stars and terrain (zayn malik)

Chapter 49

Charlotte

I don't know what to think. I always knew Zayn was very famous, I just watched him win a Grammy for god sake; but being here - at the forefront of a massive stadium of people screaming for him - made it all tangible.

The fact that this is the scene every night of his tour gives me goose bumps. All of this for the boy whose sweater I'm wearing. The boy that likes to steal my food and kisses, that likes to doodle in notebooks and knows lines from random episodes of Friends, that boy is about to command this entire stadium up on that stage.

It's making our relationship feel weirdly more real and concrete, while at the same time making me realize just how unreal my other half is.

I smile at Preston, who has kept his eye on me the entire time - and not in a creepy way - but in a way that made me feel safe after I got ambushed by a group of girls when I got up to find the restroom.

It's sort of nice having a personal bodyguard, and I wish he were around all the time to fight off paparazzi back home.

When the opening act finished and girls started to swarm my seat I gave him a thumbs up to let him know it was all right. I patiently posed for selfie after selfie and answered a couple of giggly questions like "does he smell good" and "is that his sweater."

I lied about the sweater because I was concerned this particularly bold teen might try to rip it off me, but overall all of my interactions were lovely. The girls were sweet and what girl doesn't want to be told she's pretty a hundred times over and over?

But they've all settled back in their seats because the announcer has claimed the show will start in two minutes and the buzz of the excitement is both palpable and terrifying.

It's different than the Grammys energy, because that was so reserved and polite. It was other people in the music industry; it wasn't this frantic, wild group of super fans.

I wish I had earplugs, but at the same time it feels like sort of an initiation into this world, seated literally front and center and waiting like everyone else for a familiar dark head of hair to serenade the stadium.

And when it does, the screams are even more deafening.

It's funny because I'm close enough to see him, and see his expressions, but they're also blown up behind him on massive screens. Like there's my boyfriend up on stage, and the massive celebrity version of himself playing out on the screens above him.

He finds my eyes almost instantly, smiling at me as he starts the first song and I am probably smiling like such an idiot because this might be the coolest I've ever felt. All of these people are hysterical about spending the next ninety minutes in the same room as him and I get to be with him all the time.

He ends the first song and introduces himself and the band, and smiles down at me when the screams reach a new fever pitch.

When he starts the next song and he hits a particularly impressive high note I feel like I want to scream with them, but I bite my lip instead and keep my eyes fixed on the massive screen that lets me see his face the way I'm normally seeing it - up intimately close.

I know most of the songs, but not as well as the groups of concertgoers around me do. People are screaming out the lyrics so loudly that it drowns out Zayn. If I didn't have the possibility of being serenaded later I might be upset, but they're all belting out the lyrics so passionately that it makes me smile instead.

I didn't really think it was possible, but with each song I feel like I'm falling a little harder. And not just because it's underlining how famous he is and how many human beings in this room want him, but because I keep thinking about that night at the Griffith Observatory over burgers.

This is hard for him. It's not easy, to be out in front of this many people being screamed at. But he does it. Because he has a gift, and because all of these people keep buying his music and concert tickets and wanting him to keep doing it. It just makes me so proud of him that I feel like I could burst, much like the girls next to me might with the way they haven't stopped screaming since he graced the stage.

When he disappears I'm not sure the girls next to me realize he will come out for an encore regardless of whether they stand on their chairs and scream at the top of their lungs.

Preston winks at me and for the first time I have to stick my fingers in my ears when he ends up coming back on stage, the sound is so much more deafening than before. He sings two more songs and waves goodbye and before I even know what's happening Preston is scooping me up and leading us off the floor as the girls that have now noticed my presence start to descend.

"Alright ladies, I've got to get Miss Charlotte backstage," he booms as he wades us through the crowd. I really wouldn't mind taking pictures or answering questions, but it seems like he knows what he's doing so I trust him to maneuver me through the crowd.

Once we're safely backstage he chuckles. "I think Malik should give me a raise."

"Let me see her first," I hear Zayn's voice behind my shoulder and he playfully stretches out my arms and checks my hands and face for damage. "Yep no damage. She doesn't have a mark on her. Raise it is then!"

"Easiest gig I've ever had," Preston brushes him off. "Happy to do it again next time Miss Charlotte."

"Thanks Preston. Very happy with your service," I smile at him sweetly before he disappears and leaves me in an empty hallway with the man of the hour.

"Hi!" he says sweetly before I tackle him in a hug.

"You were amazing," I say into his neck. "So, so good."

"So you liked it?" he asked. "Wasn't too much for ya?"

"No," I shake my head. "No, I loved it."

He pulls back and drops his eyes. "That was one of the best shows I've had in a long time. I kept looking out to find you and it felt so much more real. Like for the first time I didn't want to feel numb up there."

"Good!" I exclaim, with a little too much enthusiasm. It makes me happy to be able to help, especially since he just achieved god like status on that stage and I feel so mortal.

"Are you hungry? There's food back here," he wraps a sweaty arm around my shoulders before apologizing. "Sorry, I probably smell like proper man right now."

"I like it," I say, closing the gap between us to kiss him. "And I'm always hungry."

He smiles, his warm, dark eyes a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction. The sweat beading on his forehead and clinging to his cheekbone make me swallow roughly. I thought he looked amazing that night of the Grammys in his perfectly tailored suits, but this sweaty, straight from the stage Zayn is an entirely new level.

I try to push away the nagging reminder in my brain that makes my stomach knot. But I can't help but remember that if this were a few months ago, there would be a groupie in my place at this point in the night.