Harry: “Hello, Miss. (Y/L/N), this is Visa Fraud Prevention with a courtesy call. I am calling you to confirm the five-hundred and fifty thousand pound deduction from your account a little before noon today.” Your eyes grow wide at the woman’s words. “Excuse me?” Is all you can get out. “That amount was deducted from your shared account a little while ago. I tried to reach the cardholder, but there was no answer and we are required to call all parties associated with the account, especially with amounts as large as this.” “You have got to be shitting me,” you say outloud, not meaning for your harsh words to escape your thoughts. “Do you know where the card was swiped?” You question, trying to figure out if indeed the money was meant to be missing from your account. “It looks like it was swiped in Surrey, a Richard Stewart Williams Limited? But he transferred the money from a cash machine at Barclays in London.” Surrey? Harry had left for the day, but he didn’t say anything about going to Surrey. Not to mention you had no idea who Richard Stewart Williams even was. “I looked it up, and it looks like he sells classic cars.” There is it. The connection. The five-hundred and fifty thousand pound connection. You sigh loudly into the phone. “Okay, yeah. I can confirm that. I don’t really want to, but yeah, everything is fine.” Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose as you let the fact that your bank account was now missing over a half a million pounds. “Alright, we just wanted to check and make sure.” She sounded so peppy. How could you be peppy? Does she not feel sorry for your bank account? You sure did. “Thank you for calling,” you tell her before you hang up, your eyes shut as you try to take in deep breaths, resisting the urge to call him this very second. You take a few more deep breaths before pulling the phone back up to you. “Hey!” His cheerful voice greets you. Stay calm. It’s his money. And your money. No, it’s his money. He would never spend your money even though both of your names are on the joint account. His money. Calm. “Are you shitting me!?” So much for calm. “Whoa, what’s the matter?” He questions, your anger catching him off guard. “Five-hundred and fifty thousand pounds? Harry Styles are you insane?!” You hear him chuckle over the line. “Did the fraud lady call you again?” He jokes. “Harry this isn’t funny. That’s a shit ton of money for a car you won’t even drive.” “I’ll be driving it back from Surrey,” he counters proudly. “Harry!” You whine, he wasn’t understanding you at all; he didn’t want to. “Babe, it’s fine.” “No it isn’t!” You interject. “Yes, yes it is. You’re acting like I spent five million.” “You might as well have,” you say, your voice starting to calm. You had always cringed at his lavish spending, especially when it was cars. You understood his love for cars, but when was he ever home to drive any of them? The Range Rover got most of the use but everything else just sat in a parking garage. This one would be no different. “You’ve really got to quit it with the whole buying cars you don’t need, it’s just a waste.” You’re trying so hard to get him to see where you’re coming from. The two of you had enough expenses to deal with without him adding more which in turn left less in your bank account. You had preached ‘the future’ to him and he only laughed. He had plenty of money for the future, and so did his eventual kids and grandchildren, so he never quite got your money saving spiel. You had never been brought up on the ‘you like it, you buy it’ idea, and to be honest neither had Harry. But he had earned his right to do so, so for the most part you let him even though you cringed when the statements came in every month. He had the money to cover it, for now. The line is silent, he would never call his exquisite car collection a waste, no matter how little he got to spend in their driver’s seats. “Last one for a while, I promise,” he says, finally giving in. He knew how much you hated his spending habits, and even though it only made him laugh at how cute you were when you were ‘considering his future’ he never liked to do something that blatantly upset you. “Thank you.” The line falls silent yet again, but you know what’s coming. “Go ahead and tell me what you got,” you say, knowing he was dying to tell you about his outlandish purchase. “You’re going to love it babe, trust me,” he begins, the obvious excitement in his tone. “You’ve said that about the last four,” you remind him. “I know, but this one is it!” You laugh, he was such a child. “It’s a fifty-nine DB4.” “An Aston?” You question, your eyes lighting up and a wide smile stretching across your face. A classic. “Yeah, don’t think I forgot how much you love Astons.” You shake your head and chuckle. “Continue, tell me about it.” “It’s forest green with black hide and grey carpet. It has a GT, twin-plug, five litre engine. The axle has been rebuilt and upgraded along with the handling and brakes.” He continued on to tell you about the electric cooling fans and high efficiency water radiator like a kid in a candy store. You could only credit him though; he had excellent taste in motor vehicles.
