It started with silly songs in your journal in middle school, Simon helping you come up with them as he made up whatever beat he felt was necessary. This was when your shared love for music started, the garage of your southern home being the perfect place to play and perform your songs.

Now, you’re both grown, and damn well famous. The two of you raised to fame after you performed together in a rundown saloon, someone recording the performance and posting it onto social media. People ate it up. They loved your southern twang, they loved how Simon’s voice contrasted yours perfectly. They loved you two.

The love for you two showed as the crowd chanted for one last song, your names being shouted and whined. Eventually, Simon looked over to you and nodded in agreement, watching as you began to play the tune to an unreleased song of yours. You never had any country songs, but you supposed the tone would be fitting for a song about two lovers bickering.

Simon joined in on you with his guitar, glancing over at you as he began to sing. “I’ve been shot and I’ve been stabbed, but I’ve never been so madly in love as I am with you, and I know we just met but if I had to bet, I’d say you feel the same way too.” He looked away from you, looking out into the crowd. If only you knew what those lyrics he wrote really meant. He caught his breath, singing again. “We were talking.” He listened as you took your part, nodding his head along to the beat.