I look across the kitchen counter at you, chewing my inner cheek as I watch silently. You’re humming to yourself while you finish up washing the dishes, having made dinner tonight for us at my house to celebrate me being home in London after wrapping up my first solo tour. We’ve been dating for a couple months, maybe 6 or close to 7, and the media has given even more attention than the already heavy amount. This is majorly due to our…slightly recognizable age gap, with you being 19 while I’m 24.

The comments over the past couple months about our ages, the maturity differences, the harassment you’ve received from the media and fans, it’s all brought me to the decision I know is best. But watching you buzz so happily around my large kitchen, just excited that I’m finally home, makes me feel incredibly guilty. “Hey, sweetheart, can we talk for a second?” I exhale softly, running a hand across my tense jaw.