My Little Bird

Autumn Lloyd had been in a abusive relationship & when she decides to leave she runs into world famous singer Ed Sheeran on the subway. In a chain of events he takes her in on tour. Later, he ex returns for revenge and he Ed and Autumn's relationship goes up and down on this roller-coaster of events.


1. The A Team


A trail of fresh blood ran down my forehead as I grabbed my old guitar.  

"Do you even care about me?" I screamed before slamming the bedroom door. I franticly grabbed belongings and threw them into my suitcase, making sure I had everything. "Listen, Red, please." Tom pleaded quietly from the hallway.  He used that nickname since we got together.

"Don't even fucking call me that!" I sobbed back, practically feeling him against the door. I threw more things into my bag. 

"Autumn, please. I made a mistake. I'm only human" He murmured back, his soothing voice almost getting the best of me. No. This was the last straw. I couldn't let him win. No matter how much I still loved him. 

"As if! I've seen this all along. The late nights, phone numbers in your pockets, staring at other girls. AM I NOT FUCKING GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU?! You are just another fucking player. Go away."  

He stayed silent. I paused before opening the window and looked around, was I really leaving Tom? I had to. No, I didn't. We could have worked through this. No, he would have gone back to his horrid ways. As I zipped up my duffel he burst in, and I whispered a goodbye, before leaping out the third floor window and ran down the fire escape.  

The railing was rusted and the frame was unstable but I made it down before Tom could get me. I jumped from the top of the railing and landed hard on my left ankle, shooting a burning pain through my lower leg. I stumbled a bit further down the sidewalk and dragged my guitar case behind me. It was almost midnight but London was still very much awake, and Tom wouldn't be able to find me if I blended in. I glanced behind me for any sign of the monster. No. I was safe. 

I made it to the tubes, not even knowing where to go. I got onto the next train and it was filled with drunks, pervs and beggars. There was man who stood out though. He had wild ginger hair and intense blue eyes. He wore a Ralph Lauren hoodie and baggy blue jean with high top trainers. He had a guitar strapped around his back and starred at my case like he knew exactly what mine looked like. He was odd. 

As the train chimed and lurched forward my ankle gave away and I fell right onto my bum, my bag and guitar scattered. I heard a heavily drunk group of guys around 20 (like me) laughing and trying to help me up while really trying to grab my breasts. I swatted their anxious hands away with no luck as the men continued to touch me as I gathered my things. My eyes felt tears come up as I realized how helpless I was and how I should have stayed with my abusive boyfriend. Out of the corner of my teary eye I saw the ginger man approaching me and I turned away, not wanting him to see me like this for some reason. He yelled at the boys to fuck off and grabbed my bags. The boys swore and got off at the next stop, whistling and yelling phone numbers to me. I sighed and used a pole to bring myself up feeling the ginger staring at me. I felt my cheeks turn as red as my tan skin could go. 

"Hey," His voice was soft and his barely visible eyebrows were pushed together with concern, "are you ok? I'm sorry about those drunks. Fucking idiots, they are. But you look pretty beat up. What happened? Where you headed?" 

I was a bit shorter than him but I seemed to recognize his face. I don't know where from though. I felt weird talking to this strange man on the tubes at 12 in the morning but what did I have to lose?  

"Yeah, er," My voice was quiet and raspy from crying but the words made it out, "Thanks for that." I touched my forehead and warm blood appeared on my hand. From Tom. My lip and arm were bleeding too. I smiled at the man who looked about my age but he still looked uncertain. "I just got a bit scratched and I'm just heading to a" I hurried along the conversation, wanting to just get away. I didn't realize I was crying until tears stung my bleeding lip. 

"You're lying," He said flatly. 

"What?" I said, taken aback. 

"You're crying. You're body language. You're bleeding all over. This is no accident." 

God, this guy knows everything, I thought to myself.  

"Listen, don't worry," I said reassuringly, taking my guitar from him, "I'm fine but I need to go." 

The train slowed and the doors opened where I limped out into the train as fast as I could. I didn't even know where I was but I couldn't be around that ginger man. I stumbled and heard someone call after me. The ginger was running up to me and I stopped and admitted to myself that I needed help. I had nowhere to go. At least he wasn't drunk. 

"Hey," He panted.  

"Hey," I replied. "My name is Autumn. You clearly aren't going to give up on me so I'll be truthful,"  

He nodded and showed me to a bench were we sat together. 

"I moved out at seventeen, three years ago, and worked part time in a café. I met my boyfriend a year later and we moved in together. He was so perfect back then but now it's been relationship. He's been cheating and such." I looked at him and continued with teary eyes. "He has sort of been out of control lately and he kinda...beat me up. And I just left. I can't deal with him anymore. It's over." 

"God, Autumn. You've got quite a past. I'm 21 and I moved out at 16 and struggled like you. Where are you headed?" His blue eyes beamed into my grey ones. 

"I don't even know. My parents live in Scotland. I guess I was gonna sleep on the streets or something like that. I haven't got much money on me...What is your name?" I asked gingerly. If he was going to know everything about me, I may as well know his name.

"Do you know who I am?" He replied with a smirk. 

"No..." I said with a tinge of embarrassment, "Am I supposed to? You face rings a bell though. Do I know you?" 

He laughed. "No, at least I don't think so. My name is Ed. I'm a musician. Ed Sheeran." 

I gaped with amazement and embarrassment. I just spilled my whole life story to Ed Sheearn. THE Ed Sheeran. In the middle of an underground station. At 12:30 in the morning. I pinched myself. 

I heard him laugh. It brought me back to life.

"You're kidding..." I said, not expecting an answer. 

"Would you like to stay with me in the bus? We've got a spare bunk. I think. If not we'll make space. You seem chill. As long as you don't scream and kill me in my sleep. Do you have a job?" 

"Oh my god, yes! I won't kill you, I promise. Only for the night though. I need to get back to my ex. And I don't have a job..." This was a dream. There was no way this was happening. 

"No. Stay as long as you want. I can't let you go back to that man." He said, "You have any guitar skills?" He gestured to my old guitar case.

"Yeah, I guess. I've been playing for 5 years or so. I can play The A-Team." I looked at him for confirmation. He amazed me. He was so normal for a celebrity. He wore a hoodie. He carried an old guitar around. He had messy hair and stubble.  

"Fantastic! I'll play along." He smiled and I took out my guitar while he tuned his. The station was dead so we could play in peace. I turned to Ed. He was so focused and dedicated to what he did but also stayed very much in touch with the 'real world'. Which I guess why I was so intimidated by him. He had un-measureable talent. He kept himself quiet and you only knew what he wanted you to know. You couldn't hate him for anything. He just made music. Real music. 

"Now that's a nice one." He admired my guitar. It had polished black wood that had worn down over the years.  

"Thanks...I... Err...doodled on it while I was supposed to be doing homework in high school." I laughed, mentioning to the silver designs I'd done in marker.  

He stared at them and spoke softly, "I love it. It makes it your own," He then brought himself back to his own half-size guitar and began playing. I did the same. 

White lips, pale face, breathing in the snowflakes, burnt lungs, sour taste. 

I heard our voices echo through the station and closed my eyes. I belted my heart out, and all my emotions poured out. My eyes started to tear up as the song ended and I realized Ed had stopped playing. He stared at me. 

"I-I'm sorry," I franticly shoved my guitar in its case, "I was terrible, I'm sorry I wasted your-" 

"No..." He dreamily interrupted. "That was fantastic."  

I pushed back my thick brown hair, "Really?" 

"Yeah." He suddenly stood, "Let's go."


We walked out of the station and into the cold London air. Ed seemed to keep a close eye on me and I didn't know if it was because he was worried about me or he was studying me. I settled on both.  

"You should make things your own." He said over the street noise. 

"What?" I replied quickly and off guard. 

"Mix songs up a bit. Don't go with the flow." 

A salesman tried to get Ed into buying a watch and he simply stuck up his middle finger and kept walking while I politely declined. He was rough and protective, hurrying me along. And I wasn't complaining, the paparazzi were around. We turned a corner and into an ally, away from the London nightlife.  

"Listen, Autumn. I need you to be cool. My manager, Stuart is gonna be pissed at me but he'll grow to you. My band are cool. I'll introduce you, ok? You got clothes?" He noticed my duffel and nodded. "Ok, the bus is right down here." 

I followed him cautiously down the alley. So many thoughts ran through my head at once. What if wasn't the real Ed Sheeran? What if he was some psychotic stalker that wanted to be him? He sure as hell looked like him. What if he wanted to rape me? Oh well. I wasn't worth it. I had nothing to lose. 

"So what did you mean back there?" He gripped my hand as a sketchy group of men walked by and I felt myself go red, turning so couldn't see me. 

"'Bout mixing things up?" He released my hand and I immediately missed it and urged silently for his warmth to come back. "I mean, make tracks your own. Add lyrics, or take them out. Change the tune. Slow it down. Being an artist isn't about going with the status quo. That's why it's called being an artist. Gettit?" He spoke heavily with his hands. "We'll talked more tomorrow, ok? It's late, man. And I'm not exactly sober." He laughed as we approached the slick black bus. It had huge tinted windows and a tiny black door in the front where fans had written their names. I smiled at that. 

"Ready?" Ed asked thoughfully through a grin. 

At that point I realized I had literally been shaking. Without thinking, my small hand curved itself into his large one and, to my surprisingly, he didn't object.  


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