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Jack Celliers: Beautiful Eyes

Imagine your best friend/crush(Jack Celliers) discovers that you were a girl the whole time:

Jack Celliers, that's a name I haven't heard in quite a while. He was one of my closest friends, my best friend even, and he's the only one to ever figure out my secret.

The secret I try so hard to hide is that I am actually a girl, I just dress up and act like a boy so that I could go to the good schools, and eventually join the military. I don't know who my parents are since I've been on the streets my whole life; no one knew me before I put on my disguise, so it was the perfect idea, at least until I met Jack

I cut my hair short, but long enough that it will fringe over my forehead and in front of my eyes. I do this in fear that if I truly look someone in the eye, they may discover my horrid truth.

I have boyish features, a passably low pitch voice, wide shoulders, and a lean body, all of which aid me in keeping up appearances. I didn't have to wrap my chest when I was younger, but I started to when I reached my teenage years; this of course caused some problems, especially during physical education classes.

_______

The first time I met Jack was during my first day at school, no one knew me, and that was just how I liked it.

I had managed to get special entry into the school based on my high test scores, which are due to my self-education and extensive reading of all forms of literature. I hadn't been in a real school for years, and I was joining in at the age of 15; so I had grown into my more feminine features. Which seemed to solidify a permanent nervousness that emanated continuously throughout my bones.

Before I began my walk to school I looked in my broken mirror, rechecking the wrap around my chest to assure it was snug. I turned to the side and pulled my white uniform shirt tighter, just to make sure I was well hidden, and to my relief I was. Releasing a shaky breath I straightened my tie and shrugged on the gray jacket, smoothing it down before ruffling my hair and turning to leave.

The longer I walked the more my mind wandered. Do I still look convincing, my lips have filled out more, does my face look too feminine? I try not to smile or laugh as much, and I try to keep my talking to a minimum. Sometimes I'd accidentally break out of my facade, my true tone grabbing the attention of passersby; so I've learned to just not talk whenever possible.

_______

As I entered the school my attention was ensnared by the old charm of the buildings, the architecture, the plants, as well as the boyish atmosphere. I've never been in such a nice place before, I lived in an abandoned building most of my life, so this school feels like heaven.

I was so busy observing everything that I ended up tripping, having gotten my foot caught on a stone; I was about a second away from slamming into a brick wall when strong hands surprisingly grasped my shoulders at the last moment. They pulled me back up and safely onto my feet before relinquishing their grip, I felt anxious as I began to turn around, the stumble already had my heart racing.

The face I met was not what I expected - he looked to be about my age, and unlike most boys, he had a boisterously bright shade of blond hair. I had to look up a bit to greet him, but when I did, I found myself unable to speak. He was beautiful, his skin was light, and his eyes the most calming blue. I immediately noticed a slight peculiarity in his left pupil, but quickly shook myself, having realized that I'd been staring blankly for a few seconds.

I'm about to speak, but he beats me to it.

"Careful there, can't have you hurting yourself on your first day." His accented voice rings out through the noisy environment, and his face adorns a lovely smile with crooked teeth. I'm so entranced by him that I overlook how he knows it's my first day, instead anxiously attempting to form a response.

"Thank you, I really should pay more attention next time." My voice is a little shaky, and I get a nervous chill when I realize that I didn't lower my tone enough. His expression goes from welcoming to curious - maybe even slightly cautious, and a glint of something streamed through his eyes, but it was gone before I could interpret it. His head tilts slightly to the side as he silently gazes at me for a few seconds.

"It's alright, no harm done. Now what's your name? I'm Jack Celliers." He reaches out his hand, the grin reappearing on his face. I force my nervousness away as much as possible, reaching out my hand and carefully shaking his.

"Hello Jack, I'm Shiloh, Shiloh Carmichael."

_______

That was the day I knew I had met my best friend, he was always there for me, helping me with things that I didn't understand, especially when it came to maths and sciences. We were in the same year, which helped out a lot as we had a lot of classes together. I'd end up helping him as well, mainly with literature and history.

It took me a while to open up to him about my past - 2 years to be exact, but I eventually told him of my situation. How I have no memory of my family, that I live in an abandoned and crumbling building, how I learned everything from staying up at unreasonable hours reading as much as possible, how I only have two other pairs of clothing, and that I have to beg for enough money just to get them washed.

Needless to say, he became quite distressed and worried about my situation; don't even get me started on his reaction to learning that my first real meal was the school lunch I ate on my first day. My heart raced at the worry he was displaying for me, I wanted him to care for me, but not in the friendship way. I try to bury those thoughts though, he thinks I'm a boy, there's no way he would ever care for me the way I want him to.

_______

I scrambled into class just before the bell rang, my body shaking with adrenaline as the teacher harshly glared at me, telling me to take my seat in a curt tone. I nod my head as I rush to my seat, Jack immediately looks to me, offering a smile before returning his attention to the teacher.

I was unable to pay attention to any of my lessons, my mind kept straying to what happened last night. I had walked back into my 'home' after a tiring day of school that was followed by Jack talking me into playing a couple of sports games with him and his friends. I just wanted to fall onto my raggedy mattress and drift away, but the sight I was met with was a group of about 3 men.

They were all much larger than me, and ransacking through what little possessions I had. They all turned their heads to me, eyeing my backpack and nice uniform, glancing at one another before grimly smirking at me. One reached into his pants pocket and flicked out a switchblade, but before they could even take a step towards me I had bolted out of the building.

This isn't the first time this has happened to me, but it is no less scary; the last time I was caught they took everything but the clothes on my back.

Being a teen now, I hoped they would give up, but they chased me for a good while, almost catching me a couple of times, but they eventually gave up. I had run into a small store along a busy street, my lungs felt like they had been ripped in half, and my feet were about ready to fall off.

I had nowhere to sleep that night, and I had lost all my other clothes, meaning I was going to be stuck in this uniform for a while. I had taken my chest wrap off when I started walking home too, and I ditched it as soon as I took off, so I'm in a bit of a rough spot. This means that I have my shoulders constantly pushed forward, and my jacket buttoned all the way up today.

As lunch lolled around, I found myself sitting on the stairs away from the lunch hall. I just wanted some alone time to think, to try and figure out how to get spare clothes and a new place to stay. I'm sucked out of my thoughts by something landing in my lap, I glance down to see a soft, fuzzy looking peach. Staring up in confusion, I am met by the concerned gaze of Jack as he offers a quiet greeting. I want to respond, but I really have nothing to say at the moment.

After a second of no response he sighs, dropping himself onto the stair next to me, his elbows resting on his knees as he looks over to me. I, of course, avoid his gaze at all costs, only finally giving in after a few minutes of silence.

"What's wrong Shiloh? You haven't said a word all day, and now you're skipping lunch, you never skip lunch." His voice is concerned, he's sitting so close to me I almost want to blush, but I know I can't allow that.

"Jack... I'm f-" I begin, about to say I was just feeling tired from sports yesterday, but got cut off by him.

"Don't tell me a lie." His accented tone was sharp, almost warning me that there would be consequences. I shy away from him now, he's never talked to me like this, I don't want him to be angry at me, and I know lying will only aggravate him further.

"...When I got 'home' last night.. There were some people there." My sentence comes out hesitantly as I tentatively look at his stoic face, the sternness quickly shifting to concern.

"What?" His voice raises in surprise, he shifts his body to face me as I continue.

"To cut a long story short, I don't have any place to stay, and the only clothes I have are the ones I'm wearing. Everything else is theirs now... I'm just glad they didn't catch me to-"

"Catch you! You mean they chased you!" The shock in his voice is evident, but not as obvious as the distress that's radiating off him in waves.

A silence settles over us as his eyes shift from me to the floor, wringing his hands as he thinks, his mind seems to be running a mile a minute.

"You can stay with me." It takes me a few seconds to acknowledge that he actually just said that. My head snaps towards him, I can't help but be stunned. I open my mouth to argue, but the look he gives me tells me that he won't take 'no' for an answer.

My eyes dart to the floor, a moment passing before I release a sigh and reluctantly accept his offer.

_______

I tried to slip out of school before Jack could stop me; I thought it would be easy to disappear amongst the throng of students, but the hold on my arm tells me something different. I turn to see Jack giving me a warning look, his serene blue eyes holding a protective element in them. I turn my gaze to the students leaving before lowering my head, allowing Jack to lead me away.

The whole day I've felt on edge, maybe because I don't have a chest wrap on today, maybe it's because I didn't sleep last night. Or perhaps it's because I am undeniably attracted to Jack and now he's having me live with him and his family until further notice. How am I supposed to hide my true self now? How am I supposed to hide my love for him? It certainly doesn't help that he towers over me, all the boys at school say I'm short, but at 5 foot 6 I am the average height for a woman.

"I called my parents during break, they're fine with you staying with us, but they need the living room and guest room clear, so we'll be sharing my room." I swear my heart was trying to rip itself out of my chest with how hard it was beating, and I could feel my breath getting caught in my throat, but I tried to cover it with a cough before nodding my head 'okay'.

We stay silent the rest of the time, but I could tell that Jack had something on his mind that he desperately wanted to say, and it's making me nervous.

_______

Jack said his parents and brother were out until tomorrow evening, so we spent our time exploring the house; him showing me his room, the kitchen, where the bathroom and laundry rooms are, as well as showing me the garden. I could tell he was surprised when my face lit up at seeing the beautiful plants. I was so caught up that I grabbed his hand and dragged him around as I named all the plants as well as little facts about them. I couldn't see it, but he had a warm smile on his face as well as a light blush dusting his cheeks.

We spent our time sitting in the garden, doing our homework underneath the shade of the trees. Him helping me with my maths, myself helping him with his literature homework, he always seems to have trouble understanding the assigned chapters.

The sun was beating down a little harsher than usual for this season, and the jackets were making us a little stuffy. I shrugged mine off without a second thought, Jack doing the same thing, he turns and places his jacket beside him while talking to me about the passage. As he looks back towards me he suddenly halts mid-sentence. I look towards him in confusion, but his gaze seems to be even more confused as he looks from my face to my chest in a quick succession.

My entire body goes rigid as I realize my fatal mistake, quickly grabbing my jacket and wrapping it back around me. My breathing stutters as I hurriedly shove my books into my backpack before I hurriedly start walking away. Jack sits there for a second in shock at this revelation before bolting up, running towards me as I too had now begun to run.

I should've known better than to try and run from Jack for he catches me in no time, tightly holding my wrist as he pulls me back towards his house. I tried everything from sitting down to biting him, but nothing stopped him as he dragged me inside, only releasing me to shut and lock the door.

I drop my bag and bolt through the house and up the stairs, trying to find some escape; in my delirium I corner myself in his bedroom. I can hear him right behind me, slamming his bedroom door shut as he grabs both my wrists and pushes me back to the wall. I don't know what to think, he's probably just as confused as I am - maybe even a little angry. I'm also terrified, I could lose my best friend right now.

He hasn't said a thing to me the entire time, and now all the stress and anxiety is just too high, so high that I find myself no longer able to hold back the river of tears. I turn my head to the side, not wanting him to see me in such a weak and vulnerable state. His grip loosens as he surveys the situation, unsure of how to react, especially after what has just occurred.

"Don't.. Please, don't cry, Shiloh." His voice is soft, softer than I've ever heard him speak before, and his tone seems different than his normal caring one. I turn my head away from him even further, but he gently places a hand against my jaw, tenderly turning me to face him. I shut my eyes tightly, fearful of what I might see.

"Open your eyes darling." My eyes open slowly in shock, him calling me 'darling' sets my chest a flare as my attraction for him comes forward with a vengeance, my cheeks burning with a crimson blush, my tears slowing as I gaze up into his doting eyes. My hair still drapes over my eyes, obstructing our eye contact - something that he quickly fixes.

Gently raising his other hand, softly combing his fingers through my hair as he brushes it to the side. My breathing is shallow as I gaze deeply into his eyes, his cheeks also seem to be tinted red as he smiles affectionately at me.

"Much better, I've been wondering what your beautiful eyes looked like."

Jack Celliers: Sadie

Imagine your husband(Jack) finds you in the POW camp:

I've been here for so long that the beatings don't seem to hurt anymore. It's like I'm not quite in my body anymore, instead I'm watching it, almost as though I'm just an onlooker.

I don't know how I managed to get here, all I know is that I tricked my military into thinking I was a man, and next thing you know I'm out here fighting a war, only to be caught. My trial was short, I was nearly sentenced to death, but by a stroke of luck I was detained as a prisoner of war. That's not to say that I feel lucky, most definitely not, you have no idea how hard it is to hide being a female when you are a prisoner.

I've lost so much weight that I no longer have my period, so that is a big help, but I also know that this quick weight loss is incredibly unhealthy. Now the only issues I have include hiding the fact that I wrap my chest, as well as making sure that I consistently lower my tone.

I don't socialize too much with the other soldiers, I barely even talk to Lawrence, and the only reason I do is because he goes out of his way to initiate conversations with me. I think he has assumptions about my true identity, he does have quite the analytical mind, and I would have to be an award winning actress to pull the wool over his eyes; but as of yet he has made no mention of this towards me, my only evidence being the cautious glances as well as a sudden protective nature.

_______

I can't say for sure how long I've been here, but I know it's been at least a couple of months now. I've gotten closer with Lawrence, no longer minding our occasional chats. I seem to be the preferred punching bag for the guards, so I told Lawrence early on, that should anything ever happen to me, I want only him to treat me; I don't care how bad my injuries are, only he is allowed to treat me.

This is the third time this week I've ended up in our makeshift hospital, no one but Lawrence will even come near me in fear that my bad luck might rub off on them. I'm more than sure Lawrence knows I'm a woman, but he still hasn't said a thing about it to me.

All I know is that I can trust him... I hope.

_______

Lawrence's POV:

Bailey Stevens... quite a good soldier from what I remember, but I barely know him really, or should I say 'her'; because I obviously know that this soldier is a woman, and I suspect that she knows of my assumptions.

She's extremely reserved, which is expected from everything she's been put through; the guards here seem to love beating on her. I'm not sure whether it's due to her being physically smaller than everyone, or because she has an intrinsic need to act; probably both.

I can't help but feel a need to protect her, she's like the rebellious sister I never had. I can't allow the Japanese - or anyone for that matter - to figure out that she is a woman. Who knows what they would do to her.

_______

She's been unconscious for a couple of days now, only having brief periods of consciousness where she might drink some water, or says 'hello' before going back under. I don't know what to do anymore, I've told our doctor everything, and I've done everything he's told me to do, but she still sleeps the days away.

To add on, I've got another friend here now, Maj. Jack Celliers, another determined soldier who was born to act. I know I'll have my hands full with these two when they both get back on their feet.

__

It's late into the night when her form begins to stir, I quickly sit up, wondering if today will be the day her strength returns. I must admit that I've missed her rebellious spirit, though I also fear how she will react to having possibly lost sight in her right eye.

Her eye flutters open, wandering around the rundown building before focusing on me. She tugs the covers tightly against her chest, and I can see the underlying fear emanating from within her gaze, I can only offer her a soft smile to try and calm her down.

