His name was Elliot, and you had to sit next to each other on the rug. He kept holding your hand, making you feel uncomfortable.
“Stop tugging my hand, Elliot!” you had finally said after the third time his moved to clasp your hand in his.
He had frowned at you, confused. You don’t think he knew what stop meant. “But I want to!”
“Well, I don’t like it,” you had childishly retorted, hoping you could tug your hand out of his grasp again. He didn’t want to let go, and your teacher had given you a dirty look because you were being loud. So you sat there quietly, your hand prickling in his.
The second time was when you were thirteen. An eighteen-year-old boy had been staying at your house with his family. During dinner, under the table, you had felt his hand ride up your thigh. You froze at his chilling touch, but not a sound came out of your mouth. Instead, you sat there, barely breathing, as the adults continued to chat obliviously away.
That night, you slept with your door locked. Not that you were able to sleep anyway. The next day, you were in the car with him and your family, sitting in the back, praying that no one could see you because you couldn’t breathe.
They left and you didn’t say a word to him. Your friends urged you to tell your parents, but you don’t want to ruin the friendship your parents have with that family, so you don’t say anything.
It happened again in school a few years later. You’re seventeen. Most girls have a boyfriend. Most guys have a girlfriend. But one boy sat next to you, became your friend. Then he tried to kiss you.
You said no. He didn’t care.
Now you’re a full grown adult, at a concert your friend dragged you to, though opted out of last minute due to a particularly savage flu, not that you mind. The band, who for some strange reason is named after a French prison or something, puts on quite a show with the fantastic acoustics, brilliant flashing strobe lights, and towering, larger-than-life vocals from their lead singer, Dan.
Everything is perfect, you think hazily through the dizzying fog of intoxication. You grin madly, dancing around with the crowd to the upbeat melodies and thundering drums. Between school and work and the stress of real life, it’s been far too long since you did something you actually wanted to do, and you’ll be damned if you don’t enjoy every moment of this.
And, as if the universe was waiting for that exact thought to pass through your head, you hear a horrible riiiipppp behind you. You feel your back plunge into an icy sensation, and your heart drops.
Rough hands clasp onto your shoulder blades.
You’re frozen. The music is going on but time seems to have slowed down.
Eyes wide, you spin around slowly, and you see his face. Smirking.
Tears blur your vision.
God, this is just like in seventh grade, you think.
The man reaches out roughly towards you.
“Don’t touch me!” Your voice comes out terror-stricken and panicked. The man ignores your shriek, that coy, chilling smile stretching as his hand finds your shoulder and starts to creep downward. With the masses of people encircling around you, trapping you, the most you can do it shrink back as best you can and close your eyes, tears escaping down your face.
“Whoa whoa whoa, stop! Stop right now!”
The hand stops its descension down your back, and you open your eyes at the sudden lack of music and cheering. The lights stop flashing, and the people around you mutter in confusion.
It’s deadly silent, or rather, that’s what it feels like to you. Your ears start to ring.
Mics are screeching in the distance, but you don’t hear them. Everyone turns to look at you, your hands trying to cover up what your tattered shirt can’t, but you don’t see them. You’re sobbing, hands clutching your stomach. The guy starts backing away, shoving people aside. He doesn’t look back.
People are starting to surround you, closing in on you, and you want to shrink and disappear, perhaps into into a pit in the ground. Security guards are pushing people back.
And then there’s a warm hand on your bare shoulder. You instinctively flinch away, feeling the need to scrub yourself clean from those (colddirtygroping) hands.
But they aren’t cold, nor rough. They’re gentle, cautious, giving you space. You crack an eye open to see none other than the lead singer, Dan, in front of you, wearing an alarmed and worried expression.
He places his gentle hands on your shoulders again, and this time, you don’t shy away. You feel yourself tremble under his touch. He’s saying something, but you can’t quite focus on him, the ringing in your ear amplifying until it’s all you hear.
It’s not until he’s shrugging off his hoodie, a grey one with a massive print of a wolf howling on the back, that you understand what he was asking.
You try to refuse it but you can’t find words. You’re speechless. Just like with Elliott. Just like with that eighteen-year-old.
So you let him place it over your shoulders, over the rip in the back. The hoodie is way too big for you, swamping you in its warm and slightly sweaty folds, but you couldn’t care less.
Dan wraps an arm around you securely. “Wait for me after the show, alright? I’m so sorry.” He gives you a gentle squeeze before handing you off to a security guard, who supports your weight and takes you outside.