Liam: Was he serious? ‘#PuffPuff’? Attached to the hashtag was a black and white Instagram picture of him surrounded by a large cloud of smoke, his signature smolder staring back at you. You roll your eyes. Sure he wasn’t smoking cocaine but the last thing he needed to be doing was glamorizing lung cancer. You didn’t care that he smoked. You wished he hadn’t ever picked up the habit, but it was his body, so you kept quiet about the subject. It wasn’t like he was a chain smoker, so his social smoking wasn’t too bothersome. You scroll through the comments on his picture, most talking about how sexy he looked. Despite the few fans who criticized him the way you were, there was an overwhelming positive response. You flip over to Twitter once you read that his hashtag was trending. Number one worldwide. These fans work fast. You click on the trend to see what the Twitter world was saying about your boyfrend’s picture. Instead of seeing comments and responses, you are shown an alarming amount of pictures. Pictures of fans recreating Liam’s hazy Instagram. There were thousands. You were shocked. Had Liam seen this? Surely not. He would have done something about it. At least told them not to follow his actions. But how could he really say that when they looked up to him like they do? You exit the app after seeing girls who looked barely thirteen with cigarettes in their mouths just like Liam. You immediately switch over to your recent calls. Liam was back in America, in fact he had probably just landed a short time ago. “Hey babe,” he says cheerfully as you hear the background noise fade away on his end. “How was the flight?” You ask, making conversation. “Long, but not bad. I fell asleep and they drew shit on my face, so I’ve been in the bathroom for the last half hour trying to scrub it off.” You loved that rule; first one to fall asleep on a flight gets the penis on their face. You couldn’t help but laugh. “How did you beat out Zayn?” “I don’t even know. I guess he got a ton of sleep over break.” Silence falls over the line as you think of how to address him about the situation he had created. “Liam, have you been on Twitter since you landed?” “No.” His voice was slightly confused. “Have you checked the comments on that picture you posted before your flight?” “Negative. What’s wrong?” You take a moment to gather your explanation before continuing. “Well since you made smoking look so hot, everyone on Twitter is recreating your picture. And by everyone I mean, all of your young thirteen and fourteen year old fans. Liam I know that even you know that’s too young to start smoking.” “How was I supposed to know that’s what would happen?” “Liam, babe, they look up to you. You’re the reasonable one. Well that’s kind of been taken over by Harry, so you’re like the second reasonable one. Surely you could piece together that looking like you did in that picture and drawing attention to the fact that you were smoking was going to draw them in.” “The way I looked, eh? You think I look good in that picture?” He questions playfully. “Of course you did. I hated you for choosing that on the day that you left me. But that’s not the point and you know it.” “I know,” he replies, the playfulness gone. “I’ll take it down and then tell them to not smoke or something like that.” “I’m not sure doing that is going to do anything. If you can do it, why can’t they? Just delete it. That will be enough.” He agrees with you and moments later the picture is gone from his profile. Hopefully the hint will be big enough for all of the fans to catch on.
