Basement Show

by SomeAnnoyingBrunette

Summary:

It’s your senior year of college and you’ve just transferred to ZuZu University. You were hoping for a quiet finish to your degree in agriculture, instead, you get pulled into the gritty and late-night world of campus basement shows.

Sam/Fem!Reader. 18+. No use of y/n. I don't own any of these characters or Stardew Valley (obviously).

Notes:

Hi! This is literally my first fanfic ever so PLEASEEE let me know if I need to fix anything (spelling, grammar, whatever). I love me some constructive criticism but be nice to me <3 okay enjoy~

Chapter 1: College Kids

Notes:

Hi! This is literally my first fanfic ever so PLEASEEE let me know if I need to fix anything (spelling, grammar, whatever). I love me some constructive criticism but be nice to me <3 okay enjoy~

Call it torture, call it university

Arts and crafts is all I need

I'll take calligraphy, and then I'll make a fake degree

- College Kids by Relient K

 

It was a long, two-hour drive - the kind that leaves your legs numb and your brain buzzing - but you made it.

ZuZu University. Finally. The school brochures promised tree lined courtyards and "urban charm," which sounded like a scam but turned out to be surprisingly accurate. A sprawling campus tucked into the city’s spine, dorms with actual A/C, and dining hall food that didn’t look like war rations. Honestly? Kind of dreamy. A shame it took until senior year to get here. Not that you hated your last school - okay, maybe you did - but after three years of rural cornfields and a shitty ex, you were ready for a change. The city felt fast. Loud. Alive. You needed that.

You pulled onto a side street just off campus: narrow and graffitied. You double checked the address on your phone for what had to be the fifth time before looking up at your new apartment: a narrow brick walk-up wedged between a bagel shop and a tattoo place. The porch light above the door buzzed like it had a grudge, flickering like a bad omen or just... negligent wiring. You decided to call it "character."

The August heat clung to your back as you hauled the first box out of your trunk. Just as you kicked the trunk shut, the front door creaked open.

"Hey!" a voice called out.

A girl leaned against the doorway, iced coffee in one hand and an aura that screamed I know exactly what my birth chart says about me. Purple hair, chipped black nails, a band tee that looked like it had survived at least two breakups.

"You must be Sunny, right? I’m Abby."

You adjusted the box on your hip. "Actually it’s-" you gave her your real name, starting up the definitely not-up-to-code steps. "Sunny’s just a nickname. It’s kind of an inside joke with my family."

Abby raised an eyebrow, looking intrigued. "Oh?"

You gestured to your all black outfit, the sweat already sticking to your back. "It’s for my 'sunny disposition'."

She snorted. "Oh yeah. We’re gonna get along."

The apartment smelled faintly like incense and maybe blackberries? Hard to tell. One corner of the living room was dominated by a glass tank. A post-it slapped on the front read: I BITE MEN in angry purple Sharpie. Inside: a chubby guinea pig demolishing a lettuce leaf like it owed him money.

Abby caught your look. "Oh, that’s David Jr. He’s my emotional support son. Hope that’s cool."

You raised an eyebrow.

"He doesn’t actually bite men. Just one guy. He knows what he did."

You set your box down. "David Junior?"

"Don’t ask."

You laughed. Which felt weird. Good weird.

Unpacking turned into a tag team of stair hauling, water breaks, and bonding over the shared trauma of student debt. Abby asked about your major - agriculture - and that somehow spiraled into a debate about composting, which ended in a tentative agreement to eventually start a rooftop garden.

"If you bring the seeds, I’ll bring the ladder," she said, cracking open a Joja Cola and flopping onto your couch like she owned it.

You pulled your head out of the fridge. "Just don’t ask me to grow weed."

Abby grinned. "Pfft. Whatttt? That totally wasn’t going to be my next question."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, okay. Miss I-charge-my-crystals-under-a-full-moon."

She pursed her lips as she started flicking through TV channels. "Can't believe you just clocked me like that in my own apartment."

~

By the time the sun dipped behind the skyline, your stuff was inside. Not unpacked, but physically present. Which, frankly, was good enough. You collapsed onto your barely made bed, limbs jelly, hair sticking to your neck. The pillowcase could wait.

Abby appeared in the doorway, phone in hand.

"Hey. Me and some friends are grabbing dinner at that noodle shop down the block. You should come!"

You groaned into your arm. "I probably shouldn’t. I haven’t even opened a single box. And I don’t want to crash your plans."

Abby flopped dramatically onto the bed beside you like you’d mortally wounded her. "Pleaseeee? I don’t wanna walk alone and the guys already said it’s cool. C’mon, it’s your first night! You can’t spend it suffocating in packing paper."

You hesitated. Social battery depleted, but the idea of eating a granola bar alone while your only potential friend in this city went out without you? That was worse.

"Fine, fuck it. I’ll come."

"Yesssss!" Abby practically levitated off the bed. She threw on a flannel over her shirt and slid into a pair of boots that had clearly seen some shit. "You don’t need to bring anything. Sebastian usually covers it when he forgets his vape charger, and guess who left it here yesterday."

~

The noodle shop was a neon lit shoebox tucked between a laundromat and a music store called ToneDeath. It smelled like garlic, soy sauce, and 2 a.m. life choices. The cracked booths and hand-scrawled menus practically dared you to judge them. You didn’t. You were already kind of in love.

Abby waved toward the back.

Two guys sat in a booth. One was hunched over a sketchpad, a cigarette tucked behind his ear and tattoos peaking out of a hoodie that was definitely too uncomfortable to be wearing in this heat. He barely glanced up.

The other made your brain short-circuit.

Blonde fluffy hair. Tall. Bright green eyes, unmistakable even in the dim lighting. He was mid-sentence, hands flying with punctuation, and when he saw Abby, his entire face lit up like someone hit a switch. His smile was dumb. Dangerous. The kind of smile you get warned about in YA novels. His eyebrow and lip piercing were doing gods work.

Fuck. He was hot. You silently cursed yourself for still being in your I lifted boxes today uniform.

"There she is!" he said, grinning like the human embodiment of a summer playlist. "We were about to call search and rescue."

"Yeah right," Abby huffed, sliding into the booth. "This is my new roommate, Sunny. Sunny, meet the band."

You blinked. "Band? You never told me you were in a band."

She beamed in your direction. "Oh yeah! By the way, I'm in a band."

