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Zayn's outfit
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I nervously got ready for the evening, carefully picking out my outfit—grey distressed pants, a quarter-length sleeve grey t-shirt, and layering with a baggy white Looney Tunes shirt.
Slipping into my white sneakers, I stole glances at myself in the mirror, my heart pounding with anxiety, hoping Harry wouldn't be upset.
The memories of the photoshoots and the uncomfortable encounters with Tim and Olivia fueled a surge of protectiveness over Harry. The way fans and media chased him, constantly linking him to other celebrities made my blood boil.
I longed to shout to the world that Harry, the people's favourite popstar, is my husband, but I knew it wasn't that simple.
Harry had moved to a different hotel, and I took the chance to book a room next to his. Despite the high cost, I considered it a worthy expense, eager to spend the night with my beloved husband.
I rarely leaned on Harry's wealth, valuing our relationship beyond material comforts.
With a determined sigh and Harry's image in my mind, I grabbed my bag and headed towards his hotel.
.
.
.
After checking in at the hotel, a courteous servant assisted me to my room, conveniently located one floor below Harry's penthouse.
Clutching my one, horrendous Gucci bag, I felt an odd sense of gratitude for its presence; it projected an image of affluence, making me appear more like a rich snob in this opulent setting.
With a sigh of relief, I stepped into the room and expressed my thanks to the attentive servant.
I sat onto the bed, a mixture of eagerness and anxiety swirling within me as I attempted to call Harry.
The phone rang, but he didn't pick up, leaving me on edge and desperate to finally spend quality time with him. When we're in our own home, things are different—normal, even.
I felt like a typical couple with Harry. But the moment we step beyond the familiar walls and into different countries for work, especially Harry's photoshoots, I sense the barrier between us.
It's as if Harry transforms into the world-famous popstar, and I become the one managing his desires and needs.
The way he sometimes disregards me in the outside world cuts deep, leaving me grappling with a strange blend of hurt and understanding.
Yet, within the privacy of our shared space, when Harry's affections pour forth, I find myself grappling with shyness and anxiety, uncertain of how to respond to this side of him that is mine and mine alone.
Desperate to reach Harry, I tried calling again, my anxiety growing as he didn't answer. Restless, I paced around the room, knowing there was no work for him tonight or until tomorrow—I checked Jenny's diary secretly.
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Destacar Lover | Zarry
Fanfiction"He got that James Dean daydream look in his eye and when we go crashing down, we come back every time. Cause we never go out of style. We never go out of style."
