You're his personal Assistant!
Zayn: “Oh my god.” “I know.” “It… it isn’t that bad!” “Don’t lie to me, [Y/N], I pay you to be honest!” “You pay me for a lot more than that, Mr. Malik…but alright. It’s pretty bad.” Zayn let out a frustrated groan before falling onto the couch in your office. He had just come back from the hairdresser and it seems they’d made a mistake with some bleach. “What am I going to do?” He whined. “The party’s in two hours, paps will be everywhere, I’ll never live this down!” Soothingly, you said, “Zayn, first of all, you need to calm down. Secondly, don’t forget who you are. You’re a fashion icon! If you act like you think your hair looks good, then chances are other people will too!” Zayn chuckled in response. “[Y/N], your third grade logic and endless optimism is adorable, but it’s not going to help me in this situation.” You tried to keep from blushing from the compliment (if it could even be called that), and got up from your desk. “Let me look at it.” He pushed himself into a sitting position and pouted. “Fine. But turn that mirror around, will you? I can’t stand to see myself any longer.” You raised your eyebrows. “Zayn Malik turning away from a mirror? I never thought I’d see the day!” He smiled, but didn’t laugh, obviously still sulking. You combed your fingers through his soft hair and silently thanked that problem-solving class you took in Uni. “Alright.” You said firmly. “I know what to do. It is a bit dire, though, Zayn, so please bare with me.” His big brown eyes widened even further and he half-whispered, “Go on…” “We’re going to have to shave the sides of your head.” He immediately slapped your hands away while repeating “No!” over and over. You grabbed his shoulders and put your face in his, forcing him to look straight in your eyes. “Zayn. Who got you out of that ball pit in 2010?” “…You did…” “And who squashed those nasty rumours about you last year?” “You did.” “Zayn. Do you trust me?” He smiled. “Yes ma’am.” You smiled back and said, “Let’s do this.”