You rolled your eyes while the blonde leaned forward on his elbows.

"Sam." He cocked a smile. "Lead vocalist and guitarist for Goblin Destroyer. You should totally come to one of our shows, I'll even save you a spot in the front row so you can watch me scream up close." Abby slapped his arm. "Ow! The fuck, Abby?" Sam rubbed the sore spot.

"Can you not keep it in your pants for like two seconds?"

You fought the urge to blush. Sure, the man was gorgeous- but you have too much respect for yourself to give in that easy, especially when it's a guy you just met. "Solid opener. But you’re gonna have to try harder than that."

Sam raised his pierced eyebrow, a cocky smirk dancing on his lips. You swear you saw something flicker behind those emerald eyes, but you chose to ignore it. For now.

The other guy finally looked up. "Sebastian. Bass."

You gave him a nod. "Nice to meet you."

Sebastian gave you the faintest smile. You got the feeling he didn’t talk unless he meant it.

The server came. Abby ordered more than enough food for the table without even glancing at a menu. "We’re celebrating."

"We are?" Sam asked.

"New semester. New roommate. New chance to not get expelled."

~

Dinner was chaotic in the best way. Sam told stories with his whole body. Abby kept stealing food off your plate. Sebastian’s one liners were lethal when he bothered to deliver them. Somewhere in between teaching Sam how to use chopsticks and the second round of drinks, you stopped feeling like an outsider.

You didn’t know where your classes were. You still had boxes labeled MISC SHIT to unpack. But your stomach was full, your cheeks hurt from laughing, and your brain had gone worry silent for the first time in weeks.

And maybe - just maybe - this was the start of something real.

A little messy. A little loud.

But it's real.

Chapter 2: Sk8ter Boi

Notes:

Hey hey, totally forgot to add a few things for you to know:
- Your nickname is Sunny, it'll make sense why later. You are still "you", I just hate writing y/n because I feel like that takes you out of the immersion.
- If you are not comfy with reading NSFW stuff I will be adding a little * to the chapter titles that contain these scenes. If you want to skip reading that chapter that's fine, I'll provide a summary for important information you might've missed :)

Sunlight practically slapped you in the face. You blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling, momentarily disoriented. The air still heavy with incense and the distant scent of something vaguely fruity. Probably whatever wax melt Abby had left in the wall warmer.

Then it hit you. First day of classes. You shot upright, spine cracking in protest. Your phone buzzed angrily on the nightstand. You grabbed it, eyes still crusty.

9:42 a.m.
You stared at the glowing screen in horror.

History 200 started twelve minutes ago.

What followed was a tragic montage: you brushing your teeth with one hand while yanking jeans with the other, half-falling into a hoodie you were pretty sure had a toothpaste stain on the sleeve, and sacrificing sock coordination for the sake of time.

~

The classroom was sun-drenched, quiet, and offensively full. You slipped in through the door, silently praying the professor doesn't realize how late you are.

Everyone turned to look at you.

You stopped dead, breathless and flushed, clutching your backpack like a shield.

The professor- tall, angular, and wearing a circular pair of glasses that screamed the highest grade you'll get in this class is a C - pointed a dry erase marker toward the back row.

A hand began combing his beard. "Late, but present. Have a seat." 

You muttered an apology and slid into the only open spot - beside a guy with long, coppery hair tucked neatly behind his ears. He wore a button-up rolled to the elbows and was writing in impossibly neat cursive, like he’d stepped out of a gothic literature dream.

He turned to you with a small, amused smile and whispered, “Don’t worry. You’re not the latest I’ve ever seen. One guy came in during the final last year and tried to pretend he’d been there all semester.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Sunny,” you said, offering a hand. “Well, kind of. It’s a nickname.”

He shook it, warm and formal. "Elliott. Professor Gunther seems scary, but he's not that bad. I've taken a few of his classes."

You rummaged through your bag for a notebook. "Oh, are you a history major?"

Before Elliott could reply, the seat on your other side was claimed by a whirlwind of cologne and overconfident energy.

"Sup, Elliott." the frat boy said with a burp, you wrinkled your nose in disgust. "Still writing poetry about seagulls or whatever?"

Elliott didn’t look at him. "Hello, Alex. Still pretending you’re going pro?"

Alex turned to you instead, completely ignoring the chill in Elliott’s voice. He wore a backwards baseball cap and a shiny new gridball jersey. "Hey, I’m Alex," he flashed a grin that was probably meant to be charming. "You new?"

"Yeah," you said, voice flat.

"Cool. You heard of Sigma Delta Phi, yet? I'm the president. You should come to a party sometime." He leaned closer, and you immediately leaned away. "Or maybe we can just skip the party and you give me your number now?"

You blinked. "Wow. Bold."

"Bold gets results," he leaned back in his chair and rested his hands behind his head, like he was proud of himself.

You turned back to your notebook, fully done with him. "Not interested, Mr. President."

Elliott coughed, covering what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Class carried on. A mix of basic history warmup questions and dissecting the emotional stakes of the ongoing war with the Gotoro Empire, because apparently that was how Professor Gunther liked to thin out the class. Less students = less grading to do.

~

At the end, while everyone gathered their things, Alex tried one more time. “I totally spaced during that part about Gojo or whatever. You mind texting me the notes?”

Before you could respond, he reached over and scribbled his number into the corner of your notebook.

You sighed and called after him, "I wasn’t going to say yes!"

He winked as he slid out of the classroom door. "Yeah, but now you got an excuse to text me."

Elliott leaned over with a dry smile. "Please tell me you’re going to erase that."

“Burning the whole page, honestly.”

You zipped your bag. "You wouldn’t happen to know where Queens Dining Hall is, would you? I have a map but it’s, like, completely useless."

Elliott stood, slinging his leather bag over one shoulder. "I’ll walk you. Was headed that way anyway."

The walk was short but sun soaked. The early day campus buzzing with students in oversized hoodies and earbuds, navigating a labyrinth of pathways and half dead lawn patches. You and Elliott fell into an easy rhythm - he pointed out buildings with dramatic nicknames ("We call that one The Cavern, all engineering classes, no windows"), and you tried not to feel like a lost high school freshman.

You were mid-laugh when it happened.

A blur of motion.
A sharp breeze.
The faint rumble of polyurethane wheels over concrete.

A flash of blonde hair on a skateboard came barreling out of nowhere- and for a terrifying second, it looked like you were about to be mowed down.

