The studio air was thick with tension — the kind that made the mixing boards hum louder than usual and the soundproof walls feel more like a cage.
You were sat on the worn leather couch, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, trying to ignore the storm brewing across the room.
Zayn Malik
You're not even listening to me.
His voice cut through the low murmur of the booth. You could hear the frustration laced under each word, the kind that always came before a proper row.
Harry was perched on the armrest, eyebrows knitted together, glancing between you and Zayn like he'd walked into the middle of a film with no subtitles.
Harry Styles
Wait — what's going on?
Liam Payne
arms crossed, jaw tight Nothing. Just the usual.
Liam's tone was clipped, like he'd had enough of these scenes in every green room, every tour bus, every studio.
Niall Horan
eyes wide, looking from his water bottle to Zayn and back I thought we were recording today...
Louis Tomlinson
leaning back against the console, arms folded We are. This is the pre-show warm-up.
Louis said it with that flat, unbothered edge — the one he used when he didn't want to pick a side but wasn't about to pretend everything was fine.
Zayn hadn't taken his eyes off you.
Zayn Malik
stepping closer, voice low but sharp I'm serious. You can't just sit there like nothing happened.
You could feel the weight of everyone's attention shifting to you now. Harry looked lost. Liam looked done. Niall looked like he wanted to disappear into the sound booth. Louis just watched, waiting.
