Ghost

there was no peaceful wakeup this morning. no good morning kisses from your boyfriend, or beginning of the day bedrotting cuddling. your ears woke up before your eyes could even adjust to the daylight coming through the window, as dominic’s loud ass was clambering about in the kitchen with the coffee machine talking into his phone, probably on facetime or something.

groaning into your pillow, you take a deep inhale, already missing his scent despite him being mere meters away. cuddling into your pillow and burying yourself in his white sheets, you stare blankly at the wall and listen to dominic speak his nonsense.

“obviously, erewhon yoga mat, what else.” you hear dominic say with a fair bit of sass from a distance, as you snort into the pillow, remembering how he had bought it for you but he uses it way more than you at this point. 

he turns his stance to where you lay in the bed, not yet noticing your eyes wide and focused on him. “we got the guitar on the floor, we got the zyns,” he continues groggily, as he finally notices you are awake.

“and we got a sexy lady over here, in the bed. you already know,” he says, chuckling at his own description of you. as he says this, he pans the camera to show you on the bed, face half covered by the pillow but hair everywhere. 

you bring your arm up from over the pillow and give the camera a small wave. “hi” you say trying not to laugh. “everyone say hi back, put some respect on her name chat.” he says, flipping the camera and flopping back into bed with you. moving his computer from the foot of the bed, he speaks to his phone again. “yeah, you got my laptop on the bed, and a pretty girl. that’s jus’ who i am.” he says running a hand throughout his hair and setting his coffee on the bedside table.

as you are combing your tangled hair through with your fingers because you just got it blown out yesterday, (which dominic obviously paid for) you try your very best not to laugh at his yapping. “i am so fucking confused, who you givin’ a house tour too?” you question as your hair starts to look more presentable and freshly done instead of getting it tugged around last night as you were “thanking” dom for the gift.

his eyes are on you the whole time, admiringly and he unconsciously begins to grab at his own hair, tugging on a curl near his forehead. “the fuckin’ corners of my hairline are just… running away in my thirties,” he snorts self deprecatingly, causing you to let out a light laugh and twirl his little strand. “its cute, you’re like a big baby.” you coo happily.

“yeah, this is what i look like when i just wake up, y’know? i got this baby curl…that comes down?” dominic continues looking intently at the camera and fiddling with it. “i got the baby vibe, you know that baby cut?” he finishes, leaving you laughing at him.

“guys he may be older but i’m the boss he the baby.” you say pressing warm kisses on his scalp. dominic leans into you and yawns, as you lay your head on his chest as he sits up. 

dominic kisses you gently on the lips, grabbing at your waist under the covers. “anyway, uh, ima go- baby let’s go show them the vibe,” he says, tugging your arm to get up with him as your arms fly to keep the sheet on your body.

“slow your ass down, i ain’t got no clothes on,” you say watching dominic smirk to himself and the camera as he gets up to the closet and starts tossing you random articles of clothing to put on. “that’s my bad gang, ya’ll won’t be seeing that shit, not today.” 

you hastily slide on one of dom’s long sleeve shirts and some colourful brandy boxers and run up to dominic who made his way over to the kitchen to protect your decency from the camera. 

the second you turn the corner you see your boyfriend in the midst of some sort of throwing it back motion into the camera, and right after that he walks over to the living room and gazes outside wistfully.

pressing your lips together you try not to laugh, and as he spits his beautiful nonsense into the phone, you sneak up behind him and jump on his back. 

“shit!” dominic curses, dropping his phone onto the carpet below before entering a fit of laughter at you suddenly being on his back, he takes ahold of your legs so you are situated better, and slowly bends down so you can grab his phone off the ground.

you hold the camera up, as you pose for the live, giving them a full view of you riding your man (not like that) like a horse. “ladies, make sure your man knows he’s your pet, or you ain’t doing it right.”

dominic groans. “fuck, i think i’m getting old. my back cannot handle being fuckin’ sneak attacked anymore.”

grinning at his declaration of old age, and using your hand that is not grasping his phone you pat his head. “you can let me down now.” 

he slowly lets you to the ground and hugs you from behind, angling the phone so the viewers can get a nice long look at the two of you all touchy.

wrapping one arm around your chest, he starts making signs with the other and speaks making you laugh again. “we up in la, we up in love.”

you playfully roll your eyes. “tryna be all tuff shit, over here.”

dominic begins to nuzzle his head in your neck, placing wet kisses. “my bad, girl.” 

“why don’t you talk to them about somethin’ they wanna hear? like tour or next album or some shit?” you say, as dominic nods, but stays silent, beginning to suck on your neck. 

after a few moments of silence, you look back at the camera. “okay guys he’s taken a vow of silence i guess so i’ll take initiative and answer some burning questions” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed on dominic’s lap because hes still latched to your neck from behind.

you squint at the phone as you try to read the chat, your thumb scrolling though the ever multiplying wave of words flying by as dominic’s lips remained pressed firmly against the sensitive skin of your neck. he is breathing heavily against you, the iphone 17 mic picking up every wet kiss coming from his lips, as he is unbothered by the fact that ten thousand people are currently watching him act like a literal barnacle.

