"Tell me about the festival. What was your favorite part?" Goldie pushes her recorder closer to Harry and plugs in the record player in his bunk. She puts on an album. As the balls of her feet push against the ground, she paces back to the bed to sit beside her subject of study.

"Oh my goodness. Queen! Harry, we just saw Queen perform! I feel like I'm living in a dream right now. Can you pinch me?" Goldie runs her fingers through her sweaty hair and grasps the sides of his equally moist face.

"I never thought I'd say this but I couldn't concentrate on the performance. Gimme this." Harry grabs the Polaroid camera hanging around Goldie's neck and kisses the top of her cheekbone and snaps a pic of the endearing moment. "Come with me." He grabs her hand and leads her out of the crowd.

"What are you doing?" Goldie struggles to maintain the same pace as Harry, her small legs racing like the runt of a litter of hamsters. For every single stride of his, she's made to take three. "Harry, the festival is back that way."

The dingy front door of the tour bus easily opens as Harry's hand barely touches the handle. He's a man on a mission, destined to taste the forbidden fruit. This moment will be the genesis of mankind. He'll match the evil to her good and open the lid of Pandora's box to unleash the chaos of the world around them.

"I figured you'd want some privacy. I know Grimmy heard us last night. All the guys are back at camp or practicing for the show tomorrow." Harry walks backwards, his hand still laced into hers. The seats of the bus hit their hips as they blindly make their way to the back of the bus. But before he can make it all the way to his room, he stops. "I can't. Can you lay back here?"

"Here?" Goldie points to the short row of seats behind her, next to the kitchenette dining table. She sits back.

Harry kneels down in front of her and dances his fingers up and down her button fly. "I want to try something." He unbuttons the top button, the fabric digging into her milky skin. He bends down to kiss her delicate navel and unbuttons the second button of the fly of her jeans. "I couldn't even make it to my bunk. All that's been on my mind is apple pie." He looks up at her deviously, his tongue caressing the small patch of skin above the denim. He undoes the remaining three buttons at the top of her pants and digs his fingertips into the hem of her jeans and elastic of her panties, pulling the fabric down her legs and to her ankles.

"Harry," she whispers, her breath full of lust and the most delicious version of fear and excitement one could have. She looks at the cloud in the distance, ready to dive into the canyon. She giggles at the thought. How almost every moment with Harry has been similar to what she'd imagine freefalling would feel like.

"Please," he asks, grabbing each of her legs and setting the bend of her knees on his shoulders. He lightly pushes the tip of his nose against her. "I've been thinking about this since the day I saw you walk up to the bus. Are you okay, though? Just tell me."

Her nerves stand on end at the feeling of his heat in close proximity to her cold flesh. She unknowingly spreads her legs further and digs her heels into his back to bring him closer. "It's perfect."

"God, how do you do this?" He licks up to the precipice of her being. "Just as I thought. Sweet."

She was cotton candy and kettle corn after a long day of walking around a fair. The type of comfort you longed for to remind you that you're still young and alive. A reward for knocking down all the milk bottles. For throwing the dart perfectly in the center of the printed star. But to say she was simply a prize would be selling her short. She was that and so much more to Harry. He thought he longed for the perfect conquest but she completed him. She made him feel as though he was placed on the planet for a reason, although that'd likely never be something he'd admit. At least in the near future.

He presses his tongue against her clit and waits to see how her body responds. She's like learning a new instrument. Will she like it? Will she hate it? Would the sound she releases be pleasant or will it bring the audience of one to cover their ears in embarrassment?

"Fuck," her mouth manages to mutter. She rarely cursed. She knows that. He knows that. This is a good sign. A symbol of her utopian experience. This is otherworldly. How has she gone through life so long without enjoying this sensation?

A small black line parts the light peach of her skin and up to her blushing cheeks. Harry's created perfect imperfections in her existence. She's sweetly broken. Ready to be glued back together. The seas have parted and they're ready to crash against one another again to stand as evidence of how Mother Nature can move planets and defy the natural order of everything.

Her breaths become more shallow as his mouth presses harder against her. His eyes glance up to her eyes. The sight of her pleasured face makes him try with even more vigor than before. He attempts to hold back. If he acted on every emotion, she'd be thrown into the wall behind her.

