You knew.

You knew it was bound to happen eventually. You couldn’t walk down the street to get ice cream or take the dogs out without someone, somewhere in the universe, going click. And now they’re out there: the photos. You, wearing a poorly positioned cap and dark sunglasses that hide absolutely nothing. Him, Ed, laughing like he has no idea the whole world is watching you.

“Hollywood’s most elusive star caught by the sweetest guitarist in British rock.”

“Does it bother you?” he asks, walking your little dog beside you as you stroll down the sidewalk bundled up.

You look at him. That long, elegant, calm face. Those eyes that seem to understand too much, even when you don’t say anything. You shrug.

Because yeah. That was you. The impossible one. The charming bastard who did his own stunts and shattered hearts like cheap glass. No one ever lasted more than a few weeks with you. You were the shooting star everyone wanted to see, but no one could ever catch.