“alright, let’s see,” you say, your voice wavering slightly as dominic presses a particularly firm kiss near your throat. “someone’s asking if the album’s gonna be announced before summer ends. dom, baby, look at the screen. is it?”

“mm, mm” he hums against your skin, letting out that lazy muffled noise. his arms are still locked around your waist, and he doesn’t bother lifting his head.

“he says, yes… i think.” you translate, rolling your eyes at the camera as the chat loses it. 

comments like “is he eating her?”, “that mic quality too good”, and “get a room” flood the chat. “ya’ll dramatic, i can’t lie.” you laugh, trying to nudge at dom’s forehead to get him off you, but he just groans and tightens his grip. 

“okay, next question. ‘are there any features on the tracks?’ dom, any features? can you stop biting me for two seconds and answer?” 

dominic finally lets out a low laugh against your neck, and lazily brings his lips up from your neck and closer to your earlobe. “nah, no features. just me on my shit, you know what i’m saying?”

he finally glances at the screen, his eyes half lidded and glazed over with a spaced-out happy bliss. he scrunches his brows up at a comment before reading it. “‘why is bro so clingy?’ fuck off, dude. i can do what i want,” he huffs as you grin at his annoyance. “there’d be no album without her on god, so pop off my dick please.” 

before you can even read another question, dominic leans back down and refocuses his attention on your neck again, but he starts actually nibbling and biting at where he had sucked on earlier. 

“dom! ow,” you gasp, swatting at his arm, but he lets out a victorious laugh as he pulls away and looks at his handiwork. “are you kidding me, did you just-”

“yeah, that’s a good one,” dominic interrupts so you can’t scold him, looking at his work with a proud grin. there’s a bright pink spot forming on your skin, which is sure to form a bruise later. his thumb comes up to trace the fresh hickey. he looks at the phone screen pointing at it. “we up in love, remember?”

you scoff, looking annoyed, as you try to stretch the collar of his long sleeve shirt you are wearing to hide the patch of skin, but your fingers are clumsy and shit from laughing. 

“alright, ima end this because dom is losing it. he doesn’t deserve you guys.” you say, shaking your head.

“no, wait, don’t end it yet, let me say bye,” dominic groans playfully. his arms tighten around you, hoisting you back against his lap and so he can bury his face into your neck one more time to leave a sweet kiss on top of your new love bite.

“well, go stream the old shit until the new shit drops. we gonna go get litty and naked and whatever. love!” he says, before rapidly hitting the button to end the live.

after he confirms he ended it, he tosses his phone carelessly onto the mattress, not even checking where it lands. the second both of his hands are free, he doesn’t waste a minute. he slides one arm under your thighs and the other on your back, lifting you off the bed bridal style with a grunt.

“fuck, okay, so my back is actually kinda feelin’ you jumping me earlier,” he mumbles, half joking half not. “where are you taking me though?” you say leaning your head in his chest and kissing his jawline and cupping his face. “you also need to shave baby.” you finish, making him roll his eyes.

“kitchen.” dominic responds, setting you down once you arrive. “m’ hungry as fuck.” 

as you stand next to him watching him rummage through the fridge you grab a glass to fill with water. “also, now everyone on the internet thinks you’re some horny ass-” you say grinning, before he cuts you off. “i am. only for ya though.” he says grabbing a few ingredients before slamming the fridge and kissing your cheek on the way to the sink. “they can think whatever. i got my guitar, album done, and my pretty girl. i’m all set.”

you wrap your arms around his back, as your face heats up from his sweet words. “my old ass baby,” you coo once again as he rolls his eyes. “yeah, yeah, your baby.” he corrects tiredly, as he continues making breakfast for you.

DIVA TAGLIST. (dm/message to be on taglist. inbox always open.)

You can tell by the way she carries herself when she comes in, the deep sag of her shoulders, her drained energy as she moves almost on autopilot. But it’s her face, so open and exhausted that has you beckoning your girlfriend over with soft noises of pity and care. You’d been lay on the sofa, curled up with one of the throw blankets but now you sat up with a softened expression of concern, arms open wide for her to fall into your embrace. She can get like this sometimes, when the days are long and work is rough — so exhausted she comes home half-mute, just wanting to fall asleep in your arms. But this time? Vi avoids your arms all together, sinking to her knees in front of you and looking up at you with intense need.

