I lean into the mic, sweat dripping from my forehead and the crowd roars as I belt the last line. “It’s none of your business. It’s none of your—it’s none of your—“

I can’t take my eyes off of you—eyes gleaming, smile wide—you look so proud of me. You always do. Everytime me and the lads perform in this underground bar, you’re here cheering me on.

I say a quick “thankyou” into the mic before laying my guitar down at the back of the small stage. I fist bump the lads, telling them how amazing they performed tonight. Then I knock back the last half of my beer, stepping off of the small stage.

I easily slink my arm around your waist, you’re always at the front, ready to praise me for every performance.

“You did so well tonight, everyone loves it when you guys perform ‘kiwi’” you murmur, pressing a kiss to my temple.

“Yeah? Recon I did good, baby? I’m glad you think so.”

As the words leave my lips I notice something in my peripheral—something that wasn’t exactly unusual when you’re in a rock band—a fan girl had her top pulled up, teeth grazing her bottom lip with a cocky smirk.

Flashing her tits. In my direction. No shame.

You follow my gaze, immediately frowning and I feel you tense beside me. Shit, I’m such an idiot. My eyes lingered a little too long on the girls tits and I know that wasn’t missed by you. In my defence, I wasn’t expecting to see a random pair of tits tonight. And I’m a man, at the end of the day.

“What the fuck?” You sneer, I’m not sure if you’re directing your words at me or the girl.

I take a quick glance at the girl, her smirks grown wider. Clearly loving that she’s gotten you all riled up.

“Babe, ignore it. Fan girls will be fan girls.” I say nonchalantly, trying to deescalate the situation.