Chapter One - Devotion ain’t all it’s cracked up to be!
My head is saying fool forget him
My heart is saying don’t let go
Hold on to the end, that’s what I intend to do
I’m hopelessly devoted to you
But now there’s no way to hide
Since you pushed my love aside
I’m outta my head hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you
Hopelessly devoted to you
- ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You’, Grease
He was utterly beautiful. There was simply no other way to describe him, sat all alone at a beat up old piano, pouring his heart and soul into singing an overly sentimental song, from what some would say, an overly cheesy 70’s movie.
“Hopelessly devoted … to you,” he crooned, drawing the last two words out ever so slowly.
His every syllable dripped with palpable emotion, until the stunning climax; the last exquisite note seeming to somehow visibly hang in the air.
And perhaps it was Zayn’s undeniable bias showing, but baring witness to him performing always felt as if you getting to watch someone share a part of their very soul—something just so magnificent, it couldn’t be contained within. The experience of watching him in person though, just mere meters away, was on a whole other level.
Similarly, Zayn’s eternal admiration for this beautiful man and his incredible voice was also too great to be suppressed, as he found himself involuntarily gushing, “So beautiful …”
“Sorry?” the aforementioned, beautiful man questioned, turning away slowly from the piano with a surprised look on his face; clearly unaware that he had been playing to a hidden, one-man audience.
Shit. Shit. Shitty McShitface, Zayn groaned internally, chastising himself for ruining the potential for a perfect second meeting with his idol by not being able to keep his thoughts to himself. Well, he thought matter of factly, I’ve probably already made a complete tit of myself by looking like a right creeper, I might as well go the ‘whole hog’, as it were.
“That’s … um, that’s the very first time I saw you, you know?” Zayn squeaked out, amazed he was able to get his vocal chords to actually work, in spite of the situation he unexpectedly found himself in.
Clearing his throat rather awkwardly, in what was likely a vain attempt to quell his rising nerves, he timidly stepped out from behind the curtain he’d been using to hide himself from sight.
“On that reality show, way back when,” Zayn continued, talking more to his slowly moving feet than to the man sitting at the piano. “You sang that song in one of the early auditions. And I … I remember thinking how brave you were to sing something that I’d only ever heard a woman sing before.”
Silence. Absolute bloody silence was all that greeted him. Followed by nothing. Immediately succeeded by nada.
Not exactly the reaction Zayn was hoping for in response to his heartfelt, boyhood confession and as he looked upon the blank, emotionless face staring back at him, he decided he wanted nothing more in that moment, than for the earth to open up right there and then. Swallow him up whole, never to be seen again (or to be at any further risk of making such a massive fool of himself).
However, no sooner had that fervent wish begun to fade to mere painful memory, than another, rather more upbeat thought popped into Zayn’s head—namely that he wouldn’t mind disappearing into a hole if the last thing he saw was the glorious smirk that was now beginning to overtake his idol’s face.
And then he laughed. A big, beautiful arm waving, thigh slapping guffaw and Zayn’s mind suddenly seemed incapable of forming any coherent thoughts.
“You know what mate? Ya know what you’ve managed to do? Just gone and made my day, is all!” he proclaimed happily, as he tried to bring his laughter under control. “Cause up until now I’d convinced meself today’s read through was going to be an incredibly tedious fare. But now? I don’t really care how unbearable it might prove to sit through our esteemed director, Michael ‘I’ve won two Olivier Awards’ Edwards, ramble on ad nauseam about stage directions or how we’re going to have to ‘emote like we’ve never emoted before’, if I’m able to just keep recalling the earnestness displayed on your face just now.”
And … boom! Once again Zayn’s mood dropped dramatically.
Those biting words uttered so flippantly by a man he held in such high regard and directed at him, and him alone, hitting him like the proverbial truck. In fact, the best way he could think to describe their encounter thus far, was like taking a ride on one of the world’s scariest roller coasters and quite frankly, given that Zayn detested roller coasters with a passion, he really wanted to get the fuck off, right fucking now!
“Oh, shitting hell. I’ve gone and done it again haven’t I?”
“Sorry?” Zayn sputtered out, embarrassed by that fact that he had no real idea as to what the hell was going on presently, but also kinda relieved that he hadn’t been forced to speak next when he had no earthly clue what to say.
“Harry’s going to kill me if he finds out. Especially after the talking-to he gave me on the ride over here this morning,” he replied, looking like he was talking more to the curtain behind Zayn’s head than to him. Also reply was probably the wrong choice of words, given that his response to Zayn was by no means any form of explanation and only served to confuse him even more.
“Harry?” Zayn tried again, hoping this time he may finally get a straight answer.
“My long suffering manager, slash PA. He made me promise not to scare off any more impressionable young stagehands this time, but looks like I’ve fallen at the first hurdle hey?” he finished, sheepishly. Thankfully he was now back looking directly at Zayn, eyes and mouth set in what he would swear was almost puppy dog like in appearance, before morphing into something a little more sinister.
“Unless of course we can forget that what I just said could be construed as anything less than complimentary? I mean you know I didn’t mean to offend you right? I just tend to have no real brain to mouth filter sometimes. Well. Most of the time I guess, but most people seem to get used to it in time and I’m sure you’ll be no different. So what do you say? Can we just chalk this little encounter up to a misunderstanding. First time meeting nerves and all that, and forget it ever happened?”
Zayn was once more left feeling gobsmacked by the pleading, almost conciliatory words that had just been directed towards him. And somewhat surprisingly, charmed. Utterly, completely charmed.
Which, how exactly? How had he gone from feeling like he’d been kicked in the guts to enamoured in the space of a couple of minutes?
‘Cause let it be clear, Zayn was no dummy and as much as he idolised this man, he was well aware of his reputation for being somewhat difficult and ornery to work with. But being forewarned with this kind of pertinent information and actually knowing how to deal with it in a real life scenario, especially in the guise of such a gorgeous and alluring man, were two very different things.
He knew he should feel annoyed. Should be mad at the obvious ridicule and the frankly blatant attempted manipulation. At how his idol had somehow quite effectively both admitted to and apologised for his inappropriate behaviour, without ever actually uttering the word sorry or seeming in anyway, anything less than proud for acting like a horses arse!
But no, the only word that resonated with Zayn in that very moment was charmed.
Damn Liam James Payne, world famous musical theatre star. Damn him and his charismatic ways; his undeniable talent; his gorgeous face; his sparking personality and equally sparkling smile. Damn him.
But also … thank god for him—for his presence in the world (and in this very room), simultaneously both intimidating and magnetic and for gifting Zayn the chance to interact with him, not just once but twice now.
Just a silent thank you to the universe for creating Liam Payne, and for providing Zayn with the good luck and opportunity to discover him all those years ago, love Zayn Javadd Malik.
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