I stood in my quaint apartment arsenal, taking inventory of ammo I'd have to purchase the next time I passed the weapons shop. "Pistol ammo. Always the pistol ammo."

A shiny flicker caught my eye from the corner and I squinted. Closing the holo, I whisked across the room and reached for it—a black electric guitar. I froze, holding the instrument up by its neck and staring at it as if it'd explode in my grasp.

"Johnny," I shouted.

Silverhand appeared in a glitch of blue, swiping the Aviators from his nose. "You rang my—" He cut himself short when his gaze fell on the guitar. "Oh, fuck." The Aviators were back on no sooner had he taken them off.

"I'm gonna assume this is your doin'? Because I do not own a guitar." I held it out with a stiff arm and raised my brows.

"I didn't think you'd find it," Johnny mumbled, glitching away and into the living room.

Following him in a huff, I kept the guitar at arm's length. "Ya thought I wouldn't find it? In my shoebox-sized apartment? Really, Johnny?"

Johnny paced a square in the area rug and flicked his hands. "Yeah, alright, so I didn't think it through." He spun on his heel and landed seated on the couch.

I rested the guitar beside him and pointed at it. "Where did it come from?"

Johnny tore his sunglasses away, letting them dangle between two fingers. He stared at the guitar and let out a heavy sigh. "I miss it. Bought it the last time I'd been fully in the driver's seat. Happy?"

My eyes trailed to the Johnny plus V heart tattoo on the inside of my right forearm, and I held it out in front of his face. "Same time you got this?"

Johnny stared at it for a beat before bursting with laughter. "That was some funny shit. C'mon. Ya can't deny that. And 'sides, you could've gotten it removed." He turned and leaned on the back of the couch, his gaze traveling from my stomach, lazily traveling until he reached my eyes. "But you haven't."

I had every option available to remove the tattoo from my skin but hadn't done a damn thing. Had he done it at the time to spite me? To fuck with me? Maybe. But I kinda dug it. Dare I say I sorta found it—adorable?

Glaring at him, I pointed. "Don't change the subject."

"Look, fucking return it if you don't want it. Not sure why yer gettin' your panties in such a damn bind." He turned back around, sulking into the cushions and staring at the guitar sidelong.

I bit my lower lip and rubbed my thumb against my middle finger, the faint remnant of a callus still present but faded—softened—the same as the distant memories of the full name I tried daily to forget. "I used to play," I whispered.

Johnny's head whipped around; his brow furrowed. "The fuck'd you say?"

"Did I stutter?"

Johnny glared at me before he glitched from the couch to stand in front of me. "You don't have to be a cunt, especially considerin' I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

I closed my eyes with a deep sigh. "Right. I—I'm sorry. It doesn't bring up happy thoughts." The skin between my eyes wrinkled as I ran a finger over the strings stretched across the guitar's neck.

"Gonna take it you stopped playin' for those same 'unhappy' memories, hm?" He folded his arms and leaned into my field of vision.

"You don't wanna hear my sob story, Johnny." I plucked a fingernail against one string.

He leaned his elbows on the couch's back, dipping his face in mine again until I looked at him. "I asked, didn't I? Shit's gotta be pretty bad if I haven't gotten so much as a whiff of these memories. I'd remember a guitar for obvious reasons."

A lump formed in my throat. "Fine. Shortened version." I moved closer to him and mirrored his pose, leaning on the couch. "Dad died when I was a kid, Mom moved us to Night City. A block away from Jig-Jig street."

"Fuck. Can see where this is goin'," Johnny mumbled.

"She got a job with some food vendor, got mixed into some real shady crows, and started bringing random men home to fuck. I could hear every damn detail through the paper-thin walls of our shitty apartment." I rolled my shoulders, memories of the moans, groans, and wails of strangers making my skin crawl. "The guitar was my dad's, but I'd never seen him play it. Snuck into my mom's room one day, nabbed it, and taught myself to play to drown everything out."

"Fuck," Johnny breathed out. "Self-taught though, huh?"

I bit back a smile. Despite drudging up painful memories, I smiled. "Mhm. Listened to a Samurai album. On repeat."

Johnny stepped in front of me. "You're fuckin' with me."

I slowly shook my head, my gaze lingering on his chrome arm.

"You're sayin' you taught yourself how to play listening to me playin'?"

Nodding, I remained glued to the couch. "Of all constructs to wind up in my head, huh?"

Johnny dragged a hand through his long hair, his glance dropping to his boots. "This shit's unreal. I don't get it, though. Why'd ya stop?"

"Those wrong crowds wound up in my mom overdosing. Leavin' me, a sixteen-year-old street kid, to fend for herself." I rubbed the callus on my finger. "Wasn't exactly lotta money in the music biz, 'least not for the likes of me. Had to sell it. Took odd street jobs, built up my cred, and eventually—" I displayed my hands at myself. "Ta-da. Edgerunner."

He slid forward, leaning past me, framing me with each arm. "And you not once ever thought about pickin' it up again?"

I shook my head, catching the sight of the holos glinting off the dog tags hanging around his neck.

A wicked grin tugged at his lips and he nudged his head at the guitar. "Play for me."

"What?" I screeched, vigorously shaking my head. "No. No, it's been years, Johnny.

Turning, I tried to walk away, but he threw his arm in front of me again.

"It's like ridin' a bike. What's the worst that can happen? You fuck up a note or two?" He cut his gaze to the guitar before snapping it back to me. "Play."