They call a paramedic, and they wrap you up in a blanket and leave you on a bench outside the meet and greet area with a security guard who gazes upon you sympathetically. You don’t let go of the hoodie, instead wrapping it even more tightly around you, as if the thin cloth can protect from all of the (colddirtygroping) hands that could come your way again.
The concert is over. From just outside the stage area, you can hear Dan shouting, “Thanks so much for coming here today guys! This show was absolutely wicked!” You can’t help but to scoff at that last part.
There’s cheering, and you wonder if Dan forgot his promise.
Then you hear quick footsteps towards you. You look up. Dan. You feel yourself stand up, the blanket slipping off your shoulders, though you’re sure to keep the hoodie wrapped around you.
By all means, you should be freaking out. Dan’s quite the looker, you’ll have to admit, with his flyaway hair, his tall, lean build, and the bluest, most shocking eyes you’ve ever been at the ends of. But instead, you feel a gaping emptiness where your heart should pound, and your shaking unconsciously starts up again.
When Dan reaches you, he pauses for a moment before hesitantly opening his arms, as if unsure whether or not to touch you.
You answer his unsaid question by leaning into his arms, and you sigh when you feel them tighten around you securely.
“How are you? Are you alright?” he asks when he pulls away. You see on his face that he feels absolutely horrible for what happened, even though he wasn’t at fault at all.
You try to brush it off, smiling with a nonchalant shrug, though the effect is greatly diminished with the way you’re trembling again. “Yeah I’m fine,” you try, “ it’s not the first time it’s happened.”
It’s not until you feel his chest suddenly inflate in a gasp that you wonder if that actually made him feel worse. You try to fix it by quickly adding, “I’m fine, promise,” but there must’ve been a slight quiver in your voice because he pulls you close for another comforting hug.
“I’m so sorry this had to happen to you, and at our gig, of all places!” he admonishes. He pulls away to get a proper look at you again. “Will you be able to get back home safely?”
“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll get a taxi.” There’s no way I’m going on the Tube today.
Dan nods, offering you a smile that softens his anxious expression. He sighs. “Well, I hate to leave you like this, but I’ve got to go meet the other fans. You sure you’re be alright?”
You smile for the first time since your shirt was ripped from your back. He’s just so kind. “Yeah, I think I’ll be fine now. I really hope I can see you again.”
Dan grins down at you, and before you can react, he bends down slightly and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, before stepping back and stuffing his hands in his pockets, flashing you a quick, dimpled smile.
And then he’s gone.
You make it home safely, thankfully. As you slowly take your jacket off, you realize that it’s not yours. Crap.
Maybe you can DM Dan on Twitter, get his attention somehow. He’s probably missing his hoodie now; the night’s are getting chillier and chillier.
You open up the app, only to find that someone’s mentioned you. What?
Your heart jumps when you see the account name: bastilledan.
Dan had tweeted you.
You look at the tweet, where he’s saying that he’s once again sorry and to “check the jacket pocket.”
Whatever that means.
Wait. He gave you his jacket after your shirt had been torn. You race to where you placed it and check the pockets. Perhaps he had slipped something in when he hugged you?
You reach into the left pocket, you hand brushing against something smooth. A piece of paper?
A phone number.
Did Dan give me his phone number?
Your heart suddenly beating quickly, you text the number.
Hi, this is the girl from the concert. Is this Dan?
You chew on your lip as you wait for an answer. You almost jump when you see the text bubble forming, signaling that someone is typing.
Yeah! the text says, I would like to meet up sometime.
for each sign: a cute boy who sings perfect lyrics for you
aries: I hope you feel what I’m feeling too, I’d get down on my knees for you // zayn, one direction taurus: I will never walk away again, I’m never gonna leave this bed // adam levine, maroon 5 gemini: if it’s your wish to run away, then I will grant it // the avett brothers cancer: I want your hot love and emotion, endlessly // drake leo: gotta love the way you love yourself // matty healy, the 1975 virgo: I love her because she moves in her own way // luke pritchard, the kooks libra: we’re making two reflections into one, cause it’s like you’re my mirror // justin timberlake scorpio: all of your flaws, and all my flaws, they lie there hand-in-hand // dan smith, bastille sagittarius: but love the one you hold, and I’ll be your gold // marcus mumford, mumford & sons capricorn: babe, there’s something so tragic about you, something so magic about you // hozier aquarius: so wouldn’t you like to come with me, surfing the sun as it starts to rise? // danny jones, mcfly pisces: baby I’m yours, and I’ll be yours until the stars fall from the sky // alex turner, arctic monkeys