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half a heart

Posted by: bringthepaayne

Harry: (I'm half a man, at best) you make him better. That's what he thinks, and that's what he tells anyone and everyone that asks about you. He feels like he's lost half of his body with you gone. He doesn't know what to say to people anymore, he doesn't know how to stand, what drinks to order, where to sit in movie theatres. He can't think straight, because his thoughts are always filled with you, and how on earth he's going to get you back, because without you, he's not going to last. So he leaves whatever silly party he's at and goes straight to your apartment, braving the cold because he has to see you. You're surprised when you see him on the other side of your door, and even more surprised when he opens his mouth and gives you the speech he'd been rehearsing in his head on the way to your house. "Can I have you back?" he asks, his eyes wide and he can feel tears building and he's willing them not to fall. "Please? I miss you, so, so much. And I'm not me without you around. I don't know how to talk or walk or sleep or anything without you. I'm only half of me without you. So please, love, I'm sorry for what happened. I'm so, so sorry and will you please come back?" Maybe it's something in his voice, or the way he's looking at you, or the fact that you've missed him so, so much and you feel the same way as he does. But you pull him into the apartment and close the door and it feels like everything in the world is right again.

Liam: (you've been sleeping with my sweater) he caught you. In your defense, everything was in the laundry and he showed up at the apartment you used to share at nine o'clock on a Saturday. You missed him; you were woman enough to admit that. You missed him like crazy, and sleeping in his clothes made you feel like you still had a little hold on him. He doesn't even say hello; the first words out of his mouth are "is that mine?" In his defense, you can't really blame him because you know how much he loved you in his clothes and you realize now that you didn't put on any pants, just his damn sweater and your legs are peeking out of it. You glance down at it, realizing that it is, in fact, Liam's sweater, and shrug. He nods and clears his throat. "I just came to pick up some of my stuff." Something about the way he says that makes everything feel more final and you bite back tears, leaning against the doorframe. "What are we doing, Li?" you ask, wiping your eyes. His face softens and when he sees your tears, he immediately sweeps through the door, crushing you into his chest, lifting you so he can hold you properly. "Can I come back?" he asks, whispering in your ear. You just nod and inhale the aroma that comes with Liam. You feel loved when he kisses you, tender and sweet, hand in your hair and one sliding up the back of your sweater, skin on skin making you remember how much you lost, and what you now have again.

Louis: (I'm missing half of me) he just might tear his hair out if he doesn't talk to you soon. His chest feels like it might explode and he's shaking, eyes constantly watering and hands almost vibrating. The two of you left things on such a bad note before he left for tour and the guilt has been pouring over him like a waterfall since he got on that damned plane. You won't answer his calls or his texts. He's even asked Harry to call you, and you'll answer his calls, but when he says Louis wants to talk to you, you hang up almost instantly. It really gets to him after a show one night, and he's sobbing in his bunk when his phone starts ringing. And it's your ringtone. He sniffles loudly and answers, his voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry," he says be way of hello, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "I'm sorry I was an arse and I'm sorry I screwed everything up but I can't have you mad at me, love, I can't. It hurts. I already miss you more than I can tell you and the fact that you don't want to talk to me it driving me crazy. So I'm sorry, just please don't be mad at me anymore." He's got you crying now, and you wipe your own eyes, half a world away. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, Lou. I love you." You spend your night on the phone; both of you try to apologize and end up laughing so hard your sides hurt. When he wakes up the next morning, he feels whole again, and he has a text from you: "good morning, I love you".

Niall: (forget all we said that night) he feels like an ass. He shouldn't have said it, but he did, and it was the final straw for you. You kicked him out, and he can't blame you. He'd probably do the same thing if he were you. The first night, he tries drowning himself in pints, but ends up throwing up in the pub's bathroom and then spending the night on Harry's couch, crying while Harry tries to make sense of his slurred story. Once his hangover subsides, he takes a walk, making a point to head for the apartment you two (used to?) share. He feels the key in his pocket and just nods to himself, turning around to go to the arts store on the next street for supplies, an idea forming in his mind. An hour and a half later, it's dark and he knocks on the door. When you lay eyes on him, your first instinct is to slam the door, but he shushes you. "I know I don't deserve it, and I know I don't deserve you after what I did, but will you please just look outside?" You sigh and head for the balcony, and gasp. He's spelled out "I love you" in tiny candles on the ground outside your apartment building. The next thing he knows, you're kissing him and he keeps apologizing over and over. "I'm sorry for what I said, princess," he murmurs, squeezing you tight. "I didn't mean a word of it. Can we just forget it?" You nod and it's like a weight has been lifted off is chest. He's back in your arms that night, and he knows that he's not going to screw it up again.

Zayn: (we'll go for lunch down by the river) "Just...please, love," he says into the phone, running a hand through his messy hair. "Meet me for lunch? At that place by the river you love. I'm begging you." You agree and hang up and he sighs, tossing his phone back onto the bed. You've been staying with your mum for the last couple of days, still fuming at him, and he has to fix it. He catches a glimpse of his messy hair in the mirror and almost laughs to himself; if only you could see him now, his eyes red from crying and his hair looking more like a bird's nest than anything else. An hour later, though, he's sitting in that café you love, actually presentable, pulling at the collar of his shirt while he waits for you. He spots you after a few minutes, white scarf wrapped around your neck and your hair pulled back in a messy bun. When you drop into the chair across from him, he wants to reach for your hand, but you won't let him. "What is it, Zayn?" you ask, crossing your arms over your chest. "I have to fix this, love," he says, leaning forwards and putting his elbows on the table. "I have to fix whatever I did to make you hate me. I can't lose you." Your lip quivers and his heart aches. "I don't hate you, Zayn," you say, swiping the tears that slip under your eyes. "I could never hate you." Your hand drops onto the table and he reaches for it, squeezing it. "Then come home," he whispers. "Please. I miss you too much. I need you back home with me."