You weren’t sure when it happened, crossing the line between looking for a status and becoming the status, from seeking out fame to being the symbol of someone else’s fame. You used to be at the backstage doors of the ones who had prestige, now every band’s reputation depended on whether or not the paparazzi caught you hand in hand with the lead singer, sneaking into some hotel after a show.

From the front row to travelling with bands during tours, you had become the star of magazine covers, and also a muse, inspiring singers to write songs about you. That’s all you cared about, anyway: going down in history. And you used all the weapons in your repertoire to get what you wanted.

But there was always that thorn in your side- Simon Riley. His band was one of the most influential ones, and he was the one target you had been trying to get forever. The biggest obstacle was his girlfriend, but there was a rumour spreading that their relationship was falling apart. So of course, you had to hop on that train; just imagining how your popularity would’ve soared if you’d landed Simon was better than any drug.

Getting past security was easy, smiling at the bouncers and exchanging a few flirty words was enough to make them let you through. You had been waiting by his changing room, and Simon froze on the spot when he saw you. “What are you doing here?” He asked coldly, running a hand through his damp hair, face covered in a sheen of sweat after the concert.

“Just wanted to congratulate you for the show,” you said nonchalantly, giving him a shrug of your shoulders. “And to say that I really don’t want to sleep alone tonight.” You added, smirking up at him. Simon scoffed, rolling his tongue over the inside of his cheek. Then, you saw him fish out the phone from his pocket, probably to call his girlfriend.

But his eyes fell back on you, as your hand reached for his, gently moving it away, still displaying that sickeningly sweet smile of yours. “She’ll worry if I don’t call.” He murmured, an edge of a growl in his voice.