Harry: You knew where he was going. You'd figured him out a while back. Deciding to lay low was difficult, but you had to wait for the right time to approach him. You had listened to excuse after excuse for his late night departures for nearly a month now. It was getting old. Him having to find someone else was getting old. He was in the shower. You look at the clock. Almost midnight. He would be leaving soon; telling you something about how Grimmy wants him to come out for the night or how one of the boys called and said they're having a late night studio session. Both ridiculous lies you couldn't believe he thought you accepted. You go to the kitchen. Tonight was the night you would confront him. You go to the drawer, pulling it out to reveal the set of butcher knives. Your hand grips the wooden handle as you slowly pull the sharp blade from the drawer. Tucking it against your arm you make your way outside, listening for the shower before closing the door behind you. There it is; the Range Rover. What he would be leaving in soon. Not if you could help it. You walk over to the SUV, the knife still against your arm. You stand in front of the left front tire, staring at it. He wasn't going anywhere. You take the knife and stab it into the tire, the air hissing out as soon as it's punctured. You walk to the next one, repeating the same offence as the anger and hurt he had caused you the last month comes out. Once all four tires had stopped hissing and you were pleased with your work you walk back inside, the sound of the shower bringing a smile to your face. He was in for a surprise. You put the knife back in the drawer and take your place on the couch, turning the television on to preoccupy yourself until he was ready to leave. You smell his cologne before he even makes it down the stairs, a smile spreading across your face. "Hey babe," he begins, walking over to stand behind the couch. "I'm heading over to the station, going to sit in on Annie's show." This one was new. It was still a lie. "Alright, I'll probably be asleep when you get back," you tell him casually. "Okay. Goodnight babe, I'll be back soon." He presses a kiss to the top of your head before grabbing his keys and walking out into the darkness. You sit and wait. A smile still on your face. "What the hell happened to my car?" He shouts, storming back into the house moments later. "What do you mean?" You ask innocently. "My tires have been cut." "What?!" You enjoy the fact that he isn't catching on. "Who would do that? How did they get past the gate?" You, and easy. "I don't know." He reaches into his pocket to grab his phone, probably calling the police. "Guess you will just have to take the tube to her house," you comment, your eyes turning dark as you remain concentrated on the television screen. "What?" He questions cautiously, bringing his phone down to his side. You slowly turn to him, your eyes glaring. "I said, I guess you will have to take the tube to her house." "Whose house?" He continues. Was he really trying to play this game? "There's no need to play ignorant now love, Lord knows I've done it enough this last month for the both of us." Your voice was malicious, yet you couldn't help but smile. He stands across the room still as stone, not sure of what your next move was. "I'm sure you can still make it there on time if you leave now, don't want her worrying about you." You were mocking him now. It was less consequential than murdering him. "I..I," he stutters but you wave him off, standing from the couch to join him by the door. "She's gorgeous isn't she?" You begin, inches from his face. "I'm sure she is. Does she cook? Oh I bet she's amazing in bed. I bet she does things with you I couldn't even imagine. I'm sure she looks great in your clothes, better than I ever could." Hatred consumes your tone as you continue. "I'm sure she's worth all of this. Worth throwing away and forgetting the last three years. I bet she's waiting for you right now, naked. I bet she looks good naked doesn't she?" "Stop it," he interrupts. "Why?" You inquire, eerily. "You thought you could hide it, didn't you? That I would never find out and you could get the best of both worlds...a girlfriend and a sex doll." He grimaces at your description of his mistress. You step back from him, your dark eyes still glaring at him. "Don't worry, I'll be the one to go," you tell him, taking the keys to your own car and heading to the door.

