3rd person POV

  The artist’s room buzzed with a mix of laughter, tuning instruments, and the smell of cigarettes.

  David and Fonfobia’s members were sprawled on the couches.

  David turned to Alonzo.

  “So, getting us both spots at the cage, huh?” He remarked with an easy smirk.

  Alonzo stretched out on a battered sofa, his guitar leaning against the wall beside him.

  “Yeah, Took these guys long enough to realize we’re carrying this scene.”

  David chuckled, arms crossed. “Carrying it? Bold claim.”

  “Hey, man, confidence sells,” Alonzo shot back.

  “Speaking of which, your little brother’s got some serious chops on that bass. Who knew Mr. Brooding Bassist had it in him?”

  David laughed.

  “Brooding implies mystery. He just looks like he’s in a constant staring contest with life.”

  “When’s the last time you saw him smile, anyway?” Alonzo asked, raising an eyebrow.

  David tilted his head in mock thought.

  “Probably the last time Nickie roasted his hair.”

  They both cracked up, their laughter echoing through the room just as the door creaked open.

  Adam walked in, hands in his pockets, with Nickie trailing behind him, her sketchbook tucked under her arm.

  Alonzo sat up a little straighter, smirk tugging at his mouth.

  “Yo, big guy! Speak of the devil!”

  Adam raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Should I be worried?”

  “Nah,” Alonzo said with a lazy grin. “Just reminding your brother you’re secretly the scariest guy in the room.”

  Adam snorted.

  “Sure. I’ll just sit over there and radiate pure disappointment.”

  Alonzo laughed.

  “Hey, what was that move from Jiu-Jitsu we were talking about the other day?”

  “Single-leg sweep. Why?”

  “D’you know how to do it?” Alonzo said, grinning like he’d just issued a challenge.

  Adam zeroed in on Nickie, who was flipping through her sketchbook in the corner. He walked over.

  “Nickie,” he said casually.

  “No,” she replied flatly, narrowing her eyes. “Whatever it is, no.”

  Ignoring her protests, Adam stepped closer.

  “Relax,” he said, “You’re helping me demonstrate.”

  Nickie groaned. “I knew it.” She put her sketchbook aside.

  Before she could react further, Adam pivoted his hips into hers, hooking her leg with his and lifting her off the ground in a graceful arc.

  He swept her feet out from under her and gently guided her to the floor with precision, ensuring she landed softly.

  Her body was completely limp, letting Adam easily demonstrate the move.

  The room froze for a beat, everyone staring in surprise at the sudden display.

  Alonzo burst out laughing. “So THAT’S how you do that! Damn, man, that’s slick.”

  Don blinked, eyes wide. “Dude, you didn’t even warn her. Just… yoink, floor.”

  Ives let out a low whistle. “Clean execution, though. Kinda terrifying, not gonna lie.”

  Jess snorted, leaning back against the couch. “That’s some MMA-meets-rom-com energy right there.”

  David rubbed a hand down his face. “Every time I think he’s done surprising me, he pulls… whatever that was.”

  Adam, now smiling noticeably, was still holding Nickie down with his foot.

  “Next time, at least pretend to put up a fight.” He told Nickie.

  Nickie rolled her eyes. “Next time, give me more of a heads-up, Bass Boy.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Adam retorted with a smirk.

  Alonzo and David glanced at each other, holding back a chuckle.

  Alonzo shook his head, grinning. “You’ve got guts, drummer girl. Most people would be flailing by now.”

  “By now I’m used to it.”

  “You can let go now, Adam.” David grunted.

  Adam didn’t move.

  Before the banter could continue, the door creaked open, and another band entered, lugging their equipment.

  They stopped short looking at Adam and Nickie who were blocking their way.

  “Uh, hi,” one of them said hesitantly.

  David clapped his hands together. “Alright, time to make room. Let these guys have their space.”

  Adam helped Nickie up, reluctantly.

  As the room became more crowded and hazy with smoke, Nickie found herself sitting on the carpet near Adam’s feet.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Adam and David squeezed onto the couch beside each other, their casual posture in stark contrast to the buzzing energy around them.

  “So,” Jess called out, slinging her hoodie over a folding chair.

  “Who’s headlining tonight? Oh, right! it’s us. Better make sure you don’t scare the crowd off before we go on.”

  A smirk came from across the green room.

  “Bold talk for someone who still hasn’t nailed the solo in your opener,” said a guitarist from another band, peeling the label off a beer bottle.

  Alonzo, sprawled on a road case like it was a throne, raised a hand in mock arrogance.

  “It’s called artistic interpretation, my friend. The crowd loves it when I improvise.”

  David glanced up. “Is that what we’re calling missed notes these days?”

  Someone snorted. “Next thing you know, he’ll say it’s jazz.”

  Alonzo gasped, hand to his heart.

  “Hey, jazz is about freedom, man. What I do? That’s freedom with a distortion pedal.”

  David laughed. “Freedom to butcher the key, maybe.”

  “Says the guy whose bassist looks like he’s five seconds from murdering the entire room.”

  Adam didn’t miss a beat. “Keep talking and I’ll show you how well I’ve mastered a chokehold.”

  David grinned, not bothering to deny it. “He’s not joking.”

  Alonzo held up both hands.

  “Alright, alright. No need for a live demonstration, big guy. I’ll shut up.”

  From the floor, Nickie glanced up. “Smart move. He’s been practicing on me.”

  The room burst into laughter. Even Adam’s mouth twitched, which is more reaction than he gave most things.

  “Alright, real question,” someone called out from the couch, kicking their feet up on an empty case.

