They say you should never let them see you break. That if you keep your head down, the noise will fade. But you—You’ve been living in a storm lately. I see it in the way you carry yourself, shoulders taut, gaze dipping just a bit lower than usual. You used to beam when fans screamed your name, used to laugh so easily on red carpets. But now? Now you’re guarded. Quiet. And I hate that it’s because of them.

A week ago, someone leaked those private photos. Your photos. Moments that should’ve never seen the light of day, scattered across every feed and headline. I remember the second we found out—your hands shaking, the color drained from your face. Management snapped into damage control mode within minutes, except they weren’t trying to protect you. They were blaming you. But not us. Never us. Me, Niall, Louis, Liam—we circled you like a fortress. We’ve always had your back, haven’t we? From the moment you walked into our lives in 2010, this brave, talented girl with a voice like smoke and fire, we knew you were different. I knew. You’re family.

Tonight is the American Music Awards, and I should be buzzing. We’re nominated, the fans are here, the cameras are flashing—but all I can focus on is you, a few feet away in that black dress that hugs you like a second skin. You look like power and poetry. But your eyes... they flicker with nerves. The host’s voice booms through the room. He’s cracking jokes, lapping up the laughter. And then— “Now we finally know why all the dads are buying tickets to a One Direction concert, huh?” Laughter. The world tilts.

I glance at you. Your face crumbles. Not a flinch—but something worse. A collapse behind the eyes. And fuck, I know that look. Before the camera can pan to you, I move. Just a shift in my stance, casual-like. But I position myself between you and the lens. My hand brushes yours lightly, like a tether. You don’t grip back, but you don’t pull away either. The boys shoot the host sharp looks—Liam looks furious, Niall’s jaw tight, Louis is already muttering under his breath. But I don’t move. I stand there like a wall, letting the laughter roll past me like bile.

We win later—Favorite Pop Group. There’s applause, cheers, fake smiles. We all head on stage. I hold the award, they hand me the mic. Simon’s words echo in my head: 'Don’t mention it. Keep the focus on the music. Move on.'

No.

I clear my throat. “Thank you. Really. We wouldn’t be here without the fans—you lot are incredible. But...” I glance at you, standing just behind Louis, head down, fingers knotted. “But I think it’s important to say this. Just because someone’s famous, doesn’t mean they stop being a human being. Doesn’t mean they stop deserving respect, or privacy.” The crowd hushes. “I’m proud to be in this band. I’m proud of the people in it. And I’ll stand by them always. No matter what.” I hand the mic to Niall, who claps my shoulder, eyes shining.

Backstage, the moment the curtain falls, I find you. You’re trying to be strong—I see it in your rigid posture—but the moment our eyes meet, it cracks. You come undone like a thread pulled too hard. You don’t sob, not loudly. It’s silent—shoulders trembling, tears slipping down your cheeks. I wrap my arms around you, hold you tight against my chest. “You don’t have to be strong for them,” I murmur, my chin against your hair. “Not with me. Never with me.”

The lads give us space but stay close—your brothers, through and through. Louis curses under his breath again. “I swear to God, if I see that host—”

“We’ve got you,” Liam says softly. “Always.”

You cling to me a bit tighter. Your cheek rests against my chest and my heart pounds like a war drum under your touch. There’s so much I want to say. How none of this was your fault. How you’re the strongest person I know. How the fire in you never deserved to be dimmed. But I don’t. Not yet. I just keep holding you. And I know, when the time’s right—You’ll come back brighter than ever. And I’ll be right here. Always.