A hand comes under her chin, caressing the sharp line of her jaw. “What’s wrong, pup?” “Need some relief” Your heart aches at the watery sound of her voice, looking at her with a curious but caring gaze. She nuzzles her cheek into your hand, eyes falling shut with relief at your touch. “Please… please”

It doesn’t take long, having pulled her onto your lap and easily wrecking her with just a kiss. She’s just so desperate, for you, for the relief of switching her brain off and letting you free her to pleasure and pleasure only. She grinds her hips, whimpering as her needy fat clit drags against her ruined boxers and the denim of her jeans.  Her lips are almost bruised, such a dark and pretty purple-y red that you have to hold back from telling her how handsome she looks as you ruin her. 

You wish you had a camera, a mirror, something to see the indulgent sight of your big butch girlfriend, body packed with firm muscle in her deliciously sweaty wife pleaser, tufts of dark body hair peeking from under her arms and along her happy trail as she arches her back. See her straddling you, dwarfing your figure and humping you like the little desperate puppy you adore.

When you start to ease her off your lap, finding it difficult to pull your lips from her hungry ones to speak, she starts to grab at your body — her barely working brain so caught up on that feeling you spark just letting her rut against you that she can’t focus past kissing you with her last breath; It’s only when your hands go to her belt, pulling it loose around her waist that she realises where you were going with things initially.

“Aw, you needed this didn’t you? All this mess for me?” Your fingers dip between her thighs, watching every sharp intake of breath, twitch from surprise, an absolutely gone look in her eyes as your fingers ghost over her oversensitive clit — erect and weeping arousal as you tease her. Vi’s still coherent enough that she’s nodding, bottom lip wobbling as she feels tears pricking behind her eyes from how painfully desperate she is, how her cunt aches for a relief only you seem to know how to draw from her. "All cos'of you, mommy" she slurs slightly, trying to ignore the look of pure lust she recognises in your eyes as you watch her glassy powder blue eyes.

Almost breaking out into a sob of relief when you coo softly at her, letting her know mommy is going to take care of her. Taking her hand in yours, her large scarred hand dwarfing yours in a way you swear your pussy throbs in response to, you guide her to the bedroom and offer reassuring words before speaking. “Sit on mommy’s face baby, let me help you relax? Make you go a little brainless, yeah puppy?”

There’s no rush, your tongue lapping at her puffy clit without a care in the world even as she squirms and crushes her muscled thighs around your head, shamelessly grinding her pussy against your mouth. Her arousal is messy, spilling past your lips and down your chin as the butch whimpers and mewls without embarrassment. You don’t mind even as the air becomes difficult to breathe, too focused on making your girlfriend feel good enough that she can’t even think about how bad her day was that she needed to go brainless for a little while.

When she comes the first time it’s with a shout, shaking above you as her pussy goes creamy with her release. She can’t stop from babbling as the coil in her stomach tightens, a mantra of “Mommymommymomm— A-Ahh!” before you swear she’s going to either smother you with her delicious cunt or crush your skull with her thighs. The second time she’s got her hands gripping the headboard as she holds on for dear life, a shaky sob escaping her from how fucking good she feels while you feel your already soaked cunt grow wetter at the sound of her cries — imagining how pretty and wet her eyes must look, wanting to life your fingers and collect the tears before using them to rub at your own neglected clit.

The third time Vi comes is with such a force that you don’t realise she squirted until you feel as though water has been thrown in your face. It’s only when she distantly feels your hands tapping at her thighs after the afterstocks have subsided that she eases off. Your face is red and sweaty, along with her juices coating your complexion and Vi swears her treacherous pussy clenches at the sight like she hasn’t already been made to feel fuzzy mentally. Pulling her by the arm, then — once in reaching distance — the throat so she’s face to face with you. “Lick me clean like a good puppy? Be a good girl for mommy” While her tongue kitten licks you clean, practically drooling at the taste of herself on your skin, the thought of the scent of her pussy marking you, claiming you in such an indecent way satiating the miniscule possessive nature Vi has.

Normally you were far too preoccupied to take any notice of her, but tonight, you'd seen her. Perhaps sensing her gaze on you, your eyes had flicked over to her before she had the chance to look away. You'd held eye contact for a few seconds, a small grin ghosting over your lips before you turned back to your friends.

It was almost embarrassing what those few seconds had done to her⏤the swooping sensation in her stomach, followed by the immediate desire to bury herself alive. Why the hell hadn't she looked away? And why did you make her so nervous to approach you? Instead, she'd leaned back over the bar, knocking back the rest of her drink before resolutely making for the door.

Now, she replayed the whole thing in her mind over and over, her drunken thoughts clinging to the moment your eyes had locked on hers, on the coy quirk of your lips, how pretty you'd looked. The top you'd been wearing was strapless, exposing the bare skin of your shoulders, your collarbone, your neck.

God, what she'd give to kiss that neck. Let her tongue slip out to taste your skin, leave little red marks all over that would show she'd been there. She wanted to know what your lips felt like, what kind of sounds you'd make into her mouth as she kissed you.