Before you could react, Elliott grabbed your arm and pulled you backward, just in time for the skater to zoom past with a "yo, sorry!" tossed over his shoulder.

Your heart punched against your ribs.

You blinked after the blur. "Was that...?"

"I think that was Sam," Elliott said, brushing invisible dust from your shoulder. "Though, to be fair, it’s hard to tell. All skateboarders look the same from a distance. Are you alright?"

"Fine, yeah. Thanks."

You were still half-processing your near-death experience when you turned the corner - and sure enough, there he was.

Sam stood at the entrance of Queens Dining Hall, one foot resting on his skateboard, the other kicked up behind him like he’d just strolled out of a music video. Blonde hair, green eyes, that same easy grin from last night. His hoodie hung low on one shoulder like it belonged to someone cooler, and his attention snapped to you the moment you locked eyes. His expression flickering from cool skater guy  to shit, my bad.

"Hey," he called out, taking a few steps toward you. "Shit. That was you back there, huh? I didn’t see you until, like, a second too late." He nodded his head towards Elliot.

"Yeah," you said, trying not to sound winded. "You just almost killed me. No big deal."

Sam winced. "Can I buy you lunch to make up for it? You know- as an apology for being a public menace?"

You blinked. "Free food? Honestly, yeah. I’ll accept the bribe."

Elliott shot you a subtle, curious look as you walked past him, but said nothing. You gave him a quick wave.

He smiled. "Cool. You’re Sunny, right?"

You tilted your head. "Sort of. Long story." You were only a little hurt that he already forgot your name. But you shrugged it off.

"Guess you can tell me over food," Sam said, pushing open the door and holding it for you. "C’mon. I’ll even let you cut in line."

~

You followed Sam through the wide double doors and into a line of students shuffling forward toward the serving station. The room itself was flooded with sunlight from floor-to-ceiling windows, and the furniture looked like it had been donated by an elementary school sometime in the early 2000s: chipped tables, wobbly chairs, and faded signs that said things like “Meatloaf Mondays!” in Comic Sans.

At the front of the line stood a man in a stained apron and a fisherman’s hat, wielding a massive ladle like a sword. His beard was a salt and pepper tangle that nearly covered his name tag: WILLY.

You were just about to ask Sam what the lunch options were when Willy spoke.

"Get yer grub on, heh-HEH!" Willy bellowed from behind the counter, wielding a spatula like a battle axe. "No shame in comin’ back fer seconds!"

You were not prepared for the intensity of cafeteria Willy.

Sam leaned in, smirking. "Trust the man. He once fed half the campus during a blackout with nothing but a camping stove and a dream."

Willy slapped a hot slice of cheesy pepperoni pizza onto Sam’s tray, steam rising from the crust like it was fresh from the oven. "There ya go, pretty boy."

Then he turned to you, eyes gleaming. "Ahh, this one’s got strength in the soul. Farmer’s Lunch it is." He piled your plate with golden hash browns, a fresh fried egg, and a generous helping of sautéed veggies, all arranged like it actually belonged on a plate. "Good fer yer bones. An’ yer GPA."

You were too stunned to speak, but the smell alone nearly made you cry.

"I’m in love with this man," you whispered.

Sam chuckled. "Join the club."

You found a booth near the window, sunlight warming the table and making the cheese on Sam’s pizza glisten like a reward. Your Farmer’s Lunch looked... perfect. Like something from a country diner that charged just enough to prove it was worth it.

"So," Sam said between bites of his slice, "transfer student, mysterious nickname, and a near death experience-" He pointed at you with a crust like it was a microphone. "You’re off to a pretty strong start. How's your food?"

You forked a bite of hash brown into your mouth, letting out an involuntary hum of delight. "Mmm. Honestly? Worth almost getting hit by your skateboard." You swallowed and raised an eyebrow, "Strong start to what, exactly?"

He grinned. "To being the most interesting person I’ve met this semester."

You gave him a look. "Do you say that to all the girls you almost collide with?"

"Only the cute ones."

You snorted, rolling your eyes- but your stomach did a thing. Great. Your internal organs were already betraying you and it's barely noon.

"So, Sam," you said, forking another piece of food into your mouth, "what’s your deal? Besides skateboarding in unauthorized zones and being in a band Abby conveniently forgot to mention?"

He leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on the table. "According to Dean Lewis, I'm a ‘walking disaster with nice hair.’”

You nodded, mock-seriously. "The hair is impressive. It’s got main character energy."

"You get me," he said, putting a hand over his heart. "See, this is why I almost ran you over. Fate was like, get this girl in my life."

You couldn’t help but laugh. "Is that your pick-up line strategy? Vehicular manslaughter?"

Sam gave you a crooked smile- the kind that felt dangerous in the way that made your brain short-circuit just a little. "Hey, you’re still here, aren’t you?"

You were about to retort, something witty and maybe even a little flirtier than you meant,  when someone dropped into the seat beside Sam with the quiet force of a guillotine.

Sebastian.

Hair tousled, hoodie half-zipped, eyes sharp and unreadable as ever. He offered you a short nod as he stabbed something green and leaf-shaped on his plate. Mumbling something that sounded like "How the fuck is Willy out of sashimi." 

"Hey, what’d I miss?" came Abby’s voice, sliding into the seat beside you with a tray overloaded with dumplings and something pink. "We saw you through the window. Thought we’d crash the party."

Sam groaned. “You guys have the worst timing.”

Sebastian shrugged. "Didn’t realize we were interrupting a date."

"It wasn’t a date," you said quickly... maybe too quickly.

Abby raised a dramatic eyebrow. "You sure? Looked like some heavy eye contact from outside."

"Sam was doing The Voice," Sebastian added dryly. "You know the one. With the eyebrow thing."

Sam put his head in his hands. "I don’t have a voice."

"You SO do," Abby laughed. “It’s like... ‘Hey baby, I write songs and have feelings.’”

"Okay, wow."

~

You finished up lunch, said your goodbyes to the boys and began walking with Abby.

Abby whipped out her phone and said, “Okay, what’s your number? I’m adding you to the group chat.” She turned her phone around to show you the name - Hooligans - , complete with a profile icon of David Jr. in a tiny party hat and a series of flame emojis.

"Oh my god," you laughed. "You named it after your guinea pig?"

