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December, 1980.
The icy December air swirled around the dimly lit streets of London, but neither John nor Valerie noticed the chill. Their world was a whirlwind of concerts, late-night hotel room conversations, and stolen moments of laughter over shared meals.
John leaned against the bar in a crowded venue in London, the dim light painting his face in warm golds and deep shadows. The Velvet Reverie was mid-set, Valerie commanding the stage with her magnetic energy. Dressed in her signature black leather jacket and flowy dress, she moved like she owned the world. Her voice, smokey and raw, reverberated through the big room, pulling the crowd into her orbit.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
“Mate, you’re smitten,” Nick Rhodes said, sidling up beside him.
John didn’t even deny it. “Can you blame me?”
When the band launched into their latest song of the night, “Killshot,” Valerie caught his eye from the stage. She smirked, tossing her soft waves as she leaned into the microphone.
“That one’s for you, pretty boy,” she murmured, her voice like a low purr, sending the crowd into cheers.
John’s heart raced. After the show, as fans crowded around Valerie for autographs before she could've hopped on the van with John and the rest of the band, he waited patiently in the shadows. When she finally broke free, her cheeks flushed with adrenaline, she beamed at him.
“Enjoy the show?” she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“You know I did,” he replied, pulling her closer. “You were brilliant.”
“And you’re biased,” she teased, but her smile said she loved it.
The following night, it was Valerie’s turn to be the spectator.
Duran Duran was opening for Hazel O’Connor, and the packed venue in London buzzed with anticipation. Valerie stood at the back, her coat wrapped tightly around her. The crowd roared as the band launched into “Girls on Film”. John stood to the side of the stage, his basslines grounding the song as Simon’s vocals soared.
