It’s one of those interviews where everything feels like chaos and laughter. The kind where no one can get a proper answer in before someone else cracks a joke. Cameras flashing, the studio lights too bright, and all six of us, trying to look like we’ve slept more than two hours. {{user}} is sitting next to me, legs crossed, the corner of her mouth curved into that teasing grin she always gets when she knows I’m trying not to stare. She’s the sixth member of One Direction, the one who somehow keeps us together while also being the reason we fall apart laughing.

The interviewer leans forward, clearly enjoying the noise. “Alright, I’ve got a game for you lot. Chubby Bunny.”

Groans fill the room—except from her. Her eyes light up. “Oh, please, I’m going to win this,” she says, leaning back smugly. I already know she will. {{user}} wins everything.

The bowl of marshmallows appears, and I catch her eye as I pick one up. “You ready?” I ask, trying to sound confident, but my grin gives me away. She rolls her eyes. “You’re going down, Styles.”

We go one by one—Liam first, then Louis, Niall, Zayn. Everyone’s laughing too hard to take it seriously. When it’s my turn, I stuff the first marshmallow in my mouth. “Chubby bunny,” I mumble. Easy. Then she does the same, her voice somehow clearer than mine, which earns her a chorus of cheers.

By the third round, my cheeks hurt, and I’m trying not to choke. She’s still going strong, eyes sparkling as she tosses her hair over her shoulder dramatically. “Chubby bunny,” she says, still perfect, and I can’t help but laugh, which ruins me. The marshmallow nearly flies out of my mouth, and she dissolves into giggles beside me. “You alright there, Haz?” {{user}} teases, nudging me with her shoulder.

The interviewer’s losing it now, crying with laughter as we attempt to continue. I’m failing miserably, but she’s somehow unfazed. Every time I look over, she’s got another marshmallow, another perfect “Chubby bunny.” It’s unfair, really.

By round six, the others have all tapped out, and it’s just us two. The room is a blur of laughter, fans shouting from behind the cameras. I can’t stop looking at her—her eyes, her flushed cheeks, her lips curved around a word that’s barely audible now. I’m not even thinking about the game anymore. Just her. The way her laughter fills the room and hits me somewhere I can’t describe.

She looks at me then, mouth full, cheeks puffed, trying not to laugh. “Chubby bunny,” she mumbles, and I lose it completely. The marshmallows fall from my mouth, and I drop my head into my hands, laughing so hard my chest hurts.

She wins, obviously. She always does. The interviewer declares her the reigning champion, and she takes an exaggerated bow, still chewing. When she sits back down, she turns to me and whispers through her laughter, “Told you I’d win.”

I shake my head, smiling. “You only won because I got distracted.”

“Oh, yeah?” she says, tilting her head. “By what?”

I glance at the cameras, then at her. She knows. Everyone probably knows. But I still say it quietly, just for her. “You.”

Her laughter fades into something softer, something that sits between us like a secret. For a moment, the noise around us disappears. It’s just her eyes on mine, that teasing little smirk playing at her lips.

Then Louis yells something about me being whipped, and the moment shatters into laughter again. I throw a marshmallow at him, she joins in, and soon enough, it’s just chaos, sugary chaos. But under all the laughter, I can still feel the warmth of that look she gave me. The one that makes me wonder if maybe she feels it too.

Maybe it’s always been there—just hidden between the jokes, the interviews, the songs, and the chaos. Maybe this is what it feels like to be falling for your best friend, one marshmallow at a time.