"Excuse you. He’s the mascot," Abby said with great offense, thumbs already flying across the screen. "Also, you’re officially invited to our band practice tonight. Seven-ish. Sam and Seb’s place."

Your phone buzzed a second later with a message from an unknown number.

Hooligans 🐹
Abby: added roomie. everyone say hi or die.
Sam: sup 😎
Sebastian liked a message

 

You tucked your phone back into your pocket as Abby looped her arm through yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"C’mon, I’ll walk you to your next class," she said. "Where’re you headed?"

You dug around in your bag for the schedule you’d printed out and handed it to her. She squinted at it like it was written in another language. "Principles of Botany with professor Rasmodius. In the Qi Hall. Ew. That building is so outdated."

"Great," you muttered. "I get history and mold on the same day."

"Best of both worlds."

~

You found the building easily enough thanks to Abby’s shortcut,  a narrow brick path behind the language wing that smelled like weed and bad decisions. As you approached the classroom, you were immediately hit with a wall of perfume and pastel.

Two girls were already seated at the front of the room: one with long platinum blonde hair in a flawless braid and a glossy pink planner, and the other with a cozy cardigan draped over her lap and a shy sort of smile that made you want to whisper instead of speak.

"Hey!" Abby said brightly, already making a beeline for them. "This is my new roommate, Sunny. Sunny, this is Haley and Penny."

Haley looked up from her planner like she was assessing your entire existence in three seconds. "Ugh. You smell like grass."

You opened your mouth, unsure how to respond, but Penny leaned forward slightly and gave you a small wave. "Hi," she said gently. "I like your backpack."

"Oh. Thanks," you said, caught off guard. "It’s from a farm supply store. I think it was technically made for... transporting chicken feed."

“Okay, farm girl!” Haley said, flipping her hair.

You blinked. "…was that a compliment?"

Haley smirked. "Maybe. Don’t get used to it."

Abby patted your shoulder and backed toward the door with a wink. "See you at band practice?" 

"Wouldn’t miss it."

Haley rolled her eyes, uncapping a glitter gel pen like it was a weapon.

You glanced around the classroom. It wasn’t as awful as you’d imagined. Sure, the ceiling tiles were stained and the walls buzzed with bad fluorescent lighting, but the desk next to Penny was open, and for once, you didn’t feel like the awkward new kid.

You slipped into the empty seat beside Penny. She smiled at you again, shy but kind, and you got the sense she’d remember your favorite book and help you hide a body if it came to that.

 

Today was a successful first day.

Chapter 3: 3am

You stood in front of the mirror, running a hand through your hair for what had to be the third time in five minutes. Band practice wasn’t a formal event, sure, but there was something slightly terrifying about walking into a room full of musicians when your only instrument was a sarcastic mouth and a barely-passed music theory elective. You settled on a crop top, your most worn-in mom jeans, and a little eyeliner. Enough to say I tried without looking like you cared too much.

The walk to Sam and Sebastian’s place was short, but your nerves made it feel longer. Abby had texted you the address an hour ago, followed by "door's open! just come down the stairs, you’ll hear us." That turned out to be true, you could hear the thump-thump-thump of a kick drum and a distorted guitar riff echoing through the sidewalk before you even found the building.

It was a converted two-bedroom above a bike shop. You knocked once, hesitated, then just let yourself in. The basement was dim, lit with string lights and the faint green glow of an old amp power switch. A few posters were tacked onto the concrete walls: old tour flyers, a faded JojaMart protest sticker, a hand-painted Goblin Destroyer logo dripping in red paint. The scenery felt complete with scuffed hardwood floors, way too many extension cords, and the distinct smell of Febreze- clearly a compromise.

Abby was behind a drum kit in the corner, headphones around her neck and a piece of gum stretched between her teeth as she twirled a drumstick absentmindedly. Sebastian leaned against the wall tuning his bass, head bowed, hoodie sleeves rolled up to the elbows showcasing his tattoo sleeves. Sam stood front and center, bathed in the soft amber light of a single overhead bulb. His electric guitar hung low on his hips, strapped across a faded flannel shirt. His fingers moved like he wasn’t even thinking about it, the chords pouring out raw and loose. He was singing, too- voice low and gravel warm, not perfect, but raw, like something out of a cassette tape found in the backseat of a stranger’s car.

You didn’t expect the way it would hit you.

It was the kind of sound that made your ribs hum.

You hovered near the doorway for a moment, unsure where to go, unsure if they even noticed you had arrived. But Sam glanced up mid-verse, caught your eye, and grinned. It wasn’t the usual cocky smirk, either. It was something smaller, more private. Like sharing a secret.

And god, he looked different like this.

Focused. Confident. A little messy, but in a way that made it impossible to look away.

You perched on the edge of an old futon pushed against the far wall, trying to pretend you weren’t just watching them, but it was hard not to feel like a voyeur. Like this was some behind the scenes footage you weren’t supposed to have access to.

Your own private concert.

They played through a couple more songs. Rough, loud, nothing polished but full of heart. Abby played like she was in a stadium. Sebastian barely moved except for his fingers, but you could tell he was deep in it. Sam was getting more and more lost with every chord, eyes half-lidded, head tilted back slightly as he leaned into the mic and let the sound carry him somewhere else.

Then, right in the middle of a song - crash.

Abby missed a cue, or maybe Sam did. You couldn't tell. Either way, they stopped abruptly.

"That was not the bridge," Abby huffed, spinning her drumsticks in her hands. "You skipped the entire second verse!"

Sam pulled off his guitar and flopped onto a beanbag. "Because the second verse sucks, Abs. It drags."

Sebastian didn’t even look up. "That’s because we keep writing sad grunge ballads and pretending we’re Nirvana."

"You love Nirvana," Abby shot back.

"I love actual Nirvana. Not whatever this shit is."

Sam groaned. "This is what I’m saying. We should be playing stuff with more drive! fast, loud, actual energy."

"Not everything has to sound like it’s being played from a moving car on fire," Sebastian muttered.

"Hey," Sam suddenly said, turning toward you. "Help us out. What kind of music do you actually like?"

You blinked, startled that they were even including you in this. Three sets of eyes on you. You swallowed, then shrugged with a small smile.

"I mean… I like alternative rock. You know.. a little messy, lots of yelling about feelings."

Sam’s grin returned, wider this time. "Yeah? Let's try it."

"Hello? Seb literally just said that’s what we sound like," Abby pointed out.

