Niall: His text, telling you where he is in the car park, lights up your phone as you cross the courtyard, backpack heavy and dragging down your shoulders as you heave it up again. His car stands out among the rundown students cars and you feel a self conscious flush rise on your cheeks as you throw your rucksack into the boot of the clean, black range rover. As soon as you pull open the passenger door and see Niall grinning at you, though, it’s all forgotten. “Good day?” You shrug, clambering in, and he checks his mirror before beginning to reverse, “I’m thinking burgers on the way home?” He suggests, and you lean back against the leather, the safety you feel around Niall kicking in, “I’m thinking that’s a great idea.”
Harry: He has a few, tucked away in garages across the world, and then there was the venture with the motorbike which ended with you panicking over the fact that he wasn’t even wearing the proper gear and he’d agreed to put it aside. But his cars, his cars you like. You’re never quite sure which one he’ll turn up in, often left to walk up and down the street until he’ll call you and be sitting in one you’ve never seen before. They’re all expensive, all beautiful, and at least it’s a smart investment.
Liam: The air is too hot but all you want is too be closer, fingers curling into the material of Liam’s shirt so that it rucks up, the hard dashboard sticking into your stomach as he pulls you tighter. It’s just meters to the front door where you can happily make out in comfort, but the last thing you want to do is leave him, even for a second. He sucks in a breath, mouth dragging over your jaw, and you rest a hand between his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles flex there as he drags you over the dash to his lap.
Louis: The two of you sit silently, the hem of your jumper tucked into your fingers, twisting and turning as your heart thumps against your ribs, unable to say anything and unable to leave. “I don’t wanna break up,” he whispers, the words sacred and coming from deep within. You blink, unshed tears wetting the skin beneath your eyes. “We have nothing to talk about anymore.” “We can try again.” You stare out the window of the car, parked in your driveway. “We already have.” “Please,” it’s a breath, and you shut your eyes tight as you force the words out. “It’s just a break, Louis, maybe in a few years,” the sentence tears at your throat, “Maybe then, we can try again.”
Zayn: Zayn says your name, glancing from you to the road, his hand finding your back. You’ve hunched yourself over, head in your hands. “Feel sick,” you mumble, and feel the car pull over and then roll to a stop. “Are you gonna throw up?” You shake your head, “I don’t think so. Just… tired sick, you know?” “Yeah,” he rubs your back, fingers warm and curling around your neck, thumb rubbing your pulse point. It’s just days later when you find yourself holding a positive pregnancy test.