A slow, hazy sort of heat was spreading through her as these thoughts ran through her head, made more intense by the alcohol in her system. Already, a needy ache was beginning to pulse in the pit of her stomach, and she sighed heavily, lazily rolling onto her side. Her leg was draped over a pillow, and her hips gave a small, involuntary twitch forward into it, the friction between her thighs sending a pleasurable jolt through her.

Vi's eyes dropped shut, sinking into the feeling as her hips shifted subtly into the pillow again, and again. Before she could stop it, her thoughts flew back to you⏤this time, more indulgent.

You were straddling her, pressing hot, messy kisses to her neck and shoulder. Your hands were running over her torso, her chest, pressing yourself against her hungrily. Your hips were rocking against her thigh, little sighs slipping from your lips against her skin. You were so wet for her, so desperate, so...

Stop it. A faint voice in the more rational part of her brain interrupted the scene playing out in her head. This is fucking weird. Don't be a creep.

But she was far too deep in her arousal now, and powerless against her swimming, inebriated thoughts. She knew she should stop. It was wrong. It was...

You were pushing her onto her back, leaning over her, looking down at her with an utterly sinful expression in your half-lidded eyes. Your bare tits were practically in her face, hanging full and perfect, and she was groping them, running her thumbs over your pebbled nipples.

"Oh, fuck," she hissed under her breath. She propped herself up on a forearm, clutching the pillow closer and humping against it in earnest now. Each rock of her hips sent a delicious wave of heat through her core, the friction against her clit making her dizzy with need.

She was breathing heavily, her head a jumble of dirty thoughts that were on the verge of incoherent. They flashed from one lewd image to the next, jumping back and forth between them, each one of them featuring you.

What would you sound like moaning her name? "Vi," you purred as you moved over her, your voice breathy and sensual and cracking with pleasure, "Yes, yes, Vi, feels so good..." Your lips were parted, your face contorted in pleasure as you ground your dripping pussy against her hand. The whole while, you were staring down at her, holding her gaze.

Fuuck, yeah. A jolt of pleasure hit her so strong that a strangled, keening whimper slipped out of her, and she began grinding her hips harder, her brows scrunching together as the coil of heat wound tighter and tighter.

In her mind's eye, your rising pleasure mirrored her own; she heard your moans growing louder and higher in pitch, saw your naked form moving in a faster rhythm, tits bouncing as you rode her fingers. Your head thrown back, those breathy sounds leaving your pretty lips.

Vi shifted, shoving her hand clumsily down her pants and groaning as she made contact with her own wet heat. She moved her fingers over herself feverishly, through her slick folds and up over her throbbing clit, her own moans spilling out in between her ragged breaths. She was focused on nothing but your face, picturing it edging closer and closer to the brink of release.

"Gonna come, Vi, gonna come so fucking hard⏤"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck⏤" she whimpered, the words barely coherent, as her body tensed up and she finally tipped over the edge, her orgasm crashing into her hard. She rode out each wave, brows furrowed, and then fell back onto the mattress, breathing heavily and letting her heavy limbs go slack.

⸻

Your phone buzzed just after midnight, one sharp vibration across the marble countertop where you’d left it charging, barely loud enough to break the quiet hum of your apartment.

You padded across the floor in socks, half-asleep and still glowing faintly from the aftertaste of a long studio day, and flipped the screen over.

Kevin Abstract: 😏[Google Drive link: Geezer (Dom’s Crybaby Demos)]

You blinked. Then blinked again.

Typical Kevin. No explanation. No context. Just vibes and a vaguely suspicious file title. Still, your curiosity got the better of you. You grabbed your headphones off the couch, plugged in, and opened the link.

The first file was unlabeled, just a string of numbers and the word “rough.”

Classic Dom.

You hit play. The track opened with a few scratchy bars of guitar, stripped raw like it had been recorded in the middle of the night on the first take because knowing Dom, it probably was. Then came his voice. Softer than usual. Unpolished. Honest in that way that made your chest pull tight before you even caught the lyrics.

You sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on knees, the city quiet outside your windows as the song filled the room like a secret. His voice cracked halfway through the second verse not because he missed the note, but because he meant it. It was that Dominic Fike signature, a little reckless, a little broken, impossibly beautiful in its imperfection.

He sang like he didn’t know anyone would ever hear it and god, something about that made your heart ache. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until the track faded out and the silence hit, sharp and sudden.

Your phone lit again.

Kevin Abstract: You didn’t hear this from me. But Dom’s been stuck on this one for weeks. He won’t admit it, but he wants a feature just won’t say who😮‍💨

You read the text twice, eyes darting back to the open file. You could still feel the ghost of his voice in your chest. Then three dots appeared.

Kevin Abstract: You in?

You stared at the message for a long second, thumb hovering over your screen, suddenly way more awake than you had any right to be. Your heart beat faster not with nerves, exactly, but with knowing. Like standing on the edge of something that already felt inevitable.

Because the thing was this wasn’t the first time the idea had come up.

