***

“Delaney, are you ready to go?” My fingers become frantic at the sound of his soft voice and I manage out a struggling ‘yea’ as I continue to tie up the end of one of his t-shirts. Now fashioned into a skirt, his light blue button up was becoming a staple in my limited wardrobe (as were most of his clothes) and I was trying to make this black ‘Hipster please’ labeled shirt fit me properly.

When I hear his heavy footfalls nearing the front door of the room, I curse under my breath because the shirt isn’t cooperating and just settle for draping it off one shoulder and tying it up in the back to take away some of the slack. Sighing, I deem myself presentable and slip on my heels. My hair is in a wavy mess, but I don’t care; there was no time to tame it and I doubt it would even matter after the Santa Ana winds got ahold of us.

I slip out into the living room and then head for the short hallway that led out into the corridor beyond. Harry’s there, typing away slowly on his phone, his hair curly at the ends and swept to the left in a fashion only he could properly pull off. Looking fit in a simple white t-shirt and black jeans, I shudder a little, then frown because I realize I’d been checking him out.

“Ready,” I whisper, for his appearance had seemed to be doing a number on me.

He turns at the sound of my voice and flashes me a beaming smile that I just barely return. “I was just texting my friend and making sure he was there. This is going to be quite a show-I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“What’s his name again? Your friends, I mean?”

He shuts the door behind us after we slide out of the little hallway and then begins to trail behind me, towards the elevator that nobody is waiting in front of.

“Ed Sheeran. He’s from the UK, just staring out over here, though. His music is really great. My band has sung a couple of his songs.”

“You’re in a band?” Seeming to become a little uncomfortable with this topic, he nods and offers an uneasy smile while shuffling into the elevator with me. I’m curious, though, so I decide to ask him more; after all, he’d spent the entire day quizzing me about myself and it only seems fair. “What’s the name of it? Maybe I’ve heard of them.”

“I don’t think a girl like you has heard of my band,” he chuckles, causing his dimple to poke through his cheeks.

“I’m going to ignore the rude comment there and ask again: what’s the name of your band?”

He shines his bright emerald orbs down on me and smiles again before giving them a roll, picking up my smirk that explained I really wasn’t offended by his previous statement. I knew he wasn’t trying to be mean when he’d said that-that he wasn’t talking about my profession or impure ways; he was talking about my musical tastes (however limited), which he’d found out earlier today during his interrogation.

“One Direction,” he mumbles, flipping his hair. I furrow my brow and try to think, scanning my brain as I whisper the band’s name under my breath. “I told you that you hadn’t heard of them. It’s okay, though. We’re more popular with young girls.”

“Do your songs play on the radio?”

“Some.”

He allows me to go first when the elevator stops on the ground floor and opens with a perky ding. As we head for the door, I remember the photographers and small group of girls who had been waiting outside early this morning, smirking as I think to ask him if they were here for him because of his little band.

“There were some people here with camera’s this morning. That wouldn’t have been because of you, would it?”

“Uhm, well… Maybe… I had no idea anyone even knew I was in town.”

I stumble a little at his answer, most definitely not having expected for him to say that all those eagerly waiting people were standing there for so long just to get a few pictures of him. He had the Hollywood good looks, I suppose, but his demeanor just wasn’t what you got from other stars.

“Oh,” I whisper, my eyes still slightly wide.

He just chuckles and holds the exit door open for me when we finally near it. For some reason, I’m relieved when I notice that it’s only a small gaggle of young girls waiting across the street and that the larger gathering of paparazzi are gone. Maybe it was because he would become a ‘celebrity’ in that moment if it had been anymore and I was unsure how he’d act with me lingering behind his ever growing shadow. So far he’d just been Harry, the nice, handsome gentleman who’d helped me last night when I’d gravely needed it; I didn’t want him to turn into another kind of Harry because of sudden attention and flashing lights.

As the girls begin to squeal a little, he offers a wave and a lopsided grin that seems to drive them into full fledge screams. I chuckle as they frantically call out to him, begging for a picture and an autograph, and ignore his slightly flushed expression when he looks away from them, down to me.

There’s a sleek car waiting a few paces down and he gestures to it. Giving one more wave over his shoulder and thanking them for waiting out here for him all this time, he quickly catches up to me, as I’d decided to forgo the ‘lingering in his shadow’ bit and just get into the car. He’s quick to beat me to the passenger door,though, and smirks a little as I glance up at him.

“Thanks,” I mumble. He only winks a little and I hear him chuckle while he heads around to the driver’s side.

I grumble, blaming all my sudden openness and contemplation of his newfound fame on the fact that I was trying to be nice as a thank you for him letting me stay at his hotel room for a few days. There wasn’t any other explanation, really… Or, there wasn’t another that I’d accept, especially given that he was still practically a stranger.

The drive to the venue is quiet, all except for the radio, which plays a mixture of music that he hums along to quietly. I want to tell him to shut-up because there’s no use for his talented voice to be sounding when we’re about to go see his just-as-talented friend, but forgo it for the reason that I didn’t want to offend him. I wrap my hands tightly around each other and try to find something to stare at.

It seems the building that we’re to catch the concert in wasn’t too far away from the hotel, as it takes a short ten to fifteen minute drive for us to arrive. Instead of parking in the crowded lot of cars, he swings around the back and slides his little Audi into a space beside a Range Rover and a shimmering Mercedes. Then, he’s cutting the purring engine and whipping out his phone again. He types a quick something, his long fingers flying over the on-screen keys, and gets out, causing me to scramble after him.

But he’s not run off; he was making his way over to open my door and gives a shake of his head when he catches me flying out. “I’m not going to leave you, Delaney, and you should let me open your door. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

“I’ve told you that I’m not use to people being nice to me.”

“Guess I’ll have to change that while you’re with me, then.”

My eyes fly up as he murmurs those words and I nearly trip in my old shoes, but he steadies me with a big hand. Frowning, I pull away from him, growing uncomfortable with how he was starting to make me feel, and begin to observe part of the venue that we were entering in.

People are running everywhere, some with equipment, others with clipboards and headsets. But it’s not a big production, this gig isn’t; the stage that I come to see as we stop in one of the wings is small and there’s only one microphone and a stool. People have already filled up the empty floor beyond the stage and are impatiently chattering as they wait for Harry’s friend to come on.

“What’s your friends name again,” I ask, glancing up again.

“It’s Ed, love, and you must be Delaney.” Looking over my shoulder at the deeply accented voice, I quickly survey a messy redhead who appears out of the darkness dimming lights had cast over us. He grins widely, his slightly chubby face red as he shines light blue eyes down on my small figure. “Hey, mate,” he calls to Harry, who grins equally as big and pulls his friend into a boyish handshake.

“Yea, I’m Delaney,” I smile when the redhead turns his attention on me.

“Thought so. Harry’s been talking about you nonstop since yesterday.”

“Shut up, Ed,” Harry grumbles, which makes me chuckle.

“Well, I’ve got to go on. Can’t catch you after the show, mate,” he drawls, turning back to Harry. “They’ve got me flying back to London right after I finish, but I’ll see ya later, alright? It was nice to meet you, love!” And with that, he hits the stage and is greeted by a loud roar of screaming people.

“I like your friend,” I chuckle, watching as Ed picks up a guitar and settles himself on the stool.

“He can be a wanker sometimes, but he’s pretty good all ‘round, I suppose.”

I’m pulled into the melodies and tones of the song red has started to play then. I don’t catch the lyrics till a little while longer, once I’ve listened for a while, but when I do, tears pool in my eyes because I realize that he’s singing about a hooker. His friend was singing about me.