From the kitchen came the clatter of David and a pan sizzling like it owed him money.
Something smelled like garlic and salvation.
Adam closed his eyes for a minute, let himself breathe into the silence.
Next time he checked his phone, it was after dinner.
Full stomach, warm hands, quieter thoughts.
The chat was open.
He stared at it, thumb hovering.
‘What now?’
Adam (9:00 PM):
Favorite genre?
Nickie (9:01 PM):
Hardcore. You?
Adam (9:02 PM):
Sludge. But hardcore’s decent.
Nickie (9:03 PM):
Sludge has its moments. Like, two.
Adam (9:03 PM):
You’re starting fights now?
Nickie (9:05 PM):
Not every song has to be a 20-minute funeral dirge.
Adam (9:07 PM):
Not every song needs to be a three-minute tantrum about your ex.
Nickie (9:09 PM):
So it was a jab at Cold Basement. Respect.
Then, the tone shifted.
Nickie (9:50 PM):
Why bass?
Adam (9:50 PM):
It’s the pulse. The only time my brain shuts up.
Nickie (9:52 PM):
Damn. Brooding but poetic.
Adam (9:53 PM):
Your turn.
Nickie (9:54 PM):
Drums are proof I exist.
Adam (9:55 PM):
Deep. For someone who uses the snare like a punching bag.
Nickie (9:56 PM):
Chaos and brilliance come as a set, thanks.
He actually laughed.
Adam (10:00 PM):
Bold of you to assume those aren’t just concussion symptoms.
Nickie (10:04 PM):
Speaking of symptoms: what’s your deal with school?
He hesitated, then replied.
Adam (10:06 PM):
I show up. Sometimes.
Nickie (10:07 PM):
So... not your thing?
Adam (10:08 PM):
The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Sitting still isn’t really in my skill set.
Nickie (10:08 PM):
What is, then? Besides brooding and bass abuse?
Adam (10:10 PM):
…Surviving.
He almost deleted it.
But then…
Nickie (10:11 PM):
Whoa. Not the strongest resume, but I get it. “Hobbies include: breathing, surviving, occasional doom.”
Adam exhaled.
Nickie (10:12 PM):
When’s the last time you finished a school project?
Adam (10:13 PM):
...Next question.
Nickie (10:13 PM):
DEAR SATAN.
Nickie (10:18 PM):
Wait… tell me you’ve at least passed gym.
Adam (10:18 PM):
...
Nickie (10:19 PM):
YOU. ARE. A. MOSH PIT. WARRIOR. HOW.
Adam (10:20 PM):
Running laps isn’t the same as throwing yourself into a fogó.
Nickie (10:22 PM):
So you can dodge fists, but not a dodgeball?
Adam (10:23 PM):
It's a different skill set.
Nickie (10:23 PM):
You're a fraud, sir.
The exchange lightened. So did he.
Adam (10:25 PM):
You’re just trying to distract me from the fact you’re secretly a nerd.
Nickie (10:26 PM):
Excuse you. I contain multitudes.
Adam (10:27 PM):
Translation: you like math.
Nickie (10:27 PM):
Shamefully.
A long pause. Then:
Nickie (10:32 PM):
What’s your favorite local band?
Adam (10:34 PM):
Used to be Fonfobia.
Nickie (10:34 PM):
Same. They go hard. Why “used to be”?
Adam (10:35 PM):
Because we’re gonna be heavier. Louder. Better.
Nickie (10:36 PM):
Just make sure your bass player stops scaring off drummers.
Adam (10:38 PM):
Hey. Unicorns are easier to find than decent drummers.
Nickie (10:39 PM):
Then don’t scare me off, your majesty.
He smirked.
Adam (10:40 PM):
You’re safe for now, loyal subject.
Nickie (10:41 PM):
So gracious.
More followed: talk of band practice, random jabs at David, then school again:
Adam (10:58 PM):
Thursdays I show up. Art class doesn’t feel like a prison.
Nickie (11:00 PM):
Wow. One whole day. I’m impressed.
Adam (11:00 PM):
Buy a charity cookie, nerd.
Nickie actually laughed out loud. Her mom poked her head into the room and reminded her of the time.
Nickie (11:02 PM):
Bass boy, I gotta crash. Math test tomorrow.
Adam looked at the time. Hours had passed.
Adam (11:03 PM):
Good luck, study bug. See you Wednesday.
It took a few minutes.
Then came one last text.
Nickie (11:10 PM):
Slacker.
Adam stared at the screen, a smile tugging at his mouth.
Then he re-read the entire exchange until he fell asleep… unusually peaceful.
