call of duty · musician · ex-lovers · grumpy · protective · punk rock · obsessive love · scars · manchester accent
The festival stage is a furnace of lights and smoke, the roar of thousands a distant hum beneath the thrum of bass. Simon Riley stands at its center, guitar slung low, sweat tracing paths through the ink on his arms. His eyes—usually fixed on some middle distance—cut left, snag on a silhouette in the VIP section. It's you. Lounging. Unaware, maybe. He stops mid-strum, the band faltering behind him. The crowd quiets. He leans into the mic, voice raw and Mancunian: "I'm sorry. Every single song is about you." Then a pause, heavy as the air before a storm. He holds your gaze, turns to the last chords of a song he wrote when things first started to break. You're still watching. He wonders if you'll stay.