"Dude he said grunge ballads. Different flavor." He looked back at you, eyes dancing. “Thanks, Sunny. I’m definitely remembering that.”

You rolled your eyes, but your ears were warm.

~

Practice ended not long after that. A couple more attempts at tightening up the bridge, a few dramatic sighs from Abby, and a final shrug from Sebastian that signaled "we’re done here" in Seb-speak.

Sam flicked off the amp, the sudden silence leaving a faint buzz in the air. Sebastian dug out an old game console, and the four of you crowded around the battered TV like kids at a sleepover. Journey of the Prairie King loaded up with a low-res jingle, and suddenly you were all shouting over who got to be Player Two.

You and Sam ended up as the duo, shoulders bumping occasionally as you tried not to die in Level 2.

"YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO COVER THE LEFT SIDE!" Sam yelled, laughing as he frantically mashed buttons.

"I am covering the left side! How do you still not know the difference between left and right at this big age?"

"Fuck off!"

Abby offered color commentary from the couch while Sebastian tried to pretend he wasn’t invested, right until he yanked the controller from Sam’s hands and beat the boss in one go.

"Oh, now you wanna participate," Sam grumbled.

"I couldn’t watch you both suck anymore."

~

You all ended up sprawled across mismatched cushions and floor pillows, empty beer cans and laughter littering the room. You weren't drunk but you felt pleasantly buzzed. The sweet spot.

Sam passed you the last beer from their stash with a grin.

"I meant it, by the way," he said quietly.

You cracked the can. "Meant what?"

He leaned his head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"I’m gonna remember that noise rock thing."

You nudged his knee with yours. "You better. It’s gonna be the foundation of your weird, unmarketable concept album."

Sam smiled wider, eyes closing like he could already hear it in his head.

~

The night air was thick with the scent of rain soaked asphalt. It was late. Way too late. You and Abby had stayed at Sam and Sebastian’s place until the game console overheated and the beers ran out, leaving nothing but laughter, crumbs, and a half sleeping Sam mumbling something about a cactus.

Now, the two of you walked in slow sync down a cracked sidewalk, the world quiet in that eerie, glowing way campus always gets just before dawn. Streetlamps buzzed overhead. Abby swung her flannel around her waist as she yawned.

"Okay," she said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "So. Sam."

You glanced at her, suspicious. "...What about him?"

"Oh don’t play dumb. I saw him. We saw him. The flirty smile, the extra long eye contact, the classic Sam lean."

You scoffed, kicking a stray bottle cap down the street. "He was just being friendly."

Abby gave you a look. Not mean, just deeply unconvinced.

You shoved your hands into your hoodie pocket. "I’m serious. I’m not looking for anything right now. Friends are enough."

She nodded slowly. "Good. Because... I gotta be honest. Sam’s my boy, I love him, but he’s a player. Has been for as long as I’ve known him."

You stayed quiet for a beat, letting that sink in. It wasn’t exactly surprising. Sam had that magnetic, untouchable energy. That 'write a love song about you and forget your name the next day' vibe. But hearing it out loud still twisted something in your gut.

Abby glanced at you. "I just don’t want you getting hurt, okay?"

You inhaled, exhaled. The pavement ahead blurred for a second before sharpening again. You weren’t going to cry. You weren’t.

"I appreciate that," you said softly. "And I mean it, I’m not looking to fall into anything right now. Not again."

Abby slowed her pace, watching you carefully. You looked straight ahead, voice quieter now. "I just got out of a really shitty relationship. His name’s Casey. We were together for almost two years."

Abby didn’t say anything, didn’t push. Just walked beside you, the kind of friend who knew how to wait.

"He was... everything at first. Sweet, romantic, obsessed with me in that whirlwind way that feels like a movie. He played drums in this indie band. Tall. Covered in tattoos. Long black hair he never washed but somehow still looked perfect."

Abby snorted gently. "God, of course he was a drummer."

"Right?" You let out a dry laugh. "He used to say all the right things. Bought me flowers every Tuesday ‘just because.’ Took me to open mic nights and told everyone I was his muse. Made me think I was the luckiest girl in the world."

You felt your throat tighten but kept going, eyes on the ground.

"And then his band got picked up by this mid tier label. Started doing shows out of state. He got a taste of attention and it just... changed him. Like, overnight. Everything became about him. He started pulling away, blaming me for things that didn’t make sense, getting jealous if I so much as looked at another guy."

Your voice cracked a little. "He called me clingy. Dramatic. Said I didn’t ‘get’ the pressure he was under. Then he started cheating. I found out because one of the girls messaged me. Said she didn’t even know I existed."

Abby’s face had gone tense and sharp in the quiet.

You shook your head, clearing the sting behind your eyes. "It wrecked me. Made me feel so stupid. I’d loved him so hard, Abby. I gave him everything and he... twisted it."

She stopped walking.

You stopped too.

And without a word, she reached over and gently took your hand.

The night buzzed around you. Distant traffic, a cricket chirping somewhere nearby. Neither of you said anything for a long moment.

Then Abby’s voice broke the silence, firm and warm all at once.

"Thank you for telling me that."

You gave a shaky smile. "Thanks for listening."

She squeezed your hand. "And for the record? If Sam even thinks about trying that Casey shit with you - I will personally beat his ass."

You snorted, then laughed for real. "Noted. Please document it if you do."

"Oh, I’ll go full feral. David Jr. will be my backup."

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re officially my best friend now," she said matter of factly, linking your arms again. "There’s no escaping. We’re trauma bonded."

"Terrifying."

"Beautiful," she corrected. "Now c’mon. I wanna get to bed before sunrise."

You smiled again- tired, warm, and for the first time in a long time, genuinely.

And as the two of you disappeared down the street, hand in hand, you didn’t think about Sam’s smile or Casey’s shadow.

Just the rhythm of sneakers on pavement. The weight of shared history.

Chapter 4: In Bloom

Notes:

WOW! I can't believe people are actually reading this, that makes me so happy !! I literally just reread the first 2 chapters and I actually hate them (lmao) so I'm going back in and editing them. Come bully me on tumblr, @SomeAnnoyingBrunette !

Thanks again, and enjoy chapter 4 :)

By the end of the week, everything had started to fall into place.