Niall: You can’t watch. But you have to. However, you’d rather not witness him shattering his knee in front of this Pasadena crowd. You’ve watched him for the past three nights, running all over the stage, jumping like he used to, and rolling around on the ground like he never even had surgery. You wince as he lands another jump from the platform. “He’s going to kill himself,” you tell Paul as the two of you stand off to the side. “I don’t know about that, but reinjuring that knee for sure.” You shake your head, it was the truth. If Niall didn’t calm it down on stage the outcome wasn’t going to be a good one. You had just joined him on tour for the first time since the European leg, when he was less hyper and more concerned with his wellbeing. You had no idea he was out here every night running around like this. That is until you came out here for his birthday. The other two shows were hard to watch. The first night you just thought he was showing off for you, which of course he was. But when his hyperactive behavior continued the second night, it began to click that this was how he was every night. You had to say something. If you didn’t, he would be having total knee replacement surgery by the time he was twenty-five. “I’ll talk to him tonight,” you say out loud, and Paul laughs. “Yeah, good luck getting that one to calm down.” You were fully aware of the challenge you were taking on. He was easily the most active on stage. You continue looking on as he runs by you laughing, the brightest of smiles on his face. ‘You’re in trouble,’ you mouth when he pauses in front of you, taking your finger across your throat to add emphasis to your statement. He laughs you off and heads for the opposite side of the stage, Louis taking his place in front of you. You follow Paul backstage once the boys begin their descent under the stage. You hear their hollering as you walk through the corridor to the dressing room, meeting up with the group at the door. You smile at each of them as you stop to let them in before you. When Niall appears your smile changes. “Ouch, what was that for?” He playfully questions. “We need to talk,” you tell him and the other boys turn their heads towards the doorway to look at you. “What the hell did you do, Niall?” Zayn comments, pulling off his sweat stained shirt. Niall shrugs and follows you as you walk to an empty room. “What did I do?” He asks as you sit down on the leather couch. He stops in front of you, looking down on you, afraid to actually hear your answer. “Sit down,” you instruct, trying not to sound forceful because he actually looked scared. “What did I do?” He repeats. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. He places his hand on yours; causing your eyes to open and you smile. “Can I ask you a question?” You begin, your soft eyes calming him slightly. “Yeah, of course.” “You know how much I care about you, yeah?” Confusion comes over his face. “Yeah?” “And that I’m always trying to look out for you?” “Yeah.” “Okay, well, I’m not sure if you were present with me in the doctor’s office before tour, I thought you were, but it must have been someone else. Anyways, I remember hearing from the doctor that you would need to take it easy this tour.” A smile comes on his face, and he opens his mouth to explain but you interrupt. “I also remember you agreeing with him and shaking his hand on the promise of taking it easy.” “Babe, I’m fine. My knee is fine,” he assures, trying his best to convince you. “It won’t be if you keep acting like your freakin’ Louis Smith on the pommel horse.” His laugh echoes through the room at your reference. “I feel great,” he repeats. “You feel great until you tear another ligament and you’re out for even more time. Niall, they can’t really tour without you. What are you going to do? Get a stool and take it back to the nineties?” He smiles again, but your concerned look removes it quickly. “I promise, I’m watching out for myself out there.” “I don’t see it,” you counter, shaking your head. “If you want metal knees by the time your twenty-five then so be it.” “Bionic Niall, that has a ring to it,” he admits with a grin. “Niall!” This was frustrating. “Everything is going to be fine. I’ll tone it down for Phoenix.” Unlikely.
Louis: “Okay, yeah.” “Give them all kisses for me.” “I love you, too.” “Bye.” You quickly walk past the office door, not wanting him to see you were listening in on his phone call back home. You hear him sigh loudly, and you take a few steps back where you came. It’s happening again. His arms were crossed on the desk, his head resting on top. Something was up. Something was always up after he called back home. It had been like this for a few months now and you weren’t sure where it was coming from. You had never actually sat him down and addressed it. “Everything alright, babe?” It was time to address it. “Yeah,” he responds unconvincingly. You shake your head from behind him, stepping into the room. “How is everyone?” You ask of his family. “Fine.” You roll your eyes, you were getting nowhere. “Louis,” you begin, walking over to him, sitting against the desk he was laying on. He doesn’t look at you, only off to the side. “What’s the matter?” “Nothing.” “Don’t bullshit me; it’s pretty obvious something has you upset. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you acting like this every time you get off of the phone with her.” He buries his head into his arms, another sigh escaping before he sits back up. His eyes were glossy. You could tell these were old emotions he was feeling. “Babe,” you say, crawling into his lap, “What is up?” You brush the tears away that threaten to fall before resting your head against his chest as he prepares to talk. “There are six kids in that house. She has to take care of six kids now. I’m not there to help her anymore. I feel like I’m letting her down. Every time I call I’m letting her down. I’m not there. She needs me there. She needs my help.” Oh, boy. This was territory you weren’t familiar with. Louis feeling that his absence at home was a burden to his mother, you definitely had no experience in this. You knew he was the man of the house for most of his life, and he still felt the need to take care of all of his siblings even though they were miles away. However, that was unrealistic. He couldn’t be there with them all of the time now. But that’s what Dan was there for. Had he forgotten about Dan? “Babe, what about Dan? Dan is there, he has been. You know he is there to take care of them, and you know what a wonderful father he is, to all of them.” You weren’t sure how he was taking your words seeing as you couldn’t see his face. You sit up in his lap to look at him. “I know you’re used to being the man of the house, and now with the new twins that feeling is starting to come back but Dan is there.” “They need me,” he whimpers. “Louis, baby.” You pull him into you. No one missed his family more than he did. He had grown up with the responsibility of a family to look after, and that responsibility was still strong in his heart. “No one is ever going to forget about you, if that’s what you’re worried about. They aren’t going to forget that you were the one that taught them how to ride their bike, or how you did their hair every morning before school.” Lottie had told you stories, he was the perfect man of the house when they were all younger. But now that someone else had officially stepped in, he wasn’t taking it too well. “No one is here to replace you,” you assure him, pulling away to look at him. “They love you just as much as they did from day one, every single one of them.” He nods in agreement, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back into him. It broke your heart to see him like this. To see him love his family so much it hurt him.
Zayn: There was something he should be doing today. What was it? You grab your cup, the steam from the tea warming your face as you take a sip. Your phone sits beside you as you scroll through the social media you had missed while you were sleeping. ‘@NiallOfficial: @manutd here we come!’ That’s what it was. You knew Zayn had something to do today. You scroll through your calendar to double check and confirm that up in bed was not where he belonged today. You knew the rest of the boys would be in that SUV on their way to Manchester. ‘Is everyone supposed to be in Manchester today?’ You text Niall, knowing he would tell you the truth about the situation. You take another sip of tea as you wait for a response. ‘Yeah. No one expected him to come tho, no worries x’. You shake your head at your boyfriend’s laziness, drinking the last bit of your tea before sliding away from the breakfast bar, setting the plate that held your muffin in the sink. You walk back up the stairs, preparing yourself for the wakeup. The room was dark, the curtains keeping the morning sun out, just as you had left it. His slightly heavy breathing was all you hear when you stepped in. You walk straight over to the window, pulling the thick fabric to the sides to lighten up the room. You hear a moan from behind you. Step one was complete. You walk over to the bed, slowly pulling the covers away from him, receiving another moan in response. “What are you doing?” You hear, his voice was muffled by the pillow he was using to hide his eyes from the light you had let in. “You’re late,” you scold, pulling the duvet and sheets completely off the bed. “I don’t have anything to do today!” His morning anger was coming out now. “You’re supposed to be in Manchester,” you remind him. “That was optional.” You roll your eyes. To him, every band appearance was optional. “Niall said everyone was meant to go.” “Niall!” He grumbles, his face still buried in the pillow. “Why are you so lazy?” You inquire, knowing he wouldn’t respond. “Zayn, you need to be up there.” “Let me sleep.” “Zayn, you need to go. It doesn’t look good when you’re the only one not there.” “I don’t care.” “You do care,” you counter. Even if he didn’t care, which he probably didn’t, you still wanted to think he cared about how people perceived his friends in his absence. Silence falls over the bedroom as you stand beside the bed glaring at him. He turns his head slightly, one eye emerging from the pillow to open and acknowledge your stare. “Babe,” he groans, turning over onto his back, his hands covering his eyes until they adjust. “I’m serious, Zayn. It doesn’t look good. You look like you don’t care. And even if you don’t, you still need to be out there doing these appearances with them. You’re a member of the band too. It isn’t just Harry, Liam, Niall, Louis, and Zayn whenever he feels like it.” He groans yet again, your annoyance with him rising. “Fine,” he whines, giving in, but not moving from his place on the stripped bed. “Well, get up! You’re already going to be an hour late.” He rolls onto his side slowly, his feet forcefully hitting the hardwood as he sits up, sleep still consuming him. He trudges off to the shower, and you shake your head at how one person could be so against spending a day with his mates playing football.