"I know Bailey... I know. No need to worry, your secret is safe with me." My tone is gentle and friendly, and I can see her body losing the tension that had been building. Releasing a quiet sigh before bringing a hand up to her face, gently running her fingers over the gauze covering her right eye. I feel my body slightly go rigid as she looks to me for an explanation.

"Bailey, during your last beating... you were struck quite a few times to the head... It caught you right in the eye. We're not sure whether you'll have sight in it when it's healed...I'm sorry."

_______

Bailey Stevens' POV:

My chest tightens at the explanation, knowing you might lose sight in one of your eyes is an incredibly scary thing to be told. Especially in a place like this where surviving is already hard. I raise my gaze to Lawrence and see the sadness in his eyes, he looks ashamed of telling me about my injuries, almost as if feeling at fault.

I reach out my left hand, softly resting it atop his.

"It's alright, it's not your fault." I offer him a gentle smile as he gives me his own. Our moment is interrupted by the groaning of another person, I look to him in question as to who it is. He responds with another smile before shaking his head.

"That's another troublemaker quite like yourself, Bailey." His voice contains a sad humor in it, one that makes me want to laugh and frown at the same time.

"What's his name?" My voice is a whisper, but I have switched to my normal tone, it feels refreshing not having to hide who I am.

"That would be Jack Celliers. He quite reminds me of you actually, almost ironically." His tone once again holds that same gloomy humor. I however feel my eyes widen in shock as I hear his name, my heart rate increasing at the thought of it being my Jack Celliers.

"Jack Celliers?" My voice holds confusion as well as surprise, I never thought I would see him again until the war ended, that or in heaven. When he left for the war, I knew he might never return, so I put on my disguise and rolled the dice. It's been so long that I thought I might never see him again, but here we both are, stuck in the same POW camp.

"Yes.... Do you know him?" Lawrence looks confused at first, but upon seeing the worry on my face, he quickly contorts into a knowing gaze; a small smirk grazing his features at my lack of response.

"Ahh, so you do know him." His voice raises above a whisper slightly, and I quickly shush him, not wanting anyone to wake up and hear our conversation.

"Yes... Yes, I do know him. Is he alright? What's happened to him? Is he going to be oka-"

"Slow down there Bailey... When he arrived his condition was just as bad as yours, but the doctors say he's recovering quite well and will be good as new soon." My whole body relaxes at hearing he's getting better and will be alright. As I lean back, a strong sense of sleepiness rushes over me, that and the pain of my beatings; but I've never fought harder in my life to keep my eyes open, I know Lawrence can tell I'm struggling.

"Is there anything you might want me to tell him should he wake up before you?" He speaks quickly, wanting to give me enough time to respond before I lose consciousness.

"Tell him.. tell him Sadie says 'hi'." You can practically hear my smile as I tell him to use my real name. He also gives me a smile, and that's the last thing I see before darkness consumes my vision once more.

_______

Lawrence's POV:

Sadie, what an oddly fitting name for the girl who acts to survive.

I quietly walk over to Jack's bed to see if he's is awake. I'm not sure this is the best time to tell him, but at the same time, who am I to withhold this information.

As I reach his secluded sleeping arrangement, I watch as he turns slightly, his eyes fluttering open. Recognition flows through them as we look at each other.

"Hello Jack."

"Lawrence." His voice is gravely, and I can tell his body is exhausted. I slowly sit on the bed beside his own, rubbing my hands together in thought. He looks at me as he awaits what I am clearly contemplating saying.

"Jack... Is there the possibility that you know someone named Sadie?" My voice is hesitant as I speak, but the look of recognition over hearing her name immediately tells me everything I need to know. He carefully nods his head, his eyes now fixed on me with a new sense of focus.

"I only ask because another soldier recognized your name and asked me to tell you 'hello'." I can see the confusion swirl in his mind as to how another soldier knew your name, or why they would ask me to say 'hello'.

"Jack... That soldier is a woman, who goes by the name of Sadie, and claims to know you. Is there something I should know?" When he hears that the said soldier is a woman, his body jolts forward, not only in shock, but concern as well. I don't know their past, but the way they react to hearing about each other tells me they are much more than friends.

"I have to see her." Jack gasps, hurriedly stumbling to get out of his bed. I immediately rush forward, providing support for him as he attempts to stand.

"Are you sure about doing this right now? How about in the morni-"

"No, I need to see her. NOW." He doesn't raise his voice at all throughout his sentence, but the way he speaks is with such conviction, such certainty and determination that I know there will be no talking him out of this. I hesitantly nod my head, helping him walk over to her own secluded sleeping area, carefully setting him down on the bed beside hers.

He just sits there, staring longingly at her unconscious form. He looks sad, depressed even, at the sight of her. His hand slowly reaches out, softly gliding his fingers over the rough gauze that covers the right half of her face.

"How... What happened?" His tone exudes concern, but his face remains stoic.

"She tried to stop the guards from harming another soldier, I suppose you could say she got their attention." My sentence is formatted in a humorous way, but my tone remains serious. She nearly died from this, I don't find anything about that to be funny.

Jack sat there for a few more moments, just silently thinking to himself as his fingers continuously drift along the gauze.

"Will she be alright?" His tone is slightly higher, like what happens when your throat tightens up in the early stages of despair. I can tell that seeing Sadie like this brings him immense pain, maybe even guilt, but I know that he probably doesn't want me to bring it up.

"She's quite the fighter, just like you. The doctor says she should be fine, but we have no conclusive evidence on what will happen to her eye. Odds are 50/50." I try not to sugarcoat anything, but I also try to be respectful of what I say. This is the woman he loves, the last thing he needs to hear is that she might not make it.

Jack solemnly nods his head. I move forward to help move him back to his bed when he suddenly looks up to me.

"Can I stay here? In this bed?" His eyes are pleading for me to say yes, and I know that if the woman I loved were here, I too would want to stay right next to her.

"... Alright, you can stay here. But there are some things you should know first. No one else but us two know that she is a woman, alright? And she goes by the name Bailey Stevens, so when she does come around, and others are awake, just call her Bailey, alright?" Jack's eyes burn with curiosity at hearing her chosen name, but he nods his head in understanding.

I say goodnight to him, before turning and walking off a little bit. Slightly intrigued, I turn and watch from afar as Jack gently kisses one of her hands before laying down in his own bed, not once facing away from her. My mind only has one thought running through it the entire time:

"This could either be really good, or really bad."

David Bowie: Sun Rays to Rainy Days

Imagine not liking David Bowie, and running into him during your stay in New York:

David Bowie, an amazing musician and actor, but also my worst enemy.

Why? Let's just say he said some not so flattering things about me to the press and wrote a not so flattering song that criticized pretty much my entire life. We haven't even met in real life, so I'm not sure where he gets off on the idea that anything he says about me holds meaning or truth.

I just really want to ask him what prompted him to write and say such cruel things about me, but I'm getting ahead of myself. My name is Y/N L/N, and I'm an American musician, my genres include hard rock, punk, alternative rock, and art rock; I would say I'm a fairly famous musician in the US and across Europe.

———————

The sky was unrealistically blue this early New York morning, like God had woken up and decided that only the bluest of blue would do today.

Most people enjoy blue skies, but being raised in California makes you either adore or detest them with an undying passion. I personally love rainy weather, so this day is already starting off on the wrong foot.

Checking the clock I sigh in wariness, already feeling tired even though I just woke up. I've been feeling anxious every time I wake up, this only started earlier this year due to the fact that a certain idol of mine has been voicing their negative opinion on me.

I'd normally brush it off and say 'fuck them', but this is David Bowie we're talking about. I love his music, I love his story, most importantly how he went through so many hardships yet still pushed forward.

Now I just regret ever thinking any of this was a good idea, sure all the money is nice, but all my relationships fell through. They started expecting me to pay for everything, wanting me to take them on expensive vacations and get them expensive gifts; now my idol feels the need to hate me as well? Just great.

I'm shook from my thoughts by the stern but smooth voice of my manager. He's a nice man, kind of reminds me of my father in his overall outward aura of professionalism, but a sharp streak of eccentricity shows when you really get to know him.

"Y/N, you've got an interview at 5, that should give you a couple of hours to wander around. Please keep your disguise on this time, I don't need a repeat of London." My manager exclaims with a humorous smile, my face burning in embarrassment at the memory of London. I had been wandering the streets and stupidly decided that it was late enough that no one would be able to recognize me, also being naive and believing I wasn't famous enough to be recognized yet ... Oh how wrong I was. The crowd that formed filled up the streets, I was newly famous, so I didn't expect anyone to recognize me, but the world felt the need to prove me wrong.

"No need to worry, I learned my lesson." I smile sheepishly, he softly pats my shoulder before leaving my hotel room.

Glancing in the mirror I swiftly start fixing my hair and checking my outfit, my mind wandering to my plans. I'm meeting an interviewer today, he's supposed to be a bit of an aggressive one, a little rude from what I've seen, and no questions are out of bounds.

To say I'm a little nervous is an understatement, this is the first interview I've accepted in my 3 years of stardom, so I'm sure he'll be extra aggressive in order to get as many details as possible. I just hope he doesn't bring up the conflict with Bowie, because I really don't have a reason as to how that even started.

———————

My day hasn't actually been that bad, no one has recognized me, so I just got to spend the day as a normal person. I moseyed along the sidewalks, just taking in the hectic environment that is New York. I've been walking around for quite a bit now, stopping in some stores and looking for interesting books to read in my off-time.

I've just bought a sketchbook and some pens when I notice some people that set me on edge. They're about 10 feet away from me, and they're giving me the "is that who I think it is" look. I gulp stiffly as a nervous chill passes down my spine, quickly thanking the cashier as I grab my things and stumble out of the store.

Looking back I can see them follow me, one of them shouting out to me.

"Are you Y/N L/N?" My throat tightens up, I look around frantically, and my fears seem to be coming true. The people on the crowded sidewalks immediately turn their heads at hearing my name. I can see some look for a little, clearly being confused before seeing through my disguise and noticing that it is me.

People start rushing forward, holding out things and excitedly asking for an autograph, something that I usually oblige to, but I am currently in a New York street with no security and no cellphone.

I'm being surrounded, some people are grabbing my shoulders, some pulling on the sleeves of my jacket in the hopes of gaining my attention. All it does is make me frightened, the London event gave me a permanent fear of crowds. I can feel myself start to hyperventilate, all the shouts are turning into one sound, it's so loud yet so quiet at the same time.

My mind is so distorted that I don't even notice I've been running, shoving my way out and being dreadfully aware of how they chase me. Camera flashes are coming from every direction, as are new people fanatically asking for an autograph or a picture; it's all so scary. Why do these people chase me? Why do they swarm around me to get some ink lines on a piece of paper? Why?

I turn a corner in hopes of slickly escaping, but suddenly find myself on the floor, having run into a rather solid chest. I exclaim an apology as I messily stand up, trying to make a run for it, but the person already has a hold on my arms to stop my escape.

"Hold on darling, what are you running from?" I recognize that voice, I look up and want to gasp in both surprise and fear, but the reappearance of the crowd stops me.

"That." I state, staring at the crowd and beginning to hyperventilate again, but I'm stopped when I find myself being swiftly dragged away. I have a hard time keeping up, he is about 5 inches taller than me after all, so he's like one step to every two of mine.

I don't know where he's taking me at first, but when I see the awaiting limo I find myself rushing forward in a burst of speed; dragging him next to me.

He does slap my hand away from the door before opening it and ushering me in before entering.

"Hello John, can you get us out of here." His accented tone is stressed, but still maintains an air of control. I used to love that voice, but now it makes me uncomfortable being so close to him and having to hear him in real life.

I move away from him, pushing myself up against the opposite door and looking at anything but him. The crowd was about 3 yards away when the limo screeched forward, my body finally releasing some of its rigidity as I see them disappear the longer we drive.

I close my eyes, leaning back in my seat as the exhaustion sweeps through me. I rest my hand against my forehead in frustration, in the next hour, all of New York will know I was spotted here and come looking for me. How am I supposed to get in contact with my manager, I don't have a cell, and I can't go asking strangers to borrow theirs.

My mind wants to continue its frustrated tirade, but I am startled out of it by a large hand softly tapping my shoulder. I look over and see a curious David Bowie, offering me a sheepish smile at having distracted me.

"Allo luv." His lovely voice politely rings through the car, I almost want to ask him if he'll write a song with me, but then the harsh reality of everything he's said smacks me in the face.

"Don't call me that." I didn't snap, but my voice was stern, letting him know that this is going to be a tense conversation. His smile falters, clearly not used to being met with such disdain.

"Well... What did you do to get that crowd chasing you?" He brushes off our tense beginning, clearly still curious as to why I was being chased. I glance into his calming eyes and realize he doesn't recognize me, or at least that's what I'm assuming. If he did recognize me, I doubt he would've ushered me into his limo so quickly.

"I don't think we've been formally introduced. My name is Y/N L/N." He raises his eyebrows in surprise at my sudden words, but his face is now cautious, looking at me as though I've just lied straight to his face. Sighing in irritation I pull off my gray fedora and sunglasses before gently removing my wig to show my short hair. He sits back in shock, facing away from me as his eyes fall to his hands.

"... Oh." The car falls back into silence, he clearly doesn't know how to respond. I roll my eyes as I shove the wig into my handbag, hooking the glasses to my shirt before replacing the hat back upon my head. I feel slightly flustered at being saved by him, I should at least thank him, but I think that can wait until I get out of the car.

"...Um. Where would you like me to go, sir?" David looks startled from his haze, quickly glancing to me before back to his driver. He's about to speak when a loud noise startles everyone in the car, closely followed by the sharp hits of water on the windshield. I immediately look out the window, being met with the unexpected view of storm clouds completely filling the once blue sky. I want to smile, I love rain and thunder, but I have no idea what my address is, and I am certainly not dressed for the rain.

"What? Don't like rain Mrs.L/N?" David's irritatingly attractive voice grabs my attention. I look over to him before back to the rain.

"No.. I actually love the rain, and it's Miss, not Mrs." I respond, watching as the rain drops drizzle down the windows. The people on the streets hurriedly running for cover, seemingly as surprised by the rain as I am.

"Drop me off on that street corner, I'll find my way home from there." I say, not looking at David or the driver.

"What do you mean you'll find your way home? Don't you know your address?" David's voice is clearly distressed at the thought of just dropping me off on the corner of a random street. It's my turn to sheepishly smile, scratching the back of my head as I shake my head 'no'. The driver pulls the car over, coming to halt on a quiet street.

I reach my hand over to the handle, but I'm interrupted by David grabbing arm, his grasp gently but firm. His looks so concerned that I almost pity him.

"Don't go, at least let me drop you off at a restaurant or something... " His sentence drops off at the end, clearly hoping I'll give in, but I am in no mood to deal with any of this today. I pull myself from his grasp, opening the door and stepping out; the cold rain sends a refreshing chill down my spine. I turn away, readjusting my hat and bag, much too busy to notice David getting out after me.

