For What It's Worth

It's wrong.

It's wrong to be here. In London. In this massive hotel room, an expensive suite no less.

It's wrong to be here with her. It's wrong to be with her period.

Oh God. But that last thought. It tears through his chest. He couldn't, wouldn't, imagine how much worse it would get if he ever lost her. If she left, she'd take his heart with her. And he would die. He would die a slow, painful death as the rest of her oozed through the complex maze of his veins and arteries before he bled out completely.

It's kind of funny though. Here he is, imagining her running off with his most vital organ, when she already has it. His heart is already hers, and he's doing quite fine without it.

He sits up, tucking his legs beneath him. He makes sure to keep his movements slow and light to prevent her from feeling them. And though he does his best, she still sighs and rolls to his pillow, only content when her arms are wrapped around it.

She is perfect. That was the first word that came to mind whenever he tried to describe her. To be honest, it's the only word that would ever fit.

No man would be able to deny that she was a physical knockout. Her light brown hair has these random blonde streaks that would sparkle (literally, he was positive of it) when caught in the sunlight. Her sapphire eyes are terrifying yet comforting all at the same time. Her body must have been crafted by the gods. Her breasts, hips, and ass are all in perfect proportion. And her legs. He groaned at the thought of them and how just a little while ago they were wrapped around him.

Somehow, he decides that he likes the little things about her more. The way she crinkles her nose in the most adorable of ways to make him laugh. How she paints her nails a different color every day. The happy dance she bursts into whenever she gets completely excited over something. How she shares her iPod with him, each with an earbud. She never says a word. She just lets the lyrics do all the talking for her. And he would understand completely.

With each passing moment, the melody playing in his head becomes louder. Unable to wait any longer, he gets up. He picks up the acoustic guitar resting against the wall and pulls it onto his lap as he sits in one of the suede armchairs.

His gaze drifts out the wall-length mirror while his fingers continue to strum the strings. He can see the London Eye aglow even though the rest of the city is swallowed in darkness. Except for the streetlights. And the business offices. And the shopping centers.

It sounded more romantic before. He should've stopped while he was ahead.

His eyes focus again on the giant wheel. He wanted to ride on it that night with her. She declined. You should know better, she chastised.

She was right. Though he hated to admit and never would admit it out loud. She was always right.

But she's older and, as the saying goes, wiser.

Leaning back against the chair, his fingers slip once he realizes she's awake. She's propped up in bed, her head cradled by one of her hands. And she's watching.

"Sorry," she murmurs. "Pretend I'm not here."

"Why would I want to do that?"

She whines softly as he lays the guitar down. "No, Nicky. Don't stop because of me."

His ears twitch at the sound of him purring his name. He was never fond of the nickname growing up. Coming from her though, it sounds like a sweet symphony.

"I only started because of you."

"I didn't realize I was so inspiring."

"Yes, you did." He chuckles, catching her laugh along with him. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"I don't mind. I like listening to you play."

"Well, I don't feel like playing anymore."

"You should write them down. The notes. So you don't forget them in the morning."

"I won't. I have a mind like a steel trap."

He's not sure where the analogy came from. All he knows is that it makes her snort. And it's perfect.

She tosses her head, letting her hair fall behind her shoulders. "If you're not going to play anymore, maybe you should come back to bed."

He likes that idea. He likes it a lot.

Abandoning the guitar and armchair, Nick crawls onto the bed. She lifts the sheets just enough to cover them once he's settled beside her. Her head finds its usual spot against his shoulder while her fingers stroke the bare skin of his chest.

He tries to keep still. It really isn't fair that the lightest of her touches still manages to do wonders on his body. It only makes him feel all the more inadequate and inexperienced when he's incapable of keeping his composure.

"You don't have to be so tense, Nicholas."

"I know."

"I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I?"

"No," he replies, almost too eagerly. "No, of course not."

"Good. Because I was going to say that we've done far worse than lying in a bed together."

A smirk forms on his lips before the depth of her words sinks in. "Worse? You think it's bad being with me?"

"I never said that."

"You said we've done worse than-"

"I meant that we've done less innocent things than lying together." She leans up, resting one arm on the mattress while the other combs through his dark curls. "That's all."

"Oh."

"Please don't be upset."

"I'm not upset."

"You are. I can see those worry lines on your temple," she says, pressing her lips to them. "They always come out when you freak out."

"I'm not freaking out."

"You are."

"Miley—"

Laughing, she kisses his forehead again. "You are."

He tilts his head back, letting his mouth meet hers. She gives in all too easily. If she was able to resist him, they wouldn't be in this predicament now.

It's worth it though. She's so worth it.

With one final kiss, she curls back into his side. "Go to sleep now, Nicholas. It's late."

"I'm not tired."

"We have a busy day tomorrow. There are interviews in the morning. Then, we have a quick photo shoot. And after all that, it's over to the venue for sound check and then the concert before heading out."

"And by we, you mean you and Joe."

"It's Joe's tour. You're—"

"Just tagging along?"

Miley shakes her head. "You'll be in the spotlight again soon enough. You'll have an album and a tour all your own, and it'll be amazing."

"And then you can come on tour with me. We can be together all the time, and it'll be okay then."

"Mhm."

She rolls onto her shoulder. With her back to him, Nick wonders if he's said something wrong. If he's done something to upset her. He's always been careful around her, with her.

But if she's mad anyway...

"Miley," he murmurs. "Will you—?"

Her hand suddenly reaches for his arm, pulling him to her. As his body molds around hers, he shuts his mouth. He figured he'd give it a shot. He's tried every night, for so many nights, to ask her the same question.

She never gives him a chance to finish.

Instead, he lays beside her. He can feel her slowly start to drift off in his arms as his fingers strum against her skin, playing a silent song that he's still trying to figure out. And if she goes, he knows he never will.

Hey! So this is my latest venture in the Nick/Miley fandom. I hope that you enjoyed this prologue. Chapter One will take us back in time, just a little bit. I'm pretty excited about this story, so I hope that you will be, too.