One Direction Preferences

He sees you at your worst

Harry: The apartment is completely dark and silent when Harry gathers the strength to push the front door open. He ventures inside, bypassing the living room and down the hall before stopping in front of your bedroom. He pushes the door open, stepping inside the pitch-black room to see you curled beneath the covers. "Poppet, you can't stay in here forever," he says softly, moving towards the curtains with the intent of letting light into the room that probably hasn't light for weeks. "Don't," you croak, turning over with a groan when he yanks them open despite your protests. "You can't do this to yourself," he says, turning back to see the covers pulled over your head and he finds himself beyond irritated. "Get up," he demands while yanking the covers back, catching the gasp that threatens to escape at the sight of you curled amongst the sheets. Your face is pale and washed out, hair a matted mass of dirty curls piled atop your head. "Leave me alone," you cry, kicking him away when he tries to lift you from the bed and he realizes you haven't showered in lord knows how long. "Get it together," he demands, throwing you over his shoulder before moving towards the bathroom. "You try losing your twin then Harry and see if you tell me to get it together again!" You demand, tears rolling down your cheeks. "That worked a month ago when she died but you're being ridiculous! She's dead and I get that a part of you is missing but this is ridiculous! You smell like a sewer, look like a vampire and I'm tired of it! Life sucks, I know, but you can't stop living just because she did" He shouts, tossing you into the shower before yanking the handle around to turn on the water. "It's cold," you gasp, shivering as the cold-water pelts you while he pulls the hair band from your hair and he shrugs. "Too bad," he says, pulling you in front of him before yanking your clothes off. "Shower," he demands, leaving the bathroom to clean up your room and change the sheets. You consider defying him but he's right, you can't continue to be a mess just because your twin died so you obey his command. "I don't ever want to see you like that again," he mentions, making your bed when you appear in the doorway and you can do nothing but nod in agreement.

Liam: Liam wakes to you shifting against the mattress, opening tired eyes to spot you on your back. You huff, shifting again while stretching your legs out to try and find some relief to the pain in your back. His large hand reaches out, fingers pressing into the knots of your back and you sigh. "You alright love?" he questions, listening to you groan in response before you turn your head. "Yeah... just a lot of pain" you tell him, watching as he leans forward, elbows on his knees and glances down to the large, round stomach protruding beneath the hospital sheets. "He'll get here soon enough" he tries to assure you, shuffling the seat forward to grip your hand as tears fill your eyes. "It just hurts, so much!" you complain, hissing as another contraction rips through your tired body and he grimaces. "You should've taken the epidural" he comments, stepping back as the doctor comes in to check your progress. "I can do this without it" you grit through your teeth, gripping the handle beside you as pain sears through your stomach and into your pelvis. "You're ready to push now" the doctor comments, leaning back as the nurse directs Liam where to stand as you settle back against the raised bed. "Push" the doctor commands and you sit up, teeth gritting as you push with all your might. Liam watches as your face reddens, sweat wetting your hairline and neck as you push through a contraction. "You're doing great" Liam assures you, wincing when you cry out in pain as tears mix with sweat while pouring down your cheeks. 'Keep pushing" the doctor comments again and you sit higher, a cry ripping from your chest and you've never been in so much pain. Liam glances down to between your legs, eyes widening at the sight and you glare at him. "I shouldn't have looked, I shouldn't have looked" he stammers, snapping his gaze back to your face, flushed and sweaty and gross. Just when he thinks you can't take anymore pain, a cry rips through the room mixing with the cry of relief that leaves your mouth and his bloody son is being placed in your arms. "That was torture" he tells you, pressing a kiss against your sweaty temple but he doesn't care; he doesn't care that you haven't brushed your teeth in over two days or showered in as long when he presses his lips to yours in what he can only describe as complete joy and bliss.