"It's much too cold for you out here darling. Let me drop you somewhere safer than this at least." I can tell he's getting desperate at this point, but it really only makes me angry. How dare he say these things to me after bad mouthing me.

"How dare you act like you care about me." My words are unexpected to both of us, I didn't mean to speak my thoughts, but I guess I can't stop now. I turn around and face him, having to look up at his face due to the unfair height difference.

"You say the most awful things about me to the press, you make fun of my music, then you make fun of my life choices? Now you stand here acting all worried about my well-being?" My voice is equally as distressed as his expression, he clearly wasn't expecting my aggressive response. I take a step forward into his personal space, poking my pointer finger harshly against his chest as I glare into his eyes.

"You were one of the people I looked up to. We had never even met when I randomly heard you say I was some whore who somehow worked her way up to the top." My words are slurring, and my eyes are burning a bit. I don't know why I'm getting so emotional, maybe it's because I was so heartbroken at hearing him kick dirt on my name, or maybe it's because I stupidly gave his opinion a place in my mind.

I didn't even notice that my tears had escaped my eyes and were carving paths down my face until he brought his hands up to cup my jaw. His touch was so gentle as he wiped away my tears, so excessively tender I started to think I was made of thin glass that could be snapped in half.

"I was scared... I was scared, okay? And I know that's not an excuse, and I am sorry." His tone feels rushed yet hesitant, like he doesn't want me to even think about running off. I look straight into his eyes, finally seeing the guilt coursing through them in waves.

"Scared? Of what?" I'm so confused, why would he ever be scared of me? I was only barely a celebrity when he said those remarks, I was no threat.

"You... God, I was scared of you Y/N. You and your lovely young face, with your beautiful voice." He smiles, almost as though finally coming to a realization. I want to speak, but he continues.

"You came out of nowhere and took the world for a spin, I know you don't think you're very famous, but the entire world knows your name darling. You did that in such a small amount of time, I couldn't help but feel I would be forgotten. I know that it is a selfish thing to do, but I promise I'll make it right." I still feel unsure,

"How can I ever trust you, I admired you and you shoved that in my face." I back up and away from him, my arms wrapping around my body in search of both comfort and warmth.

"Well, I guess you'll only know if you give me the chance." His expression is so vulnerable and honest, his hair falling slightly into his face as he tilts his head down towards mine.

"Please, darling... Come with me, let me show you I'm not the awful prick you think I am." His surprisingly warm hands enclose around mine, their warmth causing the rest of my body to shiver, finally acknowledging the fact that we've been letting the rain drench our bodies for about 7 minutes now.

All I can do is nod my head as he brings an arm around my shoulders, quickly leading me back to the awaiting car. Helping me first before following after. I shiver weakly, David notices and has our driver turn the heat up, but we both know it'll do very little.

"Oh I'm sorry darling, let me take you back to mine and we'll get you a fresh change of clothes." I don't know why I'm suddenly so quiet, but all I can really do in response is nod my head. I take my wet hat off, tossing it down near my feet before once again wrapping my arms around myself.

———————

David Bowie's POV:

Oh, she looks so small all hunched over and wrapped in herself. I still feel guilty about what I'd said about her, I had no right making any of those claims, it was disgustingly immature what I did. All I know is that I need to make it up to her.

I must admit that I didn't expect to meet her today, I didn't even know she lived in New York.

"Do you live here Y/N? Maybe we could go to yours instead if you prefer?"

"No, I've been in a hotel, only got here 2 days ago and never made the effort to remember it's name." Ah, well, that's good to know. Looking back over to her I see her still shivering, clearly the heater is doing nothing for her. I shrug off my wet coat and shove it to the side before shifting closer to her and wrapping her up in my arms. Her body stiffens at the contact, but I can tell my body warmth is attractive to her from the way she pushes into me.

"Is this alright, love?" I don't know why I keep calling her these pet names, maybe it's because I like making her flustered. I feel her nod her head 'yes', I smile as I rest my head lightly atop hers. We stay like that until we stop in front of my hotel.

Grabbing my jacket I quickly wrap it around her small form, she opens her mouth to protest, but I silence her with my stern gaze. I swipe her hat from her hands and carefully place it atop her head, giving her a gentle smile before hopping out of the car helping her out.

We rush through the rain, laughing as we go, I hold the door open and usher her inside. We look so messy and out of place in this fancy hotel, but I ignore the looks we get, instead opting to gaze adoringly at this spit-fire of a woman I have on my arm. As we get in the elevator and wait for my floor she starts to shrug off my coat, but I quickly grab it and pull it back onto her shoulders.

"Don't, it looks better on you anyways." She drops her head down as she blushes, I can't believe I somehow got her to go from hating me to blushing at my compliments, all I know is that I want to compliment and make her blush for the rest of my life.

I step back from her as the elevator doors open, resting my hand on Y/N's back as I walk her in the direction of my room. The poor girl is still shivering, I hope she finds my clothes to be to her liking.

———————

Y/N's POV:

I'm still trying to wrap my head around how this man, this man who made me feel like absolute shit, now offers me his jacket and compliments that make my face blush a deep rose. I hope this is real, I don't think I can go back to hating him after all of this.

I'm dragged out of my thoughts by him gently pulling me into his room. Carefully slipping off the thick wet coat and hanging it up before turning back to me.

"Alright luv, I'll take you to my room and you can pick the clothes." His voice, God, his voice. I hate to admit it, but hearing his accent in-person just makes him even more attractive. All I can offer him is a gentle nod, his lips turning up into a sweet smile and he grabs my hand, leading me to his room. Opening the closet I see a wide array of clothes, ranging from incredibly posh to walk-out-of-bed to get a glass of milk clothes, I can't help but blush at the thought of him just lazily getting out of bed in the middle of the night for a midnight snack.

"What are you blushing at?" His tone is teasing as he gives me a humorous grin, his shoulder playfully bumping against my own. I can only shake my head in embarrassment as I glance away from him and back to the wardrobe.

"Oh, I can't pick... You choose." I suddenly state, backing up and softly pushing him forward. He seems generally surprised by what I say, but shakes it off as he now thinks about his new task. He rests against the wall and looks at me for a minute or so, just running his eyes across me in an oddly calculating way. He sharply turns away from me and starts rifling through his closet, searching for the perfect clothes, but suddenly stops and turns back to me.

"Don't you have an interview today?" My eyes widened in shock, how could I have forgotten. I glance towards the clock on his bedside table, my interview is in 30 minutes.

"It's in 30 minutes! What am I supposed to do?" I want to cry, this interview is very important publicity for my upcoming album. My eyes burn with tears of frustration, but I find myself distracted by the warm embrace of David, it's oddly comforting.

"Now don't you worry about the clothes, I'll pick something out while you go call your manager and get the address for your interview." He states, pulling back and looking at me reassuringly.

"What do you mean? My manager will never let me go on unless everything is perfect." I don't mean to argue, but I know my manager is a perfectionist, and will surely yell my ear off for putting myself in this position.

"Darling, either you go with what you have, or you miss the interview." I open my mouth in a weak attempt to argue, but I stop, knowing he's right. I nod my head and rush to the phone, hoping David chooses those clothes quickly.

I messily dial up my manager, and as soon as they pick up, I can sense their rush of concern.

"Honey where have you been? Your interview is in less than 30 minutes!" His usually calm tone is higher as he clearly has been worried about my whereabouts.

"I know I know, and I'm so sorry I didn't call sooner. I just... I was out, and people recognized m-" I get cut off before I can finish my sentence.

"They what! Did you take off your disguise?" He sounds so worried, I feel really guilty at making him feel this way, but I would rather I tell him than have him find out via the news.

"No, people saw through it!"

"Well, are you okay? I know how you get in crowds, did you make it out alright?" The worry and concern emanating through his voice lets me know he really wants to give me a hug, and he probably needs one too. I remember the fear and concern when he had to get me out of that London crowd, gosh he was more scared than I was.

"I'm surprisingly alright, but that's really only because I got saved." I say quietly, I leave out the fact that David Bowie saved me because I don't know how my manager will react. He was there with me when David said I was a whore to the press, so I'm not sure that he'll be as quick to forgive him as I was.

"Saved? By who?" His voice suddenly goes from concern to curiosity, oh I hope he doesn't scream when I bring David with me.

"I'll introduce you both at the interview... On that note, can you tell me the address, I promise I'll be there on time."

"Alright Y/N, just please stop giving me heart attacks." This last sentence is humorous, yet completely serious at the same time. I can hear the sincerity, and I hope that I never put him through this again.

"I promise nothing." I reply sassily, writing down the address he tells me. I turn and hurriedly walk back to David's room, accidentally running into him and falling back to the floor. I glance up in surprise as he does the same to me, I can't help but be taken back to the same scenario that happened earlier today.

"I think we've been here before darling." David laughs as I smile humorously at the situation. He offers his hand and pulls me up with a little too much strength, resulting in me falling against his chest. I can feel myself blush furiously as I go to push myself away from him, but find myself trapped by his arms encircling my waist.

He holds me there for a few moments before gently releasing me and motioning to the clothes on his bed. I don't even spare them a glance as I grab them and walk into the bathroom, changing swiftly before looking at myself in the mirror. I was in one of his blue dress shirts with some fancy brown shoes, and some straight legged ivory pants. Everything is big on me, and I feel overdressed, I usually don't care how I look, and dress in a t-shirt, jeans; but David really has me dressing up.

I hesitantly open the bathroom door with my eyes on the floor, hearing David hurriedly stand from his spot on the bed. We stand in silence for about a minute, and I go to shy away from him, but he steps forward and holds me in place.

"I look such a mess don't I? I-" I criticize my appearance, but he gently cuts me off.

"I like seeing you in my clothes." His voice is just above a whisper, and he sounds so attractively honest that I glance up from my shoes and to his face. I immediately notice that we are only a few inches away from one another, and I can't help but look away from him.

I turn back to say something when his hand suddenly reaches up to cup my face, instantly grabbing my attention. I look at him, noticing how adoringly he gazes into my eyes, and I can't help but close my eyes. His lips gently graze my own, he seems to hold back meeting me fully, assumingly afraid of how I react. To stop his assumptions I lean forward and meet his retreating form, himself immediately responding.

We pull back, and I shyly look to the side, seeing him smile in my peripheral vision as he leans down and softly kisses my cheek. My blush comes back with a vengeance, and I can hear him chuckle at the way I respond to him. We pull apart slightly, he offers me a warm smile before checking the time.

"Oh, we better get going, love. We have about 10 minutes to get there, and it's a 5 minute drive." I nod my head, allowing him to hold my hand as we walk out of his room.

———————

Arriving at the interview I wait in anxiousness as David walks around the car and opens the door for me, holding my hand delicately as we walk towards the building. We suddenly stop as he looks towards me and then himself, releasing my hand as he starts to take off his coat.

I go to object, but he pays it no mind, holding it out for me, and helping slip it on. I can't help but feel so in-love at the moment, and it's funny because he's the last person I thought would be treating me like this.

"You look good, I think I want to see you in my shirts more often." His voice is so charming and natural as the cheeky sentence slips out. He said it so normally, but he knows how it leaves me speechless, a smirk appearing on his handsome features as he leads me into the building.

David Bowie: The Actress

Imagine David Bowie being interviewed, and the conversation suddenly focuses on you:

David Bowie's POV:

"So David, in the newest music video you had a lovely woman beside you. Would you mind telling us about her?" The question caught me off guard, we had previously been talking about advice for younger artists, so this was a drastic change.

I find myself tilting my head in confusion, Y/N was a well kept secret. She is beloved by all of America, yet somehow managed to stay hidden away from all of Europe; but I never thought she was so niche that the British media couldn't find any information on her.

The interviewer noticed my change in mood, deciding to reword her rather blunt question.

"I don't mean that in a rude way, we know that she is the lovely actress Y/N L/N. I was simply wondering how it was that you stumbled upon her... Over here many haven't even heard of her." She leans forward, eagerly awaiting my response.

"Of course, what would you like to know?" I don't really know what to expect, Y/N is quite the spectacular woman, and the questions are sure to be spectacular as well.

"Well... How did you two meet? Did her people contact you? Was it pure chance?" The interviewer clasps her hands together as she awaits my answer. I start thinking about how I got in contact with her, having to stifle a smirk at the memory of her manager's surprise when he learned that David Bowie wanted Y/N in his newest music video.

"I reached out to her." I state calmly as I imagine her serene voice, smiling slightly as I replay her moments of stubbornness during filming. She wasn't a rude sort of stubborn, but she stuck firm to her beliefs, and always knew how to win my approval.

"You did!?" She's clearly taken aback at hearing I specifically wanted such an 'unknown' actress starring with me. I can't help but want to sigh in annoyance, Y/N deserves much more recognition for her amazing skill. Her acting is stunning, and I learned over filming that her musical talent is just as brilliant, if not better. That reminds me, I'll have to ask her about a possible future collaboration.

"Yes... I had seen her in the film 'Poem to a Murderer,' and had subsequently written a song in admiration of her. Then when the song was chosen from my album to get a music video, I simply couldn't pass up on the chance to meet the wonderful actress herself." She was breathtaking in that film, gaining both my admiration and attention in the psychological thriller. The interviewer nods in thought, mulling my answer before opening her mouth to respond.

"Can you tell us anything about her role that caught your attention?" There's so much I could say, so much I want to say, but I don't want to spoil the amazing movie. How do I word this into a short sentence whilst still exclaiming my admiration for Y/N?

"Well, the movie itself was a beautifully written and produced piece of art in itself, disturbingly surreal in a way with the imagery they created. I don't want to spoil too much, but I can tell you that every second of that film keeps you on your toes, and Y/N's character kept me on the edge of my seat every scene she was in." I can't help but praise everything about her. She was exceptional in the film, and started me on a search to find and watch everything that she starred in.

"Ever since the music video, theories about you have been flying all through England. Any chance there might be some truth to them?" She asked the question so bluntly that I'm almost stunned. I'll never get used to interviewers being borderline rude while asking intrusive questions.

"Well it really depends on what's being said. I always have rumors circulating about me." I chuckle slightly, both in humor as well as hidden disdain at the truth of my statement. I am slightly intrigued about what she is talking about specifically, what theories have formed about me this time?

"I have sources who claim to have been on set during filming. They said you two were incredibly flirty with one another. They reckon a romantic fling occurred behind closed doors?" Her question isn't said cruelly, she genuinely seems curious; as does the audience from the looks of it. I hate these questions, why does everyone always have to spread rumors?

"Sorry to disappoint you, but there was no 'romantic fling'. Y/N was a very polite and professional person, so much so that I actually thought she didn't like me at first." I laugh through the latter part of my sentence, but I also cringe faintly at the feeling of dejection I had during that time.

"Really! She didn't like you at all?" This is becoming vaguely annoying, I tell them something, then they restate it wrong.

"That's not what I said, I said I thought she didn't like me. During the beginning of filming she was very closed off and focused, but even when the cameras were off she was professional to the point I thought she didn't like me." I explain with a sigh, remembering those moments where I shyly would try talking to her, only to be met with what I perceived as a closed off response.

"Oh, but... did she like you?"

"Luckily she did. It was funny, I remember the specific moment I realized that she didn't hate me. We were filming the fight scene, and the person I was sparring with, Jeffrey Callos, actually caught me in the jaw." I explained before she burst forward in astonishment.

"You were punched? Bet he got the sack." Her eyes are wide open as she surveys me, the crowd laughing lightly at the second half of her sentence.

"Ha ha, not quite. You see, my crew plotted this because they said I was being daft thinking she hated me. I had bet that she would stay in character and play it off, maybe even laugh. Practically everyone else bet that she might kill Jeff."

"Well! What did she do!"

"Funny enough, she nearly killed Jeff... " The audience burst out laughing at my statement, the interviewer and I were chuckling as well. I waited for everyone to settle before continuing my story.

"No no, she didn't kill him. She did run right over, fretting over me and asking if I was okay before running off IN HEELS to get me an ice pack and towel. I can't tell you the relief I felt at that moment. I was worried that she really hated me, but deep down she was incredibly caring and very sweet." I feel embarrassed in a way, describing how caring this reserved woman became when she saw me topple over from the punch.

"So... Does she know? The truth I mean?" Her question is quick to follow my explanation, so quick I don't understand it completely.

"What's that now?"

"Does she know the truth? Did she find out it was a set up?"

"Ah, yes well, it is kind of hard to miss when everyone is smirking at us as she helped me up. I had to explain the situation, and she got awfully flustered." A warm smile spreads across my face at the memory of her with a deep blush across her cheeks.

"I almost thought she would punch me as well, but she just kissed my cheek before saying she could never hate me."

"Aww." The crowd 'oohs' and 'awwws' at the story, I admit that the memory has me blushing slightly as well.

"She seems like quite the memorable lady." She smiles at me, raising her eyebrows slightly.

"Oh, she was great... I only wish I could've gotten to know her better, but her manager was getting calls for her every second of filming. She's probably much too busy to even remember me." I drop my smile slightly, I hope she remembers me, because I'll always remember her.

"I wouldn't say that David." Her response caught me off guard, what's she talking about?

"What do you mean?" My tone shows a little confusion, but I try to keep a check on my emotions.

"You know we invited you here to not only talk about this album, but also your future role in the film Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence?" She's grinning widely now, but I just want to know what she's building up to already.

"Yes... But what does that have to do with Y/N?" I squint my eyes slightly as I watch her sit up sharply.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the lovely Y/N L/N, who will be starring alongside David Bowie in Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence." The shock on my face must have been priceless as I turned and watched as Y/N gracefully walked towards us, the crowd's cheers quickly shifting into a mixture of giggles and laughter.

I stand up quickly, wanting to be polite as well as impress her. I may have neglected to tell the interviewer, but I did develop a slight attraction towards Y/N during filming.

"Hello Jonesey." Her sweet voice has me ignoring the name, a wide smile erupting across my face. She leans forward to hug me, kissing my cheek softly in greeting before shaking hands with our interviewer. I wait for her to sit before following suit, nervously glancing sideways to see her smiling at me already.

The crowd cheers for a few more moments, gradually beginning to quiet down.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Jonesey?" I blush at the nickname, remembering when she first started calling me it. I don't even know how it started, but she first called me 'Jonesey' to make me laugh when I was filming a serious scene in the video, and laugh I did. From then on, 'Jonesey' was her go to nickname whenever she saw me.

"It's only been a few weeks, love." I grin, patting her hand gently as it rests on the armrest. Surprise gripping me as she lifts up my hand to her lips, gently kissing it before speaking.

"Too long for me." She smirks playfully to me, and I offer her a warm smile in reply before nervously glancing away.

The crowd has quieted down enough now, hopefully not noticing the intimate moment that passed between us.

"What was that? Seems like a lot more than costars catching up." Of course, the interviewer is sadly never one to miss a possible question. My mind stutters as I try to think of what to say, luckily not having to.

"I just love making Jonesey blush, surely he's told you that."

"What do you mean miss L/N?" Oh no, why do interviewers always manage to dig up embarrassing personal things. I'm usually okay with this, but being so near Y/N just has my mind fried.

"I mean, hasn't David told you of all the times I purposely just tried to make him blush during filming? I have a wonderful amount of memories where he couldn't even get a word out with how flustered he was." She giggles at the end of her sentence, lightly shoving my shoulder humorously as a blush dusts my cheeks again.

"David? You've been holding back on me?" The interviewer looks at me in a jokingly accusing way, crossing her arms as she looks at me.

"Nooooo... I've just been.. Selectively sharing?" My voice is uneven, I couldn't even form a proper sentence when she was near me. I glance to Y/N as I practically ask my sentence, waiting for her to nod in confirmation before shifting back to the interviewer a little more confident.

However, that confidence was a little damaged when the audience laughed at the interaction.

"Well, I think we know who wears the pants in the relationship. Anyways... " The interviewer continues on as I struggle to try and find my words to argue with her, but I'm quickly silenced by Y/N's gentle tug on my sleeve. She pulls me back in my seat, quietly whispering in my ears,

"You can show me who's the boss after... " Her words are delicate, no longer exuding the confidence from earlier, clearly unsure of how I'll respond.

The interviewer continues rambling, but I simply gaze deeply into her eyes, calmly kissing her hand in response before we both turn our attention back to the interviewer. But we aren't really paying attention, our minds wandering to scenarios of what might play out when this interview finishes.

Rockstar: Your Story(Interview)

You're a famous rock star being interviewed about the beginning of your career to the current (includes mentions of Mick Ronson, David Bowie, and Mick Jagger):

"Ma'am, can you tell us a little bit about when you first met David Bowie?" The question was so sudden that I could only scrunch my eyebrows at it. I expected David to be brought up sometime, but I didn't expect the first question to be about him.

"Sure, let's see.... I can't remember the exact date, but my dear friend - Mick Ronson - had called me up saying some band was interested in having us as guitar players. I was hesitant because I enjoyed my job as an architect, but something pushed me to go with him; we hopped on the next train to London and did the audition." I explain, tilting my head up at the memories resurfacing. Ronno had been unsure as well, but I'm glad we went.

"We heard it wasn't a pleasant experience? What happened?" They emphasize 'wasn't', clearly looking for some juicy gossip on Bowie, and who am I to disappoint.

"Well, David had accepted Mick but rejected me, and Ronno originally turned down the offer because of that. He didn't even tell me the truth, just grabbed me by the arm and lugged me as well as the guitars out of the building. I knew it hadn't gone well because he had this angry glare in his eyes, which is strange, because if you've ever met him, then you'd know he's rather sweet, and has a very discerning disposition.

I asked what was wrong and he just said that they didn't want us. I knew he was lying, but I didn't want to argue with him. We spent the rest of the time wandering around London sightseeing." I state, folding my hands up in my lap as I look at the interviewer. I don't like looking back to the '70s, a lot of stuff happened, and I fear what they will bring up.

"What happened after that?" The interviewer continues hastily digging, wanting more information. I guess this person isn't going to quit until they get the full story.

"We had stopped by a restaurant and were having lunch. Ronno was saying we should catch the train home after, but we were interrupted by David. I don't know how he found us, I just remember being shocked when he started begging Ronno to join his band. I was also a little confused, and I remember saying, 'I thought you didn't want us?'

To which David responded, 'No, I want him, I just don't want you.' That line had run through my head the following 3 years until I realized how lucky I was David didn't want me." I say the last few sentences in a softer voice, not liking to relive that particular memory.

"He said what?!" The interviewer over exaggerates their movements, getting the audience laughing just as they had hoped. I laugh a little too, David saying something so rude does seem rather uncharacteristic.

"Yah, I was rather astonished as well because the words left him in such a casual way, as if choosing what bread to buy at the market." I say, gently chuckling at the visual of David buying bread in such a critical way.

"What- How, how did Mick react to that." Their eyes widen, the crowd quiets down as they await my answer.

"Oh, he almost punched David! But I grabbed him and pulled him aside, asking why he lied and all that stuff." I respond, remembering the beautiful anger that he so desperately wanted to act on.

"I bet the last thing you wanted was for him to join David's band, right?" The interviewer asks the question humorously.

"That's... Wrong actually. He was vehemently against playing in a band without me, this is mainly due to the fact that ever since we were 12, we've always played together. But, I wanted him to take the opportunity, to show the world his ability, and to be able to be a confident player without me." I explain in a gentle voice, vaguely thinking of how self-conscious he was at the time when it came to him playing guitar.

"You seem to be a really supportive friend, (Y/N)." The tone of their voice turns genuine, the whole conversation losing the humorous quality that had been sustained.

"I try to be, the last thing I want is for people's failings or regrets to be because of me." I smile, my relieved guilt ebbing away as I think of where he and I are now.

"As well as being supportive, you also seem to be fairly protective, at least, that's what I got when Mick told us the story of you traumatizing his high school bully! With that in mind, how did you feel when you learned he was earning next to nothing during the tour?" The beginning of the sentence sent the interviewer and audience into a bit of a laugh, I laugh as well at the memory of scaring off Ronno's bully.

The laughter lightly quiets down to a more serious tone at the end discussion.

"I was appalled! I hated myself for a while because of that, because I pushed him into this situation where he was barely getting paid. Which was the opposite of what I thought would happen, especially after their popularity went through the roof!"I exclaimed, my eyes widening as I relived the shock; the ebbing guilt rushing forward tenfold.

"I heard you went to some extreme measures in order to help him out, what exactly did you do?" The interviewer goes on, the questions digging into lesser known information.

"Well, I joined any band I could, I would try and get hired by restaurants for live music during nights, and then during the day I had a job as a waitress as well as working part time as a lyricist." I explain, just saying that makes me remember how tiring my schedule was back then.

"Now that's a lot to juggle, and I'm sure you have some great stories from those days, but we have a specific story. What happened during one of your many tiring nights of live music?" They ask, this question is sort of a bore to me, one I'm frequently asked to retell.

"I had been band hopping at the time, and was hired for a gig when I didn't have a supportive group, so I improvised. I played my guitar and was singing live, but before that I had recorded the drums and rhythm guitar parts for the songs I was scheduled to play, so when I got up there I just started the recording and played along.

This was for a club where they wanted rock, so it was heavier playing. It was during my guitar solo I noticed someone in the crowd." I divulged, deciding to add in some information I had never shared before.

"Ooh, is this when you met the Rolling Stones?!" Someone screams out, the crowd and interviewer looking in shock before they all burst out laughing at the person's eagerness.

"Yes... but I technically only met Mick Jagger that night. I wasn't a big fan of the Rolling Stones at the time, but I did have an appreciation for their music. I was actually playing one of their songs at the time. Either way, it just surprised me to see him." I continued after we had all calmed down.

"I know you joined their band after that, but can you tell us what exactly went down?" I squint slightly at my interviewer's vernacular before deciding to just answer them.

"I don't think I can tell you all the details, I worry J might get embarrassed! But, I can tell you that he met me backstage after I was done and asked me if I was available tomorrow to meet him at a recording studio. It was the weekend the next day, so I said yes, he wrote down the address and time on a piece of paper, handed it to me, then said goodbye and walked away." I state in a jovial tone, Jagger is one of my favorite people to talk about, because he loves to call immediately after the interview and schedule a meet up. He's strange like that.

"Sounds strange? How did you feel after that?" They looked intrigued, clearly wanting me to divulge the information that I withheld.

"I was shocked. The next day I went and met him and his band mates, then they started playing a song together and asked me to improv. I had never heard the song before, so I just started watching their movements and playing off of that; by the end they asked if I was interested in joining their band, which I clearly said yes to." I exclaim, the interviewer's face looking shocked by what I just said.

"Wow, that all sounds like it went really fast?"

"Oh it was, we had only been playing for 20 minutes when they all stopped and asked me to join. I was going to say no because I needed to make enough money to send to Ronno, but when they mentioned how much I would make weekly I immediately accepted." I reply, chuckling as I remember my astonishment.

"I know after joining the Stones, your career skyrocketed, your solo albums have done well, and you write all your own songs?" They continue, motioning to my newest album sitting on their desk.

"Yes, my solo albums have done surprisingly well, and I write my own songs. I do accept and sing other songs sometimes, but I usually have a story told throughout my albums, and throwing in a random song messes that up." I explained.

"Did you and Mick Ronson keep in contact during this?" They question, looking at me in interest.

"Of course! In the beginning, Ronno and I called every week at the least, and we would send letters sometimes too!" I state ecstatically before calming myself down.

"How did that work? He was touring at the time right?" They ask in a befuddled way.

"Yes he was, but he would tell me the places he would be as well as the dates that he would be there, and I would do the same with him. It was a little complicated, but it was worth it." I reply, my hands waving as I mimic us writing letters.

"Honestly though, what would you send him that couldn't be said over the phone?" They ask after a few moments, laughing as their mind runs.

"Photos, drawings, songs, food-"

"Photos?" I can hear what they're implying, and I can't help but squint my face in disgust. The crowd's laughter magnified at my reaction.

"Stop thinking like that, you all have dirty minds! I would take pictures of me and the band, as well as the places around me. I loved drawing as well, so I would send him some, as well as some songs that I thought he would enjoy playing. Lastly, I knew he was getting food, but I knew it wasn't food he was used to, so I would bake him something, or buy him local snacks and ship them off to the correct address." I explain, describing the different things I would send him.

"Did he ask you to do any of this?"

"No, Ronno was never a complainer, he hated telling people his issues. I was usually the exception, but he prefers telling me in person as compared to over the phone or in a letter. He did enjoy them though, and he would send me songs and pictures as well. I remember him snapping a picture of his drummer scarfing down some cookies I made!" I jubilantly state, smirking as I remember that the picture is still hanging on my fridge.

"You sent him all these lovely things, what did he send you?"

"I never asked for anything more than a letter or a phone call, but he would send me these extravagant songs, asking me how I thought they sounded and if I liked them. He would also send me drawings - he's not really an artist, but he knows I love the little doodles he does randomly, so he started sending them to me." I grin, knowing Ronni will be embarrassed by me sharing this information.

"Was this an easier time in your life or would you consider it one of the more stressful?" Ah, here it comes, the questions I am most dreading.

"The fame and fortune made my financial issues about none, but socially I felt isolated. I had played in popular bands before, but never like this, I was only consistently around my band mates and the people that worked for them. I only really talked with Jagger and Keith, and then Keith randomly started hating me, so I was down to only talking to Jagger." I reply almost subconsciously, my mind wanting to distance itself from these memories.

"What about Ronson? I thought you said you had weekly phone calls and sent letters?" They ask in confusion.

"We did, but about 3 months into that, David started complaining to Ronno that he spent too much time talking to me, and that he was ignoring his band mates for someone he might never see again." The answer in a short tone, clearly still holding resentment for David's decision.

"David said that?" They say in shock.

