This story is based on a request from a reader (JulzLovDraco4Eva). Thank you! I hope you like it and I was able to realize your ideas as you wished. You are welcome to send me a request at any time. I look forward to writing stories for you.
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You are standing backstage, half hidden behind one of the black curtains, while the boys give it their all on stage. Thousands of voices are singing along, the lights are flickering in colours that almost make your eyes water, and somewhere between the fog machine and the spotlights, you feel, once again, like you are in a dream you do not want to wake up from.
You have been accompanying One Direction on their tour for several weeks now. It was only supposed to be a short reunion, a few days here, a few cities there. But somehow, you became a regular part of the group. Not because you have a job on the team, not officially anyway. You are just... there. You film a lot for the boys, help edit little social media clips, capture their chaotic backstage moments and post them with exactly the kind of humour their fans love.
You have become like their little sister. Well, for four out of five at least. Or at least you hoped so.
Because with Zayn... it was different. From the very first day. His presence never let you breathe completely calmly, his voice echoed inside you longer than it should have, and every random conversation with him made your stomach tingle like you had secretly swallowed soap bubbles.
You were smitten with him from the very beginning. Not the "aww, he is cute" kind of crush. No. More like an uncomfortably honest, deep-seated feeling you could not tell anyone about because it felt so stupid. Because you should have known better.
Because Zayn is... well. Zayn Malik.
Superstar, every teenager's dream, and definitely very much in demand. He is like a super expensive and beautiful painting you are not allowed to touch.
And if you are completely honest with yourself, you do not fit into his world at all. You are just not a model or a singer or talented in any other way.
Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if he saw you the same way. If you were not just there, but important and special. Someone he thinks about before falling asleep.
But those were just thoughts you had at night, when everyone else was already asleep and the tour bus lights wrapped you in melancholic orange. Silly thoughts, as you called them. Stupid, sweet and definitely dangerous if you think them for too long.
You blink and are catapulted back into the present. The boys are in the middle of the concert. The atmosphere is electric. And then the first chords of "Kiss You" begin to play. Your heart does that familiar little jump you try to ignore every time. You never succeed.
Without thinking much, you start dancing. Just slightly. With the beat, a little in rhythm, like you always do when you hear the song. Your feet tap against the floor, your shoulders move, and at some point you laugh softly at yourself because you cannot pull yourself together for even a moment.
Your eyes wander to the stage and with them to him. And to your shock, he is looking at you. Zayn is standing there, microphone in hand, singing the chorus, and his gaze is on you.
His smile is soft and his eyes... so warm that you are almost left speechless. Your heart stumbles.
He smiles and laughs. And you realise that he must have been watching you the whole time. You bite your lower lip and hope no one sees your red face.
Later that evening, when you are alone in your hotel room, it is quiet. Much too quiet. You are lying on your back in bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone next to you, but you do not check it. Your thoughts are elsewhere. They are with Zayn. Like almost every night, really.
