(you make him cry like not on purpose but you just say something and it makes him cry)
Horan: It was flippant, entirely in jest, and your mind raced to find an answer to the tears down his face and the heaviness in your chest. He’d left, retreated to the confines of his room; left you there among dark fabric and bleak skies, brows furrowed and lips pulled down in upset. You didn’t want to go to him, didn’t want to say something to set him off but your body moved, your muscles tensing and pulling to push you towards him; you didn’t say anything. He did not meet his eyes with yours. There was a silence deafening the roaring of your heart in your chest and the shaky breaths in his lungs.
He looked up.
With spread arms and wet cheeks and a whispered, “c’mere,” you melded with him. No words; no tears; no movement. Just silence and each other.
Tomlinson: He wasn’t outwardly sensitive, hated defining himself as that member, hated exposing himself in a manner which would leave him vulnerable. You didn’t notice at first, simply kept talking about recent catastrophes that had left you a tangled bundle of nerves.
"Stop," he’d groaned, and you’d seen stars across the wall at his voice. Broken. Battered. Because of you.
"Louis-," you moved toward him, choking on your words, desperately trying to figure out what it is you’d said, what you’d done, what -
A breath shot out of him, shoulders bunching together and then slumping forward, a white flag hanging from his barriers and crumbling down into the puddle of his tears. “It’s nothing.”
"It is not-” you insisted, a flash of irritation quickly overtaken by worry contorting your face.
"Don’t remind me that I’m living the high-life and I can’t do anything for them."
Styles: Alright, you sighed outward, you fucked up.
You knew it was a sensitive topic, knew it was like throwing a brick through the sky and expecting something to catch it before it hit the ground and broke.
"Do you really think that of me?"
"Do you really think that of me?"
"Do you really think that of me?"
He echoed, wracking your mind with his intensity, bouncing against your skin, stretching, fighting, pleading to get out but God, was your skin stubborn.
You were on fire, a heat enveloping your body, a torture rising and falling with him. He had left, couldn’t be there, you supposed. Left in his car, out the door, and you were alone in your bed with his old sweater around your head trying to smell something to remind you of what he was not what he thinks he is to you.
Payne: "You’re being ridiculous, Liam."
"How am I being ridiculous? I have just as much of a right to say what I want, alright?"
"I’m not saying you don’t, I just mean you’re taking it a bit too far, I mean-” He cut you off.
"Going too far? So I’m not allowed to defend myself now-"
“Liam.”
"You’re just like everyone else," he choked, teeth grinding his jaw shut.
"Oh," you breathed, eyes fixated on his watery, brown eyes, an immediate guilt creeping up on you and pressing a knife to your throat.
"Forget it," he whispered, lumbering out of the room.
He’d taken it the wrong way, you assured yourself; was too angry to think straight, too vulnerable to listen without twisting thoughts into threats. You let him be, allowed him to think for himself; you didn’t want to lose him, wouldn’t think about risking something like that, and so you waited.
It was half past four in the morning when he entered your room, dipping into the mattress and clutching your body to his.
Malik: "Where are you going?" he’d asked, his eyes both harsh yet hurt.
"Visiting a friend, we’ve made plans to go out. Didn’t I tell you?"
"No," Zayn grunted, tossing his mobile aside on the loveseat and advancing toward you.
"Is there a problem?" you sniped.
"I’ve only been home two days and you’re already going out-“
"It’s not that big of a deal, we’ve been planning this for ages," you reasoned - she had just got back into the country after all.
"What? Am I not good enough for you?" he murmured, almost scared what he’d said was true.
“What the fu-”
"Whatever, just go. Have a nice night," he stammered, turning away from you and disappearing down the hallway.
You didn’t go.
