change.

one.

"Elena, I-" his breath was quick, rushed, but full of love. But it didn't stop the tears from falling.

"It's my fault, Harry. But you shouldn't have gone that far." Please don't take that the wrong way.

"Don't say that!" He punched the wall and crumpled as if the blow hit himself. My heart was laced with pain as it broke even more. I tried to help him up but I just fell beside him and I was greeted by his puffy red eyes and shaking body. He grabbed my shoulders hysterically.

"Dammit, I told you. I fucking told you, Elena! What is your problem with listening?! Why can't you get it through your thick-"

I couldn't take it.

I kiss him to remind myself of why I even began to put up with him.

I just grab his face and he complies and I melt and everything is better.

It works every time.

But this time was different.

And we both knew it.

---
-Some Time Earlier-

"Is everyone here going to rap?" I really had no patience for this, my sister dragged me to some basement concert she was covering for her underground website.

I wasn't against basement concerts, honest. I quite like the vibe. Nobody told me there was a strict "cool urban" dress code though, so I was the only person in a black dress with pink birds flying all over it. I stuck out, painfully.

"No, the next act is why I brought you here. His name is Ed something. Anyway, he sings and he's the featured performance. Just listen. Something about him is so..."

"Enticing?" I playfully raised a brow.

"Enchanting." She finished with an eye sparkle.

We often do this. Our passion for music is accompanied by an outburst of vibrant vocabularies.

The horrid rapper finished her set and we I applauded like I listened and enjoyed the yelling and foul language.

The MC, a girl with huge brown curls and, freckles, and a tight black dress took over the mic again. I decided early on that I liked her. Her name was Jesy and she was very exciting, but not overdoing it in the dark but crowded space.

"This guy is exploding," she continued.

My sister abandoned me to take dramatic photos.

I was a floral catastrophe in a monotonous atmosphere.

"Give it up for Ed Sheeran!" Moderate cheers and claps followed and I joined in, like I'd been doing all night. A dark figure approached next to me.

"Go Eddy!" Emitted a deep British voice.

Whoa.

I tried not to stare.

But he was the only one not in black.

Plaid. He was in plaid. And dark blue jeans.

He was standing hands folded, like a gentleman.

"Can I help you?"

Without even turning to face me, his voice sounded almost like a vibration.

Oh.

So I turned to face the red headed boy who had just mounted the mic and mocked his stature.

"Can I help you to not be so rude?"

I could almost hear the tension grow between us as Ed's soft and rich melodic voice filled the basement.