You were mostly unpacked, your classes were manageable so far, and your planner didn’t feel like a graveyard of missed deadlines. The days moved fast. Too fast, really. Between campus maps that still confused you, late night group chats with Abby and the others, and the steady rhythm of school life settling in, it felt like you’d blinked and it was already Friday.

You had just left the library, bag slung over one shoulder, when someone stepped into your path.

"Hey, farm girl."

You blinked up just in time to see Alex sauntering toward you like he owned every square inch of concrete he walked on. His gridball jersey was half-tucked and he was holding a protein shake like it was a trophy.

Alex grinned. "I’m throwing a party tomorrow night. Sigma Delta Phi. You should come."

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you only inviting me so I can't say no when you want my notes again?"

"Nahh. Okay maybe," he said with a wink that could curdle milk. "But you're cool. Besides, you haven’t really lived ‘til you’ve been to one of my parties."

You shifted your weight, eyes narrowing. "Pretty sure I’ve lived just fine without frat flu."

Alex laughed, loud and careless. "C’mon, farm girl. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. My boy Chad makes this buffalo chicken dip that’ll literally change your life. Plus," he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was about to share state secrets, "I got, like, four different kinds of seltzers this time. Real classy shit. We're going big for the first official party of the semester."

You stared at him.

He smiled wider. "What? Don't tell me a pretty thing like you would rather do shots?"

"Yeah... I'll think about it. You kinda lost me after your 'boys' chicken dip," you muttered.

"Who the fuck doesn't like buff chick dip?"

You opened your mouth to respond - something scathing, probably - but a voice cut in from behind him.

"Fuck off, Alex. You’re lowering the IQ average."

Haley stepped up beside you, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on top of her head, looking effortlessly annoyed.

Alex turned, undeterred. "Yo, Hales. I was just inviting my girl here to the rager tomorrow."

"She’s not your girl," Haley said flatly. "And stop calling it a rager."

Alex put a hand to his heart. "But it's gonna be so sick though-"

"Go be sick somewhere else."

Alex looked between you both, like he was considering staying out of sheer boredom. Then, with a shrug, he started backing away.

"Alright, alright. But you’re coming," he called over his shoulder. "You can act like you're not interested, but I know a secret party girl when I see one."

You winced. "I might puke."

Haley watched him go, expression unreadable until he was out of earshot.

Then she looked at you and sighed. "He’s such a douche."

You scoffed. "That's coming from you?"

She shrugged. "Don’t get me wrong, we hook up. But he’s dumb as fuck and about as self-aware as a microwave. I'm just using him for his body."

You let out a quiet laugh, tension easing a little.

Haley cocked her head. "So? Are you actually thinking about going?"

You hesitated. "I don’t know. I told him I’d think about it, but... I’m not sure it’s really my scene."

"That’s fair," she said. "Frat parties are usually full of people you’d cross the street to avoid. But... sometimes it’s fun to play dress-up and feel like you’re in someone else’s life for a night."

You looked at her, surprised by the insight.

"I mean," she continued quickly, brushing a strand of hair over her shoulder, "if you do decide to go, we should shop for something cute. You can’t show up in farm boots and a backpack. I will intervene."

You rolled your eyes. "I wouldn't wear work boots to a party."

"Don’t care. The vibe clings to you," she said, already pulling out her phone. "Saturday afternoon. Shopping. I'll make you look hot."

You considered it, then smiled. "Alright. Sure."

Haley looked pleased, like she’d won something. "Good. Text me."

And with that, she turned and walked off toward the courtyard, hair swaying behind her like she was on a runway.

You watched her go, then sighed.

~

You pushed open the door to your apartment, kicking your shoes off with a tired exhale. The familiar hum of the TV filled the space, low and constant, and you spotted Abby and Sebastian on the couch: her legs tucked under her, a blanket half-hanging off her shoulder, while he sat with one foot resting on the coffee table, hoodie up and arms folded like he was trying not to take up space. They were watching something old and black-and-white. Neither of them looked especially into it.

Abby looked up. "Hey, roomie."

Sebastian gave you a subtle nod without looking away from the screen.

You dropped your bag by the table and stretched your arms over your head. "Ran into Alex."

Abby made a face. "Ugh. What’d he want?"

"He invited me to that frat party tomorrow."

Abby perked up. "Alex invited you to the party?"

"Yup," you said, flopping into the armchair with a groan. "Cornered me outside the library."

"Was he shirtless?" Sebastian snorted. Abby tossed a chip at him.

"Surprisingly no, Haley was there too." you added. "She really wants me to go."

Abby shrugged. "Honestly? You should. We’ve been trying to get Alex to let us do a basement show at the frat house forever. Maybe if I show up and charm him-"

Sebastian cut in, flat and immediate. "No."

She turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Excuse me?"

"You don’t need to charm that guy," he muttered, arms tightening. "He’s not exactly subtle."

"Oh my god, Seb. It’s not like I’m gonna fuck him. It’s just strategic schmoozing."

He scoffed under his breath. "Yeah, I’ve seen how ‘strategic’ he gets when he’s drunk."

Abby narrowed her eyes, leaning toward him just slightly. "So what, you don’t think I can handle myself?"

Sebastian finally looked at her, jaw tight. "I think you shouldn’t have to."

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut glass. You sank slightly into your seat, unsure whether to disappear or just start whistling.

Abby’s voice, when it came, was quieter. "Fine. Then come with me."

Sebastian blinked. "What?"

"You’re so concerned? Then come. Keep an eye on me. I’m not gonna stay home just because you suddenly grew a protective streak."

He didn’t answer right away. "Fine. Sam’s probably going anyway. Him and Alex are friends, for some dumbass reason."

You looked between them, some unspoken current zipping through the air like a frayed wire. Then you cleared your throat.

"I told Haley I’d think about it," you said, breaking the quiet. "But she wants to go shopping tomorrow. Y’know... for something to wear."

Abby glanced over at you, a little less on edge now. "You going?"

You shrugged. "Still deciding. But I said I’d go with her either way. Wanna come?"

She didn’t answer right away. Then she nodded. "Yeah. I’m in. Haley’s not bad at putting outfits together, but she tends to go overboard."

"She's already threatened to make me look hot. I'm scared she's gonna stuff me in a corset," you muttered.

Abby smirked. "Exactly why I need to be there."

Sebastian shook his head, reaching for the chip bag like he needed something to do with his hands. "You three showing up together is gonna give Alex a heart attack."

You leaned against the back of the couch. "I'll be so disappointed if that isn't true."

