Nickie's POV

  The gig was awesome.

  My whole body was still humming, like the crash cymbals were echoing in my bones long after the last song ended.

  I couldn’t stop shaking.

  It wasn’t fear or nerves or even adrenaline anymore.

  It was joy.

  Pure, messy, exhausting joy.

  Adam helped me fold up my gear, picking up pieces without a word, packing them with this calm efficiency that made the whole thing feel lighter.

  My legs were jelly.

  As I was getting off the stage, I stumbled on the strap of my own snare case.

  Adam caught me instantly.

  “C’mon, let’s go before you break your face, yeah?” he said, taking the snare case from me.

  Backstage blurred past.

  At least three bands stopped to talk, asking if we’d do shows together.

  I was too excited and too exhausted to speak, and Adam… too avoidant for socialization.

  David the saint (That’s how he’s called from now on, obviously) collected contacts like a walking database, smiling and nodding, somehow remembering names I’d already lost.

  A couple of excited metalheads came asking if they could tag REAPERAND when they publish clips from the show.

  David promised an official Instagram was coming soon.

  Then, right as I was leaning on the nearest amp to keep from collapsing, this woman with a camera harness tapped David’s shoulder.

  “Hey, excuse me… REAPERAND?”

  Her voice was confident but warm, like she already knew we were worth addressing.

  She had two cameras hanging off her, heavy, professional, the kind that make your wallet flinch just looking at them. Her hair was tied up messily with a bandana, and her eyeliner had smudged into a smoky haze from moving and sweating and caring about getting good shots.

  She turned to me first.

  “That final song, the tempo shift before the outro was insane. You tore the kit apart.”

  I blinked.

  I might’ve made a weird noise.

  Something between a laugh and a choke.

  Adam stepped half behind me like he always does when there’s a stranger: hands tucked into hoodie pockets, hair hiding half his face.

  The woman turned to him next.

  “And YOU!” she said, pointing with a finger still wrapped around her camera strap, “You don’t just play bass. You perform it.”

  Adam froze like she’d just handed him a bomb.

  She chuckled, softer now, respectful.

  “I’m a photographer… mostly music. I took about two hundred pictures of your set. I’ll send them all to you. Free.”

  “Free?” David echoed, eyebrows climbing.

  “Yeah. I don’t charge unsigned bands. I just want credit if you use them online. But honestly…”

  She lifted the camera and showed us the preview screen.

  There we were.

  mid-explosion, mid-joy, mid-sweat.

  My hair flying, my arms a blur, mouth open in the kind of expression people usually delete from group photos.

  And yet…

  it looked badass.

  Then she flicked to Adam.

  Eyes shut, fingers attacking the strings, spine curved in something almost feral.

  He didn’t realize photos could catch him at the moments he thinks he’s invisible.

  “Oh,” I whispered.

  It just slipped out.

  Like a prayer to the god of live music.

  “You’re good,” David said to her, and he meant it.

  She shrugged like this was normal, not a miracle.

  “Send me your handles when you’ve got them. You guys have something real going. I’d like to follow it.”

  That…

  hit somewhere warm.

  Somewhere I had forgotten existed.

  ***

  We finally arrived at David’s place.

  It was time for our post-show ritual: Burgers.

  Greasy, glorious, stupidly good burgers.

  I could barely lift mine.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  My arms were wrecked.

  Every crash, every fill, every stubborn grip on those sticks… I felt all of it now.

  Adam noticed, of course.

  “You need help?” he asked, tilting his head with that stupid smirk that always made me want to both slap him and pinch his cheeks.

  “Sure,” I said, laughing at myself.

  My voice came out smaller than I meant, but I didn’t feel small.

  He cut my burger into bite-sized pieces, then held one up. “Say ahh.”

  I rolled my eyes, but my grin gave me away. “Ahhh.”

  “Good girl.”

  I snorted. “Haha, fuck off,” I said through a mouthful of bun and sauce.

  “Okay, okay, sorry…” He held up another piece. “Here, say ahh again… No sass this time.”

  I laughed harder than I had in days, the kind that made my ribs ache. The bite was GOOD.

