3rd Person POV

  A couple of days after Fonfobia’s explosive gig at The Abyss, it was finally the day.

  The Buckweed Funeral show: half myth, half secretive word-of-mouth chaos… It was happening tonight.

  No posted address.

  No social media trail.

  Just a handful of local bands and a venue whispered about in side comments and scribbled on ripped flyers.

  Nickie met Adam at the train station just past noon.

  It wasn’t planned, exactly.

  She’d told him which train she was taking, and he just… showed up.

  Leaning against a pillar like he hadn’t been watching every arrival.

  His hair was still damp like he’d rushed to make it.

  The moment he saw her, something in his expression eased.

  He didn’t say anything at first, just gave her a small nod.

  Nickie matched his nod and fell into step beside him as they wordlessly boarded the train.

  They sat together, a window seat and an aisle seat, both turned slightly inward. Their bags wedged between them.

  A kind of quiet settled in.

  It wasn’t awkward nor tense.

  Neither of them needed to fill the silence to be heard.

  Adam had his earbuds in. One side was offered to Nickie without a word.

  She took it.

  They listened to a mix of Adam’s favourite sludgy riffs, haunting breakdowns, sudden tempo shifts that made Nickie raise her eyebrow.

  He caught it and smirked, the bass buzzing faintly through the wire where it brushed her cheek.

  He was trying hard not to keep looking at her suddenly very interesting cheek.

  Nickie, for her part, showed some memes she’d saved. Stuff Hashmi and Noya had sent.

  Stuff too stupid to laugh at but somehow still funny when she nudged her elbow into Adam’s side and watched his mouth twitch with suppressed laughter.

  When Adam caught her looking out the window, eyes squinting thoughtfully at the blur of trees and wires, he couldn’t help it… he watched her in fascination.

  That Nickie smile: The one she made when she thought no one was looking.

  Quiet satisfaction, slightly crooked pride.

  ‘Ahh, fuck.’

  He bit the inside of his cheek. It took quite a lot of effort to look away.

  After that he spaced out.

  His brain fixed on one thing: the back of Nickie’s neck.

  The soft dip where her hair broke into loose, soft strands.

  The kind that never quite stayed tucked away.

  He noticed them every time, always wanting to brush them aside with his fingers, just to see how they felt.

  He knew how they lifted when she got excited, how sweat gathered there during practice, during gigs, catching the light before disappearing into her collar.

  The thought looped.

  Deepened.

  Got unhelpful.

  Heat crawled up his face before he could stop it.

  Adam swallowed, stared very hard at nothing, and tried to think about literally anything else.

  Rails.

  Noise.

  Static.

  Bass lines.

  “Bass boy, time to switch trains.”

  Her voice hit him like a hand on the shoulder.

  Adam blinked, disoriented, suddenly aware of his own face, his own body, the world snapping back into focus all at once.

  “Oh shit.”

  He packed his earphones, grabbed his bag in a hurry and followed Nickie off the train.

  The platform was filled with people, and he almost lost her twice through the enormous crowd of moving bodies.

  He reached and grabbed her hoodie hood, making her stop for a moment.

  Then he wordlessly grabbed her arm and started leading them.

  Nickie’s heart did a strange flip.

  She let herself be led without resistance.

  A feeling of small satisfaction sneaked in, though she couldn’t understand exactly where it came from.

  The ride continued in a smaller train, empty enough for them to have an entire car to themselves.

  The smaller train rattled into motion with a tired sigh.

  No crowd. No elbows. Just empty seats, flickering fluorescent lights, and the low hum of movement.

  Nickie dropped into a seat sideways, boots on the opposite bench, stretching like she finally remembered she had a body. Adam sat across from her, bag at his feet, shoulders still a little too stiff.

  A beat passed.

  Then Nickie squinted at him.

  “You look like you just lost a fight with your own thoughts.”

  Adam huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself.

  “Rude.”

  “Accurate,” she shot back, grinning. “You had that face. The one where your brain leaves the building.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was… uh. Concentrating.”

  “On what.”

  “Music.”

  She raised an eyebrow. Slowly. Deliberately.

  “The music that ended three stations ago?”

  “Yes.”

