Harry: Harry's body is curled around yours protectively as he seems not to notice the cool wind swirling around the two of you in the midnight darkness. You're shaking, the flashes of that night swirling in your mind. You know you need to explain yourself and lean back slightly, swallowing. The words don't come out, getting caught in your throat. He shakes his head softly, waving away your explanation. "I know you have PTSD," he says, sweeping your hair back from your forehead, "I just didn't know it was this bad. I'm sorry, beautiful. Forgive me?" You nod immediately, not blaming him at all. "Thank you. Let's go home."
Liam: "I don't understand why you're refusing to come to the premiere," Liam sighs, fingers rubbing his forehead as he looks at you sadly. Your fingers dig into your thighs as you consider telling him the real reason you couldn't go, mind swirling with the possible ways of phrasing the truth you'd been hiding from him for almost a year. His expression immediately changes from frustrated to guilty as the words slip past your lips. "Why couldn't you tell me you get panic attacks? God, I'm such an asshole. I'm so sorry, baby," he apologises, crossing the room and pulling you into his arms, smothering your face with kisses.
Louis: The silence of the past five minutes continues on, making your skin itchy uncomfortably. Louis hasn't moved since your confession, eyes still trained on the floor with his hands clasped under his chin. "You have depression actually explains a lot," he mutters after a moment, running his hands over his face. He slides off of the couch, coming to rest on his knees in front of you. His hands cup around yours, fingers intertwining before he looks up into your eyes. The blue is glistening in the lamp light. "I really don't know what to say, other than I'll help you as best I can. All I ask is that you try not to shut me out, okay? I love you."
Niall: "I have avoidant personality disorder," you admit quietly, staring at your hands in your lap, "so I can't just be seen out in public with you, okay? It doesn't work like that. It's almost impossible for me to deal with judgement, let alone the hate of millions of fangirls that I would get for taking the last single member of One Direction off the market. I cannot deal with the scrutiny. I can barely be in a relationship with you. If you can't accept that, I'll leave." A sharp intake of breath echoes from beside you and there's a moment of silence before Niall's lips rest against your temple. "I'm sorry for being such a dickhead," he murmurs.
Zayn: The pills rattle in the bottle as it rolls across the table, coming to a halt in front of you. Looking up, you see Zayn watching you stoically. "Why didn't you tell me you're schizophrenic?" he asks quietly. Your mouth opens to lie about it - the usual defence you'd acquired over the years - but the words get stuck in your throat. A tear slips down your cheek before you realise you're crying, prompting Zayn to close the distance between you and pull you into his arms. He shushes you softly, tangling his fingers in your hair and rubbing your back with the other hand. "Please don't cry, sweetheart. I just wish you'd told me earlier so I could help."