"Yah, he said it straight to Ronno's face. We obviously didn't stop talking, we kept calling and messaging each other, but it lessened after that to about 1 call every 2 weeks. They became much longer phone calls though, he said that David was limiting his amount of calls, but stated that David couldn't limit his time, so we would end up talking through the entire night!" I smile on glee, our weak form of rebellion still makes my heart warm.

"We've talked about Ronson and his band mates reactions, but how did your bandmates react?" They continue, going down a different avenue.

"Well, everyone basically made fun of me and said we were in love. They told me to stop being so desperate because I was probably annoying Ronno, that remark actually made me start to overthink a lot. I started worrying that I was annoying him, and that he didn't like talking to me anymore. I think that's around the time I began to develop anxiety, I was already depressed, so that just added on to my plate." I responded before realizing I was over sharing on live TV.

"Did you tell Ronson about that? How did he react?" They gratefully kept moving right along, not leaving an awkward silence.

"Well, I never actually told him about that, I think this is the first time he's hearing this." I smile in discomfort, and an uncertain smile on my face.

"Really? You never spoke to him about any of this?" They ask in surprise, slightly taken aback.

"My anxiety had me thinking that saying a single word to him was annoying him, so no, I didn't just start talking about this to him. It was a really dark spot for me, the person to pull me through was Jagger actually. He noticed my extensive isolation, how I stopped eating around others, how I stopped talking. He really pulled through for me, which is probably why I'm still friends with him." I voice solemnly, deciding that I might as well be honest about the situation since there is no going back now.

"I know this is a heavy topic for you, I have some more questions, but if you're uncomfortable we can move on." Wish you had said that earlier, but oh well.

"Ask away, we can just skip the ones I'm uncomfortable with." I smile in response.

"Alright, what did Mick do? Did he just pull you aside and talk to you?"

"No actually, he wrote a song and asked if I would listen to it." I responded.

"What?" Perhaps I should rephrase my vague response.

"That's honestly what he did. But he wrote a song with true meaning, it was rather dark, and it actually made me cry and begin to hyperventilate. We were alone, so he just rushed over and helped calm me down; he didn't ask me any questions until I had completely relaxed." I explained honestly.

"What did he say exactly?" They continue.

"He just apologized, asking if I wanted to talk. I said no at first, but then he asked why I've been distancing myself from him and the band, why all the songs I was writing were either dark or sad.

I told him the truth, that I was depressed, that I felt so intensely alone, and that I could no longer talk to Ronno because I was probably annoying him." An uncomfortable shiver ran up my spine, reliving those memories makes me feel nauseous.

"How did he react to that? I can't really picture him being the best at giving advice and comfort." She smiles in a joking way, attempting to lighten the conversation.

"He was lovely, he hugged me like a giant teddy bear and told me that he would help me through this. We talked for a while, he asked me why I thought I was annoying Ronno, and I told him what the band had said to me." I answer, feeling a small smile appear at the memory of Mick comforting me.

"What did he say to that?"

"He told me that they were a bunch of single idiots who were jealous, and that I shouldn't ruin a meaningful relationship with my best friend by believing the words of immature drug addicts." I respond, barely withholding my laughter as I watch everyone's reaction.

"He said that?!" They nearly yell, everyone laughing at my answer.

"Yes, and the next day he told them all off for belittling me. During our talk he spoke to me about my isolation, I explained that I did that when I was sad or feeling out of place, and he asked what he could do to make me feel like a part of the team. He honestly made me cry a couple of times from how caring he was. Then he started talking about heavier subjects, such as why I wasn't eating during lunch breaks, why I never accepted snacks, and why I was noticeably losing weight." I state, realizing that I was now broaching the subject of my eating disorder.

"That must've been tough." They state seriously.

"It was, I realized at that moment, how much I missed Ronno. I asked Jagger if he wanted me to leave the band since I was such a problem, but he told me to stop being an idiot. The next day I was given a few sheepish apologies from my band mates, and Jagger became a very prominent person in my life from that day on." I explained.

"That's good. So Mick Jagger stepping up to help you must've put him pretty high on your list of friends right?"

"Yes, I only realized how much he was doing for me when he barged into my room during a depressive episode and all but shoved the phone into my hand. I distinctly remember him telling me not to come out until tomorrow morning. When I held the phone up, he had actually dialed up Ronno, who sounded very tired and confused, as well as concerned." I smile, these are the memories that I hold onto dearly.

"Really? How did he know what number to call?"

"I assume he went snooping around my desk, in one of my drawers was a paper with dates, addresses, and numbers. It was one of the sweetest things anybody had ever done for me." The look on my face was genuine, that was honestly one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me.

"I know you two are still good friends, but was there ever the possibility of anything more?" Oh boy, I hate it when they try to talk about this subject.

"I did find him to be attractive if that's what you're asking, but I was never in love with him. He did ask me out on a date and I had said yes, the date was lovely, but we got caught in a crowd of fans and he was like how he normally is. It made me remember how many groupies I'd seen leaving his room, and how many women I've seen smothered over him at all times, and it scared me away from ever allowing myself to love him." I reply sincerely.

"Could there have been something? If you hadn't cut it off?" They continue to push the topic.

"There could've been something eventually - from the despondent look on his face when I said I didn't want a relationship, I think he wanted us to become something more. I don't regret what I did, I like the friendship I have with him, the last thing I wanted to do was ruin it with his promiscuity and my need for loyalty. We've moved on though, I kind of see him as the older brother I never had." I reply, explaining my reasoning and the aftermath.

"Well, since that ship has definitely sunk, what about Ronson? Was there ever anything there?" They just won't give up will they?

"No... Well, there was one time in high school when we thought we should try dating, but that was spurred on by our teenage inability to understand that we loved each other, but not in that way. We realized that that wasn't us when we tried to act like a couple and both noticed that it felt forced. Ever since then we've been best friends." I state.

"Gosh, you're shooting down all of the fan favorites. Are you interested in anyone? Anyone at all?" They sound slightly exasperated, maybe I should throw them a bone.

"Hmmm... Maybe." I smile, a mischievous glint surely in my eye.

"What do you mean maybe? You can't leave the fans hanging like that!" I can tell that I have their genuine attention now.

"Well, ever since David and I have become friends, I've been... slightly interested in him." I say, jumping straight into the deep end.

"..." The silence could almost be described as palpable, it almost makes me want to laugh at how everyone is stunned into silence.

"Well, don't just stare at me." I laugh lightly.

"... I'm sorry, just processing. Does David know this?" They ask in hurried confusion.

"Well, if he's watching like he said he would, then he knows now." I laughed once again, but this time it had an air of uncertainty to it.

"Don't tell me you just confessed over live TV, in an interview no less!" They say in shock, looking at me with wide eyes.

"What can I say! If he likes me back then this has worked out great." I respond, grinning at their reaction.

"What if he doesn't!" Their response makes me shiver in discomfort at that possibility, but I respond in humor.

"Then I die of embarrassment, cut all ties, and become a hermit!" I state loudly.

"Oh don't do that Y/N! Only healthy reactions are allowed on this show." The crowd laughs lightly at our convo.

I'm about to respond, but my Motorola starts ringing in my bag. I look to the interviewer before quickly digging through my bag and pulling out the phone. I sheepishly glance at it, the audience having fallen silent at the interruption.

"Is it alright if I answer this? It might be important." I state, I know this sounds bad, but it could actually be important since I left my home and animals under the care of my neighbor.

"Of course, but you owe us one more question before you leave then." They respond, holding out their hand.

"Deal!" I agree, shaking their hand quickly.

"Hello, this is Y/N." I state in a professional tone, getting a funny look from the interviewer at my seriousness.

"Y/N darling!" I am thrown off by the happy and familiar tone.

"...David?!" I state in slight confusion, everyone seeming to lean in closer.

"...Yes?" He responds in the same tone, making fun of the way I responded.

"Why are you calling me? I'm in an interview." I explain, swiftly going back to my professional tone.

"Yes well, when someone confesses they are interested in dating you, I thought the first thing one should do is accept." He responds in a joking yet serious tone.

I'm silent for a few moments in surprise, did David just say he wants to date me too?

"Well, don't leave me without a response darling... Will you go on a date with me." His serious and self assured tone dwindled slightly, I can hear his uncertainty.

"Yes." My response was short, it was rushed and all I could muster with my amount of shock.

"Good, I'll pick you up after the interview, so I'll see you in a few minutes." He stated before hanging up.

I can't contain the overjoyed smile that spreads across my face, most certainly accompanied by a warm blush. The audience snickers as I clumsily put my phone away, then they start laughing as the interviewer stares at me with a smug grin.

"Who was that?" They ask tauntingly.

"Ohhh... no one." I try to brush it off, but I know no one is believing.

"Really! Does this no one happen to be named David Bowie?" They continue.

I avert my eyes in embarrassment, the audience laughing even louder as I sheepishly nod my head.

David Bowie: Kid Sister

Imagine living with your older brother, David Bowie, but running away when he chooses drugs over you:

Being David Bowie's younger sister is hard enough, but having to watch him destroy his life is near impossible.

He and I have quite the age difference, he's currently 27, whilst I am only 15, but he has taken on the role of both father and big brother. When he first took me in I was 11 and he was only 23, he had wanted to stop by and surprise us with a visit after being so busy with his latest album.

It's a long story how he ended up my legal guardian, but let's just say he walked in on our mother berating me, and witnessed her slapping me across the cheek. Needless to say, he was not pleased in the slightest and demanded a reason be given as to why I was slapped. Our mother gave no answer, instead only glaring at me with an even darker hatred than before.

She took a step towards me and I don't know what came over me, but I sprinted around her and into David, crying my eyes out as I hid behind him. I remember my small hands grasping the material of his sleeves, just wanting some feeling of love and acceptance. He seemed stunned, taking a few seconds to react to this; leaning down, he handed me his keys, telling me in a soft voice to go wait in his car. I nodded and went to open the front door when our mother decided to intervene.

"Not another step young lady." I froze in place, this was the harsh tone she used when I knew I was going to be punished and tormented for the rest of the week. Usually she doesn't do more than slap me, but with tone she doesn't hesitate to bring out the belt. I was so close to the door, but the fear that burned in my chest made me want to throw up. I wanted to get away, but what would happen to me if I took another step?

No one made any move, but I knew that this might be my only chance. Taking another step I hesitantly looked over my shoulder towards my mother. She was furious, I could almost say for certain that there was a red gleam in her eyes. She starts walking towards me, but before she can reach me, David moves between us.

"Get out of the way, David." Her tone is sharp, I'm surprised when David makes no movement in response, simply settling a glare upon her.

"She's coming with me and that is final." His sentence is almost growled out, and I can tell mother is just as taken aback as I am, stepping back slightly as her facial expression morphs into one of shock. Not another word is spoken as David turns, grabbing my shoulder as he walks us out of the front door and to his car.

The ride is a blur, I can't find myself focusing on anything other than the bleary stereo and the gray skies. I only come back to reality when he pulls up in-front of a fancy hotel, handing his keys to the valet before helping me out of the car. I glanced around in surprise, he's taken us to the nice side of town, everyone is wearing their nice clothes that I would usually only wear on Sunday for church. David releases a quiet giggle at seeing my look of awe, patting my shoulder as he leads me into the hotel.

I stay silent through the process, making sure to stay directly on David's side as he gets the room key and walks us into the elevator. David leans back against the wall and watches the numbers, but I take this time to observe him; after all, I haven't seen him in quite a while. He's grown his hair out a bit, longer than the last time I saw him, and his face looked almost angry even though it was neutral. Walking to our room he sits me down on the bed, sitting himself next to me with his hands folded in his lap; he seems hesitant, but I know why.

"Just ask me already." My voice is quiet, I cast my gaze downwards as I hear David swallow heavily.

"How long has she been treating you like that?" His question is spoken carefully, almost as though worried that I might break if he didn't pick every word precisely. I feel a small smile trying to form, it's odd, having someone be so gentle with me, especially after the years I've spent with my mother.

"... Ever since dad died." I didn't want to tell him why, mainly because our father's death hurt him a lot as well, but he was already out of the house when that happened; not having to deal with our mother during the aftermath. I don't blame him, in fact, I never wanted him to know, I hate being such a burden.

"Well, no one will ever hurt you again. I promise." His tone is a stark contrast to earlier, being stern and certain; not harsh, but strong and confident. I look to the side, meeting his gaze before pushing forward and hugging him tightly. His body goes rigid, clearly being surprised, but slowly steadying as he envelopes my weak form with his arms.

_______

Ever since that day, I lived with my brother, traveled with him, helped him with his music, etc. We shared a life in a way, but he always made sure that my education came first, hiring me private tutors everywhere we went. I had so much fun, being raised by him was much different than being raised by our mother. David was kind and gentle, only really getting stern when I blatantly went against our agreed upon rules; such as that one time I snuck out of our hotel and went backstage to one of his concerts.

Oh, he was pissed, we got into a bit of a row before stomping off in opposite directions. We avoided each other for the rest of the night and the following day, only talking during a midnight snack run-in. I apologized, I knew it was dangerous to sneak out to a concert where I might be recognized and swarmed by fans. I also told him my reasoning, having not seen him for more than a couple of minutes over the last few months due to the concerts and rehearsals, exclaiming that I just wanted to see him.

David also apologized for yelling at me, he hates yelling and felt really bad, to which I made sure he knew it was alright. He promised to try and spend more time with me, taking time out of the next day for us to go get lunch and ice cream.

We had a lot of fun, but we ended the night running away from a crowd of fans. One of them had managed to grab his sleeves, resulting in him losing his coat. I laughed at first until we finally got away. I observed his hunched over body as we heaved for breath, he was much skinnier than I thought. I hadn't really been paying attention, but I can tell when someone is underweight, and he kind of reminded me of a skeleton.

That was when I started to pay more attention to him, noticing how he'd been more withdrawn recently, spending most of his time reading or in his room. I noticed that he often sniffled, I thought he had a cold, but something about it struck me as odd. I continued watching over him for the next year or so, noticing that he never lost the sniffles for long, they would usually return after a prolonged trip to the bathroom. He also stopped eating a lot, he used to love my occasional cooking and our random jaunts to restaurants, but that all suddenly stopped.

I finally said 'fuck his privacy', searching through his bags after he'd gone to sleep. I found a bag full of white powder, and I'm no idiot, this isn't fucking flour, it's cocaine. All the signs I've noticed now make sense, but that really does fuck all for me. What can I do now? I can't tell him I know, cause then he'll ask how I know. I just need to make sure he doesn't kill himself by accident.

_______

I softly knocked on David's door. He has an interview soon, yet he hasn't left his room all day. I'm really worried about him.

"What do you want!" His voice is rough and sharp, I jump slightly. He's recently taken to shouting at me whenever I do anything, and it scares the living daylights out of me; I know I shouldn't be scared of him, but it reminds me of mom. Anytime she yelled, I knew the day had gone from bad to worse.

"David... You have an interview soon, your people said it was in 15 minutes and that you should be heading out soon." My voice is higher in pitch, that only happens when I'm dreadfully aware of my surroundings. The places we stay in are nice still, but that homey vibe that used to accompany David has long gone.