  Nickie snorted and leaned back, satisfied. “Sure, Bass Boy. Totally believable.”

  The tension cracked. Just a little.

  She pulled out her phone again, scrolling. “Okay, new rule. If we’re getting lost on secret funeral-gig pilgrimages, I get to choose the soundtrack.”

  Adam made a face. “If you put on Gabber I’m jumping off this train.”

  “Wow,” she said, offended. “So dramatic. Relax, it’s worse.”

  She hit play before he could protest.

  Something aggressively upbeat filled the earphones.

  Catchy. Stupid. Completely wrong.

  Adam stared at her.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “This is illegal.”

  Nickie beamed. “You’re welcome.”

  He tried to hold it.

  Failed.

  A genuine laugh slipped out.

  Nickie lit up like she’d won something.

  “There he is,” she said. “I was starting to think you only smirk and brood now.”

  “Multitasking,” he said. “It’s a skill.”

  They settled into it after that. Trading dumb comments. Complaining about the train smell.

  Arguing, briefly and passionately, about whether the drummer or the bassist was more replaceable.

  For a few stops, the last few weeks went quiet.

  No weight.

  No spirals.

  Excitement and a hint of comfort from being in the same place, heading somewhere unknown together.

  When the train lurched slightly, Nickie grabbed the pole above her head and laughed.

  Adam caught himself smiling at the sound before he realized he was doing it.

  ‘Yeah,’ he thought.

  ‘This is better.’

  ***

  The station they got off at was nearly deserted.

  Then they walked for twenty minutes before they realized the address they were following didn’t exist.

  The map refused to cooperate.

  Nickie sighed, holding up her phone.

  “This place is a ghost.”

  They stood on a cracked sidewalk beside a half-dead gas station. No music. No crowd. Just wind and an angry bird screeching from a nearby bush.

  Adam scanned the street: empty.

  Until movement caught his eye.

  Heavy boots.

  Faded denim.

  Ink curling up forearms.

  A small pack of strangers moving with the easy confidence of people who knew where the graveyard beat was buried.

  Adam nudged Nickie.

  “Always follow the tatts and tees,” he whispered.

  She smirked. He caught it.

  ‘There it is again. Great. Now my brain’s useless for the next ten minutes.’

  They fell in step behind the procession, denim and patches leading the way.

  ***

  Breaking Hearts Before The Show

  The house was big, but completely run down: windows cracked, siding peeling, every inch tagged with glow-in-the-dark graffiti.

  Out front, fire pits burned low, throwing orange light over the crowd.

  Generators rumbled somewhere out back, keeping the amps alive.

  Inside, Adam and Nickie spotted a familiar face: Alonzo, plastic bottle in hand.

  "Ahh, my favorite drum-and-bass duo!" he called, grinning wide. Before they could react, he threw an arm around both of them, pulling them into a slightly sweaty hug.

  Adam grimaced. “Do you have to be so touchy, man?”

  “Of course I do. It’s part of my charm.”

  “Is Fonfobia here?”

  “Nah, I came with the guys from MATRYX. Party’s in the house!” He gave a call with his hands dramatically raised.

  Nickie rolled her eyes but smiled. “You seem… extra happy tonight. What’s in the bottle?”

  Alonzo raised it like a trophy. “MDMA, baby. Want a sip?”

  Adam hesitated, then took the bottle and a swig.

  ‘Here we go’. Nickie thought.

  She shook her head. “None for me. But thanks.”

  “Suit yourself,” Alonzo laughed, already moving toward the pit. “Catch you in there!”

  Nickie watched him disappear into the crowd. “He’s always like this, huh?”

  Adam shrugged. “He means well. Most of the time. I’m gonna get a beer. Want something?”

  “Coke.”

  “Wait here.”

  While Adam fought his way to the bar, a girl in a Melvins shirt sidled up.

  “Cool hair,” the girl said.

  “Thanks. Cool shirt.”

  “Yeah, Melvins rock!”

  “Hell yeah!”

  The girl smiled: sly, unmistakable. “You wanna sit with us outside before the show?”

  Nickie caught the flirt in her tone and hesitated. “I’m waiting for someone, sorry.”

