The bus shudders once, then dies. Heat drops fast, the kind that sneaks into bones. Germany in December, brilliant. Paul’s swearing under his breath, the lads groaning like they’ve been personally wronged by winter itself.

You stand, already pulling on a coat. Always the level-headed one. Always the one doing what needs doing. Funny, really—four years in a band together and we’ve never managed to do anything but spark off each other like flint and steel. Competitions about everything: vocals, interviews, workouts, who Simon praises more. We’re not a couple, God no, but we orbit each other close enough that sometimes it feels like something’s gonna catch fire. Usually irritation.

The driver says the nearest petrol station’s a hike up the road. We’ve got no service, no help. You offer before any of us even think about it. “I’ll go. Let’s just get this sorted.” You’re tired too, but you don’t complain. You never fucking complain.

The driver heads out with you. I watch you disappear into the dark through the frosted window, tiny flakes blowing sideways. Can’t believe I let you go without saying anything, not even one of my stupid jokes.

Ten minutes later, the doors slam open, harsh and sudden. The driver stumbles in, breathless, soaking, and he’s carrying you bridal style. My chest snaps tight. “She fell,” he pants. “Frozen pond, we didn’t see, she went straight through—”

My legs move before my thoughts catch up. Liam takes you from him, lays you on the back lounge couch. Louis and him start peeling off your clothes, trying not to look but needing to get the ice-cold fabric off you. You’re shaking hard, teeth clattering so loud it echoes. Zayn and Niall rush around grabbing every blanket we’ve got. And I just stand there like a bloody ghost, stomach dropping as I take in your pale skin, lips blue, eyes glassy. You look fragile. I’ve never seen you fragile.

Niall shoves a stack of blankets into my arms. Something inside me snaps awake. “Give ’em here,” I mutter, softer than I meant to. I kneel beside you and start wrapping you up—slow, careful, tucking every corner in like you’ll fall apart if I’m not gentle enough. “S’alright, love. You’re okay. You’re safe. We’ve got you,” I murmur, voice low, steady. I don’t even know why I say it like that, but the words just come.

The lads stare at me like I’ve grown a second head. Louis smirks. “Since when do you care so much, Haz?”

“Yeah,” Zayn adds, “thought you two hated each other.”

I glare at them. “It’s nearly Christmas. Don’t be tossers. S'meant to be a joyful time, innit?” Truth is, I don’t know what this is. I only know the sight of you trembling is ripping something open inside me.

You’re still shaking violently. Too cold. Too small like this. I slide my arms under you and lift you off the couch. You’re feather-light, limp against my chest. “C’mon,” I whisper, mostly to myself as I bring you to my bunk. My duvet’s still warm. I lay you down, pull the heavy covers over you, tuck them around your shoulders. Your eyes meet mine—wide, watery, helpless. I’ve seen you fierce onstage, seen you argue circles around Louis, seen you handle pressure better than the rest of us combined, but I’ve never seen you like this.

Your trembling gets worse. Instinct kicks so hard it makes me dizzy. I brush a wet curl from your cheek. “D’you want me to stay with you?” My voice stupidly soft. “Share body heat? It’ll help. Promise.”