Midnight Memories

His hands were warm, caressing me gently. He held me in his arms as we danced along to the slow beat of the songs. We were a little more than friends, perhaps best friends, but we never crossed any boundaries. His eyes were intense, almost the same color as the sky. For some reason, I thought, his looks, fierce, almost grown up, contrasted his actions-he was gentle, matching a child such as myself. There I was, a mere girl of 19 years, dancing with my best friend, a guy of nearly 22 years. Though age was a boundary in our relationship, it was more the fact that he was a star, so bright, so stand-out in the midnight sky and I was nothing but a speck of dust, tiny, insignificant that was why we were always torn apart. He was Louis Tomlinson after all, the charming, blue-green eyed brunette with a height of 5' 9" who somehow wound up being friends with me, Jessie Summers, the awkward, nerdy redhead with warm brown eyes, frizzy hair and a height of 4' 11". He was funny, musically inclined and a sporty guy. I was, on the other hand, sensible, sensitive and an introvert. He often teased me about being a redheaded girl version of Liam Payne because of my sensibility and what he called "chocolate drop puppy dog eyes". I argued that if I was Liam Payne, then why I would have a really bad singing voice and frizzy hair? He smiled and assured me that no, my hair was not frizzy, it was just wavy and my singing voice was fine, just a tad bit low. I smiled then, saying that if I was Liam Payne, he was Harry Styles with straightened hair and bright red pants. He laughed, ruffling my already messy hair and saying that fine, we were Louis and Jessie, nobody else. We were so close, yet we ended up so far away.

He was 20 years old with bleached brown hair and sky blue eyes. He was so funny and cheerful, laughing at everything and anything. Although he was on of the shortest members of One Direction, he stood out in every crowd because he was always shouting. To be honest, no one would believe me when I said he had a mellow voice because HE WAS SO LOUD. Yes, this is Niall Horan, 20 years old. He too was my best friend. We intrigued and annoyed each other because we were so alike, yet so different. He'd tease me because I have red hair. Then, moments later, he'd say I have nice hair. I'd laugh at him because he's claustrophobic. Moments later, I'd realize that I too was not a crowds person. He was the one I could be light-mannered with- I had no worry of pleasing him. We were friends, never best friends. We kept each other at arm's length, knowing that way, we could never be apart. For some reason, that might've been the reason why I stuck with him till the end. I understood just enough to know the pains he was undergoing but at the same time, I was ready to brace myself if anything bad happened to him.

He scared me because of his many tattoos. With ink black hair and large, long-lashed brown eyes, he reminded me of my friend, Bradley, who had such a bad reputation that even his parents couldn't put up with him. But I soon found out that 20 year old Zayn Malik was nothing of that sort. He was one of the nicest people I knew. I was never much of a sports person, so whenever the others would play soccer, he would accompany me while I drew. Together, with our pictures and colors, we made our own dreams, our own stories. I promised myself back then that I would return all that he did for me. I tried to defend him whenever the haters would throw comments about his terroristic background and I tried to make him laugh when he was down, awkward as I was. He let me know how much he appreciated it with a smile and two thumbs up. He never said much, and in the end, said nothing at all.

He loved his hair so much, that Harry Styles. He was always combing it with his fingers or that little vintage brush that he always had. For some reason, it just HAD to be that curly mop that he loved or he'd burst into and endless tantamount of screaming, shouting and tears. Believe me, I have seen one too many fights with the hairdresser to that you don't mess with Harry Styles, 19 years old with large green eyes, a dimpled smile, nearly as many tattoos as Zayn and those corkscrew curls he was so particular about. He was a lovable soul, really, but his vanity was way too extreme for him to be my best companion. In fact, this vanity eventually became the reason why he traded his life as a partyaholic superstar to that of an introvert's: quiet, without the noise of the fans that he loved so dear.

He was sensitive to everyone and everything. Though already at the mature age of 20, he was the one who could suddenly break down crying because he felt too much for other people. Sense and sensibility, which were the two traits we shared in common, would be overridden by the paranoia of death. Wavy haired, chocolate brown eyed Liam Payne was so evasive of death and hurt that he was hell bent on protecting everyone and anything around him. So when it was up to the two of us to save the band from eternal peril, I had somewhat become closer and closer to him as I tried to erase the images of death from his vivid imagination.

You know that feeling when you absolutely wish that something never happened? That day, the day of the accident, I felt that overwhelming sadness, wishing that the accident had never come because if it hadn't come, none of us would be hurting, depressed, blinded, overwhelmed, and most especially dead.

Notes

Introooo!!! Gives me chills>__<.