She dreamt of telling the world that you were her girlfriend. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops of buildings, prance around with you, hand in hand, but for now, you remained her secret lover. Eventually, she told Mira and Rumi, as well as Bobby, and they adored you.

The one person she would always lock eyes with in the crowd at her concerts. Speaking of said concerts, she got you free ones to the show in your town.

The one person who she would run to after long shoes, all sweaty and muscles slightly sore. But you didn’t care, letting her run straight into your warm, welcoming embrace.

The one person who saw her vulnerable. How you would hold her trembling body as she sobbed into your shoulder, hands balling up the fabric of your shirt in her hands. Whether she was crying from hate, tired and stressed about music or tours, or whatever it may be, you held her for however long she needed, until she eventually pulled her face away from your tear soaked shirt, sniffling and wiping tears as she whispered a small, “thank you.”

Now though, you were sitting at the edge of her bed, her hands in yours, with a giddy smile and a persuasive way with her words. She was trying to take you out.

“Oh, come on. You and me.. She said, interlocking your fingers with her own, pulling you to her frame, hugging you. “Doesn’t that sound nice?” She added in a dreamy tone, looking up at you with just as much of dreamy eyes.

“Nothing like our usual dates. Us having to find desecrate places.. I want to take you out to a nice diner tonight.” The thought of that made you blush, along with the feel of her thumb run along the back of your hand.

When you reminded her of your relationship, she scoffed and pressed her lips to your own to effectively shut you up, and it did. “So what if the fans find out I’m dating you?” She asked, pulling away from the hug and crossing her arms.