  The girl shrugged and wandered off just as Adam returned, two drinks in hand.

  “Someone you know?” he asked.

  Nickie took the Coke. “I think I just got hit on.”

  Adam’s eyebrow went up, his gaze flicked briefly toward the direction the girl had gone, almost like a quiet assessment.

  “You gonna start breaking hearts before the show even starts?”

  Nickie snorted. “Apparently.” She sipped her drink. “Guess I’ve got that universal appeal.”

  Adam chuckled.

  “We get it, rockstar. Everyone wants a piece.” He clinked his beer against her coke. “Just… try not to cause too much devastation out here.”

  ***

  Adam and Nickie wove toward the makeshift stage, blending into the growing crowd.

  Adam sipped his beer slowly, his grin widening as the MDMA softened the edges of his usual tension.

  His pupils were blown, his energy lighter… Almost buoyant.

  He stayed glued to Nickie’s side, at first holding her sleeve, then her shoulder, moving wherever she did.

  When she paused, he bumped into her, flashing a sheepish grin.

  She didn’t mind.

  The sudden clinginess was unexpected, but… oddly endearing.

  The band took the stage, and the room exploded with sound. The crowd surged into an intense mosh pit.

  Adam’s hand shot out to catch Nickie’s arm.

  “You know it’s not my first time in the mosh!” she yelled over the noise.

  “Yeah, but these guys are brutal!”

  When someone shoved past, Adam’s elbow came up automatically, carving out space for her.

  Nickie laughed. “Okay, maybe you’re right!”

  They moved together in perfect sync, drinks disappearing fast. As soon as her Coke was gone, Nickie dove headfirst into the fogo.

  Adam shadowed her every step, making sure no one’s elbow or boot got too close.

  When Buckweed switched to a slower song, the pit dissolved for a while.

  Nickie stumbled slightly, breathless and glowing. Adam caught her.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m good!”

  “Let’s stand over there.”

  They drifted toward the edge.

  Adam moved through the crowd, making a trail Nickie could easily follow.

  When they found their footing, he swayed to the rhythm beside her, occasionally leaning in to nudge her shoulder or make some absurd face.

  At one point he mimicked her drumming, flailing imaginary sticks like a deranged octopus.

  “That’s not how I play!”

  “Sure it is,” he shot back. His smile was more sincere than usual.

  He paused.

  Then his tone shifted.

  He came closer to her ear, making sure she definitely heard it:

  “Nicks… I need you to stop me if I ever do anything out of line.”

  She blinked, caught off-guard.

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. Anything that bothers you.”

  His voice stayed steady, but there was an earnestness under it.

  “Just tell me ‘Stop.’ I trust you… to do that.”

  Nickie’s answer came gentler now. “I will.”

  “Thanks.”

  His gaze drifted for a moment before sliding back to her, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

  As the music roared on, he kept close, following her movements like there was a string between them.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” she finally said.

  Adam nodded and started trailing after her, only to realize too late that he’d stepped inside the booth with her.

  “What?... Adam!”

  He blinked, looked around, then flushed crimson, his hand automatically shooting to cover his face.

  “Fuck. Sorry.” He backed out quickly, scratching the back of his neck.

  When she emerged, he was right there, still a little pink.

  “Sorry about that,” he muttered.

  Nickie smirked. “Didn’t know you were auditioning for bathroom bodyguard.”

  Adam huffed a quiet laugh. “Someone’s gotta keep you safe from those killer soap dispensers.”

  She chuckled, bumping him lightly. “Don’t quit your day job.”

  Back at the stage, his hand brushed her sleeve now and then, just making sure she was still there.

  When the set ended, Adam joined the chaos: screaming, growling, and somehow carrying over the noise longer than most… before turning to her.

  “That was… fun,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  She held his gaze, noticing how free he looked. Freer than she’d seen him in weeks.

  And under that looseness, his closeness felt deliberate. Protective.

  A memory flickered in Adam’s mind.

  That night… half-asleep, thinking he’s still dreaming… He’d kissed her neck, sucked until a mark bloomed there.

  He still felt guilty.

  But a quieter, truer thought slipped in anyway:

  ‘I liked looking at her neck. Seeing that mark. Mine.’