Harry: Age - 16
"For goodness sake, Y/N, you're sixteen!" Harry's voice bounces off the walls, echoing throughout the otherwise deserted house.
You don't say anything, because you know that he's right. You shouldn't be scared of monsters under your bed and beasts hiding in your wardrobe; not when you're sixteen years old.
You knew that you sounded like a five-year-old, and maybe you really were, but Harry's bad mood didn't make the situation any better.
He had come home from work that day in a foul mood. The boys had pranked him, and all of their laughing and screaming had given him a splitting headache.
"Honestly, Y/N! Who the hell is afraid of 'monsters' at your age? Who has nightmares about them hiding in wardrobes at sixteen?" Harry yelled, glaring down at your shorter stature.
You didn't say anything, as before, because you knew that he would be mad at you for it. He didn't really mean anything he was saying, and he wasn't trying to hurt you, but he just wasn't himself that afternoon.
Perhaps it hadn't been wise to bother him so soon after coming home from work.
Tears began to well in your eyes, but you wiped them away before Harry could see them. You didn't want him to think that you were any more of a baby than he was already accusing you of.
But, Harry had seen them in your sparkling, pained eyes before you could wipe them away. His voice cut off, and his eyes widened. He was shocked; you didn't cry often, at least not in front of people.
And Harry did not like his little sister crying.
"I'm so, so, so sorry, Y/N! I didn't mean any of it, really, I just.... Work and the boys - they're all so tiring... I'm sorry, Y/N, I didn't mean to make you cry. Please don't cry-"
You cut off your brother's rambling before he could finish voicing his disarrayed thoughts.
You didn't say anything to him, just ran into his arms, catching him off guard. After a moment of shock, he wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on the top of your head, before whispering a muffled "sorry" under his breath.
Liam: Age - 15
It wasn't an odd thing for you; to wake up screaming, trembling, frightened. It happened more often than you would have liked to admit.
And Liam knew about it; he knew a lot more about it than you would have liked.
And so, when you woke up that night, terrified, you tried to not make a big deal out of. You didn't wake up your father, or your mother, or your brother, out of sheer embarrassment that they would make it out to be more than it really was.
Instead of telling somebody, like you knew you should have, you tried to ignore the fear that consumed your thoughts. You sat in your bed, afraid - terrified even -, of the darkness that filled the room, of the groaning sounds the old house made at night.
But mostly, you were afraid of the crashing sound that broke the thick silence, the sound coming from just outside of your bedroom.
You could see the yellow glow of the light through the crack beneath the door; you could hear quiet whispers, muffled by the thick walls.
The door creaked open, and you gasped, burying your head beneath the mound of blankets on your bed.
"Y/N?"
Liam's voice filled the room and the bed dipped as he sat upon the mattress.
"Dad tripped over the table in the hall."