  It was impossible to stay annoyed at Adam. He knew exactly what he was doing, and somehow that just made it worse… And better.

  The rain started outside, a soft thrum against the window.

  The post-gig high curled inward, settling into that warm, fuzzy tiredness that made the living room feel like a nest.

  David appeared in the doorway, drying his hands. “Nickie, you want to stay over?” he asked casually.

  I glanced at Adam before I could stop myself, and he was already looking at me.

  Waiting, with that softness in his eyes I’d caught once or twice since the panic earlier.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Let me just check with Mom.”

  ***

  Later, Adam and I sank into the couch under the same blanket, the glow from the TV soft against the walls.

  His shoulder brushed mine every so often: light, unintentional maybe, but every touch sent a quiet shiver through me.

  I tried to focus on the movie, but it was impossible. Not with him this close.

  Not when I could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the faint mix of soap and sweat from the show.

  I didn’t know why it hurt so much when he’d gone quiet before.

  Ignoring my texts, ducking out of our usual jokes… but right now, none of that distance was there.

  He was here. Close enough that if I shifted just a little, my head could rest against him.

  I thought about doing it, about letting myself lean in, but I didn’t.

  I stayed exactly where I was, matching the slow rhythm of his breathing like if I kept in sync, he might stay this close forever.

  Adam's POV

  Nickie’s breathing had slowed.

  Her head, light and warm, tilted against my shoulder, nestling there like it was the natural place for it.

  At first, I just sat there, frozen.

  Not because I didn’t like it… but because I did.

  Too much.

  Every detail landed like a hit:

  The soft weight of her head pressing into me.

  The faint mix of citrus and smoke in her hair.

  The tiny exhale she let out as she settled.

  A small, barely-there snore.

  ‘Adorable.’

  My chest ached.

  ‘I should move her. I should let her sleep comfortably. I should stop sitting here like some pathetic, love-struck idiot letting my heart slam against my ribs.’

  But I didn’t.

  Couldn’t.

  Because it felt like something fragile and weightless had slipped into my chest, replacing all the broken pieces I carry.

  Like if I stayed perfectly still, maybe… just maybe… I could keep it there.

  I turned my head just enough to look at her.

  Curled up beside me, lost in sleep.

  She made everything feel a little less heavy just by existing.

  She had seen the bad parts of me… and never looked away.

  My throat tightened.

  ‘I want to tell her.’

  Right now, right here. Wake her up and just say it.

  "Nickie… I…"

  I stopped myself.

  If I said it, she’d know.

  She’d know how much I need her.

  How much I’m terrified of what that means.

  Because what if I hurt her?

  What if she leaves?

  Or worse…

  What if she sees every single broken, rotting part of me and realizes she was wrong to stay? That I’m not worth it?

  A slow, sharp inhale. My jaw locked. My hands went cold.

  The warmth in my chest curdled into something else: fear, sharp and sour.

  I wasn’t supposed to want closeness.

  Not after everything.

  So why did I?

  Why does it feel like I can breathe for the first time in years just because she’s here, asleep beside me?

  Why do I feel like I’d die if she ever pulled away?

  I swallowed hard and shifted carefully, easing her into a better position on the couch.

  She made a small sound of protest, curling into the warmth I’d left behind.

  And God help me, I almost pulled her back.

  Exhale. Slow. My hand shook.

  ‘I need to shut my brain off. Stop thinking. Stop feeling so much.’

  And then her voice, soft as a breeze slipping through an open window.

  “A…dam…”

  My name.

  Everything inside me went quiet.

  The fear, the noise, the sharp edges.

  All of it hushed beneath the way she said my name, barely a breath, like it belonged to her mouth more than it ever belonged to me.

  Something warm spread through my chest, like a hand pressing gently over my heart.

  Home.

  It felt like home.

  Nickie shifted, curled even closer, her cheek brushing my arm. Without thinking, I lifted a hand and traced the line of her hair, the soft shell of her ear, the quiet curve of her cheek.

  She sighed in her sleep.

  My heart clenched in a way that didn’t hurt.

  And that was it.

  No way out.

  I was already gone.

  I stayed by her side until exhaustion finally took me, too.