Lost on You [Lewis Capaldi]

Chapter 1 - Don't Get Me Wrong

She had only come to the concert because her friend forced her to. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy the music, it was just that she couldn't stand loud, indoor places, packed wall-to-wall with screaming teens. It was all too intense.

That was probably the reason why she had found herself down an empty corridor, the sound of frantic girls now muffled and distant. She hadn't known where she was going when she parted from the main foyer of the arena, slipping down a shadowed hallway. She didn't really mind where she was, as long as it would get her far away from the hectic crowds, desperate to purchase the over-priced merchandise and drinks before the show. But she had hurried in the opposite direction, finding herself down a long, cinder-block corridor. Lights flickered above her, as though the bulbs would blow any second. She just assumed it was an old steward passage, used to get them from one side of the venue to the other.

Resting her head back against the wall, she took a deep breath, feeling the cool air rush into her lungs. She could do this. She could brave the crowds once more.

She closed her eyes tightly. Ever since the accident, she had found it hard to face crowded areas, bodies pushing against you, barging you out of the way. Her friend had known that. But it had been three years since it happened. She needed to shake away the fear. It was time to face what she had been afraid of for years. She couldn't live like this, constantly hiding, slinking away into the shadows to avoid the slightest group of people.

In the silence, she remembered her grandmother's words. They were familiar and warm in her mind, sending soothing strokes down her spine. Sing, she would say. When it all gets too much, just sing.

So she did.

Her voice was soft, croaking slightly as she began. But as she eased into the tune, the words came more easily, until she could barely remember the bustling foyer just down the corridor. Her eyes were still closed as she chanted the lyrics, letting the sound of her own voice carry her away, out of the crowded arena and back home. Safe.

Her voice stumbled, cheeks flushing red as footsteps sounded along the corridor. Her eyes flew open and she was startled as they focused on the man stood before her, a lazy smile spread across his face. No. It wasn't just any man, it was-

"I hope I didn't scare you," he said, grinning. "But your singing was definitely something. Please, don't stop on my account."

She blinked, wide-eyed at him. At Lewis Capaldi as he tucked his hands into his pockets. "I . . . I should probably go."

She turned on her heels, her fingers trembling as she tightly gripped the sleeves of her coat. She shouldn't have been down here. It was clearly where the dressing rooms were. Oh, she had made a fool of herself. Especially since the song she was singing . . . was his.

"Wait," he called after her, "Wait a second."

Reluctantly, she paused mid-stride, slowly turning to face him.

"You don't need to leave." He shook his head, blond hair falling across his face. "Or am I really that bad looking in real life?" A soft chuckle.

She couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up within her. "No. It's not that." She was actually quite surprised by how good he looked stood before her, with a black denim jacket and loose white t-shirt. Casual. Careless. She shook the thought out of her head. "I shouldn't be here, I'm sorry."

"How come you're down here anyway?" he asked, his Scottish accent so thick it was sometimes hard to understand.

Her gaze dropped to her feet, letting out a quiet breath. "I'm not a fan of large crowds," she admitted. "I came here to get away."

"Did you think if you came to my concert there'd be no crowds?" he quirked a brow, that smirk still on his face. "I'm not that bloody unpopular."

In honesty, she couldn't believe she was here in this corridor. Stood having a conversation with Lewis Capaldi, of all people. Who had just heard her sing.

Heat burned her cheeks again at the thought of him listening to her voice. "I knew there'd be crowds. I just thought I'd be better at handling them."

His face softened at that. "I know what it's like. When I first became famous it was pretty hard. The attention was mad at the start. I mean, it still is, but I've gotten used to it now. Well, kinda," he shrugged.

"How did you get used to it?" The question had escaped her lips before she could stop it.

"By not giving a fuck," he laughed, shaking his head. "No, no. I think over time it just gets better, but I don't know. I still get nervous sometimes, I guess."

Her brow furrowed at his words, as if deep in thought.

Then suddenly, she cleared her throat, rolling her shoulders back before sweeping a sheet of blonde hair over one shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked, that smile still playing on his lips as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

She only levelled a stare at him then shrugged. "Not giving a fuck."

She winked before turning away. As she began to walk down the rest of the hallway, she could still hear him quietly chuckling to himself, still feel his gaze on her back.

"Good luck with the show," she said, trying to master her thundering heartbeat.

She was almost through the doors as he called out, "Wait, what's your name?"

His deep voice echoed along the corridor.

"Keira-Marie," she shouted back without slowing her stride.

Maybe she was about to head straight into what she'd been trying so hard to avoid. A hectic, unruly crowd. But she couldn't help the smile that tugged her lips. Couldn't stop thinking about the man who had made her forget her fear.