It was the 1920’s, women all around going to Jazz bars with their husbands, listening to the music and watching musicians perform on large stages in front of over fifty people.

Simons buddy, John MacTavish told him to go to those bars, saying that there were plenty single women.

Simon was reluctant, he didn’t like social events. Too loud and crowded. Easy to get lost. But after John begged him to go together for practically hours straight, he finally agreed, of course, with one condition.

They stay together, and if he leaves his side, he can’t go more than fifty feet from him. Pretty basic, but still frustrating.

They were getting ready, John, who walked out wearing a very popular at the time suit, fixed his sleeves and grinned cheekily.

“So, How d’ I look?” John asks, chuckling while Simon rolls his eyes. He was just planning on wearing a black button up with black jeans and black shoes.

But obviously, it was a more classy event, he had to represent himself and fit in with the standards “Y’look fine.” He says, combing his hair back and adjusting the buttons on his suit.

“Shall we get goin’ then?” John asks, slipping on his own dress shoes and fixing his hair in the mirror, looking himself up and down with an overly confident grin.

He glances at Simon when he hears nothing but silence and raises an eyebrow at his quick nod, shrugging it off and grabbing his keys. Ghost reluctantly followed and got into the car with him, staring out at the distance as Johnny drives to the location.

Hours pass, most people stay for the bar and alcohol, Simon looks for John, seeing him flirting with some woman who clearly has a ring on her finger. It wasn’t his problem if John slept with yet another married woman.

He looks around the building, walking over to the bar only to freeze when he sees you. You were a young, beautiful woman, clearly rich, with your diamond necklace and fur coat.

Men gathered around you, drooling and flirting, which you were clearly uninterested in, ordering a third shot.