#fyy

KEITH RICHARDS

• Keith doesn't act like you're famous. He acts like you're his and, and the fact that the whole bloody world knows it is just a funny little detail. He's never given a toss about what people think — always lived by his own rules — And that carries over to how he sees your career.

• He loves watching you on stage, but he hangs about by the monitor, fag gone out in his hand 'cause he forgot to light it, too busy staring at you. When you finish the tune, he gives that crooked grin and shakes his head slow like: "Yeah. That's my bird"

• If someone from the press asks if he feels overshadowed by your success, he lets out that raspy chuckle, scratches his stubble, and goes: "Overshadowed? Darlin', I'm the bloke who stands in your shadow on purpose. The light's all yours, and I'm bloody chuffed to be 'ere." He's always been sarcastic with the press, and with you, it's no different.

• Keith doesn't compete. He thinks any suggestion of rivalry is dead ridiculous. Once, at some posh dinner, a producer called you "the new Joplin." Keith looked up over his whiskey, deadpan, and said: "She's 'erself. Stop comparin', it's dead unoriginal." He's a bloke who values authenticity above all else.

• When you're on tour, he turns up in your dressing room unannounced. No message, no call. Just appears, guitar slung over his back and a pack of fags in his pocket, and flops on the sofa while you do your vocal warm ups. If you're knackered, he picks out soft chords 'til you drift off. He once babysat a kid for a week and thought it was "great" — so looking after you, quiet and present, is entirely his stylee.

• He hates it when the papers try to pit you against him. Once, a journalist hinted you were only with him for the status. Keith tossed the paper on the table, took a long drag, and looked the bloke dead in the eye: "She's got more talent in one hair on 'er head than I've got in my whole body. If she wanted status, she wouldn't need some washed-up junkie, would she?" — and he walked off. He's got a deep respect for music and for anyone who makes it for real, and he won't have anyone doubt your talent

• In private moments, he cups your face in both hands, but with this almost unnerving calm. He rests his forehead against yours, closes his eyes, and murmurs: "You're the only real thing in all this bloody nonsense. Don't go losin' yourself on me, you 'ear?"

• He writes riffs with your voice in mind. Leaves cassette tapes scattered about the flat with scribbled notes: "For 'er. If she wants it." He never pushes you to sing what he writes, but when you pick one up and sing it, he sits on the floor, staring at you like you're some sort of miracle. To Keith, music is something almost sacred, and sharing that with you is the biggest proof of love he can give

MICK JAGGER

• Mick is obsessively proud of you. Like, he won't shut his gob about it. In every interview, he finds a way to drop your name, with that smug grin that says: "Yes, she's mine. And she's bloody fantastic." He's always been ambitious and image obsessed, and you're a massive part of that picture

• But he's also competitive in a playful, electric sort of way. If your single climbs the charts, he turns up at home with a glass of champagne and goes: "Not bad. But my next one's going to be better." And then he kisses you so hard you forget to answer, and he laughs against your mouth 'cause he knew it'd work. He loves a bit of healthy banter, and with you it's almost a game of seduction.

• He adores the two of you as a "power couple." He takes you to all the exclusive parties, holds your hand up high for the photographers, and whispers in your ear: "Let 'em look. We give 'em what they want and then some." Mick's always craved the upper echelons of fame, and having you by his side only solidifies that image.

• Mick is incredibly attentive to your image and your career. He doesn't meddle in your music (unless you ask), but he watches everything. He knows the names of your producers, your managers, your roadies. If someone treats you badly, he makes one phone call and that person vanishes from your circle without you even knowing. He's the "administrator" of the band —that extends to everything that involves you.

• He calls you "My Muse" in public, all dramatic and theatrical, just the way he likes it. But in private, he whispers far more vulnerable things: "You're the only person who makes me want to be better. Not just as a musician. As a human being. That's terrifying." And he says it with that fixed stare, like he's just confessed to a crime. Behind the frontman, there's a man who surprises himself with his own vulnerability.

• if you get a bad review in the press, he loses it. He paces the room, gesticulating, his voice rising: "What does that prat know about music? He's never set foot in a studio in his life! You're brilliant, and I'm ringing that rag's editor right now!"

• He watches you in the recording studio with an almost clinical intensity. Sits in the corner, legs crossed, fiddling with his ring, analysing every single breath you take. When you finish, he gives a slow clap and says: "Perfect. But on the bridge, you held your breath. Hold it less next time, love. I want to hear you cry that note." He's tough, but it's 'cause he respects you as an equal artist.

• He leaves notes on your dressing room mirror. Sometimes with flowers. They're old song lyrics, scribbled on stationery, with messages like: "To my one and only equal. Break a leg today. I'll be in the front row, eating you alive with my eyes." He's a dramatic romantic — everything about him is spectacle, even his affection.