No one in the world, literally no one, could deny that Role Model was a good - no, amazing - singer. He had the voice of a fucking angel, goddamnit. But, you had to confess, you hadn’t really appreciated it. Even being his girlfriend, going to most of his shows, basically living with him, you’d still underestimated the voice of Tucker Pillsbury.

The moment felt like it should be frozen, framed, and hung on a wall. It had been a few hours since you and Tucker had collapsed into the hotel room after an exhausting day on tour. Not that either of you were complaining, he was opening for Goddamn Fucking In-The-Flesh Gracie Madigan Abrams, and that was worth everything. So there the two of you were, Tucker draped across the bed, you sitting in a chair in front of the vanity, assessing your face. The room was pretty silent, something good about your relationship. Comfortable silences existed. Until he started singing. Singing under his breath. Close To You by Gracie Abrams had never sounded better. Except maybe when you heard it live.

You turn to watch him, watch his lips moving absentmindedly as he scrolled through Instagram. This man was fucking everything. And he knew it.