The door creaks open, the room is dark, like the curtains have been pulled and all the lights smothered. His face is pale, sickly shining in the sterile lighting of the hall. The most haunting look is his eyes, they are so empty, he just stares at me with this dull look as though not even seeing me. David has been like this for a few weeks now, gradually refusing to acknowledge my presence to the point of convincing me I might not actually exist.

It hurts a lot, knowing the person you love and look up to sees you as nothing, but I still push forward.

He pushes the door open wider and walks past me, already dressed up in his suit and dragging along a cane.

"David... David!" He walked into the living room before turning to me, his eyes seemingly set ablaze.

"What." His tone is sharp with agitation, the short response making me feel uncomfortable.

"I... I was wondering...if-" My hesitant words get cut off as David glares at me.

"Hurry up and say it already!" He raises his voice, I can tell he's holding back from shouting at me.

"I just... David, I know." I don't know how else to word it, I just know that I need to confront him on his drug abuse.

"You know? Know what?" He actually seems generally confused, oh how his senses have been dulled.

"I know... I know about the drugs." The last half of my sentence is whispered, but his immediate rigidity alerts me that he heard me loud and clear. I finally look up to his face, and somehow he's become even paler; so gaunt I fear he may faint.

"H-How do you know about that?" For the first time in a while he sounds vulnerable, maybe even a little scared. There's no going back now, I have to tell him the truth and hope he sees reason.

"I looked through your bag a while ago and found it, please don't be mad!" There was a lilt in my voice, but it wasn't pleasant to hear, it more emphasized my worry at how this situation could unfold, and the next movements would only solidify that worry.

"How dare you." It had been silent for about a minute, so his stern toned sentence caught me slightly off guard.

"What?"

"Don't bring up matters that are none of your business!" Talking to him is like riding a roller coaster, one second he responds calmly, the next he's shouting your ear off. I actually stumble backwards, somewhat in shock due to the pure aggression and loathing he conveyed through his tone. The shout resonated in my head for a few moments before I forced myself to talk, my courage beginning to run thin.

"But David! Surely you can see that you're addicted-" My voice is soaked with concern, I love him so much, and this self-destructive behavior of his is hurting me as well. I'm about to continue but he steps forward and roughly shoves me back against the hotel wall.

"I'm not addicted! It is just a hobby!" The unbridled rage flows through his eyes, I see him raising his hand, but the rest is unknown because I shut my eyes tightly and turned away. I held my breath for a few seconds, awaiting the onslaught of abuse, but after being met with none I decided to maybe open my eyes.

The view I'm met with is pitiful almost, David is simply staring at me in shock, my arms still up to block any hits. I begin to breathe again, slowly lowering my arms as I watch his eyes well with tears.

"Y/.. Y/N, why did you do that?" I stare at him wearily, I thought he was going to hit me, I don't trust him anymore.

"You know why." I state solemnly, my voice but a whisper in the quiet hall.

"I would never!" He shouts back defensively, causing me to flinch away again.

He backs up frantically, he's about to say something before someone starts slamming on the door, hurriedly stating a message.

"Mr. Jones, your interview is in 5 minutes! We need to leave sir!" David stills for a moment before turning away. He straightens his suit and smooths his hair before grabbing his cane and walking to the door. As he's reaching for the handle he turns back to me, that same empty look having embodied him again.

"We'll talk about this when I get back." He's so cold, that's the coldest he's ever spoken to me, and I don't think I can take it anymore. Nodding my head, David leaves without another glance, a heavy feeling settling in my chest as I can feel the tears streaming down my face. I wipe them away quickly, the torn sleeve of my shirt dragging across my skin.

I can't stay here anymore, the way he spoke, what he did, how he left... He's chosen, and he didn't pick me. I should leave now, while he's gone. I stumble to my room, my legs apparently being a little wobbly after that interaction.

I pull out my backpack, shoving in clothes as well as my pen and notebook, packing my tooth brush/paste, combs, and moisturizer. I have to pack light, if the crew sees me heading out with a suitcase they will surely stop me from leaving, and I don't need David knowing that I was trying to run away... I worry to think what he would do to me.

I tear off my shirt and jeans and shove on a clean pair, wrapping my large jacket around my shivering frame, slipping on some insulated sweatpants as well. What can I say, it's December in New York City, I'm going to be cold as it is, no need to be freezing. I let my hair down to block my face, shoving on my boots before taking one last glance around.

Taking in my surroundings, I close my eyes and say a silent goodbye to David before grabbing my belongings and leaving.

Rockstar: Your Story(Interview)

You're a famous rock star being interviewed about the beginning of your career to the current (includes mentions of Mick Ronson, David Bowie, and Mick Jagger):

"Ma'am, can you tell us a little bit about when you first met David Bowie?" The question was so sudden that I could only scrunch my eyebrows at it. I expected David to be brought up sometime, but I didn't expect the first question to be about him.

"Sure, let's see.... I can't remember the exact date, but my dear friend - Mick Ronson - had called me up saying some band was interested in having us as guitar players. I was hesitant because I enjoyed my job as an architect, but something pushed me to go with him; we hopped on the next train to London and did the audition." I explain, tilting my head up at the memories resurfacing. Ronno had been unsure as well, but I'm glad we went.

"We heard it wasn't a pleasant experience? What happened?" They emphasize 'wasn't', clearly looking for some juicy gossip on Bowie, and who am I to disappoint.

"Well, David had accepted Mick but rejected me, and Ronno originally turned down the offer because of that. He didn't even tell me the truth, just grabbed me by the arm and lugged me as well as the guitars out of the building. I knew it hadn't gone well because he had this angry glare in his eyes, which is strange, because if you've ever met him, then you'd know he's rather sweet, and has a very discerning disposition.

I asked what was wrong and he just said that they didn't want us. I knew he was lying, but I didn't want to argue with him. We spent the rest of the time wandering around London sightseeing." I state, folding my hands up in my lap as I look at the interviewer. I don't like looking back to the '70s, a lot of stuff happened, and I fear what they will bring up.

"What happened after that?" The interviewer continues hastily digging, wanting more information. I guess this person isn't going to quit until they get the full story.

"We had stopped by a restaurant and were having lunch. Ronno was saying we should catch the train home after, but we were interrupted by David. I don't know how he found us, I just remember being shocked when he started begging Ronno to join his band. I was also a little confused, and I remember saying, 'I thought you didn't want us?'

To which David responded, 'No, I want him, I just don't want you.' That line had run through my head the following 3 years until I realized how lucky I was David didn't want me." I say the last few sentences in a softer voice, not liking to relive that particular memory.

"He said what?!" The interviewer over exaggerates their movements, getting the audience laughing just as they had hoped. I laugh a little too, David saying something so rude does seem rather uncharacteristic.

"Yah, I was rather astonished as well because the words left him in such a casual way, as if choosing what bread to buy at the market." I say, gently chuckling at the visual of David buying bread in such a critical way.

"What- How, how did Mick react to that." Their eyes widen, the crowd quiets down as they await my answer.

"Oh, he almost punched David! But I grabbed him and pulled him aside, asking why he lied and all that stuff." I respond, remembering the beautiful anger that he so desperately wanted to act on.

"I bet the last thing you wanted was for him to join David's band, right?" The interviewer asks the question humorously.

"That's... Wrong actually. He was vehemently against playing in a band without me, this is mainly due to the fact that ever since we were 12, we've always played together. But, I wanted him to take the opportunity, to show the world his ability, and to be able to be a confident player without me." I explain in a gentle voice, vaguely thinking of how self-conscious he was at the time when it came to him playing guitar.

"You seem to be a really supportive friend, (Y/N)." The tone of their voice turns genuine, the whole conversation losing the humorous quality that had been sustained.

"I try to be, the last thing I want is for people's failings or regrets to be because of me." I smile, my relieved guilt ebbing away as I think of where he and I are now.

"As well as being supportive, you also seem to be fairly protective, at least, that's what I got when Mick told us the story of you traumatizing his high school bully! With that in mind, how did you feel when you learned he was earning next to nothing during the tour?" The beginning of the sentence sent the interviewer and audience into a bit of a laugh, I laugh as well at the memory of scaring off Ronno's bully.

The laughter lightly quiets down to a more serious tone at the end discussion.

"I was appalled! I hated myself for a while because of that, because I pushed him into this situation where he was barely getting paid. Which was the opposite of what I thought would happen, especially after their popularity went through the roof!"I exclaimed, my eyes widening as I relived the shock; the ebbing guilt rushing forward tenfold.

"I heard you went to some extreme measures in order to help him out, what exactly did you do?" The interviewer goes on, the questions digging into lesser known information.

"Well, I joined any band I could, I would try and get hired by restaurants for live music during nights, and then during the day I had a job as a waitress as well as working part time as a lyricist." I explain, just saying that makes me remember how tiring my schedule was back then.

"Now that's a lot to juggle, and I'm sure you have some great stories from those days, but we have a specific story. What happened during one of your many tiring nights of live music?" They ask, this question is sort of a bore to me, one I'm frequently asked to retell.

"I had been band hopping at the time, and was hired for a gig when I didn't have a supportive group, so I improvised. I played my guitar and was singing live, but before that I had recorded the drums and rhythm guitar parts for the songs I was scheduled to play, so when I got up there I just started the recording and played along.

This was for a club where they wanted rock, so it was heavier playing. It was during my guitar solo I noticed someone in the crowd." I divulged, deciding to add in some information I had never shared before.

"Ooh, is this when you met the Rolling Stones?!" Someone screams out, the crowd and interviewer looking in shock before they all burst out laughing at the person's eagerness.

"Yes... but I technically only met Mick Jagger that night. I wasn't a big fan of the Rolling Stones at the time, but I did have an appreciation for their music. I was actually playing one of their songs at the time. Either way, it just surprised me to see him." I continued after we had all calmed down.

"I know you joined their band after that, but can you tell us what exactly went down?" I squint slightly at my interviewer's vernacular before deciding to just answer them.

"I don't think I can tell you all the details, I worry J might get embarrassed! But, I can tell you that he met me backstage after I was done and asked me if I was available tomorrow to meet him at a recording studio. It was the weekend the next day, so I said yes, he wrote down the address and time on a piece of paper, handed it to me, then said goodbye and walked away." I state in a jovial tone, Jagger is one of my favorite people to talk about, because he loves to call immediately after the interview and schedule a meet up. He's strange like that.

"Sounds strange? How did you feel after that?" They looked intrigued, clearly wanting me to divulge the information that I withheld.

"I was shocked. The next day I went and met him and his band mates, then they started playing a song together and asked me to improv. I had never heard the song before, so I just started watching their movements and playing off of that; by the end they asked if I was interested in joining their band, which I clearly said yes to." I exclaim, the interviewer's face looking shocked by what I just said.

"Wow, that all sounds like it went really fast?"

"Oh it was, we had only been playing for 20 minutes when they all stopped and asked me to join. I was going to say no because I needed to make enough money to send to Ronno, but when they mentioned how much I would make weekly I immediately accepted." I reply, chuckling as I remember my astonishment.

"I know after joining the Stones, your career skyrocketed, your solo albums have done well, and you write all your own songs?" They continue, motioning to my newest album sitting on their desk.

"Yes, my solo albums have done surprisingly well, and I write my own songs. I do accept and sing other songs sometimes, but I usually have a story told throughout my albums, and throwing in a random song messes that up." I explained.

"Did you and Mick Ronson keep in contact during this?" They question, looking at me in interest.

"Of course! In the beginning, Ronno and I called every week at the least, and we would send letters sometimes too!" I state ecstatically before calming myself down.

"How did that work? He was touring at the time right?" They ask in a befuddled way.

"Yes he was, but he would tell me the places he would be as well as the dates that he would be there, and I would do the same with him. It was a little complicated, but it was worth it." I reply, my hands waving as I mimic us writing letters.

"Honestly though, what would you send him that couldn't be said over the phone?" They ask after a few moments, laughing as their mind runs.

"Photos, drawings, songs, food-"

"Photos?" I can hear what they're implying, and I can't help but squint my face in disgust. The crowd's laughter magnified at my reaction.

"Stop thinking like that, you all have dirty minds! I would take pictures of me and the band, as well as the places around me. I loved drawing as well, so I would send him some, as well as some songs that I thought he would enjoy playing. Lastly, I knew he was getting food, but I knew it wasn't food he was used to, so I would bake him something, or buy him local snacks and ship them off to the correct address." I explain, describing the different things I would send him.

"Did he ask you to do any of this?"

"No, Ronno was never a complainer, he hated telling people his issues. I was usually the exception, but he prefers telling me in person as compared to over the phone or in a letter. He did enjoy them though, and he would send me songs and pictures as well. I remember him snapping a picture of his drummer scarfing down some cookies I made!" I jubilantly state, smirking as I remember that the picture is still hanging on my fridge.

"You sent him all these lovely things, what did he send you?"

"I never asked for anything more than a letter or a phone call, but he would send me these extravagant songs, asking me how I thought they sounded and if I liked them. He would also send me drawings - he's not really an artist, but he knows I love the little doodles he does randomly, so he started sending them to me." I grin, knowing Ronni will be embarrassed by me sharing this information.

"Was this an easier time in your life or would you consider it one of the more stressful?" Ah, here it comes, the questions I am most dreading.

"The fame and fortune made my financial issues about none, but socially I felt isolated. I had played in popular bands before, but never like this, I was only consistently around my band mates and the people that worked for them. I only really talked with Jagger and Keith, and then Keith randomly started hating me, so I was down to only talking to Jagger." I reply almost subconsciously, my mind wanting to distance itself from these memories.

"What about Ronson? I thought you said you had weekly phone calls and sent letters?" They ask in confusion.

"We did, but about 3 months into that, David started complaining to Ronno that he spent too much time talking to me, and that he was ignoring his band mates for someone he might never see again." The answer in a short tone, clearly still holding resentment for David's decision.

"David said that?" They say in shock.

"Yah, he said it straight to Ronno's face. We obviously didn't stop talking, we kept calling and messaging each other, but it lessened after that to about 1 call every 2 weeks. They became much longer phone calls though, he said that David was limiting his amount of calls, but stated that David couldn't limit his time, so we would end up talking through the entire night!" I smile on glee, our weak form of rebellion still makes my heart warm.

"We've talked about Ronson and his band mates reactions, but how did your bandmates react?" They continue, going down a different avenue.

"Well, everyone basically made fun of me and said we were in love. They told me to stop being so desperate because I was probably annoying Ronno, that remark actually made me start to overthink a lot. I started worrying that I was annoying him, and that he didn't like talking to me anymore. I think that's around the time I began to develop anxiety, I was already depressed, so that just added on to my plate." I responded before realizing I was over sharing on live TV.

"Did you tell Ronson about that? How did he react?" They gratefully kept moving right along, not leaving an awkward silence.

"Well, I never actually told him about that, I think this is the first time he's hearing this." I smile in discomfort, and an uncertain smile on my face.