Liam: It was late and you were still at the office. This was the fourth night in a row you had stayed late, work completely consuming you. You had taken over the office while your boss was on her honeymoon, fully trusting you with her fashion line while she was away. You had told yourself at the beginning of this venture that you could handle the stress and the long hours. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. Being the sit-in head designer was a big deal. So here you sit at your desk, '22:28' showing on the clock on your computer. Liam wouldn't be happy. He was home on break from tour and you were still at work. He had practically begged you to come home on time yesterday but you just couldn't get away from the new projects you were sending to New York for Fashion Week. Going home to him on time was not a priority at this point in the season. You finish up the last few emails of the night, sending off more electronic samples of the things to come in the weeks ahead. You grab your things from under your desk. "Bye James," you call out to the security guard at the front desk. "Have a good night," he replies as you walk out the door. You hadn't heard from Liam since you had texted him to tell him you wouldn't be home until after dark. You knew what was coming though. You knew he would have something to say about it, he always did. The drive from the office to your shared flat is short, one of the perks he used to get you to move in with him. The house was dark and quiet when you walked in. Liam was usually in front of the television when you walked in, always waiting up on you no matter how angry he was at the time you were coming in. "Liam?" You call out, turning on the lamp before walking into the kitchen. Nothing, not even a note on the counter. Well if he wasn't around that at least meant you wouldn't be fighting tonight. You walk up the stairs and go straight to the bedroom, eager to get out of the dress and heels you had worn to work. You almost expected to find Liam in the bed, but he wasn't there. The flat was truly empty. Once out of your work clothes and into some sweats you head back to the kitchen to grab a late night snack. Your extra hours had your eating schedule in a mess. You grab some apples and peanut butter before walking back up the steps. "Shit," you say to yourself, as you remember the day you had just had. You had forgotten to send your boss the update email she required of you every week. You head into the office, across the hall from your bedroom. Turning on the light you take one step into the room and stop, your plate of apples hitting the floor with a loud crash as the glass breaks. You're speechless. You look around the absolutely trashed room. All of your samples from work were torn and strewn all over the floor. What had happened in here? Was this Liam? Was this why he wasn't here? Your eyes begin to water; the last few months of work had been absolutely ruined. Ruined by Liam. You fall down onto the floor as your tears turn to sobs. Your sketches were shredded and mingling with the ruined samples. All of them, every sketch you had ever drawn, completely trashed. Why would he do this? Was it because you had been coming home late? Surely not. You knew he was angry with you, but surely he could contain his emotions better than this. "Oh God NO!" You shout as you look up on the desk to see your Mac, opened, the screen clearly smashed. Absolutely every single piece of work you had done is on that computer, was on that computer. Your heart is shattered. How could he do this to you? Just then you hear the door slam shut, loud stomping coming your way. You don't turn around when you hear his steps cease. The aroma of alcohol and smoke now filling the room. He was standing behind you. "Why?" You cry, keeping your back to him. He says nothing as he walks out of the doorway and across the hall to the bedroom.

Niall: This wasn't the first time he had agreed to this; to stay away for longer than was asked of him that is. The tour had just ended, you couldn't wait to have him back home. However, he had agreed to stay in Australia with Liam and Sophia, your invitation not sent. He had only told you about his extended stay two days after not coming back home. Why was he acting like this? You had dealt with this before though. He had stayed in America between breaks a few weeks ago, leaving you at home not amused by his actions. While he journeyed around Los Angeles every day you were left to deal with the rumors and press of a breakup. He hadn't bothered to address them from across the ocean so the next target was obviously you. "Just tell them we're still together," he had suggested, not thinking the rumors he was causing with his absence were a big deal. "Are we?" You counter, your voice serious. "What is that supposed to mean? Of course we're still together. You've got a ring on your finger don't you?" It was true, the rock on your finger kept you in this situation. You loved him and he loved you enough to let everyone know you were going to spend the rest of your lives together. But is that still what your ring meant? Or was it just a reminder of how absent he was in your life, even when it wasn't necessary for him to be? "Why are you staying?" You had asked him only yesterday, the day he had called you to tell you of his intentions to not come home to you. "Because it's beautiful here and I want to spend more time here." His explanation was acceptable, except for one thing. "What about me? Why wasn't I invited?" He doesn't answer. "Is there someone else? Are you seeing someone else?" You question, your anger rising. "What? No! It's just Liam and Sophia." "Okay well then why didn't you ask me to fly down?" "I didn't think you would want to come down here." Bullshit. You had never had a problem traveling to see him. "You didn't think I would want to come to Australia?" You asked, repeating his comment as if it weren't meant as a joke. "No, you usually act like it's the end of the world when I ask you if you want to go somewhere." What? What was he even talking about? "When have I ever acted like that Niall?" You had questioned, raising your voice. He didn't answer, showing you he was only trying to make excuses for the distance. You had hung up on him then. Still not having said another word to