  “Who’s the most annoying crowd to play for? Drunk college kids or middle-aged rock dads who bring their own earplugs?”

  Alonzo answered without hesitation. “Easy. The ones who yell ‘Freebird’ no matter what genre you're playing.”

  David gave a groan. “Or the ones who film your entire set and talk through it.”

  Nickie raised a hand like she was taking roll.

  “Don’t forget the moshers who think it’s a WWE audition. One of them almost took me out last week.”

  Adam smirked.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Maybe next time don’t suplex the guy into the drum kit?”

  Alonzo burst out laughing. “You’re still mad about that? Come on, it was legendary!”

  “Legendary doesn’t pay for a busted cymbal,” Nickie muttered.

  Don, Fonfobia’s drummer, lifted a hand. “Which is exactly why I asked to borrow yours, remember?”

  “You break it, you buy it. And I charge in blood.”

  Nickie answered while doodling absentmindedly in her sketchbook.

  She could feel Adam’s gaze flick toward her, but he didn’t say anything.

  Nickie tried to suppress a grin.

  “You can just ask to see, you know. You don’t have to sneak glances.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow, a slow grin forming. “Who says I want to see it? Maybe I’m just making sure you’re not drawing me with devil horns or something.”

  Nickie smirked, tapping her pencil against the sketchbook. "Devil horns? Please. That’s too basic. I was thinking bat wings and a flaming bass."

  “Heh.” Adam responded, but after a few moments he said softly, almost shyly, “Can I see?”

  Nickie gave an almost hidden smile.

  “My feet fell asleep.”

  Adam leaned down, his voice just above a whisper. “Put your hands up.”

  Nickie put her hands up.

  In one smooth motion, Adam lifted her effortlessly off the floor and into his lap.

  “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice laced with uncharacteristic gentleness.

  Nickie nodded, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

  Adam’s faint blush matched hers as he adjusted his position to make sure she was comfortable.

  She gave him her sketchbook to see and he was going through it silently, smiling.

  David, sitting beside them, hid his amusement and said nothing. The energy in the room swirled around them, but they might as well have been on their own planet.

  This Totally-Not-Me Guy

  Adam flipped through Nickie’s sketchbook, his fingers lingering over the pages as he took in the chaotic, mesmerizing world she had created.

  Monstrous figures twisted across the paper, their eyes wide and unblinking, their limbs contorted in ways that defied anatomy.

  Swirling patterns of ink bled into one another, forming intricate, almost hypnotic designs that made it impossible to look away.

  “Damn,” Adam muttered under his breath.

  “You got demons in your head or what?”

  Nickie smirked, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the sketchbook.

  “Oh, absolutely. They pay rent, too. Real nice guys. Punctual.”

  Adam huffed a laugh and turned the page. A grotesque, multi-eyed creature leered up at him, its mouth stretching too wide, its teeth jagged like broken glass.

  “This one looks like Coach Rami when he’s sleep-deprived.”

  Nickie snorted.

  “It’s actually inspired by that one time he ate three Shawarmas in a row.”

  Adam’s laughter shook his chest. Without looking up, he reeled her in slightly, palm resting warm against her stomach. She naturally leaned back into him.

  He turned the page again and his expression shifted slightly.

  His fingers ran over the shading of a monstrous figure curled into itself, skeletal hands gripping its own chest, tendrils of ink-like darkness wrapping around its limbs.

  The detail was insane. Every tiny line meticulously drawn, every shadow placed with intention.

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, just taking it in. Then, softly, he murmured,

  “This one’s… intense.”

  Nickie, who had been ready with another sarcastic remark, paused.

  “Yeah,” she admitted. “It’s kinda how my brain feels sometimes.”

  Adam nodded slowly.

  “It’s incredible.”

  His voice wasn’t teasing anymore, just honest.

  He flipped another page and suddenly stopped.

  ‘Is that how she sees me?’ he thought as his mouth twitched with a very self-satisfied smirk.

  “And what do we have here?”

  Nickie’s stomach dropped. She’d actually forgotten about this one.

  It was a drawing of a figure playing bass, half-shrouded in darkness, half-illuminated by something surreal.

  The details were vague, but the messy hair strands, the way the hands gripped the instrument: it was undeniably Adam.

  She tried to snatch the sketchbook but Adam was quicker.

  “Give it!”

  Adam held it out of her reach, grinning like he had just won the lottery.

  “You’ve been sketching me in secret.”

  “I have not,” Nickie lied.

  “You totally have.”

  Nickie huffed, crossing her arms. “I draw a lot of people.”

  Adam smirked, keeping the sketchbook in his hand.

  “Right, right. Just a coincidence that this totally-not-me guy has my exact bass and my exact slouchy posture?”

  Nickie groaned, red-faced.

  “I will throw you off this couch.”

  Adam chuckled, finally relenting and handing her back the sketchbook.

  “Relax, I think it’s cool,” he said, softer this time.

  “Seriously. Your art is insane. You see the world in such a wild, messed-up, beautiful way.”

  Nickie blinked. For once, she didn’t have a quick-witted response ready.

  “And, uh… if you ever wanna, like… draw more of me, I won’t complain.”

  Nickie bit her lip to keep from smiling.

  “Yeah?”

  He shrugged, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Yeah.”

  David, who had been sitting in the corner quietly observing the entire interaction, finally spoke up.

  “Can I have a portrait too, or is this an emotionally-tortured-bassists-only deal?”

  Nickie groaned again, hiding her face behind the sketchbook as Adam burst into laughter.