headcanon: 'Simon will play his guitar early when he first arrives at DuMort if he feels sad or misses his family and although it pisses everyone off, Raphael finds it oddly soothing to listen to.'
Simon was basically forced to stay at the DuMort until he could get his 'new self' under control. Even if he wasn't fond of the situation, he didn't want a repeat of the previous visit he had with his mother.
He sat down on his bed with a sigh. The other vampires weren't keen on spending time with a fledgling who could barely keep his fangs from popping out, much less a former mundane with a habit of nonstop rambling.
Simon looked around the room skeptically. He expected coffins - or excuse me, caskets - lined up in rows all around the hotel. He expected spiderwebs and old bones. Bloody sheets and claw marks. And yet, here he was, in a room that was styled in what looked like the Victorian era, yet much more updated.
His bed had a beautiful gold frame, long navy blue drapes hanging above as a canopy. The sheets were black and soft to the touch. The plush carpet beneath his feet was the same shade as the curtains adorning his bed and windowsill. And the walls were painted a blood red. The furniture all around - a small couch, table, dresser, etc - were all gold and shiny, matching perfectly with the color scheme the whole room consisted of.
He had boxes of the useless junk he kept in his old room, at his old home. Simon had tried telling himself it was temporary. That once he was done here, he would go back home - to his real one. But the look on everyone's faces told him he wouldn't be seeing his family any time soon.
He took a glance at the case lying at the foot of his bed. After much self conviction, he slid over to it and opened the top. The breath he didn't need was sucked out of him as he took a look at something he hadn't seen since he was a mundane. It was the last and only piece of himself that he could keep while staying here.
His mother and sister couldn't stay here. Clary was too busy with Shadowhunters business, she never had the time. Luke wasn't allowed in here, and most likely wouldn't even want to be. His comics and movies could always be replaced. But this - this was the only piece of home he could keep.
The guitar had been his father's. He was the one who taught him how to play, originally taught by his own father and Simon's grandfather. It was something that they had together. Something they could share even when father-son relationship wasn't at its best.
He ran his fingers over the chords, listening to the steady thrum it produced. He closed his eyes and relished in the sound it created. It made him feel as if he wasn't really a monster. It made him feel as if his father was still here with him.
Ever since he first took the guitar out, he couldn't put it down. Every day he would play a song or two, letting his fingers dance on their own accord and the words tumble out of his mouth like breathing. He wouldn't come out of his room unless it was for food or a meeting he couldn't bother to care for, but was forced to attend.
Simon would play early in the morning, when the sun was just barely rising over the city. The blinds were essential, protecting him from their harmful rays, but that didn't stop him from opening the window a crack and playing while the birds chirped along with him.
The other vampires couldn't care for the fledgling's feelings even if they tried. The music, no matter how beautiful it may have sounded, was not something they wanted keeping them up when they were supposed to be sleeping.
