Don't you call her baby. We're not talking lately. Don't you call her what you used to call me... A story in which a girl who writes songs falls in love with the boy who sings them. "Color...What a deep and mysterious language, the language of dreams." - Paul Gauguin. DO NOT PRINT MY BOOKS! *TW: story contains mature topics such as mental abuse, PTSD, minor drug usage, and minor sexual content.*

"You've worn makeup plenty," you said. "Haven't they ever taken it off you before?" "Not like this," he murmured. Your wrists tickled his nose and he hardly dared to breathe in case it threw off the tender, careful way you were touching him. "There we go," you cooed. "That's much better." "Can I open?" "Not yet. Just a couple seconds more." "Did you get a new perfume?" Harry asked. "Hmm?" "S'just...." Christ, how was he going to get a foot like that out of his mouth? "Y'smell nice or summat." You didn't say anything and again heat bloomed in his face."Probably my moisturizer," you said. Was it him or were you breathless? "Don't move."

It's the evening before the first LA show, and he's feeling like everything is coming together nicely. The night is warm but comfortable, he's got a good little buzz going on from the drinks people keep offering up to him, and in a few hours time, you'll be in his arms. He's half-listening to a conversation his bandmates are having about what they plan to do with their time off, snuffing a laugh into his drink when they suggest a 'lads holiday', and is about to respond to Mitch's quip about spending 'too much time together' when his phone screen lights up with a message from you. *I can't make it. Don't be mad.*

But nobody'd warned him about what it would be like for him to be kept in the dark, and he was beginning to like it less and less. Nobody told him whispers and eyebrow raises from your friends alone and your friends together would pinch and nibble and have him holding his breath until you were chasing him for kisses in front of his stove with the knobs pressing into his back when he let you pin him to catch them between giggles.

You've been in the same city all weekend. Now, there's just twelve hours left -- better make the most of it, then.