Abby grinned. "Real."

You pulled out your phone,

haley <3

You: abby's coming shopping. pick us up around 1?

Her reply came seconds later.

Haley: yessss i'll be there

~

At exactly 1 p.m., Haley pulled up to your apartment in her spotless white Mercedes, music bumping low, a cold brew in her cupholder. She rolled down the window and leaned out with her signature sunglasses on, gum snapping as she waved you and Abby over.

"You bitches ready?" she called.

Abby shook her head, smirking, and slid into the passenger seat. You climbed into the back, double-checking your lip balm in the side mirror. Haley sped off the second your door closed.

"So," she said, tapping the wheel to the beat of whatever was playing, "we’re meeting my sister Emily, and then Leah and Penny. Just a heads-up: Emily might try and read your palms, Leah will tell you the truth whether you want it or not, and Penny’s… well, you know Penny."

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Haley caught the look in the mirror.

"They’re cool. Just... be cool."

The mall parking lot was packed, but Haley knew exactly where to park. She stepped out, adjusting her top and pulling her hair back into a messy claw clip. You followed her inside, the blast of air conditioning hitting immediately.

They were already waiting near the water fountain.

Emily was the first one you noticed: short electric blue hair styled in a shaggy bob, huge beaded earrings that looked handmade, and a crocheted halter top with high-waisted corduroy flares. She was wearing Birkenstocks with socks. You didn’t even question it.

"Sunny!" she called, waving with both hands like you’d known each other for years.

Leah stood next to her, arms crossed, a single red braid falling over one shoulder. She wore overalls over a paint-splattered tank top, Doc Martens, and a silver chain with a key on it. She looked you up and down, gave a polite nod, then said, "Cute."

And then Penny-  copper hair in a loose ponytail, oversized knit cardigan, black leggings, and a canvas tote bag with floral designs. She gave you the warmest smile of the three. "Hi, again."

"Nice to meet you guys!" You waved.

Emily grasped your hands, "Okay, before we continue, let me visualize your aura, to see what kind of style will make you happiest..."

You turned to Haley and gave her your best help me eyes. You saw her roll her eyes, already impatient.

"Okay, let’s find a dress," Haley spoke up, she grabbed your arm and started marching toward the closest store. "This party’s tonight and you’re not showing up in cargo pants."

You had barely stepped into the store before they were pulling dresses off racks and holding them up.

"Too clubby," Penny muttered at a sequin number.

"This one’s hot but I don’t wanna see your whole ass out," Leah said, tossing back a barely-there mini dress.

Emily handed you a black bodycon with thin straps and an asymmetrical cut at the hem. "This one’s the right balance. Tight, but you won’t flash someone just by walking."

You took it, along with a few backups, and slipped into the fitting room.

The black one was the third you tried, and the second it was zipped up, you paused. It fit. Snug in all the right places, the fabric thick enough to be flattering but soft enough to cling. It showed off your back, but the neckline wasn’t too low. And the slit on the side? Just high enough to make it interesting.

You stepped out slowly.

Haley whistled low. "Oh, that’s it."

Emily clapped her hands. "Yesss, your inner self and outer self are now in perfect alignment!"

Penny sheepishly grinned. "That's... definitely party material."

Leah tilted her head. "You could pair that with a low messy bun. Minimal effort. Maximum effect."

You turned to the mirror. The way the dress shaped your body made your confidence spike a little. You looked... good. Enough to walk into a packed frat house and not feel like you didn’t belong. Enough to hope someone specific might notice.

Abby walked over and gave you a once-over. "Yeah, that’ll turn heads."

You didn’t say it out loud, but as you looked at your reflection- hair a little tousled, cheeks slightly flushed from the fitting room heat... you thought of Sam. The way he looked at you during band practice. That grin, a little softer than his usual smirk.

You turned back to the girls. "I’m getting it."

Haley smirked. "Fuck yeah, farm girl."

Leah slung an arm around your shoulder. "Now let’s eat. I’m dying."

As you all walked toward the food court, you tried not to overthink the way you already felt butterflies for a party that hadn’t even started yet.

Chapter 5: Vodka & Soda

Back at the apartment, the vibe shifted. The lights were low, the bathroom mirror was fogged from the curling iron, and the air felt like potential. Music bumped softly from Abby’s speaker while the two of you moved around each other, half-dressed and buzzing.

"Holy shit," Abby said, pausing mid eyeliner to look at you. "You look good. Like... real good."

You checked your reflection again, smoothing your hands down the sides of your dress. Tight in the right places, short without being ridiculous. A little dangerous, a little fun.

Abby whistled. "Alex is gonna roll over the second he sees you. Basement show secured."

You smirked. "That’s not why I dressed like this."

"Sure it’s not," she said, grinning as she leaned in to finish her eyeliner. Her outfit was pure Abby: a black corset top, ripped plaid skirt, and boots that looked like they’d been in a fight. She looked like she didn’t care what anyone thought - which, of course, meant everyone noticed.

She turned suddenly, flicking a ring around her finger. "Okay. I’m gonna say something and you can’t make it weird."

"Promise nothing."

"I hope Sebastian makes a move tonight."

You raised your brows. "Yeah?"

She nodded, arms crossed, suddenly more vulnerable than usual. "We’ve been stuck in this thing for weeks. He sends me music, I send him dumb videos, we hang out... but he never actually does anything. And I’m not tryna ruin the band if I misread it."

You leaned back against the counter. "Do you like him?"

"Yeah," she said, a little quieter. "I really do."

You gave her a small smile. "Then he’s an idiot if he doesn’t figure it out tonight."

She laughed once, then shook it off. "Let’s go before I lose my nerve."

~

ΣΔѰ

The frat house looked even bigger in person.

Lights spilled out from every window, music shook the siding, and people crowded the front lawn like a concert was about to start. You and Abby hadn’t even made it to the steps before two guys stepped in your path like wanna be bouncers.

"Yo, who do you even know here?" one of them asked, all attitude and cheap cologne.

"Name three brothers," the other added, smirking like he’d just come up with that line himself.

Abby took one step forward, ready to cause a scene. Before she could say anything, a voice snapped from behind you.

"Move."

Haley strutted up the walkway like she owned the house and maybe the street it was on. Tight top, tight jeans, perfect hair. She didn’t even look at the guys as she passed. "They’re with me. Try that shit again and I’ll post that video of you two during pledge week."

