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directionerfandomfantasies · 12 years

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One shot: for everythingyoutouchturnstogold

Warning: self-harm

You slipped on a pair a dark blue jeans and placed the white blouse over your head. You looked in the mirror, and sighed slightly.

Everything you put on, no matter what condition it was, you could still see the slight gashes on your wrist. You picked up your arm and started to count them, curious to see how many times you've inflicted pain on yourself in the past. One it got to a sickening number you stopped and gasped softly.

At least they were fading, you thought to yourself, trying to lighten your mood. But not the memories, you thought back to yourself, the memories will never fade.

You shook your head, trying to forget everything that just happened. Instead, you thought about the reason you stopped, and your eyes glanced over to the picture of One Direction that was hanging over your bed, and you smiled. "

To think you were meeting them today was a miracle. You remembered the moment you won the passes, and how much you cried and screamed with excitement. Today, you thought, I will meet the boys who saved my life.

***

You stood in the room waiting for the boys, and your heart was beating at an unormal pace. Once the boys walked in, you felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach, and then leap back up into place.

They walked in with their natural strut and changed the whole atmosphere of the room, they glanced over at the fans and smiled, which made everyone swoon.

As they were walking around talking to fans, you couldn't help but notice Harry's gaze falling on you, making your heart leap out of your chest. Once he was done talking to one of the fans, he immediately walked over to you. However, instead of keeping you in the circle with everyone else. He grabbed you buy your hand, and lead you further away, for a more private conversation. Or at least that's how you saw it.

"Hey babe, how are you?" he whispered softly, as he kept staring down at something, and realized he was looking at your wrist. You felt sudden waves of emotion pass over you, "I-I'm okay" you managed to stutter out. "Listen, I just want you to know that you are so beautiful. No matter what people say to you to try and bring you down. Those people mean nothing" he said as he whiped the tears that managed to fall on your cheek, as you could see his eyes getting glassy.

"You really mean that?" you said softly, which made more tears erupt and fall faster down you cheeks. "Of course I do, love" he said he kissed your cheek, which had you trembling with emotions. "Come on, I have some more people you want to meet" he said winking, leading you back in to the circle where the rest of the boys were, who had big grins, and intent smiles on their faces, waiting to talk to you.

#Harry Styles #everythingyoutouchturnstogold #one shot #one direction

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amberanddylan · 13 years

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In the Spotlight--A Zayn Malik One Shot

for Sofia (everythingyoutouchturnstogold)

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Chill out, Sofia. You’re going to be great!”

“I didn’t think this many people would be here.” “More people to hear your lovely voice, then.”

“Or more people to hear me screw up.”

Lena, my best friend, hits me on the arm.

“Snap out of it!” she says. “We go through this every time you sign up for one of these Open Mic Nights—”

“Every time you sign me up, you mean,�� I mutter darkly.

“—and everything always turns out great! Your voice is amazing and everyone always loves you. So you don’t need to freak out, okay?”

“And now we’re going to hear a song from Sofia!” announces the MC from the stage.

There’s a smattering of applause from the people scattered throughout the dimly-lit little café. My heart is pounding so forcefully against my ribcage that I’m sure it’s just going to burst right out of my chest at any time now. I remain sitting in my chair, frozen with fear.

“Go on!” Lena says, shoving me in the back. I stumble to my feet, barely managing to keep a grip on the neck of my acoustic guitar. But I cling to it like a lifeline as I troop slowly up the stairs to the stage.

I take my place onstage, behind the mic stand. The too-bright stage lights sting my eyes as I look out to the audience, keeping me from seeing anything more than vague outlines of tables and chairs and people. I can’t even see Lena, who’s sitting at one of the tables closest to the stage. Hand shaking slightly, I sling my guitar strap over my shoulder and pull my pick out of my pocket.

“Hi,” I say nervously, and as I speak, I hear the distinct cling of the bell above the door to the café, indicating that someone is either leaving or coming in. “My name is Sofia, and I’m going to be playing a song called ‘More Than This’ by One Direction.”

I pull away from the mic for a second and quietly play an E chord on my guitar, checking to see if it’s still in tune. All the strings sound perfect.

I take a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm some of my nerves. Then, softly, I begin to pluck out the beautiful tune on my guitar.

“Ooooooh,” I sing, and I hear the few whispers that were out in the audience end abruptly. “I’m broken, can you hear me? I’m blinded, ‘cause you are everything I see. I’m dancing alone. I’m praying that your heart will just turn around.”

Some of my anxiety is starting to melt away, evaporating into the air. My fingers steady, moving with more confidence and surety as I pluck the guitar strings.