Dom had teased it months ago casual, offhand, almost like he was testing the waters. “We should do something sometime. Would be fun.”

And you’d played it cool. Laughed, shrugged, said something deflective. But deep down, you’d wanted it. You’d wanted this. Him. In that creative space with you. Not just as the boy who made your heart race, but as the artist who made your head spin.

You wanted the mess and the magic and the way his voice curved around emotion like it was carved to fit. You wanted the real Dom. In the booth. No filters. No ego. Just you and him, and whatever the hell you could make together.

Your fingers moved before you could second guess it.

For Dom?

Say less.

⸻

You pulled into the back lot just before 1 a.m., headlights cutting briefly across the side of the building before flicking off. The engine hummed in the silence for a beat too long before you finally killed it, sitting still in the dark for a moment hoodie drawn low over your head, sunglasses still perched on the bridge of your nose despite the fact that the moon was the only thing watching.

Classic L.A. behavior. But tonight wasn’t about being seen. Tonight was about being felt. Kevin met you at the side door, hoodie up and grinning like a kid sneaking into his own birthday party. He cracked the door open just wide enough for you to slip in.

“You look like you’re about to rob the place,” he whispered, eyes dancing.

You tugged your hood a little lower, lowering your sunglasses just enough to peer at him. “Well,” you deadpanned, “I am stealing his song. Temporarily.”

Kevin snorted, quickly locking the door behind you. “Fair.”

The studio smelled like long hours faint incense, leftover takeout, and the warm metallic tang of gear that had been humming all day. Most of the overheads were off, casting the space in a soft, golden half light. The mixing console glowed like it had a secret, and maybe it did.

You stepped inside and let the door shut behind you with a soft click, muffling the rest of the world. The city could wait. Kevin didn’t say anything as he moved toward the booth just pulled up the project file and clicked through the tracks like he’d done it a hundred times. He paused with one finger over the play button, glanced over at you, then gave the smallest nod.

You pulled your hoodie back and slipped on the headphones. Then play. Dom’s voice hit you instantly. No build up, no polish. Just him.

Raw. Quiet. Close.

You swore you could hear the room he recorded it in the creak of the stool, the breath he took before the first line. The guitar was barely there, more feeling than sound. The drums whispered underneath like they were afraid to interrupt. And his voice god, his voice. It wasn’t perfect, and that’s what made it brutal. That familiar rasp. The little cracks in the second verse where it sounded like he might break but pushed through anyway. Like every word cost him something to say.

You sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, elbows on your knees, your thumb absently tapping your bottom lip as you listened. It felt like he was confessing something he hadn’t even admitted to himself yet. Like this track wasn’t made for release it was made because he had to. The bridge hit and took your breath with it.

“Did you know I only write about the things I never say out loud?”

Your chest ached just a little. You smiled, small and reverent.

“Jesus, Dom,” you whispered.

The track faded into silence, and the room held its breath with you. You didn’t move for a second. Didn’t want to. But the moment passed like all moments do. And then, your instinct kicked in.

“Can you loop the second half?” you asked, voice low but steady, rising from the couch with a new kind of energy threading through you.

Kevin was already on it. The mic smelled faintly like eucalyptus and old stories. You adjusted your headphones, tapped the stand once, and rolled your shoulders back. No plan. No scribbled lyrics. Just your voice. And his.

You started small, a low hum that curled under his vocals like a second thought. Then came the harmonies, soft and close, shaping themselves around his melody with the kind of ease that only came when you weren’t thinking too hard. It felt like talking to him through the music. Like answering something he didn’t know he’d asked. Then came the verse.

Not too clean. Not too sharp. You didn’t want it perfect. You wanted real. Your voice dipped and rose, danced with his, not overpowering, just with.

The words came easy. The emotion, easier. Kevin sat back in the chair, hands frozen on the console, lips slightly parted like he forgot how to breathe. When you finished, you pulled off the headphones slowly, your breath still shaky from the last note. The studio fell into that sacred kind of silence the kind that follows something true.

Kevin didn’t speak. Just hit play again, eyes focused, jaw slack. When the final harmony faded, he let out a low exhale and swiveled in his chair.

“He’s gonna flip when he hears this.”

You leaned against the booth doorway, arms folded, the smallest smirk tugging at your lips.

“That’s the idea.”

⸻

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Dom wasn’t even meant to be at the studio until the afternoon. That was the plan a late call time, a slow ease into the day, maybe some half-hearted journaling and a smoothie before diving into the tracklist. He’d even told Kevin he needed “a reset,” like his brain was a dusty etch a sketch that just needed shaking.

Kevin had nodded, said “bet,” and planned everything around it.

But Dom being Dom got restless. He woke up early, mind spinning, something tugging at him like gravity. So he threw on a hoodie, didn’t brush his hair, grabbed the first snack he could find, and headed to the studio like a man possessed.

At 10:47 a.m., the side door clicked open.

