it out a few minutes?" he’d suggest, and you’d shake your head, feeling bad to make him miss the match. "You’ll miss the game." He’d give you a derp face before responding. "Babe, I don’t care about the game if you’re not feeling well." And in his usual Harry manner, he’d be able to convince you to let him stay with you and get you some medicine, insisting you lay down on the couch beside him while you watched the game together. He’d tell you over and over how he didn’t care if he was watching the game there or here or on the moon, because he’d know by the look in your eyes that’d you feel bad for keeping him home and just needed that reassurance. And even though you would feel bad (and a little disappointed because you’d been looking forward to the festivities too), being able to cuddle up in his chest and have his arm lightly clutching your side would make the sick feeling in your stomach a little less miserable.
