Harry: "(Y/N), we need to talk." Your boyfriend, Harry, says as he walks into the kitchen. His lips are set into a frown as he leans against the island, his curls falling into his face and letting you know that he needs a haircut. "Okay, shoot." You tell him, wondering what's on his mind. When he slams down the bottle of pills in front of you, your prescribed Valium, you feel your heart drop to your toes, "Where did you find those?" You question, trying to keep your voice steady as you begin to feel your pulse quicken, not having taken your daily dosage of the medication today. It's not like you can lie and say that they aren't yours, your names on the bottle. He looks up at you from under his eyelashes, "Anxiety medication? You're crazy?" He asks, the harshness of his worlds sending you reeling as if he slapped you. He notices, but continues, "This medicine is bullshit, you can control anxiety." That's enough to set you off, having heard that from your mother everyday throughout your teenage years. You stare your boyfriend down, "No, Harry, you cannot control anxiety. Do you think if I could control it, I would be relying on this medication to get me through the day? You have no idea what a panic attack feels like, and until you do, I suggest that you keep your mouth shut." You spit, surprising not only him, but yourself. Guilt floods his face as he gapes at you, visibly choking on his words. You stand your ground, refusing to ease up. "(Y/N), I'm sorry. You're right I have no idea," He whispers, hanging his head in shame for jumping to conclusions about your condition. You nod your head curtly, accepting his apology, knowing that his ignorance isn't something that you can hold against him forever.
Liam: You're in your apartment, curled up in bed for the third day in a row. You're not sick or tired, just simply too unmotivated to face the world. You've been staring at the wall for the last three hours, thinking of how at ease you'd feel if you would just expire. You recall the most recent phone call between you and your boyfriend, not even four hours ago, where you confessed that you have manic depressive disorder, much to his surprise. "You're depressed? Well, don't be! Be happy!" He had said, as if it's something that comes naturally to you. "I can't 'be happy', Liam, it doesn't work like that." You responded, huffing a frustrated sigh at yet another person who can't seem to understand your disease. "So, what? Are you suicidal too? You forgot how to be happy? I don't think you're even trying." You had hung up the phone, taken aback by his selfishness. He didn't even bother to call back. Suddenly, you hear a knock, more so pounding, at your front door, only to have it be thrown open seconds later when you don't respond, "(Y/N!)!" The voice calls, you instantly recognizing it as Liam, and you brace yourself for what he's about to say. He crashes through your bedroom door, a bouquet of gorgeous red roses in his hands, frowning as he takes in the sight of your sad frame, "(Y/N), I'm sorry about what I said, it was incredibly selfish and rude. I love you so much, and we can get through this together, alright?" He whispers, taking your hand into his own, causing a much needed smile to slowly spread across your lips.
Louis: "Lou, let's go shopping today," You tell your boyfriend, bounding out of the bathroom with a new sort of pep in your step. Today's one of your good days, which you're glad for considering you've been down a lot lately. He's sitting on the kitchen counter, eyes glued to the cook book in his hand, still stuck on his whole "I have to learn how to cook!" thing. He looks up, flashing you a very confused look, "What happened to 'I don't want to do anything, don't talk to me.'? Your mood swings are seriously giving me whiplash. What are you, bipolar?" He asks, rolling his eyes as he turns back to the cook book, annoyed. You just stand there, both hurt and angered by his callous comments. Squaring your shoulders, you gain confidence from the churning in your stomach fueled by your temper, "Actually, I am, you insensitive prick." You seethe, your eyes narrowed into slits as he gapes at you. He slides off the counter and sets the book down in his place, "Why didn't you ever tell me?" He questions, distress flashing across his face as he inches towards you, "Why would you keep something like that from me?" You shrug your shoulders, doing your best to maintain your tough facade as the anger fades as quickly as it came. You bite your lip, a nervous habit of yours, "I thought you'd look at me differently. I thought that you'd think I was crazy, or something." You admit, feeling completely exposed, this not being how you wanted to start off your morning. His face crumbles at those words and he pulls you into his arms, "No, (Y/N), what's crazy is that you'd think that." He says, patting down your hair with his hand lovingly, soothing and calming you. You feel as if a huge weight has been lifted off your shoulders, finally having somebody to help you with your disorder.
Niall: Niall bursts through the front door to your flat, his hands and arms filled with bags upon bags. He beams, explaining the strange sight as he places everything onto the kitchen table, "The studio I was at today had this whole buffet table, and they said that I could take whatever I wanted home, so," He says, rummaging through one of the bags until he pulls out a glazed doughnut, ripping off a bite with his teeth, "I did!" His cheeks puff out due to the food in his mouth, causing you to giggle at how silly he looks. You avoid looking at the bags, knowing that if you do, you'll be sick. You can't even look at food anymore, and the smell is enough to make you nauseous. Having a boyfriend in the spotlight, and constantly being called 'hefty' by his fans really does take a toll on you, "Here, babe, I brought you home some cheesecake. I know how much you love it!" He says, digging until he pulls out an entire cake, which is bound to be all yours considering Niall hates cheesecake. You gulp, plastering a smile onto your face, "No thanks, I already ate." You squeak, watching as he stares at you, unconvinced and suspicious. "That seems to be your catch phrase recently," He observes in a sort of rude tone, crossing the floor until he's standing before you, arms crossed over his chest, "You've been losing weight like crazy, what the hell are you doing to yourself?" You instantly get defensive, shoving him back with your hands. "Why don't you ask your fans? The ones who call me, and I quote, a 'fat whore'? I know I'm not skinny, but I'm trying, okay?" You screech, the tears forming in your eyes as the anguish floods Niall's face, your words shocking him. He had no idea you felt this way. He reaches out and grabs your hand, you finally taking notice to how small your wrist has gotten, sickly almost, "(Y/N), I don't care what my 'fans' say, and you shouldn't either. You're perfect, everything about you is perfect. I'm going to help you through this, alright?" He says, to which you nod your head, accepting his offer and leaning on him for support.
Zayn: You heave again, spewing the contents of your stomach into the toilet, grimacing as you feel the burning sensation in your throat. You silently wish that you hadn't eaten so much at dinner tonight. You're absolutely exhausted, dropping the toothbrush out of your hand and leaning your head against the porcelain. Suddenly the bathroom door swings open, a very sleepy Zayn walking in, him having no idea that you're in here. When he sees you, his eyes widen, taking in your disheveled appearance, as well as the vomit and toothbrush. He furrows his brows, angry, "What the hell is this?" He says as you inch away from the toilet, guilty almost. He knows, "Are you crazy? What's wrong with you?" He shouts, tears beginning to fill both of your eyes for different reasons as he continues shouting, accusing you of being selfish and stupid. Unable to take it anymore, you hurl the toothbrush at him, willing him to stop yelling at you like a parent, "I'm sick of being called fat, Zayn!" You scream, closing in on yourself as you wrap your arms around your knees, hugging them close to your chest. He freezes mid-accusation, his face softening as the realization hits him. He kneels down beside you, taking your tiny frame into his strong arms, "I'm such an asshole, (Y/N), I'm so sorry," He whispers against your hair, kissing your temple lovingly, "It just scared me, I never thought that you'd do something like this to yourself. It breaks my heart that you don't see how beautiful and perfect you are," He continues, holding you so tight that you feel as if you can't breathe, not like you mind. The two of you sit there for God knows how long, you explaining your reasons behind your actions and him promising to help and support you no matter what.