"The worst that could happen? You're Johnny fuckin' Silverhand. Screwin' up a note or two would be the worst."

A low moan escaped Johnny's throat, and he edged closer. "Mm. Have I ever told you how much of a goddamned turn on it is when ya talk about me like that?"

My heartbeat throttled into a gallop. "You wouldn't need to."

His tongue skirted his lower lips, mouth sliding into a grin. "Play, Val."

Him calling me "Val" made butterflies flap against my stomach. Gulping, I nodded and moved to the couch, wiping my sweaty palms over my pants. With shaky hands, I grasped the guitar and almost whimpered at how right it felt against my skin.

"Any uh—any requests?" I slid my fingers down the strings.

Johnny sat on the table in front of the couch, a sly smile gracing his lips. "Ballad of Buck Ravers."

I froze and met his gaze. "There's a part of that one I've always fucked up."

"I know." He tapped his head, still smiling. "Good thing ya got me here, huh?"

Grinding my teeth, I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and prepping myself. Before starting, I opened one eye with a subtle grin. "Dick."

He kissed the air in front of him and gave me the middle finger, still fucking smiling.

Blowing another breath, I rested my fingers on the neck and began playing the song's opening riff, moving my hand to the appropriate frets. It took a grand total of three notes before I already managed to fuck up, making me wince.

"Shit," I blurted.

Starting over, I successfully played the first whole riff and dug deep into my memory bank to recall the next portion of the song. I risked opening my eyes, seeing Johnny staring at me, his gaze darting between my face and my hands, an expression mixed with admiration, lust, and surprise melting over his features.

And I fucked up a note—again.

"Shit. I can't. It's too weird with you starin' at me."

He leaned back and shrugged. "I'm just a guy livin' in your head rent-free."

"You know that's not what I meant, asshole." I wiped sweat from my palm.

"Here." He glitched behind me on the couch, flashes of what we did last time we were positioned like this making my insides twist. "Now I'm not starin' at you," he whispered in my ear. "You're good, by the way. For a newb."

Smiling, I elbowed him in the ribs—and it connected. He grunted and his breath fluttered against my neck as he chuckled. I sunk against him, cooing at the feel of his chest pressed against my back.

"Start again," he whispered, encouraging me to pick up the guitar.

"Play with me?" I asked, biting my lip as I looked at him over my shoulder.

"Alright. You wanna strum?"

Fighting every impulsion to all-out fangirl at what was about to happen, I nodded and moved my right hand to the strings. Johnny lifted his chrome arm and counted backward from three, his lips grazing the nape of my neck. His knee bounced near my thigh as he kept beat with his heel like a makeshift bass drum. In tandem and connected in a way no other beings could ever dream up, we played the Samurai song together, and I continued to lean against him, scooting as close as I could, taking every bit of heat and skin I could from him.

As the song came closer to the end, the lightning-fast drums and guitar part came up—the part I'd never gotten right. Johnny rested his chin on my shoulder, his mouth smiling against my cheek as he slid his right arm past my ribs, trailing his thumb over the side of my breast as he guided my hand through the quick strums. A breath caught in my throat watching Johnny Silverhand play guitar like this—behind me, with me, as a part of me.

There'd been another verse, but Johnny plucked the guitar away from us, resting it on the table. He maneuvered until I lay flat on my back, and he hovered over me, grinding his hips against mine. He trailed his hand over my collarbones, resting his fingers around my neck.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kiss you, Val, so—" His gaze flashed feral, the hardness in his pants pressing into me.

I bunched his hair in my grasp, cutting him off, and pulled him down to me. "One step ahead of you, rockerboy."

Our mouths crashed together in a fury of nips and licks. As his tongue plunged in, I sucked on it, my nails digging into the back of his skull, moaning and whimpering.

"Johnny," I said through a strained whisper, fingers digging underneath his vest, craving to know what he looked like without it.

He sucked and bit my neck. "Yeah, Val?"

Suddenly I couldn't feel his tongue against my skin, the calluses on his right hand, or the cool metal of his chrome.

"Shit. V, you should—the Relic it's about to—" Johnny pulled away, sitting back on his haunches.

A sharp pain jolted through my head, seizing my spine and making me cry out in agony. Holding each side of my skull, I curled up on the couch, my vision glitching in and out, the optics Vik had installed going haywire.

"V," Johnny shouted, the feel of his hand on my shoulder coming and going.

After a solid two minutes of digitalized torture, the pain slowly subsided, and I let out a haggard breath.

"How the hell did you know the Relic was about to spaz out?" I asked, groaning as I sat up.

Johnny sat across from me, his hands cupping my knees, and I winced, dealing with the pain it caused to feel them on me. "It's been happening more and more. I get this sorta tingle at the base of my spine right before it's about to happen."

"Of all the constructs to wind up in my head," I repeated, offering a weak smile.

He grinned back, squeezing my knees tighter than he normally would to ensure I felt it. "I could say the same. Coulda ended up in some corpo scum's shithead, but not only do I end up in the head of a Samurai fan—but a chick no less."

I smiled, but it faded as a headache settled in. "It's gettin' harder and harder to focus on joint control, Johnny. I don't know how much longer I can keep it up."

Johnny rubbed his chin, his gaze falling to his other hand still resting on my knee. "That's what I wanted to talk to ya about. This is gonna sound crazy, so hear me out before you shit all over it. Deal?"

Considering all we'd been through, hearing him out was the least I could do.