"My siblings will be here any minute now, Ni" You smile, tossing the lighter you just used to ignite the pumpkin spice candle onto the countertop before you wrap your arms around me. My hands are preoccupied with the piping hot oven tray to hug you back, so I show my love by pecking your lips.

"Reckon I should've seasoned the chicken? Is it too late to now?" I wince, sucking in a sharp breath through my teeth. There's nothing wrong with the chicken itself—just that it'll be bland since I didn't put any seasonings on before I bunged it in the oven.

What a great impression for your eldest brother who works in a butchery!

The doorbell rings, echoing through the desolate house. Even from inside I can hear Bennett talking; he's known to have a really loud voice, your siblings always complain about it. Your arms untangle from around me as you bounce off towards the door—there's no denying the spring in your step; I'm happy that you're so happy to be home.

When we got together two years ago, you knew that coming on tour with me would limit the time you get with your family. Which is why—whenever we're in town—you make the most of every second with them. Thankfully we currently have a nice chunk of time off which we're spending at our brand new house; it's unfurnished as we only flew in two nights ago and the only thing set up is our bed—which, not to give too much of an image—has gotten a lot of much needed use the new privacy instead of crammed bunk spaces on the tour bus with four other smelly boys. Last night we ate takeout pizza on the floor because our other furniture only arrived this morning.

Your siblings insisted that tonight they throw us a small housewarming dinner and help us to settle in—including decorating for fall to really make the place feel like home. You have four siblings, three boys, Daniel, Thomas and Bennett, and one girl, Laura—plus those with spouses bought them along too; so many hands should make light work.

"Niall!" Bennett gleams as I emerge from the kitchen, he's already holding a water gun directed at my chest in threat. Damn this boy and his 12-year-old tendencies; always wanting to drench me when given the chance. He's the only one without a partner tonight, so he'll no doubt be pestering me. "Hey Bennett" I ruffle his hair affectionately.

You lead them through to the kitchen where they place their dishes onto the counter. Your sister brought two loaves of her delectable garlic focaccia for us—one for the table tonight and another for us since we haven't gotten around to doing the groceries yet.

Dinner seems to go considerably well—save for the little devil, Bennett flicking his peas at me and calling me an artificial blonde; which, he's not wrong, but still! At this rate, I'm bound to be going grey by the time I'm 25.

Now, you and your sister are working on wrapping the staircase railing in fairy lights. Daniel, Thomas and I are getting the TV hung onto the wall—and Bennett? You guessed it: sitting on our new rug, munching on a family-sized bag of popcorn like this is a movie to him, and giving us directions on how centred the TV is over the fireplace.

"To the left a little!" I have to resist the urge to give him the finger. He's your brother.

"Babe, how centred is it really?" I laugh, muscles straining as we continue to hold and move it around. Bennett pretends to gag at the pet name.