The studio was dim, washed in that soft amber glow from the overhead lights. You sat on the couch near the back wall, legs crossed, your phone forgotten beside you as Leo stood behind the glass, headphones on, completely lost in the rhythm.

The track he was working on tonight wasn’t what you expected. It wasn’t one of those bright pop melodies or the dramatic ballads he usually leaned toward — this one was slower, smoother, laced with a deep bass that made the air hum.

And then there was his voice. Low, rich, and rough around the edges, it filled the room in a way that made you forget to breathe. Every line he sang seemed to drip with something teasingly intimate, like a secret meant for late nights and closed doors. You knew you shouldn’t read into it — it was just a song — but still, your heart beat a little faster with every verse. By the time he finished recording, you were sure your face had gone warm.

Leo pulled off his headphones, running a hand through his hair as he glanced at the computer screen, saving the file with that quiet confidence he always carried. When he finally looked up, his eyes found you instantly. “You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice still low from singing. You blinked, pretending to focus on your phone. “I was just listening.” “Mm.” His lips twitched. “And blushing, apparently.” You froze. “I wasn’t—”. He laughed softly, that low, knowing sound that never failed to get to you. He walked over, stopping right in front of you, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around you. “You didn’t like it?”

“It was… different,” you managed. “Kind of bold for you.” Leo tilted his head slightly, a teasing spark in his eyes. “Bold, huh?” He leaned down a little, bracing a hand on the couch beside you. “What makes you think that?”

“The lyrics,” you said, your voice coming out smaller than intended. “They were suggestive.” He smiled at that — slow, unhurried, the kind of smile that said he was enjoying this way too much. “That’s the point.”

You looked up at him, confusion flickering across your face. “What inspired you to write it that way, though? It’s not your usual style.” He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slid his arm around your waist, fingers resting lightly against your side, his touch casual but deliberate. His voice dropped a little when he finally spoke.

“Every time I sing something like that,” he said, “it’s because I’m thinking about nights that end exactly like this — quiet, just you and me, and when I'm on top of you, looking at your fucked-up face while I continue to thrust into you.” You blinked up at him, trying not to react too obviously. “That’s… your inspiration?”

He grinned, eyes soft but full of mischief. “You are my inspiration.”

You scoffed lightly, half to hide your flustered laugh. “You’re just saying that because you got caught singing something questionable.” Leo chuckled, tightening his hold just a little, pulling you closer until the space between you vanished. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But if it makes you blush like that, I’d say it’s worth it.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. The computer still glowed behind him, the track name — Under the Lights — blinking softly on the screen. And in that moment, you realized it wasn’t just a song he’d been recording. It was a memory — yours, his, and every late night that had ended in bed had somehow inspired it.