the cameras clicked and flashed.

it was so bright — too bright as you stepped out onto the sidewalk; paparazzi shouting your name from each and every direction.

you couldn’t help it; you were famous.

a large hand came to shut the car door, before shifting to firmly rest against the small of your back — dark, brow eyes staring down at you through dark-lensed glasses; he was guiding you, your bodyguard — simon.

it was a short walk into the building; a path had parted in the crowd of fans and photographers as he carefully brought you closer to the entrance.

your hand gripped his arm — tight.

for a moment, you felt his eyes burn down on you before his gaze would return to the entrance; his free hand tugging the door open as he applied pressure to your lower back — urging you inside.

”c’mon.” he grunted softly, quietly.