him even now. He hadn't called you back. This hurt you probably more than him not wanting to come home. He didn't want to fight with you, fight for you. Nothing felt worse than this. You didn't understand why this was becoming a thing for him. Why would he not want to come home after being gone for so long? Why would he not want to see you? You sit at the kitchen table, staring out the window at the backyard. Everything was so empty. You had been living in this house, his house, for four straight months without him. What was the point? What was the point of being here if he wasn't? You understood the demands of his job and accepted them as best you could. However, when he decides out of nowhere to just stay away from home longer, how are you supposed to feel? And the fact that this was his second time in a row not returning to London for a break didn't make keeping your emotions in any easier. You continue to stare, the silence of the house screaming back at you. If he didn't want to come home to you, you would go. This was his house after all. You get up from the table, walking up the stairs to get suitcases. As you pack up your things tears begin to fall. Was this necessary? Did you have to leave? You continue putting the things in the suitcases you had brought with you six months ago, when he had proposed and you had moved in. The extra-large cases are packed full when get you finished gathering your things from the bedroom and en-suite. One at a time you carry them down the stairs and out to your car, the tears still falling. He would say you were taking things too far, but he didn't know how this felt. Being left behind, being left alone for months at a time. It hurt. You were hurt. And this was the only way to give him the same feeling. You walk back into the house after cramming the second case into the backseat of your car. You stand in the middle of the bedroom, his bedroom. You wipe your eyes as you walk over to his nightstand, reaching for your finger, slipping the 10 karat diamond off, laying it by the picture of the two of you at his brother's wedding. You were so happy in the picture, smiling brightly as he stares at you with his own smile, not bothering to look at the camera. Those times were perfect. When he was with you, when he wanted to be with you. You walk out of the room, leaving his promise of forever lying on the nightstand.

Louis: You hate him. In this moment you hate him. "Why don't you just go back to your mother's? You can be useless up there." He was hurting you on purpose, but it was only because you had messed up. He hadn't even been on break for a full twenty-four hours yet the two of you had been at it since he landed. You had lost track of time and before you realized your responsibilities he was yelling at you over the phone, cursing you because he had to take a taxi home. He continued his rant when you got home, still fuming. You had apologized endlessly, but only meaning the first few. Realizing he wasn't going to let up, you lit into him. "Why the fuck does it matter if I pick you up or not Louis? You still made it back here didn't you?" "Yeah no thanks to you. You fuck everything up. I'm surprised the fucking house is still standing." "You're lucky I didn't burn this place to the ground, fucking asshole." "Yeah, you would be the crazy bitch to do that, wouldn't you?" Your hatred for him was growing, but you remain silent as he gets up from the bar to go upstairs. 'This relationship is falling apart,' you think to yourself as you turn away and walk to the kitchen. He hadn't bothered to call you at all these last few weeks of tour and you can't say you were bothered by it. The distance between the two of you was growing and you didn't have the energy to fix it. At least not now. He was always on edge when he first got home, the stress of tour still consuming him. You had always been by his side to wait it out, but by the time this round would be over he would be heading back on the road. It didn't seem worth it. You loved him. You reminded yourself every time he stormed off like he did that you do. Sometimes relationships need more than love. Yours was one of those. This was your relationship now. 'A work in progress' is what you described it as to your concerned friends when they inquired how the two of you were doing, especially with the distance in between you. You put on a good show for them. Lying and saying that while sometimes it was harder than usual, the two of you were fine. They bought into your lies and the conversation was changed without you ever having to mention the brutal fights you all get into when he's home. You hear him shuffling from upstairs and you are reminded that he is back in the house. Something you would have to get used to for the next few weeks. You climb up on the counter, your usual spot for thinking. You are unsure of where to go from here. Could you make it through another fight with him? Could you make it through him leaving and coming back, just to start this all over again? The cycle of your relationship was relentless. How long could you keep this up? The sound of his phone ringing startles you and you climb down and walk over to the bar to grab it. "Hello?" You answer seeing as he wasn't going to come down and answer it. "Hi love, is Louis around?" It was one of the Rover's general managers. You hated that damn team. It took him away from you, forcing more distance into your relationship. "No, I'm sorry," you lie. "Okay, well can you give him a message for me?" "Sure." "We are having another meeting of the owner's tomorrow morning at nine. There's a really good chance Louis could get in this time and become an owner. They have been rethinking some things and his involvement of that stature would be huge for the team. So if you could just tell him that he needs to be at the meeting tomorrow. " You let his words sink in. "Okay, I'll tell him." You hang up, sitting his phone back down on the counter. Owner? Owning his own football club is something he has always wanted to do. His dream. You had to tell him; regardless of how he was acting. Didn't you? "Who was that?" He calls down from the top of the stairs. You pause. You tell him, it's his dream. "Liam," you lie, picking his phone back up and deleting the call, showing Liam to be the last to call him.