“And as I walk up to your door, my head turns to face the floor, ‘cause I can’t look you in the eyes and say—”

The nerves are already gone. It’s just me and the guitar now, me and the music.

“When she opens her arms and holds you close tonight, it just won’t feel right, ‘cause I can’t love you more than this, yeah. When she lays you down, I might just die inside, it just don’t feel right, ‘cause I can’t love you more than this—can’t love you more than this.”

I think a few people in the audience cheer as I sing that last line. But I’m oblivious, lost in my own world. I keep singing.

“If I’m louder, would you see me? Would you lay down in my arms and rescue me? ‘Cause we are the same, you saved me, and when you leave, it’s gone again. And when I see you on the street, in her arms, I get weak, my body fails I’m on my knees prayin.”

“YEAH SOFIA!” yells Lena, clapping enthusiastically.

“When she opens her arms and holds you close tonight, it just don’t feel right, ‘cause I can’t love you more than this, yeah. When she lays you down, I might just die inside, it just don’t feel right, ‘cause I can’t love you more than this, yeah.”

Some of my nerves come fluttering back then. This is the part of the song that I’ve had trouble with in the past. I want to get it right now, when it really counts.

“I’ve never had the words to say, but now I’m asking you to stay for a little while inside my arms, and as you close your eyes tonight, I pray that you will see the light that’s shining from the stars above.”

It went perfectly. I try not to smile too much as I sing the next part, one of the most emotional parts of the song.

“When she opens her arms and holds you close tonight, it just won’t feel right, ‘cause I can’t love you more than this—‘cause I can’t love you more than this!”

I draw out the last note, practically belting it. I can hear people in the audience cheering again, especially Lena.

“When she opens her arms and holds you close tonight, it just won’t feel right, ‘cause I can’t love you more than this, yeah.” I draw this note out a little too, just like Zayn does on the album. Zayn’s voice is my absolute favorite; I’m always wishing I could have a voice as rich and wonderful as his. “It just don’t feel right, ‘cause I can’t love you more than this...can’t love you more than this.”

I strum the last chord on my guitar, still wrapped up, just for a second, in the captivating spell of the music. Then, the audience’s cheering and my stage fright come back all at once. I bow hastily and run offstage, pleased with my performance, but also thrilled to be done with it.

“Was that okay?” I ask Lena hurriedly as I take my seat at the table again.

“Okay?” exclaims Lena incredulously. “Lena, that was amazing! Your best performance ever!”

“Seriously?” I say, a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“Seriously. Like...oh my gosh. The whole thing was so beautiful. The guitar and the high notes and just everything. And when you sang Zayn’s part, I swear, you nearly had the whole room on their feet. It was incredible.”

A true smile breaks out on my face then.

“Thanks,” I say.

“And that concludes our Open Mic Night!” the MC is saying loudly over Lena’s and my conversation. “A massive thank you to everyone who performed tonight, you all were fantastic. We’ll be open for about another hour, so please, feel free to stay and have something to eat or drink before you go.”

The audience claps politely. The stages lights turn off and the regular room lights flicker on, though the lighting is still pretty dim.

“I’m super hungry,” Lena says, looking longingly at the front counter, where there’s a dazzling display of pastries and baked goods and sodas and smoothies. “I’m going to get a bagel or something. You want anything?”

“How about one of those peach smoothies?” I say.

Lena makes a face. “Those things are so gross.”

“Just get me one, will you?”

“Okay, okay.” Lena stands up and joins the rapidly-lengthening line at the front counter.

I pull my guitar strap over my shoulder and put the guitar back in its case, which is resting on the floor by my chair. After making sure the guitar is safely packed away, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and start checking my Twitter feed and unread texts. I feel like a total loner, sitting here all by myself, but at least I have something to do while I wait for Lena to come back.

I jump in surprise as someone taps me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me? You’re Sofia, right?”

I swivel around in my chair, still holding my phone in one hand. I glance up to see who’s talking to me—I know from the voice that it isn’t Lena. My jaw drops when I see who it is. I’d know that face anywhere—the sharp, handsome jawline, the tanned skin, the dark quaff of hair.

“Yeah,” I say, and my voice shakes audibly.

“I’m Zayn Malik,” he says, holding out his hand to me.

When I reach out to shake his hand, I see that my fingers are shaking.

“I know,” I say, the words spilling out of me before I can stop them. I can feel color rushing into my cheeks. What a stupid thing to say!

But Zayn just chuckles. “Can I sit down?” he asks, gesturing to Lena’s vacated chair.

“Uh, sure,” I say. Lena won’t complain if Zayn Malik of One Direction takes her seat.

