Text me, Maybe? [ZARRY]

Harry

I have no regrets.

Well.

Maybe one.

Which is that I vastly underestimated just how feral the internet can get.

Because now, I'm standing outside Zayn's workplace facing what can only be described as absolute, unhinged chaos.

There are people everywhere.

Like, everywhere.

Some are waving signs, some are chanting, and one particularly passionate girl is clutching a life-size cardboard cutout of me while sobbing into its face.

I squint at the scene before me.

Is that—

I blink.

Oh.

Someone is holding up a giant marriage proposal poster.

For Zayn.

Zayn.

Who very clearly did not sign up for this.

And who, judging by the way he's staring at me right now, is approximately five seconds away from committing an actual crime.

To be fair, I probably deserve it.

"Harry."

Zayn's voice is dangerously calm, which is much, much worse than if he were outright yelling.

I flash him a smile. "Hi, love."

His eyes narrow slightly. "Why," he says, still excruciatingly calm, "did you tweet a photo of us with the caption 'he thinks I'm joking but I'm so serious'?"

Right.

That.

Okay, yeah. Maybe I went a little too far.

But in my defense,

"You looked so cute," I say, as if that justifies anything.

Zayn closes his eyes for a long moment, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's physically restraining himself from strangling me.

"Harry, I have a job," he says, voice tight.

"Yeah, and now you also have a fan club," I reply cheerfully.

Zayn exhales slowly, turning his head to take in the actual horde outside his workplace. His expression is unreadable, but I can tell his soul has probably left his body.

Then, after a long, resigned pause, he looks back at me.

"I'm quitting."

"No, you're not," I say immediately. "Let's just...leave."

Zayn glares at me, eyes dark with disbelief. "Leave?! How?! There's an actual SWAT team of your fans outside!"

I glance back at the crowd.

Someone is waving a t-shirt with my face on it.

A group of people are singing one of my songs, very badly.

I watch as another girl attempts to scale the side of the building like a determined little spider monkey.

Huh.

"Aw, that's sweet," I say. "They're dedicated."

Zayn closes his eyes again. Longer this time. Like he's gathering every ounce of patience left in his soul.

"Harry. Focus."

Right.

Focus.

I clear my throat and step forward, putting on my most charming popstar smile.

"Hi, everyone!" I call out.

The response is immediate.

And deafening.

SCREAMING.

Zayn physically flinches.

Okay. Noted.

I raise a hand in a calm, collected manner, like I'm a benevolent leader addressing my people.

"Would you all be absolute darlings and let us leave without any chaos?" I ask, ever so politely.

More screaming.

A girl faints.

Zayn grips my arm. "This is your fault."

"Correction, this is the internet's fault," I say, entirely unhelpfully.

Zayn looks like he's going to murder me.

I can feel it.

But before he can, my phone starts ringing.

I glance at the screen.

Jeff.

Oh boy.

I answer, bracing myself.

"Heyyy, bestie."

Jeff, who already sounds like he's combusting, does not share my enthusiasm.

"HARRY, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"