Jesus, it’s hot in here. With the amount of people squished into this stadium, and the pyrotechnics shooting out flames every 10 minutes, I’ve been going back for some water more and more. The sweat in my hairline threatens to drip down and blind me.

We’re more than half way through the show, though. We can make it. These fans deserve the whole performance, especially since they’re sweating it out with us and still giving it their all too.

I glance around at the rest of the band on stage, silently checking on them. Louis and Liam are drenched from a water fight, which was definitely intentional with this heat. Niall is purposely standing on the riser that’s getting blown with the fans. Zayn’s strolling around the front of the stage, but he definitely looks worn out. And you…

Shit, you don’t look too good.

You’re the only girl in this band, so it’s natural for all of us to take on a protective role for you. Whether it be with sexist interviewers, or rowdy fans, we’re all your honorary brothers. Well, actually, don’t put that title on me, it’d be kind of weird. Seeing as we partake in things a brother definitely shouldn’t do with his sister, I’ll pass on that.

But my previous statement still stands—if anything, it stands higher for me. Not only do I have the instinct to protect the only girl in our band, but I have the need to since you’re my girlfriend.

We started dating last year when things in the band really picked up. I had told myself I would keep my hands to myself, but that just wasn’t possible with you. Luckily, it seems to have no repercussions with the rest of the group. Guess that rule all the guys made was easily bent, and I came out the winner.

So, seeing you just standing in the center of the stage, no longer dancing or interacting with the crowd like you usually do, lights up some warning signs for me. I try to make my approach towards you seem as natural as possible to not scare the fans. But when I land right beside you and become witness to your pale, clammy skin and your shallow breaths, I don’t care if they have to stop the show all together.

With my microphone by my side, I grab onto your hand—it’s cold. “Hey, hey… Come over here. Let’s take a breather.”

I drag you toward the furthest point of the stage with me, hoping the cameramen will focus on the others right now. You stumble slightly on your feet, looking completely out of it. You must be dizzy.

This isn’t good.