“Yo,” he called out casually, stepping in mid-thought, half of a granola bar clutched between his fingers and his phone still lit with scribbled voice memo notes. “So I was thinking, for the bridge on ‘Ghosts’ maybe we strip the drums out entirely. Just let the vocal carry it like, almost naked, right?”

He didn’t get to finish. Because something was playing through the monitors already. Low volume. An old mix, maybe? He didn’t really clock it until it hit the second verse. His voice. The one he recorded weeks ago raw and too emotional, the kind he almost didn’t want anyone to hear. And then her.

Dom froze in the middle of the room, the granola bar halfway to his mouth, his sentence stalling midair like someone had hit pause on his entire body. Her voice. Clear. Warm. Cutting through his like sunlight through a dusty window. It was hers, no question and yet it blended with his in a way that felt seamless. Like her voice had always been there, quietly haunting the edges of the song, just waiting to be turned up.

The sound wrapped around his second verse like it belonged there. Intimate. Intentional. Soft in the places he broke. Strong in the places he held back.

He blinked, shoulders stiffening, foot still slightly raised like he’d forgotten how to finish the step he started.

“Wait, hold up,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “Is that…?” He walked forward, slowly now, pulled like a tide he didn’t understand. Around the corner. Past the racks of cables. Straight toward the booth.

And then he saw her.

You.

In his booth.

Completely in your own world, headphones on, hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows. One hand cupping your ear. The other tapping against your thigh in time with the beat. You were humming into the mic, soft background harmonies, tucked right under his vocal line. Your expression focused, peaceful. You didn’t even look like you were trying hard. You were just being and it was stunning.

His chest went tight. And then warm. And then all kinds of messed up.

You hadn’t seen him yet. Which made it worse or better. He couldn’t decide.

Kevin, meanwhile, was absolutely thriving. Leaning back in the engineer’s chair with his feet propped up and a shit eating grin stretching across his face, he looked like a man watching a rom-com unfold in real time.

“Surprise, bro,” he said, not even trying to hide the delight in his voice.

Dom didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His mouth was open, but the words weren’t working. All he could do was look at you, at the way you moved, at how effortlessly your voice wove into his, at the way you somehow made his unfinished track feel finished.

His heart was doing the absolute most in his chest. A full sprint. No warm up.

You finally glanced up, sensing the shift in energy and your eyes locked with his through the booth glass.

For a second, time stretched. Hung. And then, without missing a beat, you smiled. Not an apologetic one. Not shy. Just that easy, knowing grin the kind that said yeah, I did this on purpose.

And then you winked. Playful. Shameless. A little too good. Dom clutched his hoodie strings like they might ground him.

His hand went to his mouth instinctively, like it could hold in the reaction the grin that broke across his face so fast it startled even him. His eyes softened in real time. That wide, awestruck, what the fuck kind of look that no one ever got from him unless they’d earned it. He looked like he’d just walked straight into a dream and wasn’t sure whether to speak or sit down and thank someone.

Kevin, barely containing himself, leaned over the console and stage whispered like David Attenborough narrating a wildlife special. 

“Look at him. Man’s done for.”

And yeah he absolutely was.

⸻

By the time the booth door finally opened and you stepped out, Dom still hadn’t fully recovered.

He was leaning against the console like it was the only thing holding him upright, one hand still absently clutching the headphones he’d ripped off minutes ago, eyes locked on you like he didn’t quite trust that you were real.

He was smiling wide, open, soft around the edges. The kind of smile people tried to write songs about and never quite got right. Like someone had just handed him his dream on a silver platter and whispered, it’s yours if you want it. Like if he blinked, you’d vanish.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said, his voice low, a little breathless, like he was trying to sound annoyed but couldn’t stop his mouth from curling into a grin.

You crossed your arms loosely, fighting your own smirk. “Wasn’t my surprise to ruin.”

He ran a hand down his face like he didn’t know what to do with himself. Looked at Kevin through the glass like he was debating whether to throw hands or give him a standing ovation. Kevin just threw up two triumphant thumbs and slapped the record button like he was directing a rom-com.

And then it was on. You slipped back into the booth, this time with Dom beside you, both of you facing your mics, your lyric sheets, your self control.

Your mics were spaced out enough to keep it technically professional. Emotionally? Not even close. The second playback started, something shifted. The air in the room turned electric sharper, heavier. Like the music was pulling some invisible thread tighter with every bar.

You came in first your harmonies sliding in like smoke curling under a door, instinctive and warm. Dom turned his head slightly when he heard it again, like it was the first time, like it still surprised him how right it sounded.

By the time his verse kicked in, you were already scribbling ideas, adjusting phrasing in your head. You didn’t want to just fit into the song you wanted to answer it. Echo it. Challenge it.

Dom caught you flipping through your notes between takes, a grin tugging at his lips.

“I think I’m gonna flip the second line,” you said, chewing your pen cap as you made a quick edit. “Make it more of a response. More bite.”

