Text me, Maybe? [ZARRY]

Zayn

I walk into work with my head down, hood up, and heart pounding like I'm heading into battle.

Because, in a way, I am.

The second I step inside, I feel it.

The shift in the air.

The weight of a hundred eyes pressing into me.

The stares. The whispers. The goddamn phones held just high enough to be subtle but not really.

I swear someone gasps. Another muffles a giggle. My paranoia spikes.

Am I imagining this?

Then, from behind the counter,

"Oi, Zayn!"

I flinch, barely suppressing a groan before lifting my gaze.

It's Calum. My coworker. My supposed friend.

He stands behind the register, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, watching me like a cat who's just spotted a mouse.

"So," he drawls, eyes glinting with unmistakable mischief. "Anything interesting happen last night?"

I groan. "Shut up."

His smirk widens.

The customers in line are definitely listening. Some pretend they aren't, but they are. A girl in the corner, who is very much not reading her book, has her phone angled just enough to confirm my worst fear...she's recording me.

I resist the urge to bury my face in my hands and instead turn to Calum. "Is this my life now?"

He shrugs. "Looks like it, lover boy."

I sputter. "I AM NOT-"

"-dating Harry Styles?" he finishes, his grin downright evil. "Yeah, tell that to Twitter."

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "I hate it here."

Calum snorts. "Oh, mate, you love it here."

I open my mouth to argue, but before I can, the first customer steps up.

A girl, wide-eyed, gripping her phone like it holds the meaning of life.

I already know where this is going.

I brace myself. "Uh. What can I get you?"

She inhales sharply, eyes darting over me like she's studying an ancient relic. "Omg. You sound exactly like I imagined."

I blink. "...What?"

She giggles, cheeks flushed with excitement. "I can't believe I'm talking to Harry's boyfriend."

My soul leaves my body.

"I- I'm not-"

"Can I get a picture?" she asks sweetly, eyes practically shimmering.

I stare at her. "...You want a picture?"

"With you."

"...To do what with?"

She blinks, tilting her head innocently. "Post it, obviously."

I gasp in horror. "ABSOLUTELY NOT."

She pouts like I've just crushed her dreams, but before I can recover, the next person in line shifts forward.

Phone out. Camera ready.

And behind them?

More phones.

More eyes.

More expectant faces.

And suddenly, I realize this isn't just one girl asking for a picture.

It's everyone.

It's all of them.

It's my own personal hell.

I mutter a curse under my breath, my brain short-circuiting. Then, before I can overthink it, I yank my apron off and storm toward the back.

Calum calls after me, half-laughing, half-exasperated. "Oi, you can't just leave-"

But I can.

And I do.

I push out the back door into the alleyway, the cold air biting against my skin. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart, but my hands are already moving straight for my phone.

Me:
This is your fault.

A response comes almost instantly.

Harry:
Good morning to you too, love. ☀️

I scowl at my screen.

Me:
THEY FOUND ME AT WORK. THEY'RE ASKING FOR PICTURES. PICTURES, HARRY.

Harry:
Oh.

Me:
OH?!

Harry:
I mean. That was bound to happen.

I stare at his message in disbelief, my fingers twitching with barely restrained violence.

Me:
I am going to kill you.

Harry:
Be gentle.

I groan and slam my head lightly against the brick wall behind me, exhaling sharply.

This is a nightmare.

An absolute, full-blown, public relations catastrophe.

And the worst part?

The part that really makes me want to scream?

I don't even hate him for it.

I hate that I don't hate him for it.

NOTE: In this story, Zayn is a barista-he's also a freelance illustrator on the side. That's why at the start he was expecting to meet someone for a work-related project when he mistakenly reached out to Harry, and in this chapter he is working as a barista.