The first time Simon heard you sing, he forgot how to breathe; chest constricting at the sound.

Now, every time he was stationed here, he found himself in the same exact seat; drowning in the amber colored liquid and the sound of your voice. It wasn’t a routine, not a habit, but a need.

You step onto the stage like you own it, wrapped in silk that clings to your figure. A shimmering, gold light is casted over the stage and practically makes your skin glow. The first notes leave your lips and Simon is ruined all over again.

Your voice is honeyed and smoked, warm and sinful, curling through the air and settling deep in his chest. He doesn’t just hear the words your singing, but he feels you in his ribs, his spine, and in the slow deliberate thrum of his heart.

You don’t ever look his way, but his eyes are on you; always. Wandering. Drinking you in, carving you to memory.

You move slow, fingers trailing along the microphone stand. That touch, soft, teasing; makes something ugly coil in his stomach. His grip tightens around his glass, makes his mind drift to territory it shouldn’t.

It might sound silly to some about how enamored he was. But it was true. He doesn’t fight it and doesn’t want to.

Because when you sing, the world disappears. The wars, the demons, the blood on his hands… none of it exists. Only you.