Dom raised a brow. “You’re rewriting again?”

You didn’t even look up. “Keep up, rockstar.”

His laugh was immediate, full and unfiltered. It bounced off the booth walls and landed right in your chest.

Kevin’s voice crackled through the talkback mic. “God, this is gross. Can y’all flirt after we get a clean take?”

Dom looked toward the glass, deadpan. “We’re professionals, Kevin.”

You turned to him, raising your brows like are we really doing this? “Are we?”

He lost it. Full body laugh. Head back. Shoulders shaking. One hand pressed to his chest like you’d just knocked the wind out of him with a single sentence. You tried to keep your expression straight, but it was a losing battle. He was grinning too hard. You were grinning too hard. It was chaos. It was chemistry. It was the most fun either of you had had in a studio in months.

“This is insane,” he muttered after he got his breath back, adjusting his headphones. “You’re way too good at this. It’s rude, actually.”

You scoffed. “I’m rude?” You gave him a mock scandalized look. “Coming from the guy who casually drops heartache into a demo like it’s no big deal?”

Dom shrugged, smirking. “I do what I can.”

You rolled your eyes but your smile betrayed you. And then the track rolled again. This time, your voices didn’t just blend they collided, danced, tangled. You didn’t have to look at each other to know exactly where to pause, where to push, where to leave space for the other. It was effortless. And completely not safe. Every glance between takes held a little more weight. Every note hummed with something unspoken. Every harmony was less about pitch and more about tension. Kevin let it go for a while, but eventually, even he couldn’t take it.

“Yeah, we’re not finishing this song today,” he muttered under his breath, dragging his hoodie over his face like he needed to shield himself from whatever emotional firestorm was happening on the other side of the glass. “Y’all are killing me.”

Dom just leaned toward you slightly, the corner of his mouth still quirked.

“Not to be dramatic or anything,” he said, softer now, “but this might be my favorite version of this song. Ever.”

You didn’t say anything at first. You just bumped your shoulder gently into his, close enough that your arms brushed. And stayed that way. The track rolled again.

And neither of you moved away.

⸻

The studio was almost completely silent now.

No music. No buzzing monitors. No Kevin shouting sarcastic commentary through the talkback mic. Just stillness soft and golden and sacred in that way studios get when the work is done, but the moment isn’t over.

The overheads had been dimmed to their lowest setting, casting a warm glow across the space like dusk frozen in amber. It pooled in corners, softened edges, made shadows look kinder. The leather couch you’d collapsed onto hours ago creaked faintly as you shifted, worn and familiar and exactly the kind of place you could stay for a while.

Kevin had left with a dramatic flourish and a parting shot something about “you two better name your duo project after me or I’m suing for emotional damages” and then he was gone, the click of the door leaving a new kind of hush in his absence.

Now it was just the two of you. You and Dom, legs stretched out in opposite directions, one of his socks balled up on the floor like it had tapped out first. A single water bottle being passed back and forth without a word, condensation slicking your fingers each time.

You were both flushed skin warm, cheeks pink from laughing too hard and singing too long and maybe from the fact that you still hadn’t quite come down from whatever that was in the booth. That feeling like the two of you had cracked something open. Not just in the music but in each other.

Hair messy. Clothes rumpled. The kind of tired that felt earned. Dom tilted his head back against the cushion with a quiet sigh, like it had taken him all day to remember how to exhale like that. His fingers drummed absentmindedly against the bottle cap as he turned to look at you.

And then he didn’t look away. He just watched you for a moment really watched you like he was letting himself see you without the adrenaline and distractions. Without the music playing or the mics hot. Just you, sitting next to him in this soft, suspended quiet.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me,” he said finally, voice low, the kind of low that feels like a secret. Like truth slipping out before ego can catch it.

You blinked, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. But then you smiled, slow and sleepy, like the answer was obvious. “Of course I did.”

He shifted slightly, his knee brushing yours. Not an accident. You didn’t move away.

“You’re brilliant, Dom,” you said simply, your voice matching his unpolished but true. “You just don’t always see it.”

You shrugged like it was nothing. Like that kind of faith in him didn’t cost you anything. But it kind of did. It was that rare, unguarded kind of belief that only came when you really meant it. He looked at you like he knew that.

Stared for a beat too long, like he was searching your face for whatever it was you saw in him. And then he looked down, let out a breathy, broken little laugh not the flirty kind, but the overwhelmed kind. The you’re wrecking me and you don’t even know it kind.

His voice cracked slightly as he said, “You’re the most talented person I’ve ever met.”

You froze just a second. Then you tilted your head, caught off guard by the sincerity pouring out of him. But you didn’t stop him. You wanted to hear it.

“Not just like ‘she’s hot and can sing,’” he added quickly, like he was trying to untangle his thoughts and failing spectacularly. “Even though that’s, like obviously true.”

You snorted quietly.

