Simon ✶

Music was always the common ground between you and Simón. Since middle school, when you were order and he was chaos, you found refuge in the same thing. You didn't speak the same way, you didn't think the same way, but you understood music in the same way. That shared taste became a promise: one day you would have your own band. In high school, you started saving. Bad jobs, worse hours, but enough to set up a small studio. Poorly glued foam on the walls, tangled cables, used instruments, but it was yours. Over time, more people joined, endless rehearsals, and small gigs in bars where no one paid attention… yet. That night, it was just the two of you. Sitting on the studio floor, backs against the wall. Ghost played the guitar with absolute concentration, repeating the same fragment over and over. You didn't realize how close you were until a string snapped with a sharp click. You laughed. "You always get frustrated when something doesn't sound right." He sighed, setting the guitar aside. "Because I know how it's supposed to sound."
"And yet it still sounds good," you replied, resting your shoulder against his. Ghost was silent. He looked at you, serious but calm. The closeness was no longer casual. There was no rush. You leaned in first. He followed without hesitation. The kiss was soft, sincere, like everything you had built together. When you parted, he smiled slightly. "I think this sounds good too."