5 Seconds Of Summer Preferences

#14 How He Knows Something Is Wrong

Ashton: You'd storm through the front door, knocking some things over on your way to your bedroom; slamming it's door as well. Ashton would patiently wait for your entrance to finish so he could go upstairs to see what was wrong. Sometimes, he'd find you pacing back and forth mumbling about how your life sucked, others, and you’d be laying on the bed staring at nothing in particular. Either way, he'd ask what's wrong; waiting for your giant speech to be over to hug you tight, not letting you go until you assured him you were feeling better.

Luke: You'd stay more quiet than normal, answering with short sentences, or not even answering at all. Seeing you weren't okay, he'd slowly take you in his arms, kissing the top of your head and asking what was wrong. When the tears started falling, you wouldn't hold it in anymore; telling him everything that was bothering you, listening carefully to his advises and thoughts on your problems, and crying on his chest until you had no more tears to cry.

Calum: Normally, he wouldn't even have to guess it; you'd just go straight for him and tell him everything. But he could always see you weren't okay when your eyes didn't light up and you didn't smile or laugh a lot; not even with his stupid jokes. He'd hug you, listening to your every word, and kissing the top of your head, or your forehead, whenever you'd sob. "Babe, babe, everything is going to be alright, okay? I'm going to help you to get through this; we're going to get through this, okay?", he says whenever you lose control and start sobbing while talking to him; making it impossible for him to understand what you're saying. And after you let everything out, you feel like the weight of the world fell of your shoulders; saying again and again that you love him in between pecks all over his face, and, finally, on his lips.

Micheal: "Babe, what's wrong?", he'd ask. "What makes you think something's wrong? There's nothing wrong," you'd reply; sounding a bit angrier than usual and laughing sarcastically. "Well, you're chopping the vegetables with a look on your face that tells that you wish you were stabbing someone," he answers, putting his hands on your shoulder and massaging the area, making you let out a small moan. "Tell me what's wrong," he whispers, slowly kissing up and down your neck. In between kisses and moans, you'd tell him everything; and after it, when you were laying in bed, he'd give you some advises to get through it.