HARRY (age 20): Never before had you felt so utterly lost. Your head felt like it was filled with cotton, and you couldn’t string together a single, rational thought. Your mate had died months prior in a car crash, and the pain was still as fresh as when you were first informed. It was possible to get a new mate, but it is difficult to break through the sorrow long enough to find new happiness. You were determined to do it someday. As long as it wasn’t today. Your family was concerned, your brother somehow even more so. He checked on you daily, trying to get you to talk to him. He hadn’t succeeded yet, but you felt as if today you would give it a try. When your brother stepped in, he was already discouraged. “H-harry?” you stuttered, gaining his attention. His eyes widened, and he was by your side in an instant. “I’m right here sweetheart, what is it?” You looked him dead in the eye, tears streaking down your cheeks for the first time since he passed. “It hurts.” You could feel and smell you and Harry’s combined pain in the air as he fell down next to you on the bed, pulling you to his lap and letting you cry into his chest. “I know it does Y/N. I know.” He stayed with you for three days, feeding you when your tears had to stop because your body couldn’t handle losing any more fluids. A few years later, you had somehow managed to snap out of your haze long enough to find yourself a new mate, and Harry watched happily as the color returned to your cheeks and your stomach finally got the little pudge back you had always had, but had lost to the sorrow. And suddenly, his sister was back, sarcastic remarks and bad puns filling the normally silent air around you. You were back.
ZAYN (age 22): “IT’S NOT FAIR. WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN? HE DIDN’T DESERVE THIS. I DIDN’T DESERVE THIS.” You were screaming at the top of your lungs, and all your interior were flying around your ears as you angrily threw them at seemingly nothing. Zayn was standing worriedly in the corner, watching as your little omega form somehow managed to flip the couch over, breaking the glass table in the process. Your mate had died of a heart attack some days ago, and you were still as mad as the day you were told. Zayn had stayed over the entire time, watching your anger and pain grow and grow as the days passed. Today, you exploded. You had spent the last hour ripping your house apart, your brother letting you do whatever your heart desired. When you finally decided your house was torn apart, you fell to your knees in the middle of broken piles of furniture, finally letting the tears fall. Zayn was by your side in an instant, falling to his knees beside you and pulling you to his chest. You clutched him closer by anything of his you could reach, ugly sobs breaking the fragile silence. Zayn didn’t hush you. He didn’t speak. He made no attempt to comfort you, because he knew beforehand it was a lost battle. You just needed to let go. “I’ve got you,” was the only words muttered, as you fell apart. Somehow, you managed to glue your life back together. You moved, found a new mate, and got a family. You still felt a slight jab of pain every now and then, but then a kiss would be placed on your cheek, and it would be gone as soon as it came.
NIALL (age 24): “Y/N? Please say something.” You slowly shook your head, getting up from the couch and silently walking to your bedroom. You laid down in your bed, trying to straighten up the chaos that was your thoughts. “Y/N?” Niall stepped in warily, eyes frightened at the sight of your emotionless face. “He’s not coming back,” you whispered, referring to your mate who you had lost to a plane crash. “No. I’m afraid not.” The seriousness in your brother’s normally carefree and joking voice made you realize just how real this living nightmare was, and collapsed in on yourself as your body shook with tears. You could smell the pity emitting from your brother, but you choose to ignore it. Niall ran to you and wrapped his arms around you, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, the smallest seed of safety planted in your stomach. The longer he held you and let you cry, the more the seed grew, and you ended up falling asleep right there in his arms. After several months of being a mere shell of what you used to be, you somehow stumbled upon your future mate, and Niall almost bursted with happiness when you visited him one day, a new mating mark on your neck. Sometimes you felt guilty for moving on, especially after only mere years, but then a daughter or son would call you mommy, and suddenly it was all right. And those years were just distant dark memories, the time before them still appreciated, and the time after even more so.
LOUIS (age 21): “Y/N! This won’t bring him back!” You growled at your brother to the best of your abilities. You hauled a pillow after him, pushing the vase off the bedside table in your bedroom with an angry swipe of your arm. “So what?!” you screamed at him, ripping out the lamp also on the bedside table, smashing it into the ground. “That’s it!” Louis’ voice boomed, stalking up to your now frozen form, and locking you inside his arms. You deflated in his grip, letting him carry your weight as you cried into his shoulder. He started shaking as the strain of holding you became too much, and he fell to the bed. You ended up in his lap, not even noticing the difference in your position. Louis’ heart broke as you curled into him, much as you did when you were five and had a nightmare. “I can’t say I know how it’s like. But I will do my best to put myself in your shoes. We’ll get you through this, yeah?” You didn’t answer, but Louis knew you heard him, as some of the tension left your shoulders. “There you go sweetheart.” You sniffled, red-rimmed eyes looking up sadly at your brother. “I’ll die alone,” you said solemnly, ducking your head into his neck and taking in the scent of your safe haven. “Of course you won’t, my love. You know it’s possible to get a mate the second time around.” You nodded, but Louis could tell you didn’t believe him. As disbelieving you were, Louis ended up being right. You did get a second mate. You got the life you wanted, and even though you still thought of your old mate from time to time, your life was different now. You had moved on, but you wouldn’t ever forget. Never.
LIAM (age 23): “Please, do something. Anything. Scream, break stuff, cry. Just, I can’t take anymore silence,” Liam pleaded. You stared at him, but there was no spark behind the look, and it seemed like you saw right through him. “It’s been two weeks. You haven’t uttered a word, you’ve barely eaten, and you only sleep when your body absolutely force you to. It’s not healthy.” For the first time since you were told your mate was killed by some drunk asshole, you felt an emotion travel through your veins, and lick up the sides of your heart. It broke through the haze in which you were currently in, and suddenly your fierce gaze was set upon Liam. You knew this feeling. It was rage. “You know what Liam?! Why don’t you fucking try losing your mate, and see how the fuck that feels, huh?! Because you know what?! IT FUCKING SUCKS!” You watched as a wast variety of emotion flew across Liam’s face: Surprise, relief, confusion, anger and then ended in pity. “Don’t pity me! I don’t want your fucking pity! I just want him back!” Liam sighed, carefully schooling his expression into nothingness. He opened his arms as an offer, and you felt your anger dissipate slowly the more you watched, and smelled, your brother. You broke down and ran to his arms, pressing yourself as close to his comforting warmth and scent. You mourned for about a year, until a special someone managed to get through your hazy mind and unfreeze your heart. And just like that, there was no more haze, only sun and laughter and love and suddenly, everything was right.