The heat of the moment starts to fog up the glass. They're blissfully unaware and living in the moment. Goldie places her hands on the window behind her, her fingertips dripping through the condensation and the oils making marks on the see-through material.

"HARRY!" She yells. Although she'd been involved with him before, she hasn't felt such a feeling. All of her skin turns hot. Her eyelids flutter. Her stomach muscles contract, causing her thigh muscles to clench on either side of his head. She wants to push him away but also bring him closer in.

Harry feels it. He senses it. He revels in it. This is exactly what he wanted.

Her wetness drips down his chin as he pulls away to see the results of his work. Both Harry and Goldie let out a laugh. He bends back and grabs a Sharpie from their usual poker table. He lifts up her shirt to better expose her thigh and starts to draw on her pure skin.

"What are you doing?" She asks, her chest still heaving in ecstasy. She looks down at the black ink as it bleeds into the microscopic crevices of her skin.

"Drawing a rose." Harry continues to paint lines on the surface of her hip bone. "I have a rose tattooed on my arm. It means a lot of things. White means purity. Yellow means friendship. Orange means passion. Red means love." He kisses her leg, the black faintly marking his lips. "Michelle..."

Her heart skips a beat. The sound of his beautiful accent correctly guessing her name causes her to pause. She stops and looks down at him. "Wait, what? What did you just say?"

"Michelle?" He's startled by her reaction and looks up at her, his eyes wide with joy and unsurety. "Is it... is your...holy shit... is your name Michelle, Goldie?"

"Don't tell anyone, please. Only you know, and I like that."

"Michelle, my belle," Harry sings The Beatles song Michelle as his index finger traces the outline of her homemade, temporary tattoo. "I need to, I need to, I need to, I need to make you see, oh, what you mean to me," he continues to sing.

https://youtu.be/WoBLi5eE-wY

* * *

"Harry, I can't say that in the article." Goldie pushes his wandering paws away from her legs.

Harry smiles and caresses his fingers up her neck, up to her chin and moves his thumb across her bottom lip. "Then say my favorite moment is private. Or omit the whole story. But I'm not gonna lie. You asked a question and I answered." Harry kisses her jawline, his hand resting on the other side of her face.

Goldie smiles. "Okay. Well, word on the street is you had a riff with The Rolling Stones. What happened and was it resolved?"

"FUCK, GUYS! That was INCREDIBLE!" Harry rushes off the stage. His shirt is soaked with sweat. "Did you hear the fans? They loved us!"

"Amazing job boys," a deep voice says from the sidelines, accompanied by a slow clap. Mick Jagger sits on a couch, alone and half illuminated by the light of a cigarette. Harry questions whether his clap is genuine or condescending, especially given their issues the other night.

"Mick," The Orphans say in unison, bowing their heads and walking by their former foe.

"Harry. Sit with me, will you? I want to bury the hatchet, so to speak." Mick's giant lips twitch with every word. Harry nods to his bandmates, signaling that it's okay for them to leave him alone. "Goldie, stay. You're press. You should capture this moment."

Harry sits beside Mick and uncomfortably bites his the inside of his cheek. Harry fidgets. He's nervous in a way that Goldie has never witnessed. She can't help but snap a picture of this momentous moment.

"Dear boy," Mick leans in closer to Harry. "I thought about it and I would have done the same as you. You're talented. You're the frontman and you're carrying the weight of the entire band. The head carrier of the battering ram into the industry. I get it. And she's your lady, yeah?" Mick signals towards Goldie.

Harry silently nods his head "yes."

"You're sweet. She's sweet. It's beautiful." Mick leans into Harry and whispers, "I just hope you realize that certain people can be a distraction. And at the end of the day, she's a journalist. She can make you and or break you. Keep your eyes on the prize and remember, the tour will end someday. The sun will set. You'll all start recording, do a media tour, you'll do more shows and the whole chaos will begin again. You meet a lot of wonderful people on the road. Learn to distinguish the wonderful from the meaningful. The Orphans... those are who you should focus on." Mick leans back, placing his hands behind his head. He reaches his hand forward and grabs a grape from the coffee table and tosses it the air before catching it in his mouth. "But what do I know, yeah? I'm just Mick Jagger." He stands, looking to the two in his company. "Goldie. Harry. It's been a pleasure."

