Harry: You press play on the answering machine, a wave of regret that you hadn't picked up the phone that night four weeks ago washes over you as it does every time you hear his voice. The speakers crackle and you shut your eyes, the phone tight in your grip. "Baby? It's me," he whispers softly, his breathing fast and afraid. "We're being held hostage...gun point...." He's muffled by static and you hear shouting in the background. "I'm so scared, love. I think this is it." You shut your eyes and wipe a tear from your cheek as the end of it plays. "I just wanted to tell you I love you, I love you. I love you more than anything and if I die...if I die...I just want you to know that you're everything to me and you mean so much to me, don't ever forget it. I lov-" Static envelopes your ears as the phone clicks, ending the message. The last words he's ever said.
Niall: You bury your face in the sleeves of his well-worn hoodie, his scent making you feel like he almost was really there and not buried twenty feet underground. You press play on the message you'd been listening to nonstop since he'd gone, the speakers click and you hear him take a breath--quite possibly his last one. There are screams in the background, the crackling of flames. "I can't talk long," he shouts, struggling to be heard over the din. "The plane is going down...I'm so sorry. I love you so much, I'm so sorry." His voice cracks on the last word and it sounds like he's crying. "These last words suck, but I don't know what else to say. How can I tell you all the things I've wanted to when I'm about to die? Oh, I don't know what to do. I lov-" The phone crackles and the metallic "Call lost" voice rings out, ending the message with a heart-wrenching cut-off.
Zayn: You sit cross-legged amid the piles of photographs and memories, scrutinizing each one to see any sign of him being unhappy--you can't see any. In each one he's smiling and now you know how much pain had been hiding behind that smile. By the time you got the message, it was too late. Too late. You reach over for your cell phone with shaking hands and play the voice mail that's haunted you for weeks--filling you with regrets and confusion and sorrow. "I want to say first, it's not your fault," his familiar voice rings out, his breathing heavy. "I just can't...I love you." You pick up one of the photographs and grasp it so tight you leave fingerprints. "This is it, (Y/N). Please don't come home. I don't want you to find me like this. I love you, I'm sorry. I lov--" You hear his breathing hitch and a thud on the floor. The message continues for ten minutes in silence until the police and paramedics had arrived, shutting off the phone.
Liam: You lean your head against the cool window tile, watching the rain stream down the windows. Your tears drip onto the glass, blending in with the raindrops until you can't tell them apart. With clumsy hands you press the play button on the messages, knowing it was finally time to listen. Once he'd passed, you hadn't wanted to listen to the voicemail. You knew it was the last thing he left for you and maybe you were just dragging it out as long as possible. But it was one year since his death and it was time. The message begins and you hear him take a shaky breath. "You're sleeping right now right next to my hospital bed," he rasps, his voice soft and quiet. "I don't want to wake you up, you look real pretty." You cover your mouth to muffle your sobs, his voice bringing back pains of the past and pains for the future. "But, it's getting hard to keep going. I'm so sick, love. I can't keep doing this and I think it's time to let go, I..." You hear him weakly clear his throat, coughing and shifting the phone. "It's getting hard to breathe and...I'm sorry I didn't wake you up to say good-bye but it would be so hard because I don't want to leave but I have to, love. I'm sorry. Just know that I will always, always lov-" You hear the shrill flat line of the hear monitor and the clang of the heavy phone dropping to the ground before you hear your own voice shouting for help. And then the line goes dead.
Louis: You press your face against the pillowcase, trying to remember what he smelled like, what he felt like--but the scent has long faded and you can't remember anymore. You can only remember his voice when you replay his message. You press play and wrap your arms around his pillow, wishing it was him instead of a lousy square of fabric. "Baby? I wish you had your phone with you, I wish you would pick up..." he begins, his voice loud and frantic. "But I guess you aren't going to pick up so I'll just talk and hope you get this." There's the crackling of frames in the background and faint crashes. "...fire...trapped...elevator...this it is it," you hear him through gasps for air. As many times as you've listened to the message, you still can't figure out the words he'd said in between. He laughs into the phone, his laughter making your toes curl and your heart pound. "I don't know why I'm laughing," he says after a moment, the sound of crackling flames getting louder with each second. "This isn't funny. I'm going to die, love. Maybe it's funny because I never thought it'd end like this. I never expected to end my life--our life together so young. We never got all our chances..." you hear him let out a yelp and the flames get louder. "Oh God...Babe...just make sure you take every opportunity you can because you don't know how many chances you'll get." His words are rushed and face-paced. "Tell my family I love them, and, I lov-" You hear the phone clatter to the ground before the line goes dead and a beep sounds, ending the message.