Zayn: Was he seriously over there? You roll your eyes as you spot your boyfriend across the banquet hall, more interested in a conversation with a stranger than you. You didn't want to be here, you had begged him to not make you come. You hated official events, especially when they were strictly management's doing. This was an end of tour celebration, or so they were calling it. It was basically a gathering of all of the executives to congratulate one another on all of the money they had made this year off of your boyfriend and his mates. You had asked Zayn repeatedly on the drive to the party if you could leave early, but he was insistent that the two of you had to stay at least through the speeches. "The speeches are the last thing they do!" You whine. "I'll be by your side the entire time, I promise." Some promise that was. Here you stand with a group of people you could care less about wondering why the hell you were even still here. You had been pestered all night by these people about your relationship with Zayn and how you handled the distance between you when he was gone. You were miserable. The last thing you wanted to do with your night was spend it explaining your relationship to these people who would more than likely end up twisting your words at some point. Zayn had broken his promise to stay with you throughout the night, which means you have no obligation to stay. You look around for the nearest way out of this hell hole. "Excuse me," you say, stepping away from the group that had consumed you for the last hour. You head straight out of the banquet room and into the lobby of the executive building that was hosting this shit fest. You were so annoyed with Zayn. Since when did he even enjoy events like this? He never left your side for events unless he had to do something with the group. Nothing was required of him with the group tonight yet he had still spent most of the night away from you, laughing from across the room, not bothering to even check on you and the status of the pretentious group you were in. You search street for the car that was supposedly waiting for you. As you approach the black SUV you had arrived in, the driver gets out. "Where is the lad?" He asks, opening your door. "He's busy," you reply. The driver shuts your door and walks back to get into his seat. "So where are we going?" "Home," you counter, annoyance in your tone. "Are we waiting.." "No," you interrupt his statement. You would not be waiting for Zayn to finish up anything, you were going home. He doesn't bother to learn anymore, sensing that tonight had not gone to plan for you. The ride was quiet, peaceful even. Those people that had surrounded you had really gotten to you, you realize. How could Zayn just leave you like that? This seemed like the only thing going through your mind. Especially since you had told him over and over that you didn't want to go. It was his promise that made the final decision; the promise that he would keep you occupied so that you could have a decent time. You walk the path to your front door once the car stops in your driveway, your heels digging into the stone. You step into the dark house fuming. The quiet ride had only provided you with everything you needed to become more and more angry with Zayn for leaving you. As you walk to the bedroom to change out of the dress you had put on only a few hours prior you stop in front of the room across the hall; his art room. You open the door, the smell of spray paint immediately hitting you. You turn the light on, seeing all of the new projects he had been working on. In the floor was a canvas, nearly finished by the looks of it. He had a talent, you couldn't deny him that. You stare down at the canvas, a mixture of black and red paint intermingled with a caricature of what you assumed to be the Grim Reaper. He was proud of this one, you could tell. As you continue to stare you can't help but think the painting is missing something; something only you can provide. You raise your leg up, slamming your heal into the canvas, piercing the material, leaving a hole directly in the center. Had you just taken things too far? Possibly.