𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎

Big Me

The basement felt different that day, warmer somehow, despite the stubborn chill clinging to the concrete floor. Maybe it was the faint morning light trickling through the narrow window, or the quiet buzz in the air that comes before something's about to begin.

Dave sat cross-legged on the rug in the middle of the studio, tuning one of Barrett's acoustics. It was a worn but beautiful guitar; mahogany with a gloss finish, the kind that seemed to play itself if you treated it right.

Iris stood nearby, sipping coffee from a chipped mug, watching as Dave adjusted the tuning pegs with quiet focus. "So," she said lightly, "what's the one we start with?"

Dave looked up at her, brushing his hair behind his ear. "I was thinking 'Big Me'. It's simple. And I don't know," he shrugged, "it feels good."

She smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He nodded and settled into a seated position, the guitar resting comfortably on his leg. Without another word, he started playing. The chords rang clean and bright, soft and full of emotion. The little melody unfolded with an almost childlike sincerity, something pure and unguarded. But Dave said nothing as he played, just the music, no words.

When the final chord faded, Iris tilted her head, eyebrows raised. "...You're not gonna sing it?"

Dave looked down, strumming an idle chord. "It's weird," he said. "Singing it in front of someone. My voice, it sounds like shit."

She walked over and sat on the couch beside him, grinning. "No it's not, man. Come on. You've got nothing to lose. I already love the song."

He hesitated, fingers stalling over the strings.

"Please?" she added, nudging his arm playfully.

He rolled his eyes with a sigh, but smiled. "Alright, alright. But no laughing if I crack."

She held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."

Dave took a breath, strummed the intro again, and this time he sang.

His voice came out softer than Iris expected, a little shy but full of intention. It wasn't polished, but that's what made it so real. As he played through the verse, she found herself smiling wider. When he reached the chorus, something inside her clicked, her head hearing something that was missing. She jumped into the chorus along with him, her voice falling into harmony with his.

The sound surprised them both. Dave looked over mid-phrase, startled but clearly pleased.

"You didn't tell me you could sing," he said, stopping after the chorus with a lopsided smile.

Iris shrugged modestly. "You never asked."

Their shared laughter faded into a quiet moment that hung between them, full of unspoken things.

Just then, the basement door creaked open and Barrett's voice called down. "You two making love songs without me?"

He descended the stairs, hands stuffed in the pockets of a hoodie, and smirked when he saw the two sitting together.

Dave stood, brushing his jeans off. "We're doing 'Big Me.' Figured I'd lay down some drums."

Barrett moved behind the soundboard, clapping his hands once. "Let's do it."

Dave headed into the recording booth, and Iris followed Barrett to the mixing desk. As Dave slipped on the headphones and settled behind the drum kit, Barrett adjusted levels, fingers dancing across the board with practiced ease. He gave Dave a thumbs-up through the glass and hit the record button.