He pulls the chair out from the table and sits down next to me. I still feel like I’m in a dream. This can’t be real, I think. Zayn Malik can’t seriously be sitting in this café right now, talking to me.

“So...Sofia. I saw your performance,” Zayn says, and I suddenly notice that he seems a little nervous, too. Definitely not as nervous as me, but still nervous. For some reason, this realization makes me feel just a little bit more comfortable with the whole situation. But only a little.

“You did?” I ask. Oh shoot. What if Lena was lying and I sounded really awful?

“Yeah. I walked in just as you were going onstage,” he says.

The bell I heard when I was up there, I think.

“And I just wanted to tell you that I really, really liked your performance,” Zayn says. Is it my imagination, or is he blushing, just a little bit?

Well, whether he’s blushing or not, I know I definitely am—I can feel my face getting all hot. I bet if I looked in a mirror right now, my cheeks would be flaming red.

“You did?” I say. I can hardly believe what I just heard.

“Yeah, I really did,” he says. “You play the guitar really well. And your voice is so beautiful, and so powerful. And I liked the song choice, too,” he adds, grinning.

My cheeks grow even warmer. Zayn Malik thinks my voice is beautiful!

“Thanks,” I say quietly, smiling.

Zayn smiles back.

“You aren’t seriously here by yourself, are you?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No. My best friend Lena’s in line to get food.”

“But you don’t have a date?”

I shake my head again, feeling slightly embarrassed. “No.”

“Well, that’s a real shame,” Zayn says. His eyes have gone all soft and warm and I can tell he truly meant what he said.

I shrug. “Not really. The guys around here...I dunno. They aren’t for me.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“How come?”

“Oh, I don’t know. They’re just...shallow, I guess. Out for the looks, but not the person behind them. Or even if there is a person behind them. And I’m not like those girls that all the boys go after, you know? I don’t throw myself at them, and they don’t show any interest in me, so I just...leave them alone.” I shrug, feeling my face turn red again. I can’t believe I just spilled my guts to a stranger—a very famous, good-looking, talented stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

But Zayn looks at me very intently, like I’ve just said the most interesting thing in the whole world.

“I get that,” he says, nodding. “You don’t want to settle.”

I nod eagerly. No one has ever really got that before, not even Lena. People just tend to think that I’m picky. “Exactly! And I bet it’s like that for you sometimes, isn’t it? Like, because you’re so famous.”

For a moment I fear I’ve said something too personal, but Zayn nods as eagerly as I did.

“All the time,” he says. “And then I’ll meet someone who I think is really special, but there’s always that idea in the back of my head, you know? That fear that they don’t really like me for me, just for my fame or money or whatever.”

“I’m glad someone out there gets me,” I say, grinning.

“Yeah, me too.”

For a minute or two, we just sit there smiling at each other. In the silence, I realize that all my nerves have vanished completely, just like they did while I was onstage. Actually, if I’m being completely honest, I feel even better right now than I did while I was playing my music, which is unusual. Normally, nothing makes me happier than that.

Zayn’s phone beeps, breaking the silence. He pulls it out of his pocket and reads the text message on the screen there.

“I’ve got to go,” he says. He sounds pretty sorry about it.

My stomach sinks a little.

“Oh, that’s fine,” I say.

“I really liked talking to you,” Zayn says. Both of us stand up simultaneously.

“Yeah, me too.” I really, really liked talking to you.

Zayn bites the side of his cheek for a moment, clearing thinking something through.

“You know what?” he says. He pulls a pen out of his jacket pocket and picks up a napkin off the table. As he bends over and scribbles something on the napkin, he says, “This is my phone number. The boys and I will be in town for a couple of days. Call me tomorrow and we’ll find a time to meet again, alright?” Zayn puts the cap on the pen and hands me the napkin.

“Alright,” I say, a smile spreading across my cheeks.

“Maybe you can bring your guitar and we can all sing together or something,” he adds with a grin. “You can teach us a thing or two about singing.”

“Me teach you? More like the other way around,” I say, laughing.

“Everyone can teach each other, then.”

I hold my hand out to shake his hand. He grasps it briefly, and then does something rather surprising—he kisses me on the cheek. My place where his lips touch my skin feels very hot, but pleasantly so.

“Bye Sofia.”

“Bye Zayn.”

He smiles at me and then walks out of the café.

Barely a second later, Lena returns with our food.

“Why are you standing up?” she asks me. “And why are you blushing?”

I grin widely. “You’ll never guess who I just met.”

#everythingyoutouchturnstogold #1D #one direction #one shot #zayn malik

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