"Really? You never spoke to him about any of this?" They ask in surprise, slightly taken aback.

"My anxiety had me thinking that saying a single word to him was annoying him, so no, I didn't just start talking about this to him. It was a really dark spot for me, the person to pull me through was Jagger actually. He noticed my extensive isolation, how I stopped eating around others, how I stopped talking. He really pulled through for me, which is probably why I'm still friends with him." I voice solemnly, deciding that I might as well be honest about the situation since there is no going back now.

"I know this is a heavy topic for you, I have some more questions, but if you're uncomfortable we can move on." Wish you had said that earlier, but oh well.

"Ask away, we can just skip the ones I'm uncomfortable with." I smile in response.

"Alright, what did Mick do? Did he just pull you aside and talk to you?"

"No actually, he wrote a song and asked if I would listen to it." I responded.

"What?" Perhaps I should rephrase my vague response.

"That's honestly what he did. But he wrote a song with true meaning, it was rather dark, and it actually made me cry and begin to hyperventilate. We were alone, so he just rushed over and helped calm me down; he didn't ask me any questions until I had completely relaxed." I explained honestly.

"What did he say exactly?" They continue.

"He just apologized, asking if I wanted to talk. I said no at first, but then he asked why I've been distancing myself from him and the band, why all the songs I was writing were either dark or sad.

I told him the truth, that I was depressed, that I felt so intensely alone, and that I could no longer talk to Ronno because I was probably annoying him." An uncomfortable shiver ran up my spine, reliving those memories makes me feel nauseous.

"How did he react to that? I can't really picture him being the best at giving advice and comfort." She smiles in a joking way, attempting to lighten the conversation.

"He was lovely, he hugged me like a giant teddy bear and told me that he would help me through this. We talked for a while, he asked me why I thought I was annoying Ronno, and I told him what the band had said to me." I answer, feeling a small smile appear at the memory of Mick comforting me.

"What did he say to that?"

"He told me that they were a bunch of single idiots who were jealous, and that I shouldn't ruin a meaningful relationship with my best friend by believing the words of immature drug addicts." I respond, barely withholding my laughter as I watch everyone's reaction.

"He said that?!" They nearly yell, everyone laughing at my answer.

"Yes, and the next day he told them all off for belittling me. During our talk he spoke to me about my isolation, I explained that I did that when I was sad or feeling out of place, and he asked what he could do to make me feel like a part of the team. He honestly made me cry a couple of times from how caring he was. Then he started talking about heavier subjects, such as why I wasn't eating during lunch breaks, why I never accepted snacks, and why I was noticeably losing weight." I state, realizing that I was now broaching the subject of my eating disorder.

"That must've been tough." They state seriously.

"It was, I realized at that moment, how much I missed Ronno. I asked Jagger if he wanted me to leave the band since I was such a problem, but he told me to stop being an idiot. The next day I was given a few sheepish apologies from my band mates, and Jagger became a very prominent person in my life from that day on." I explained.

"That's good. So Mick Jagger stepping up to help you must've put him pretty high on your list of friends right?"

"Yes, I only realized how much he was doing for me when he barged into my room during a depressive episode and all but shoved the phone into my hand. I distinctly remember him telling me not to come out until tomorrow morning. When I held the phone up, he had actually dialed up Ronno, who sounded very tired and confused, as well as concerned." I smile, these are the memories that I hold onto dearly.

"Really? How did he know what number to call?"

"I assume he went snooping around my desk, in one of my drawers was a paper with dates, addresses, and numbers. It was one of the sweetest things anybody had ever done for me." The look on my face was genuine, that was honestly one of the sweetest things anyone has done for me.

"I know you two are still good friends, but was there ever the possibility of anything more?" Oh boy, I hate it when they try to talk about this subject.

"I did find him to be attractive if that's what you're asking, but I was never in love with him. He did ask me out on a date and I had said yes, the date was lovely, but we got caught in a crowd of fans and he was like how he normally is. It made me remember how many groupies I'd seen leaving his room, and how many women I've seen smothered over him at all times, and it scared me away from ever allowing myself to love him." I reply sincerely.

"Could there have been something? If you hadn't cut it off?" They continue to push the topic.

"There could've been something eventually - from the despondent look on his face when I said I didn't want a relationship, I think he wanted us to become something more. I don't regret what I did, I like the friendship I have with him, the last thing I wanted to do was ruin it with his promiscuity and my need for loyalty. We've moved on though, I kind of see him as the older brother I never had." I reply, explaining my reasoning and the aftermath.

"Well, since that ship has definitely sunk, what about Ronson? Was there ever anything there?" They just won't give up will they?

"No... Well, there was one time in high school when we thought we should try dating, but that was spurred on by our teenage inability to understand that we loved each other, but not in that way. We realized that that wasn't us when we tried to act like a couple and both noticed that it felt forced. Ever since then we've been best friends." I state.

"Gosh, you're shooting down all of the fan favorites. Are you interested in anyone? Anyone at all?" They sound slightly exasperated, maybe I should throw them a bone.

"Hmmm... Maybe." I smile, a mischievous glint surely in my eye.

"What do you mean maybe? You can't leave the fans hanging like that!" I can tell that I have their genuine attention now.

"Well, ever since David and I have become friends, I've been... slightly interested in him." I say, jumping straight into the deep end.

"..." The silence could almost be described as palpable, it almost makes me want to laugh at how everyone is stunned into silence.

"Well, don't just stare at me." I laugh lightly.

"... I'm sorry, just processing. Does David know this?" They ask in hurried confusion.

"Well, if he's watching like he said he would, then he knows now." I laughed once again, but this time it had an air of uncertainty to it.

"Don't tell me you just confessed over live TV, in an interview no less!" They say in shock, looking at me with wide eyes.

"What if he doesn't reciprocate!" Their response makes me shiver in discomfort at that possibility, but I respond in humor.

"Then I die of embarrassment, cut all ties, and become a hermit!" I state loudly.

"Oh don't do that Y/N! Only healthy reactions are allowed on this show." The crowd laughs lightly at our convo.

I'm about to respond, but my Motorola starts ringing in my bag. I look to the interviewer before quickly digging through my bag and pulling out the phone. I sheepishly glance at it, the audience having fallen silent at the interruption.

"Is it alright if I answer this? It might be important." I state, I know this sounds bad, but it could actually be important since I left my home and animals under the care of my neighbor.

"Of course, but you owe us one more question before you leave then." They respond, holding out their hand.

"Deal!" I agree, shaking their hand quickly.

"Hello, this is Y/N." I state in a professional tone, getting a funny look from the interviewer at my seriousness.

"Y/N darling!" I am thrown off by the happy and familiar tone.

"...David?!" I state in slight confusion, everyone seeming to lean in closer.

"...Yes?" He responds in the same tone, making fun of the way I responded.

"Why are you calling me? I'm in an interview." I explain, swiftly going back to my professional tone.

"Yes well, when someone confesses they are interested in dating you, I thought the first thing one should do is accept." He responds in a joking yet serious tone.

I'm silent for a few moments in surprise, did David just say he wants to date me too?

"Well, don't leave me without a response darling... Will you go on a date with me?" His serious and self assured tone dwindled slightly, I can hear his uncertainty.

"Yes." My response was short, it was rushed and all I could muster with my amount of shock.

"Good, I'll pick you up after the interview, so I'll see you in a few minutes." He stated before hanging up.

I can't contain the overjoyed smile that spreads across my face, most certainly accompanied by a warm blush. The audience snickers as I clumsily put my phone away, then they start laughing as the interviewer stares at me with a smug grin.

"Who was that?" They ask tauntingly.

"Ohhh... no one." I try to brush it off, but I know no one is believing.

"Really! Does this no one happen to be named David Bowie?" They continue.

I avert my eyes in embarrassment, the audience laughing even louder as I sheepishly nod my head.

David Bowie: Don't Go

Imagine David Bowie falls in love with you the moment he meets you, but you're taken away; only for him to find you again after many years have passed: Warnings: Alludes to suicidal thoughts/ideation, abuse, abuse of power, feelings of worthlessness, injury, angst, apathy

1975

It was always loud around me, everyone shouting and screaming in my direction. Adoration emanated in their voices as they called my name, but all it made me feel was anxious and overwhelmed. I'm always running from them, these people that claim to love me... they lie when they say that, how can they love someone they do not know?

These manic strangers scared me, I never wanted to walk down the streets alone, but there were moments I would risk it simply for a second just to myself. I once thought of leaving this world, setting my soul free, abandoning this shell I am forced into. I was so close to going through with it, but then I met someone who forced a change in my perception.

We were young during our first meeting, I was several years into my stardom, usually caged up in my Los Angeles apartment. I hate Los Angeles, in fact, I hate California as a whole; the only reason I was even there was because my manager had forced me into this movie deal.

I wasn't unhappy with the movie, I had read the novel it was based on, and the script embraced a lot of the original elements. I couldn't survive there for long though, my mind was always leaving me, traveling elsewhere, to places with happy memories. The few moments of awareness during my day left me with an unending headache, it made me nauseous knowing that I was still alive. I felt like I was betraying God with these thoughts, that I was dishonoring him in some way with my destructive hatred for myself and my surroundings.

___

The first day on set was numbing, my manager had escorted me there, his firm glare setting me on edge; I know the only reason he was with me was to ensure that I didn't go against him. A deal with the Devil, he observed my every move, I felt like he was screening my thoughts before allowing me to speak.

I wanted to scream, to reach out to the people around me for help; but I didn't. I simply kept my eyes down, only speaking when the director or cast members addressed me directly.

The day was nearing its end, I had been encapsulated with this crowd and wanted a moment of quietness, I knew when I was back in that apartment that I would be yelled at. He would be angry that I seemed so disinterested in everything, furious that I had the audacity to try and come here without him.

I nervously skittered away from the people, moving swiftly towards the door as my heart rate raced. I was so close, it would only offer me momentary relief, but that was better than nothing, better than this everlasting flame that was burning me from the inside out. I felt cauterized from the heat, forever stuck in this flesh prison until my untimely death. Yet, death offers me no salvation, in this world of sin we are doomed to return, to relive these traumas until we learn something from this negative world.

One foot was out the door when a hand seized my wrist; had it been my neck, I'm sure I would think I was being strangled. A chilling shiver scraped along my spine, it was that uncomfortable feeling of knowing I was caught. The air in my lungs felt suffocating, the heat of my body sweltering as I glanced at the hand.

"Where do you think you're going?" I look sternly at my manager, surveying his aura and body language. I can tell that he is nearing the end of his rope, the 'patience' he has is running thin. I remember the first time I hired him, I thought he was respectable, he looked like a business man with his hair combed back with his immaculate suit, speaking to me with high revere.

Not many things have changed about him, he still speaks well of me - now only to possible clients or partners; his way of dressing has only gotten finer with the money I bring in, but the young man I hired was long gone. He's been my manager since I was 12 and he was 36, I'm now 19, him being 43. The full head of black hair is slightly graying at the sides, his athletic physique gave way to slight obesity - but the strange type of weight gain where he is top-heavy in the chest, if that makes sense.

He used to make me feel comfortable, he wouldn't yell or scream at me, but that was back when my parents were always around, as soon as I turned 18 they upped and left. They still sent me requests for money every now and then, well aware I would oblige. I know they likely think I wanted them to leave, but what I wouldn't give for them to come and stick their noses in my business.

"...I'm going to the bathroom?" My voice feels like it's grating against my throat, as though I haven't had a thing to drink all day; however, I know he wouldn't let me go a day without 8 glasses of water. That may sound like he actually cares for me, but he knows that my albums are the reason behind a lot of my wealth, and he refuses to let anything damage my voice.

The eye contact we hold burns me, I don't know what else to do but hope he believes me. I sigh in relief as he releases his hold, sending a curt 'get going' to me before turning away. I haven't felt happy in a long while, and though I know what I'm feeling isn't happiness, it still reminds me of it. I want to rush forward, but force a steady walk, going straight past the bathroom and outside.

The sun is obnoxiously bright, I want to go back inside, but I know he will be waiting for me. I shuffle over to the back of the building, a lonely bench awaiting, luckily sheltered away from the sweltering sun. My back aches as I collapse onto it, head falling back against the wall as I quietly groan in dissatisfaction. The traffic is loud, I can hear airplanes in the distance, and the footsteps of people along the sidewalk.

God, I wish I was somewhere else, I wish I was back home in Montana, or maybe at my seldom used cabin in Idaho. I want to not see another human being for miles, I want trees and wildlife to surround me as I write and draw, but I know that won't happen anytime soon.

The thoughts overrunning my mind lower my awareness of my surroundings, so much so that I only become aware again when someone sits next to me. The alarming aura of a person so near, this is the closest a stranger has been to me without my manager in sight; I can't remember how long ago it has been since I talked to someone without him watching me.

I observe them from the corner of my eye, he's taller than me, dressed in a casual black suit with a hat, his orange-blonde hair coaxing my attention. I know who he is, we were briskly introduced during the meeting, but he was surrounded by an entourage that kept people away from him.

He glances to me, our eyes meeting for an instant before I turn away from him. I'm not sure how to talk to him, it's been so long since I was able to speak freely that I fear I don't know how to anymore.

"So, what are you doing out here?" His accented tone rings out sharply, dancing through the noisy ambience, my head subconsciously tilting as I listen to him. Turning my face to him, I'm met by his piercing eyes paired with his angular face; I almost want to huff at how exact and fine his features are.

"I could ask you the same." I state, holding a steady gaze, watching as his eye flicker over me before returning ahead.

"I saw you leaving, and I wanted to know where you were going." He responds, voice smooth as he brushes his hair back neatly.

"So you followed me?" The sentence flows from my mouth so quickly, realizing what I've said makes me feel bilious. I gulp, looking over to him as I await a yell or a glare; surprised when he lets out an amused laugh.

"Don't make it weird." He giggles, looking down to his hands. He looks up to speak again, but a concerned look washes over his features.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." The sentence strings along, his body shifting towards me as all his attention is focused on me. I'm confused at first, wondering why he was reacting like this before realizing I must look tense and pale.

"No, no, it's alright. It's not you." I quickly respond, resting a hand gently over his own to calm him down. I once again speak without thinking, not realizing I told him indirectly that I am in fact uncomfortable.

"So that's why you're out here." David states, his hands gently holding my own as his concerned expression magnifies. I pull my hands away in fear of the repercussions for this conversation.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I scowl, glaring at the wall opposite us. I hurriedly stand up, worried about staying out too long, I don't want my manager getting suspicious.

I squint my eyes against the weather, the sun burns as the heat overwhelms my sense. I want to cry, but I know that I can't allow myself to. David stands as well, and I'm about to walk away before feeling something being placed atop my head. Glancing over to David, I notice his hat missing, my sight no longer being hindered by the sunlight. I gaze at him in suspicion, what does he want?

"What?" Is all he says, a smirk playing on his features as he leads me back around the building to the front door. I try to give him his fedora back, but he simply pushed it back to me, telling me to keep it. I thank him, a smile trying to appear on my face as I look up to him; he grins to me before walking away, leaving me alone.

