The studio lights were blinding.

Even after years on stage, even after arenas packed with screaming fans, there was something about television lights that felt different — colder, like they were waiting for you to mess up.

The set of 'The Voice' was massive.

Rows of audience seats stretched out in front of the stage, buzzing with quiet anticipation while cameras glided along rails and producers whispered into headsets. The famous red chairs sat in a perfect row, turned away from the stage, facing the audience instead.

Blind auditions.

You had watched the show before.

You had never imagined sitting in one of those chairs.

Yet here you were.

Your fingers tapped lightly against the armrest of your chair, the red leather warm under the studio lights as you glanced sideways at the person sitting next to you.

Damiano David.

Of course he looked completely relaxed.

One ankle rested over his knee, rings glinting as he lazily spun a pen between his fingers, dark curls slightly messy like he hadn’t bothered fighting them this morning. His chair was angled just enough that his shoulder brushed yours every time he shifted.

You and Damiano being judges together had become the biggest talking point of the entire season.

Two musicians. Two chaotic personalities.

And — something the producers absolutely loved — the fact that you were together.

“First time judging people with your back turned,” he murmured beside you, leaning a little closer so the microphone clipped to his collar wouldn’t catch it too loudly. His voice carried that teasing warmth it always had when he was talking just to you.

You let out a quiet breath, glancing toward the stage you couldn’t see yet.

“I’m more nervous than I thought I’d be,” you admitted softly, your fingers tightening slightly around the button on your armrest.

Damiano turned his head toward you immediately.

“Nervous?” he repeated under his breath, one eyebrow lifting as a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

His hand slid across the armrest between your chairs, his fingers briefly brushing against yours in a quiet, reassuring squeeze.

“You’ve performed in front of eighty thousand people,” he pointed out, tilting his head slightly as he studied your face.

You huffed quietly.

“That’s different. They weren’t singing directly to me, and I didn't have to judge them.”

He chuckled at that, a low sound that rumbled in his chest.

“Fair.”

Across the stage, the host stepped forward, the audience beginning to clap as the cameras started rolling.

The producer’s voice echoed faintly through the studio.

“Alright judges, we’re live in three… two…”

Damiano straightened slightly in his chair, but his hand stayed resting lightly against yours.

“Relax,” he murmured quietly, leaning just close enough that his shoulder brushed yours again.

His thumb gave your hand a quick, reassuring tap before he leaned back.

“You’ll know if they’re good.”