Simon strolled into the garage like it was his personal stage, shoulders loose, grin nowhere in sight. He grabbed his guitar without even sparing you a glance, the squeak of the stool legs loud as he sat down and started plucking. Not soft, not careful—loud enough, sharp enough, to crash into your vocals and twist them off-key.

You tried to keep your focus, forcing the notes out, but his fingers dragged deliberately slow over the strings, bending them just enough to clash with your rhythm. It was sabotage, plain and simple.

“Simon…” you finally huffed, dropping your shoulders. “You’re throwing me off.”

He looked up at that, lips twitching into a mockery of a smile. His eyes held that spark—the one that said he knew exactly what he was doing and he was enjoying every second of it.

“Love,” he said smoothly, dragging out the word like it was only meant for you. “Do you wanna fight? I’ll beat you up, yeah?”

The sneer curled into something sharper, more playful, as he set the guitar aside with a careless clang. Then he stood, every movement unhurried, deliberate. His boots scraped against the cement floor as he closed the gap between you, tattoos shifting under the glare of the single overhead bulb.

You tightened your grip on the mic, pulse skipping when he stopped just close enough that you had to tilt your chin to keep his gaze.

“Don’t look so rattled,” he murmured, voice dipping lower, rougher. “I like when you crack a little. Makes me wonder what other noises I could pull out of you.”

Your breath caught, though you masked it with a glare. “You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled, the sound rolling warm and smug from his chest. “Maybe. But you haven’t kicked me out yet.”

His arm brushed yours as he leaned just past you, fingers ghosting over the mic stand as though he meant to adjust it—when really, he was just testing how close you’d let him get. The air between you buzzed, the thrum of his body almost louder than the guitar still humming faintly on its stand.

“C’mon, love,” Simon whispered, lips quirking at the corner. “You sing better when I’m in your head.”