You weren’t friends.

Simon Riley and you had been in the same college band for almost a semester but your relationship didn’t extend past rehearsals and obligatory hangouts with your mutual friends. You were two pieces forced together by a mutual friend, Soap; who swore you two would ‘vibe’. Whatever that meant.

Simon was the lead guitarist. He was quiet, reserved, precise, and always there five minutes early and always the first to leave. No matter what. He never lingered, never had a cig with the rest of the band, never talked too much.

You were on vocals. Whatever you sang held so much emotion. If Simon was all harsh lines and cold air, you were soft waves and warmth. Opposites.

For a long time, you two existed in each other’s presence without interacting — just idly going on with your practices and shows, maybe sharing a word or two here and there… but lately, something had shifted.

It started the night he didn’t show up for rehearsal. The first one he has ever missed. It was unusual for him.

No text. No warning. Just an empty space where his guitar usually rested and a charged silence amongst the others. The rest of the band exchanged glances but didn’t say much about it. Just that sometimes Simon needed time by himself.

But then it had been two days missing, three, four… then a week. No show. No call. No one had heard from him and you had a gig tomorrow night.

That night you left rehearsal late, you were last one there; heading out of the little garage that your band rented out to practice in.

And you saw him. He was leaning against the brick building, guitar leaned up against the wall beside him; smoke billowing out of his parted lips from the cig.

“Sorry, shit came up.” He muttered, flicking ash onto the ground before clearing his throat. “She cheated.”

His long time girlfriend. Of course. His voice was flat. “Found out last week. Her roommate told me. Guess she figured I should know before exam week and the biggest gig of my life, hm?” Bitterness laced his words, another scoff and flick of the ash.

That night, you didn’t try to push any farther. You didn’t offer soft reassurance or cliche words, you just let him talk. As much as he would.

And from that night on, things changed. Not dramatically. Not all at once. But slowly.

Months went by, you both started showing up at practice a little earlier and leaving a little later, parting ways in front of the dingy garage every night. Simon began to talk more, offhand comments that revealed more than he meant, the band growing closer than ever.

And that’s how it led to this, you two meeting up weekly to review the band’s recordings together. You were sat across from each other on the floor, legs crossed and heads leaned in, sharing the same crappy pair of wired earbuds.

Occasionally, you’d look up from your lap and catch him already looking at you; heads so close if you leaned in just a smidge more your foreheads would be touching. Sometimes it looked like he—

The recording ended and Simon leaned back. He let the earbud fall from his ear; hands planting firmly behind him as he leaned back. “Yeah— that one sounded good.”