Zayn: Even though you were dating the internationally famous Zayn Malik, you still felt the need to have your own career and an independent life style. Zayn respected nothing more than your career and your independence, knowing that when you opened up and were dependent on him, it was legitimate. 

You worked at a Public Relations firm in London, writing press releases and managing the image of several large companies and celebrities. You returned home to your flat one day, absolutely exhausted. You had had one of the hardest days yet at work; and your skirt was too tight, your heels were too tall, and you were emotionally and mentally exhausted. 

You were praying that Zayn had had an easy day at recording, and wouldn't mind making some dinner or being available for some cuddles. When he had hard days at the studio, you always stepped up to the bat to take care of him... but it seemed like those days were coming more and more, and his attentiveness to your exhaustion diminishing. 

"Zayn?" You called out entering your flat. Zayn's quiffed head popped up from the couch. 

"Oh god," he exhaled, "Goodness, you're home. Can you make some dinner babe? I'm exhausted. Longest day at the studio...," he trailed off, laying back down on the couch. 

"Um," you squeaked, slowly peeling your aching feet out of your heels, "Would you mind heating something up?" You cringed, you knew when Zayn was crabby he got a little demanding. 

"If I wanted something cold, I would've warmed it up before you got home," he snipped back, "I don't see why you just can't make something. Jesus." 

"Zayn!" You snapped back, you were in no mood to be talked to that way. "You know, I work too. I had a bad day, too. And right now, I'm fucking exhausted. So, no. I'm not going to slip off my heels and slip on an apron for you!" Zayn was standing at this point, and he could see the tears of frustration picking at your eyes. 

"Oh, Christ," he spat, eyes growing into little slits, "You have an office job. Jesus. Did you sit on your ass at a desk all day? I mean, at least Perrie had the decency to take care of me." 

"Perrie?" You heart dropped. "W-well," you stuttered, "If... if Perrie did it."

You sat there, staring at Zayn, holding one shoe in your hand, the other still painfully containing your aching foot. Your headache was increasing, and you were exhausted. And now, you could not believe your boyfriend had just completely demeaned you, and compared you to Perrie. You were too tired to even fight anymore. 

Tears stinging your eyes, you pulled your other shoe off, and walked into the kitchen. Turning on the stove. 

Zayn stood there, shocked, as he sat there and realized the impact of the words he just said. When he looked over and saw you wiping tears as you prepared a stir fry, he realized he had been a huge jackass. 

He walked straight over to you, wrapped one arm around your waist, and turned off the stove with another. 

"Zayn," you started, voice tired.

"No, [Y/N]," Zayn chided gently, "I know. I've been demanding all week. Your job is just as hard as mine. It's my turn to take care of you." 

With those simple words, you seemed to melt into his chest. Zayn picked you up bridal style, carrying you to the bath tub. 

He turned on the hot water, letting you soak your aching feet, and he wrapped his arms around you. Pecking your neck in kisses, and letting his big hands knead the knots out of your neck. 

"I love you, Zayn," you murmured, completely blissed out. 

"I love you more," Zayn giggled playfully, trailing his hand up and down your spine, "And I ordered a pizza." 

Agh. I think this one is shit. But send some feedback, and let me know what preference you want next! xx

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