My stomach flips every time my phone buzzes. He was stuck at the studio late last night, but he kept texting. His messages are casual. Easy.
Long day. Studio chaos. Save me a slice if you order pizza.
You surviving the tiny humans today?
Pretty sure I just played the same drum fill twenty-seven times. Send help.
I grin at my screen more than I should.
Him: How many drum fills before it counts as psychological torture?
Me: Asking for a friend?
Him: Asking for my sanity. Come rescue me.
The words sit warm in my chest long after the screen goes dark. He never says he misses me. But somehow, I can feel it between the lines. And somewhere this afternoon, sitting at my desk with my lunch untouched, I realize I miss him too.
Last night felt strange without him there. No shared dinner. No couch. No quiet laughter drifting through the apartment while the city hums outside. I ate standing at the counter,scrolling my phone between bites like I was waiting for something to happen. The TV stayed off. The couch felt too big when I glanced at it. At one point I almost texted him just to ask when he’d be home, but stopped myself.
We aren’t whatever that would make us. Still, I left the pizza box out longer than necessary. Just in case. And now, I’m restless. It’s Friday after work and I’m at the apartment by myself. I tell myself I’m just curious about the studio. That I miss Sadie. That’s the lie I go with when I call an Uber.
Music leaks out of the building before I even step inside. The studio feels different than I expected. Louder. Looser. Drinks in plastic cups. Someone laughing too loudly near the back. The smell of beer and something sweet and smoky hanging in the air. Girls I don’t recognize are hanging around.
I hesitate near the door, suddenly aware that this is his world. The version of him I first met with the tour buses, chaos, and easy charm. I spot him across the room but he hasn’t seen me yet. He’s laughing at something Dean says, a beer in his hand, relaxed in a way I haven’t seen all week. People orbit around him naturally, touching his arm, leaning in to talk. A girl stands close, hand brushing his forearm as she laughs at something he says. Something sharp twists low in my chest. I don’t like it. Not in a quiet, reasonable way either. In a sharp, immediate way that catches me off guard.
Before I can decide what to do, his gaze lifts and finds me. Everything changes. His face shifts instantly; surprise melting into something warmer. Softer. He moves without hesitation, weaving through people until he’s standing in front of me. “Hey.”
The noise around us fades a little. “Hey.”
“You’re here.” Like he didn’t expect me, but he’s glad I came. His hand settles lightly at my back, grounding and familiar, likeit belongs there. The tension curling inside me eases almost immediately. He leans closer.
I shrug, suddenly shy. “Thought I’d see what all the chaos was about.”
A grin flashes across his face. “Careful. You might never recover.”
Someone calls his name from behind him. He glances over his shoulder, then back at me. “Give me a minute,” he yells back without looking away from me and something warm loosens in my chest.
He stays near me after that. Not hovering, just present. Leaning down so I can hear him over the music. Checking in with quiet touches. Introducing me to people I vaguely recognize from the tour. The best part of the night is when Sadie bursts through the studio doors, face lit up, arms full of fresh copies ofAmped. Devil’s Halo dominates the cover and it’s dark, moody, electric and captures them perfectly. Her article is the magazine’s feature. I’m so damn proud of her.
Every conversation in the room dies instantly. Dean’s halfway through a joke. Luc’s leaning back on the couch, drink in hand. Someone’s music hums low in the background. It all fades the second she walks in.
“All right, rockstars,” she announces, breathless and glowing, fanning the magazines out like she’s holding winning lottery tickets. “Prepare to be immortalized.”
A chorus of laughs, whistles, and a dramatic, “Oh God, here we go,” from Dean.
Mikey shifts beside me on the couch, his knee brushing mine as he leans forward, curiosity on his face. But me? I’m watching Sadie. Watching the way she owns the room without even trying. She flips one open, finds her page, and clears her throat with a grin that says she knows exactly what she’s about to do to them.
“Okay,” she sings out. “Highlights.”
She starts reading.“Somewhere between cities and stages, the story shifted. What started as coverage became something far more intimate with an inside look at a band that doesn’t just live the music, but the moments in between.”
The room quiets. Not forced. Just naturally. She continues reading.“There’s a vulnerability to Devil’s Halo that fans don’t always see. But on this tour, it surfaced in glances, in tension, in the quiet spaces between songs.”
Luc’s expression shifts. It’s subtle, but there. Like he recognizes it. Sadie glances up, eyes sparkling as she glances at him then keeps going.“At the center of it all is Lucifer Sarris, a frontman who doesn’t just command the stage; he owns it. Every movement feels deliberate, every lyric delivered like it costs him something to let it go.”
Luc huffs out a quiet laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “Jesus.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t love it,” Dean mutters.
