Wearing Thin.

5. "Whisper Softly."

Nerves had definitely gotten the best of me at this point of the night. Simon was upset with me, and Britney and L.A were making it worse by trying to get him to confess what was bothering him. When the answer was sitting no more than a foot beside him. He spoke up and asked if he could have a word with me — in private. He lead me to an empty hall backstage and didn’t hesitate in asking me where my loyalties lie, and I didn’t know how to answer him. He had become like a father figure to me, which obviously meant that he had grasped a pretty good idea on what kind of a person I was. Simon knew me better than I knew myself, he had figured out my tell when I was lying. And of course he didn’t waste a second in asking me whether what happened with Zayn weeks ago was a one time thing. He knew the answer when I looked down at my heels, eyes scanning over the cheap linoleum of the halls backstage. Simon deserted me before I could verbally answer him, choosing to head back to the judges table instead of dealing with my ‘mistake’s’. I had never felt more alone than I had at that moment. I felt sick to my stomach, and I wasn’t even sure if I could continue the rest of the show. Although, it wasn’t as if I had a choice. I could be missing an eye and I’d still have to make an appearance. I was a rookie. On a panel with the princess of pop, a highly respected producer, and then there was Simon. The diva of all diva’s.

I cleared my throat, beginning the seemingly long walk to the set - the sound of my heels clicking against the floor making it feel as though I was walking through a nightmare. Eyes darted among the empty halls nervously, the take-out I had eaten earlier churning in my stomach as it threatened to make a comeback. It was then that I felt a hand wrap around my wrist, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. I almost protested, called out for help, until I was pressed up against a wall and met with a face that made my eyes instantly water. Eyes of cinnamon scanned my face for any emotional reaction, but I was absolutely frozen in place. My body relaxed into his touch, bottom lip trembling ferociously as I struggled to utter his name. He shushed me instantly, his index finger grazing my bottom lip. “I missed you. Lots. Haven’t been able to see your pretty face. What a shame, yeah?” All I could do was nod slowly, it was no secret that I was completely captivated by all that was Zayn Malik. He had this vibe about him that radiated class and mystery. He could be dressed in sweats and a baggy v-neck and he’d still be the epitome of a sex-god.

“Did you miss me?” He asked simply.

I could smell the alcohol on his breath, his cheeks brushing against mine. He tilted his head back, lips close enough to touch. “Don’t know why I’m asking. Of course you did.” A sole hand traced the outline of my curves, and stopped to hug the pinch of my waist. “You look delicious. Who’re you trying to impress?” Zayn buried his face into the crook of my neck and took a deep breath, making the butterflies in my stomach go on a murderous rampage - their wings slicing holes in the lining. My fingers clutched the thin material of his t-shirt, pulling him closer to my body. “Kiss me.” I begged. Not even a nanosecond passed before his lips were pressed against mine hungrily, his tongue darting out to trace the curve of my bottom lip. It was long overdue, and the sheer intensity was enough to make me weak in the knees - threatening to buckle underneath him. Zayn pulled back, forehead pressed against my own. “I missed you. And we might not have much time together for a while. But we’ll have tonight. Be back at your place by eleven on the dot. I mean it.” His eyes were clouded with a yearning that I hoped to one day fulfill. But for now, I had to get back to my job.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, and nodded my head swiftly - my eyes never leaving his own. My hand reached out for his, sending a comforting squeeze before pressing a fleeting kiss on his cheekbone. “I’ll see you later then. You know where I keep my spare key. Don’t let Oliver run out, or I’m going to kill you.” With that said, I stepped away from my lover, rushing back to get to the judge’s table before the commercial break was over. When the sound of Khloe and Mario introducing an act to the stage met my ears, my heart stopped in my chest. Simon’s eyes met my own as I scurried to my seat, his questioning gaze throwing me off as I struggled to compose myself. There was only an odd amount of minutes left into the show. Hopefully I could get through it without having to bicker bitterly with my boss turned paternal figure.