___

My manager was pissed, he knew I lied about going to bathroom, and was even angrier when he saw I had David Bowie's fedora clutched in my small hands. He snatches it from my hands, I open my mouth to argue, but the look on his face tells me it'll be much worse if I speak.

I follow him through the crowd, weaving carefully so that I don't touch people. We reach the group surrounding David, my manager saying we have something of his. As he walks towards us, my manager shoves the fedora into my hands before shoving me forward. I can tell David is confused by the situation, I hope he didn't see my manager push me.

"What is it (Y/N)?" This is the first time he's used my name, I don't know why it stunned me, maybe because no one cares enough to know my real name, instead calling me by my pseudonym. I nervously glance away and look back at my manager, I can tell he wants to yell at me, but he knows he has to wait.

"I-I'm returning your fedora, you must've dropped it..." I reply, hoping he goes along with it.

"What?" His bewildered response matches his expression, I don't know how to get him to go along other than to rephrase myself.

"I was coming back from the bathroom and saw it on the floor, you must've dropped it." I explain, looking him firmly in the eyes as I hold out the hat. His eyes now hold understanding as he glances behind me.

"Oh, thank you... Can I speak to you for a moment?" He responds, grabbing the hat and then my wrist to pull me forward. I yelp weakly, my wrist hurting from its past abuse. David glanced down at me in worry just as my manager moves forward and grabs my shoulder.

"We need to get going, you have another meeting in a half-hour." My manager interrupts, bundling me away before David could even blink. ___

My manager is fuming, I can tell by the slight jitter in is movements as he forces me out of the building and down the street. I know he wants nothing more than to yell at me, make me cry, but he will have to wait until we get some privacy before he can do as he pleases.

The car ride is anything but pleasant, he may have opened the door for me, but he shoved me in so fast that I knocked my head against the frame. The headache is splitting through my skull, the mixture of pain and internal agony is catching up with me.  My manager angrily slams his door and begins driving back to my apartment; he wastes no time laying into me.

"What the fuck was that!" He shouts angrily, fists clenching the steering wheel to the point I think he's fantasizing that it's my neck.

"What?" I try to play dumb, but I should've known better.

"Don't give me that bullshit! I know you didn't go to the bathroom, you snuck out so you could talk with that singer!" He states with a scowl, glaring at me before looking back to the road. I can see the sweat layered upon his brow, perhaps the sun is getting to him as well?

"I didn't!" My response is halted quickly, my manager reaching across the center console as he smacks me sharply. I want to say I'm surprised, but I'm not, though that does nothing to numb the stinging pain as tears burn my eyes.

"You wanna rethink that response." He grits, I can tell he's furious, and he'll do as he pleases no matter my answer. Involuntarily curling into myself, I make no move to respond, wrapping my arms tightly around my abdomen as I look out the window. My lack of response is only going to anger him further, but I can't seem to care anymore.

When we arrive at my apartment, he's tossing me in as soon as the doors unlocked. He pulls me back to him so harshly I can hear the fabric of my sweater tearing as he scrunches it in his fists. I subconsciously put my hands up, trying to get away from him.

He heeds my movements, shoving me away just as harshly as he had pulled me in. The action is so sudden that I'm thrown off balance, taking  a moment to recollect myself before turning back to him.

I go to say something, but have no time to contemplate my words as something is hurled at me. I try my best to dodge it, but my actions are in vain as the object meets my eye.

The left side of my face radiates in pain as I fall backwards into the wall, my hands flying up to my injury as I try not to cry. I look down at the object and see my favorite book was what had been thrown, Jane Eyre... my manager can't seem to get enough of ruining things I love.

I'm so caught up in my thoughts that I only notice my manager approaching when he already has his thick hand wrapped around my throat, thus pinning me to the wall I've taken solace in. He grabs my wrists with his free hand and forces them up and away from my face. 

I try to observe him as he analyzes my face, his once kind eyes seem so empty, when did that happen? His hair is thinner, and though he's out of shape, he still overpowers me with ease; who is this man before me? I want to look at him more, but the agony of my injury overpowers my wants, eyes stinging as the tears cloud my vision before streaming down along my cheeks.

"You'll need to cover that for tomorrow, I'll bring you a bandage."

Just like that, his hold is gone and he exits the apartment. I'm alone in this apartment, silence settling back into it as the furious tornado that is my manager has left the vicinity. If someone came in, they would think me strange curled up in the corner with tears in my eyes; no one ever sees who causes them, but they always have an opinion.

___

He did as he said, bringing me a roll of Coban with some gauze so I could pad my eye against the adhesive bandage. I hadn't look at my eye throughout the night, not wanting to see the damage, but knowing it must look bad as my eye had swollen shut. 

I wanted to assume the mirror was lying to me like everyone else does, but I know it wasn't.

The bruising was light as it hasn't been more than a day, the contusion will darken later on as it fully forms; the swelling wasn't as bad as I assumed, my eyelids were definitely swollen, but I could peel them open slightly to view the sclera flooded in red due to burst blood vessels. Brushing those thoughts away, my manager shoves open the bathroom door and grabs the bandages from my grasp, grumbling about me taking to long as he wraps my injuries.

The car ride there is a stark contrast compared to yesterday, the silence was almost more eerie than when he yells, but I try not to think to hard on it.

Anxiety bubbles up in my throat as he parks the car and exits, what will they say? This is opening the door to unwanted questions, what if they find out my manager abuses me? What if they take his side?? I don't get too much time to think as my door is opened by my manager as he signals for me to get out. I do as told, hesitantly walking into the building after he enters.

The building is thankfully not nearly as crowded as yesterday, today only requires the actors/actresses, costume designers, and music producers to be present. 

I stand there silently as I wait for the group to be called to focus, but I'm disrupted from daydreaming as I feel someone tap my shoulder. I turn around, coming face to face with the director, Nicolas Roeg.

"Hey Y/N, you're manager called yesterday and explained that you got injured while playing with your cousins. I know how head injuries can be, so let me know if you start getting headaches, or if the noise or environment gets too overwhelming. Alright?" This man, he was so nice over the phone when asking if I wanted to be a part of this project, how could I forget him, especially after how kind he's being now?

I grace him with a thankful smile, nodding my head. He smiles back, giving my shoulder a pat in reassurance before turning away and walking to converse with someone else. I am about to go back to dissociating when another tap is felt, I want to sigh, but halt my actions when I meet eyes - well, eye - with David Bowie.

I can tell he had his words prepared before walking over, but I feel like they abandoned him as soon as I turned around. I can only assume it has something to do with my lovely injury, I know for a fact that I alone cannot leave a man speechless.

"Darling, what happened?" He's concerned, that much was audible, but I know I need to make that dissipate if I don't want my manager to have a repeat of last night.

"Oh this... it's er, nothing, happened while I was rough housing with my cousins." My lie was almost seamless, but the hesitation in my words at the beginning was noticed by him, the squint in his eyes at my words gave that much away.

"I'm fine, honestly David, no need to worry about me." I voice, trying harder to get him to put this on the back burner. He's conflicted, eyes glinting with so many different emotions I can't seem to keep up. Luckily though, he bows his head slightly and nods at my words. I can tell he's still uncertain, but at least he's stopped talking about it. 

I didn't try to avoid him the rest of the day per say, but we were working on two very different parts of the film; he was the lead Actor, and I was working on the film scores as well as dabbling in the costume design. We weren't around each other very often, and if we were, they were but fleeting moments.

He had me cornered during our lunch break actually, but my manager put a quick stop to that, dragging me away to talk with some fans outside; at this point, I think he's doing everything in his power to keep David and myself separate.

The hours go by, Roeg and my manager keeping me plenty busy. I would say that I barely noticed my injury all day apart from the constant headaches and dull ache that seemed to keep building up the longer the day went on.

I know Roeg said to tell him when it was getting bad, but let's be honest, my manager would have my other eye if I said anything. 

As the day is coming to an end, people begin leaving, my manager says we can go after he uses the restroom. He fixes me with a hard look before going in, basically telling me,'do something stupid, and we'll have a rerun of last night.' His eyes looked so dark I felt a nervous chill run down my back as I took a step back.

"Y/N!" I hear a voice call, turning around to be met with that same fedora as yesterday.

"David..." I greet uneasily, glancing back to the restroom in fear my manager will walk out at anytime. David seems to catch on and speeds past the pleasantries.

"Listen, I'm going to the preview tonight if you'd like to join me, I can pick you up tonight if that's alright with you?" His offer is said with such a hopeful voice and sweet look that I almost agree right then and there, but then reality stabs me in the back.

"Y/N." That voice nearly startle me out of my skin with how hard I jumped. My shoulders turn stiff as I look back and watch as my manager stalks closer, gripping my shoulder before steering me to the door.I turn my head quickly, making eye contact with David and his crestfallen face, giving a smile with a slight head nod to confirm his plans. I watch for a second as joy encapsulates his face before I'm forced out the door into the obnoxious environment of Los Angeles.

My manager leaves early, stating he has a meeting to get to before the day ends, leaving me alone in my apartment. He usually stays gone until the morning, that of which I'm thankful for, or else I would never be able to have David pick me up. 

He arrives when it's already dark, around 7 pm when the last streaks of sunlight are dissipating. His driver goes to get out, but David beats him to it, walking over and opening the door for me before getting back in on his side. We both sit in the back and his chauffeur takes us to the movie theatre. It was a quiet ride, I think he could notice how jittery and uneasy I was; he held my hand and offered a comforting smile, reassuring me until we felt the car halt.

We sat in the back, hoping no one would notice our presence. The movie was good, it held my attention the whole time - well, at least until David nudged me, motioning with his head for us to leave. I do as told, standing and following him as he led me down the hallways and back into the main room.

"Whats wrong?" I ask, unsure why we left half-way through the film.

"Nothing, I just want to spend some time alone with you." He states, before grasping my hand, leading me outside and down the quiet sidewalks. Los Angeles at night is better at night I would say, a little more quiet with much better weather.

There is a hint of a breeze though, sending light shivers down my back whenever a gust came my way. My clothes aren't really the best for this weather, a knee length dress with only a feathery shawl to protect my shoulders.

"Oh, I'm sorry darling, I should've told you to bring a jacket." He voices guiltily, detaching our hands before shrugging off his suit jacket. He stops me from walking, grabbing my shoulders and turning me to face him as he wraps the large jacket around my thin frame.

It swallows me up, a blush tinting my cheeks in embarrassment, I must look ridiculous to this man. David notices the blush, a wide grin spreading over his face at how adorable the site before him is.

"I must look ridiculous..." I say, looking down self-consciously. David simply huffs and removes his hat and placing it delicately atop my head, it's much too large, sliding down over my eyes and blocking my sight. He laughs gently, angling the hat so that I can see again, his toothy grin being the first sight I'm met with.

"You look adorable." Is all he says, wrapping his arm comfortingly over my shoulders before continuing to walk us down the street. I can confidently state that my blush has not faded throughput the entire exchange.

We both remain silent, simply enjoying the presence of the other as we saunter down the pavement. We pass many quiet cafes still open, him stepping to the left and halting as he opens the door to a warm cafe. I cautiously enter, removing the hat and surveying the interior closely.

A young woman sits sleepily at the register, the only other people being a middle-aged couple at a table against the wall. The lights have a warm hue to them, complementing the earthy tones of the walls and tables.

Glancing back at David, he offers a soft smile, resting his hand on my lower back before leading me to the register. The woman quickly writes down my order, not looking up until both myself and David have ordered.

I hold my breath when I notice that familiar glint in her eye, backing up subconsciously in fear she will shout our names and alert someone to our presence. If the paparazzo found out I'm here, and accompanied by David Bowie no less! The scandal would be horrific.

David holds me steadily in comfort as he smiles at the woman, he holds a finger against his lips to stop her, I glance at her in worry that she still might scream. She looks overwhelmed in excitement, but breathes deeply to calm herself down when she notices my reaction.

"Sorry! I just love both of you so much!" She whispers happily, still in shock of meeting two of her favorite artists. I feel the tension in my shoulders lessen as she only whispers in excitement.

"Thank you, it's nice to meet you to." David says politely, nodding to her before leading me away and to a table cozied up in a corner.

Our night was wonderful, David and I talked the night away, enjoying multiple drinks the longer we stayed up. I've never felt so at ease with another person, and we could converse for an extended amount of time without awkward silences or uncomfortable glances; how could someone so wonderful seek me out for company? Is this a blessing from God, or is Satan about to take him away from me.

___

After that night, I've looked forward to seeing him everyday, a smile gracing both of our features whenever our eye(s) meet, but we are both swept away. My manager found out about my late night escapade rather easily seeing as I didn't return to my apartment and was instead brought to work by David(no nothing happened, I fell asleep during the car ride back, and David decided it would be easier to just take me to his home instead of go up into an apartment building while trying to find my keys).

My manager was thoroughly pissed, but his physical punishments still didn't deter me from seeing David, but he always did know how to ruin a good thing. The movie was over, it had already been in theatres and what we were attending wasn't required work anymore; my manager took full advantage of that, signing me up with another director to work with them on film scores.

This new job took me across the country into New York, the director was very well known, Martin Scorsese, and the film was Taxi... Taxi Driver I think. It sounded interesting I guess, maybe a little on point for it being called Taxi Driver and set in New York. 

I didn't even get to say goodbye to David, my manager had dropped the news on me the night before I was to fly to New York. I didn't have anyway to contact David, but I'm not even sure if he would want to stay in contact... Either way, I'm leaving tomorrow whether I like it or not.

_______

1982

It's been a little while since I've agreed to do another film score since Taxi Driver, that film was surprisingly fun compared to my last experience, but maybe that's because my manager wasn't there with me most of the time.

None of that matters anymore though, after the success of taxi driver I fired that abusive prick, and I honestly couldn't be happier. I focused solely on my albums and dropped 7 of them throughout the past few years. I took a break from movies, I was too young for them and the change of environment when I was 19, but now I'm 26 and feel ready to face the world.

I don't actually know a lot about this film, other than the title and one of the actors/film scorers. I believe the film is called Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence? The actor/musician I'm talking about is Ryuichi Sakamoto, and he's honestly the main reason I took this job; my albums blew up and have been making me a fortune, so this is really just for fun and the experience.

I'm walking down the road, suitcase in hand, trying to figure out how the hell to walk in sand. I'm about halfway to the hotel when I hear someone approaching from my side. I don't turn to them, hoping they'll keep moving and we won't have to awkwardly introduce ourselves.

"...(Y/N)? Is that really you!" What? I.. I know that voice. I turn to them, eyes wide as I watch a face from the past stride over to me, face plastered with a wide grin.

"David?" At the sound of my voice, his strides turned into bounds pretty much, I could see he was truly ecstatic at seeing me, and it would be a lie to say I don't feel the same.

I start walking towards him, dropping my suitcase as we embrace. How could I not? This man, this wonderful man that changed me for the better, made me see that my life was worth more. You beautiful man, I'll never disappear again, I promise.