A Dreamers Dream

I'm sorry if i say i need you, Los Angeles, California, USA.

Maddie's perspective.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

He's here. In my room. Fuck.

Desperately I scramble around the dark, half-asleep reassesses of my brain trying to come up with something to say that doesn't sound utterly stupid, but I come up empty and instead decide to busy myself with hastily picking up piles of dirty laundry from their scattered homes across the hotel room floor. Bundling them tightly in my arms before heaving them into my suitcase and slamming down the lid.

What is he doing here? I wonder to myself frantically. I know he has a couple of shows in town this weekend, the last of his tour, but never in a million years did I expect him to turn up unannounced at my door. Looking like.. well looking like he does. Who the hell wanders around in a white suit in the middle of the day anyways? Must be an LA thing.

"I erm, I was in town, for the last shows, and I just.. it seemed silly to pay to have someone deliver those when I could just drop them off myself." He says awkwardly, nodding towards the flowers and envelope which are now laying on my bed and running a hand through his hair.

"That's.. I mean, thank you." I stutter stupidly, cursing myself for my reaction to him. How on earth can we possibly manage to be friends if I can't even string a sentence together in his presence?

"You're welcome. Shall I put those with the others?" He asks, gesturing from the flowers to the two coffee cups on the small table by the door, both are already overflowing with the previous arrangements, one cup is mostly full of dead, wilting brown stems at this point, but I haven't been able to bring myself to throw them away.

"I'll get another mug," I say quietly, and head to the very small kitchen area of my room, which basically consists of a tiny counter with an even tinier fridge underneath it, a white PVC cupboard above and a kettle on the surface. As I reach up to grasp the handle of the very last cup in the cupboard, I feel a draft across the tops of my thighs and cringe, realising that the motion has caused my barely decent as it was T-shirt to ride up even further and flash him half of my arse. Wonderful.

"I should get dressed," I say quickly, grabbing the flowers and carefully putting them in the mug which I have filled with a little water.

"Right. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I was thinking, maybe, if you're hungry, we could go get  some lunch?" Harry says, his nerves clear in his quavering voice. What on earth does he have to be nervous about? I wonder. I'm the one on the back foot here, there's a bloody superstar in my room. A superstar who just happens to be my ex, a superstar who I may or may not still be hopelessly in love with – Jury's still out on that one.

Clothes. Distance. Shower.

"Sure. I'll just grab a shower. Make yourself at home." I mutter, grabbing up the first item of clothing I see that I think is clean, a yellow sundress with white flowers, and running into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind me and flicking the lock.

In the relative privacy of the tiny room, I try and force myself to calm the fuck down. He's just being friendly, he's always friendly, sometimes to his own detriment. It doesn't mean anything more than that. I don't honestly know if I even want it to. Do I still have feelings for him? Well, duh, of course, I do. But that's normal right? It's only been a couple of weeks, and he's the first real boyfriend I've ever had, of course, it's going to take me some time to get over him. That doesn't mean that I didn't still make the right decision. We've both got really important things happening in our lives at the moment, he's just finishing up the second leg of his very first solo tour, and I am recording my very first album. Neither one of us needs the complications of a relationship.