“But you’re it. You’re the real deal. You don’t just walk into a room and light it up you build the fire. You make the whole thing warmer.”

He swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to his lap, like he hadn’t meant to say it quite like that. Like it slipped out too honest.

“I still don’t get how I got lucky enough to have you here. On my song. In my booth. Sitting here like this.”

Your heart thudded, quiet but certain. Like it had been waiting for that moment. For him to see you back. You didn’t rush to answer. You just leaned over and gently bumped your head against his shoulder soft, slow and said, “Well. You’re welcome for your best track.”

That made him laugh, really laugh. The kind that made his whole chest move, made him shake his head like he couldn’t believe you.

He nudged your knee with his again. “See? That’s the problem,” he muttered, voice warm and wrecked and full of something he wasn’t quite naming yet. “You’re cool and you’re humble. It’s exhausting, honestly.”

You grinned and let your head stay there, resting against him. Neither of you said anything else for a while. You didn’t need to. The music was gone, but the moment stayed. Full and quiet and golden. Heavy in the way only intimacy can be when it sneaks up on you and settles in without asking. The studio didn’t feel like a workspace anymore. It felt like a secret. And neither of you rushed to break it.

Because some silences feel less like an ending and more like the start of something you don’t want to name just yet.

⸻

The track rolled from the top, crisp and clean this time the final mix, every piece of it sharpened and smoothed like glass. The harmonies tucked just right under the melody. The bass line hugged the low end without smothering it. The reverb on your last note faded out with the kind of timing that made Kevin sit back and mutter, “Damn, that’s cinematic.”

But somehow, it still felt raw. Still felt like the first time you heard it. Like it hadn’t been touched at all. Like it came straight from a heartbeat.

Dom’s head was bobbing before the first chorus even hit, one leg bouncing, lips moving with the words like he couldn’t help but sing along. His hoodie sleeves were shoved up to his elbows, exposing the fading imprint of his guitar strap across his arm. He looked like a kid on christmas morning wide eyed, beaming, a little stunned.

The grin tugging at his mouth was huge unguarded, messy, pure. The kind of joy that couldn’t be staged or filtered or rehearsed. The kind that only happened when something finally came together in a way that made you come together too. 

He kept sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he needed to check if you were hearing it the same way. If you knew. Because this wasn’t just a track anymore. It was yours. And his. And no one else’s.

When the final harmony faded that soft, aching note you added at the very last second, the one that sounded like the emotional equivalent of a hand brushing skin the room dipped into silence so full it was almost holy. Dom let out a low whistle, exhaling like he’d just held his breath for the entire track.

And then, without missing a beat, “This one’s not going on the album.”

You blinked, turning toward him, one brow raised. “Excuse me?”

He looked at you, completely serious, but the grin on his face betrayed him. He looked ridiculous. Giddy. A little in love.

“It’s going on every album. From now on. All of them.”

You burst out laughing, leaning back on your palms. “At least put me on the deluxe, damn. Let a girl breathe.”

He was halfway through forming a reply and judging by the look on his face, it was going to be flirty and probably a little unhinged when the door creaked open behind you.

Kevin strolled back in like he hadn’t just left a nuclear moment brewing in his absence. Snapple in hand. Hoodie sleeves bunched up. Chaos in his eyes.

“Or,” he said casually, eyes flicking between the two of you, “you two could just date already and make a whole joint project. Blush x Lovers collab incoming.”

The silence that followed was immediate and deafening. You and Dom froze. The kind of stillness that’s instinctual like your bodies knew before your brains did that this was a moment.

Then you looked at each other. Then immediately looked away. You felt it the second it happened the heat rising from your collarbones to your cheeks, ears burning like someone had spotlighted you onstage with no warning. Dom wasn’t any better his face had turned the color of his snapple cap, and he was suddenly very interested in the floor. You snatched the nearest throw pillow off the couch and launched it at Kevin. It hit him square in the chest. He didn’t even flinch. Just took a long sip of his drink like he’d been waiting for this exact moment to unfold.

“I’m just saying,” he added, completely unfazed. “It’d go platinum.”

You looked at Dom, waiting for him to protest to roll his eyes or deflect or change the subject. But he didn’t. He just smiled slow, quiet, genuine. And blushed even harder.

You squinted. “You’re seriously not gonna defend yourself right now?”

Dom shrugged, eyes twinkling with something warm and weightless and way too honest. “He’s not wrong.”

Your heart kicked in your chest too fast, too full. You didn’t push it. You didn’t name it. But you didn’t deny it either. You just gave him that soft, tilted smile the one you always gave when you meant something but didn’t want to make a big deal about it. The one that said I see you.

And Dom? He gave it right back. Like yeah. I see you too.

The track looped again in the background, quieter this time like it was bowing out, letting the moment take center stage. And it didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like the start of something you hadn’t even written yet.

Something unreleased. Unlabeled.

But already playing on repeat.

⸻