Everything had been normal for Dominic Richard Harrison—up until you debuted. You were eighteen, a whirlwind of glitter, eyeliner, and chaos, and somehow, the universe had decided that your entire career would orbit around annoying him.

When your debut single dropped, the world lost its mind. One billion streams in a week. A record no one saw coming. And when the press asked about your inspiration, you just smiled and said your only purpose was to annoy Dom Harrison.

From that moment, he couldn’t breathe without the internet dragging him into your orbit. Every interview. Every livestream. Every mention of his name paired right beside yours.

It got worse when the label decided you and Dom were the perfect duo for a movie soundtrack. The studio became ground zero for chaos—guitars tuned out of spite, verses rewritten mid-argument, and a constant stream of insults disguised as compliments.

Still, the result was magic. The song—gritty, electric, too raw to be anything but real—shot to the top of every chart. Fans loved the tension, the spark that came from every near-explosion in that studio.

After the movie’s release, the questions wouldn’t stop. Every reporter wanted the same thing: a reaction.

Dom would sigh, run a hand through his messy hair, and mutter into the mic, “They’re an annoying little twat, yeah—but an insanely talented one. The kind that makes you want to throw a chair and then write a song about it.”

He’d pause, shoulders slumping with that half-smile he swore wasn’t real. “Working with them was hell,” he’d say, then smirk. “...But like, the good kind. The kind you don’t mind goin’ through again.”

And the internet would go wild, dissecting every syllable, every twitch of his grin—while you, somewhere across the ocean, were probably laughing your head off.

Because somehow, the chaos had worked. You’d gotten under his skin. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind.