Ashton: You knew this would happen eventually. Ashton’s tendency to search for indirects led him to find multiple nasty tweets about him, and now you are standing outside of his bathroom door, listening to his sobs with a broken heart. “Ashton please open the door”, you say, tears springing to your eyes. “Please.” Your voice cracks as the thought of Ashton in pain sends sobs rippling through your body. A few moments later the lock clicks and the door swings open, revealing your red eyed and messy-haired boyfriend. You launch yourself at him, holding him as tightly as your frail arms can manage, and you feel his chest tighten as a new wave of tears flow from his eyes. “I’m sorry”, he cries. “I’m not supposed to cry, men don’t cry over something like-like this.” “That’s so stupid, Ash, no one said men don’t cry. Let it all out baby, I’m right here.” You hold him for what seems like hours, listening to his cries with a heavy heart, not knowing what could bring down your usually cheery boyfriend like this. As if he read your thoughts, Ashton says quietly “They brought up my dad. A fan was trying to be funny and they said ‘Ashton is so obnoxious it’s no wonder his dad left him’. What did I do to them [Y/N]? Why do they use my insecurities against me?” A wave of sadness crushes you, leaving you shocked as you take in what he had just said.You gasp and say “Sweetheart you know that’s not true.” People who claimed to be fans were the ones who made the person you loved feel this way. He pulls away, the tears having finally stopped flowing. He looks at your shirt and frowns, pointing to a small splotch on your shoulder. “I stained your shirt.” You giggle in spite of yourself and say “That’s fine baby. I love you a lot and I can’t stand to see you like this, you know that right?” Ashton furrows his eyebrows and nods, saying “I’m sorry for putting you through this. You don’t deserve it.”“You’re the one who doesn’t deserve this”, you retort, giving him a kiss. “Why don’t you take a break from twitter for a while and let all this blow over?” “Alright”, he replies, smiling slightly and kissing your forehead. “I love you so much. Thank you.”
Michael: You bite back a laugh as you look at your boyfriend’s angry face in the mirror, and wrap your arms around his waist in comfort. “I think this is the last time I try store bought hair dye”, he grumbles, pulling at his bright orange tinted locks. Michael had wanted to dye his hair red, but Lou was on vacation so he had to do it himself. Neither of you had any experience with this stuff, so your DIY hair salon failed instantly as you revealed his neon orange hair. “It says on the box that it’ll fade in a few weeks” you say breathlessly, the giggles finally hitting you as Michael turns to look at you, leftover orange dye trickling down the side of his face. “Are you kidding me?” he screeches, sending you in new fits of laughter, clutching the bathroom counter for support. “A few weeks? The fans are going to give me hell for this oh my god.” You don’t answer him- you’re too busy laughing at the pouty expression on his face. “Stop laughing [Y/N] this isn’t funny”, he says, crossing his arms, the corners of his lips twitching in spite of himself. “Sorry”, you manage to say, wiping the humorous tears from your eyes. “Are you done now”, Michael chuckles, slinging an arm over your shoulder and looking at you through the mirror. “Yeah. Sorry”, you reply, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You just look so cute. Like a pouty ball of fire.” You start laughing at your joke, causing Michael to furrow his eyebrows and look down at the floor, waiting for you to calm down. “Baby, I’m sorry”, you say, lifting his head to look at you. “I should take this more seriously.” “No it’s ok”, he says. “I’m just not looking forward to enduring the boys taunting me for the next few weeks.” “And you won’t have to”, you reply. “My best friend works at a hair salon, she can fix this mess in two seconds.” His face lights up. “Really? Are you serious?” “Of course I am. I’m just not sure why we didn’t go to her in the first place.”
Luke: You’re in the boys’ tour bus, waiting for them to finish their set. You’d seen the Take Me Home tour performance so many times that you didn’t mind missing out on a few shows. The boys had told you before leaving that they were going to go out with One Direction, so you weren’t expecting them to be back for a while. So, when the door of the bus slams shut you are not only surprised, but also a little concerned. “Luke, is that you?” you call out from your spot in his bunk. You are answered with silence. You get up from your comfortable position and maneuver through the cramped space and into the front of the bus, where Luke is lying facedown on the couch. “Baby what are you doing home so early?” you wonder aloud, rubbing his back. “Didn’t feel like going out”, he mumbles in response. You knew better than that. “Luke what happened? You know you can tell me anything.” He slowly sits up and sighs, rubbing his face with one hand. “I messed up the lyrics to Try Hard again”, he says quietly, burying his head in his hands as he finishes speaking. You had been through this conversation before; it was like a nasty bout of deja vu for you. “I keep messing everything up”, he groans as you sit down next to him. “I should just quit the band.” You shake your head. “Absolutely not. You’re the lead singer Luke, the boys need you. In fact I bet they’re worried sick about you right now and can’t even enjoy the party. How do you expect them to continue the band without you?” He doesn’t answer and you continue speaking. “And what about the fans, Luke? Do you think they’ll be able to cope without you in the band? They’ll be heartbroken. Besides, the Luke Hemmings I know doesn’t give up so easily after a few small mistakes.” By the time you finish your tirade he has picked up his head and a small grin has appeared on his face. “I don’t know where I’d be without you”, he says seriously, kissing your forehead. “I love you so much.” “I love you too”, you respond, pulling him up from the couch. “Now go enjoy yourself. You deserve it.”
Calum: "UGH!" You hear a shout and a bang come from Calum’s room, where he had locked himself for the past hour writing songs for their new album. You knock on his door, waiting for his grunt of assent before opening the door. "Hey", you say timidly, sidestepping the broken glass on the floor. "What happened?" Calum sighs and wraps you in his arms, mumbling "I have writers block. I can’t come up with anything good for the album." "That doesn’t explain the broken glass, Cal" You chuckle, rubbing his back. "I threw a vase", he says, burying his head in your shoulder. "I got frustrated. Sorry babe." You laugh and kiss his head saying "Don’t get yourself so worked up about this song writing business. you know what they say; you can’t rush quality." "I know" he responds. "But the fans have been waiting for this album for ages, I feel terrible. They’ve been so supportive and I’ve been slacking and-" You stop him there and back away from him to look into his eyes. "Calum, you’ve been working so hard writing for the past few months, I’m sure you could use a small break for a few hours. The fans will understand that, and besides, the songs you’ve already contributed are amazing. They’ll love them for sure." Calum nods in agreement, taking your hand. "You’re right. The fans will know that we’ve worked really hard on this album, and I need to spend some quality time with my lovely girlfriend." He pokes your side, smiling as you giggle and swat his hand away. "Sorry about the broken vase", he says looking at the remaining shards that littered the hardwood floor. "I know your mother gave it to you for your birthday." "That’s fine", you say, pecking his lips. "It was ugly anyways."