"You settled your differences. But what advice did Mick whisper to you?" Goldie looks to Harry for the answers she's been so desperately waiting to hear since she initially witnessed the exchange.

"Nothing that I'd ever listen to." Harry looks to her with a sad grin. "What's your next question?"

* * *

"Alright. This was a pretty exciting performance. I saw it. The majority of rock lovers in Middle America saw it. Tell us, what was it like to be up on that stage? Describe it."

The Orphans blew out the ear drums of the audience with their shock and excitement. Much like their first performance, there were no fireworks or extravagant additions to carry the show. Just pure rock and roll.

Mid performance, The Orphans get louder. Their drum beats quicken. Their guitar solos play on with ultimate power. The audience sways side to side, allowing their tunes to flow through their bone marrow and blood and out the tips of their fingertips and toes.

Halfway through their last song, a familiar voice begins to sing and the crowd grows louder.

"David Bowie?" Mitch says into the mic, somehow managing to continue playing their song. Harry, Matt, Jonesy and Niall look to their left while continuing and The Thin White Duke steps onto stage, mic in hand.

Harry jumps up and down and Goldie does the same from the opposite side of the plateau as she witnesses her idol of eternity step onto stage with her newfound heroes. Bowie and The Orphans play together, in perfect harmony. Harry and David sing together. Move together. The crowd goes wild at the sight.

"I'm so sorry. I couldn't help myself." Bowie steps to the front of the stage at the close of the song. "You boys are the real deal." He widens his arms and faces the band, speaking to them directly. "I love your music. Your raw talent. And I've become a fan of your good friend. Goldie is her name. She's the stuff songs are written for, my friends." Bowie looks to her and gives a sweet nod in her direction.

"You can say that again," Harry says softly, his words echoing in the crowd. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. We hope to see you all again soon."

"YOU'LL BE SEEING A LOT MORE OF THEM!" Bowie yells, grabbing Harry's hand and taking a bow with him.

"FUCK, GUYS! That was INCREDIBLE!" Harry yells, running off the stage.

* * *

"I'll see what I can use. You quoted a lot of personal stuff though, Harry." Goldie giggles, stopping the recording. "Great interview, nevertheless. Even if it's just between us."

"Should we make more moments just between us?" Harry runs his fingers up her inner thigh. He's suddenly stopped by Grimmy barging in.

"We're in Louisiana! Parking at the hotel now. Collect yourselves, you filthy animals," Grimmy jokes. He's the only one that knows their secret and is a loyal enough friend that he has no intention to spill the beans. Their "relationship" seems harmless enough.

Grimmy walks back to the front of the bus. "FIRST ONE TO THE FRONT DESK GETS THE SUITE! THERE'S A HOT TUB ON THE BALCONY, BOYS!"

Harry wiggles his eyebrows at Goldie and swiftly throws her over his shoulder. He sprints to the front of the bus, knocks into every band member on their way out, and out onto the pavement of the parking lot. "C'mon, my belle!" He gives her a quick spank to the bottom. His feet hit the tile of the lobby. Then he stops. He doesn't just stop, though. He halts. It's a record scratch. A wild bull trying to dodge the cabinets of china shop.

"Harry!" Goldie says with a giggle, smacking his ass back. "What are you doing?" Her feet are then placed on the ground and she turns around to admire the entryway of the building when she sees a surprising image.

"Dad?" Her eyes grow wide. So wide, in fact, it's as though the bulbs of her eyes will spill out and drop to the ground. Something she's been waiting for yet so unprepared for. She runs to Jimmy and wraps her nervous muscles around him. "What are you doing here?"

"Told you we'd make a visit at some point." Jimmy looks at Goldie, briefly to Harry with semi-judging eyes, and then back to his daughter.

"Wait. What do you mean 'we?'" Goldie stares at her dad in confusion. Her eyes search around. Her vision is blurry, then brought into focus by a familiar beam of light. "ANDREW?"