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romantically

My flat is extra cold on weekdays. I wear jumpers and slippers around the house, usually, but today I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet, and so the coldness is swallowing me whole. With the new issue going to print today, there’s nothing much for editors to do. I could get ahead on my filing, but with filing, you’re never really ahead anyway.

I finally replied to Zayn’s text message, and we’ve been talking non-stop since I woke up three hours ago. He’s basically narrating his day’s events for me, and I’m doing the same for him, although mine is decidedly duller. He asked if I was busy this evening, and I told him that evenings are typically free, but that’s as far as that conversation went.

Right now, I’ve been waiting for a reply for about twenty minutes, but I’m not concerned. He’s Zayn, not some random guy from Unique Magazine. He actually has real things to do that don’t involve ruining the lives of his fellow celebrities. How refreshing.

I decided that with a weekday to spare like this, I’d visit my family in person for the first time in ages. It was better then sitting in the cold of my flat, and I didn’t feel like making my own lunch anyway. So, I got dressed. I almost wished I had the dress Zayn gave me because I’d neglected to do the laundry even somewhat recently and was down to my last few acceptable articles of clothing. I settled on a gray tunic and shimmer-y, ever-flattering black leggings, which were more to keep my legs warm than anything else.

Mum didn’t appreciate the effort I’d put into my outfit. “What is that?” she asked, eyeing the tunic with a look of pure distaste.

“Hello to you too,” I frowned, squeezing past her and into the house. It was the middle of the day, so my siblings weren’t at home, but I knew Mum preferred to eat at home during her lunch break. Even if she hadn’t been home, I could’ve let myself in and helped myself to the food in the fridge, but a freshly cooked meal was better than reheating some leftovers or something.

“Why are you here? Did something happen? Did you quit after all?”

“What, I can’t just visit my mum on a weekday?” I complained, crossing my arms as I shuffled into the kitchen, eyes flitting over the complete mess all over the floor. I thought that I should clean it up, but then I remembered that I no longer live in that house, and didn’t feel the need any longer.

“Why are you not at work?” she asked, opening the fridge and taking out all sorts of ingredients. Obviously, she got the idea. I’d somehow telepathically sent her a plea for food.

"The magazine went to print already," I sighed. "With the article about me and Zayn still in it. My life is going to be a bit weird from now on."

"Are you dating him?" she asked, beginning to chop things up on the cutting board.

"We barely know each other," I replied.

"And yet you say his name like it's familiar and pleasant. Like you fancy him," she said. She narrowed her eyes a bit at me. "Sweetheart, if this boy cares for you and you care for him, you shouldn't let what anybody else says stop you. You should see how it goes."

"Mum, you know I can't do that," I frowned. "Zayn's famous. Everyone's going to have something to say about it. And they're not going to be nice things."

"I know that lots of people aren't very smart, and that waist sizes seem to really matter to the general public, but they obviously don't matter to Zayn. If anything, he likes the size you are right now, even if you don't. He finds you attractive as you are, right? He drew you as you are."

I nodded slowly. "I just don't think that I can handle being insulted regularly."

"Don't listen to them, for a second, sweetie. Listen to your heart. Do you like being around him? Do you like how that makes you feel?"