"Woahh. Chill, Hales. We were just messing around." The guys immediately stepped back.

Haley linked her arm through yours like you’d been friends since freshman year. "Losers. Come on."

You stepped into the house and it hit you all at once: heat, bass, lights, people. Shoulder-to-shoulder bodies, beer on the floor, someone already dancing on a table. It was the kind of party that made you feel both alive and completely out of place at the same time.

Haley caught the look on your face. "Relax. You’re hot. You’ll be fine."

She led you to the kitchen, where a cluster of girls were already gathered near the counter.

Emily stood out immediately - blue pixie cut, butterfly clips, velvet crop top and high-waisted pants covered in suns and moons. Beside her was a girl you haven't met before, leaning on the counter with a plastic cup in hand. Maroon curls, hoop earrings, black dress and a denim jacket. Her arm brushed against Emily’s and neither of them seemed to notice - or maybe they didn’t care who saw.

Leah sipped from a hard seltzer off to the side, her long red braid slung over one shoulder. She had on a striped tube top, high waisted shorts, and a sharp gaze. She had the kind of posture that dared you to say something dumb.

Emily lit up when she saw you. "Damn, okay," she said. "You did not come to play."

You smiled, cheeks warm. "Neither did you guys."

You scanned the group. "Where’s Penny?"

The question stalled the conversation for a beat.

The girl with maroon curls took a sip of her drink. Leah looked away. Haley finally spoke up, "She’s probably with Maru."

Emily clapped her hands, getting your attention. "Hey! You haven't met my girlfriend, have you? This is Sandy!"

The girl on the counter gave you a wink and a small wave, "Hey, Honey."

Alex showed up behind Haley, arm slinging around her like he’d done it a hundred times. "Ladies," he said, already grinning.

Haley shrugged him off immediately. "Absolutely not."

He just laughed, like her disgust was a compliment. His eyes landed on you and didn’t move. "Glad you made it. You clean up nice, farm girl."

You didn’t have time to respond before he looked up and raised a hand.

"Yo!"

You turned.

Sam and Sebastian had just stepped in, and it was kind of unfair how good they looked. Sam in dark green, sleeves pushed up, that same stupid confidence he always had. Sebastian in all black, head down, eyes sharp under his bangs.

Alex dapped up Sam while Sebastian broke off toward the kitchen.

He stopped in front of Abby.

"You look.. different."

Abby narrowed her eyes. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean-like-good. You look good."

"Then maybe say that next time," she said, brushing past him.

You winced. Sebastian just stood there, looking like he wasn’t sure what just happened.

Then Sam turned to you, and for a second, it felt like everything else faded out.

"Hey," he said, smile lazy but warm. "Come get a drink?"

You nodded. He led you toward the back where a massive cooler was half-filled with ice and cheap alcohol.

He crouched down, digging through it. "Okay... we’ve got beers, some jungle juice, and something that probably used to be a White Claw."

You wrinkled your nose. "Jungle juice sounds like a good way to die."

"Yeah," he said, handing you a red cup anyway. "But like in a fun way."

You took a sip. Sweet, dangerous.

When you looked up, Sam was already watching you.

"I knew you’d look good tonight," he said. "But damn."

Your stomach flipped a little.

"I didn’t dress for you," you said, quiet.

He smiled like he knew better. "Just sayin'."

You looked down into your drink, but your pulse was louder than the music.

~

The night blurred in that warm, sparkling kind of way. Half from the drinks, half from the feeling of finally belonging. Your group grew with a steady pace as the night went on. Elliot stopped by (surprisingly, you teased him saying you didn't think this was his scene) and brought along his friend Harvey. Harvey seemed sweet, he's a premed student with a great mustache. What's not to like? You also met a plastered guy in the bathroom. Shane. After bringing him a bottle of water -and him telling you to kindly fuck off- you were leaning against the counter laughing with Leah and Haley when Sam found you again, cup in hand, cheeks a little pink.

"Come dance with me," he said, not quite a question.

You blinked. "I don’t really dance."

He grinned. "So? I don’t either."

Still, his fingers curled around yours and he tugged gently. You followed.

The music shifted into something bass-heavy and familiar. The energy in the room lit up. Emily was already on the floor, dragging Sandy up with both hands like her life depended on it. Abby tried to rap along to the lyrics, absolutely butchering them while throwing her limbs around like she was in a music video no one asked for. Sebastian awkwardly stood by her, not knowing how to get out of that. You and Sam cracked up at the sight.

Then, without much warning, Sam’s hand found your waist.

Your breath caught. His touch was casual, but firm- like he knew exactly where to guide you.

"Relax," he said, voice low near your ear.

You let out a nervous laugh, your body still figuring out how to move without overthinking it. He swayed gently, just enough that you could follow. His hands rested lightly at your sides, guiding you in sync with him. And suddenly, it wasn’t so hard.

The music pulsed. The beat made its way through your legs, your chest, your fingertips. You loosened up, leaned into it. Your hips followed his.

He spun you, slow and easy, until your back was against his chest. One of his hands stayed at your waist, the other brushing your arm as he moved with you. It was smooth... too smooth. Like he did this all the time. You tried not to think about that.

You could feel the warmth of his breath near your neck, his voice humming the chorus under his breath. It sent a little shiver down your spine.

You tried not to show how much that did to you.

The music got louder, or maybe you just stopped caring. You pushed your hips back slightly, testing the space-or lack of it-between you. He stiffened for half a second, then adjusted, his hands tightening just enough to pull you closer.

You smirked, just barely.

"Dangerous game," he muttered, lips close enough to make you feel every syllable. "You keep moving like that, and I’m not responsible for what happens next."

You laughed. Genuine, tipsy, a little drunk on him more than the drink.

"Not my fault," you whispered back. "You’re the one who pulled me out here."

And you kept dancing, like nothing else in the room mattered. You don't even pay attention to see if anyone is watching the two of you. You're so in the heat of the moment, so into him humming the melody in your ear, so into his body rubbing up behind you and so into smelling his cologne that you don't even care. His hands find their way to your jaw as he turns your head to look at him. His emerald eyes were half-lidded, darting back and forth from your eyes to your lips. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"Mission time, lover girl."
Abby’s voice cut through the music as her hand wrapped around your arm and tugged.

You blinked out of the trance, head spinning as you looked from Sam to her. She was slightly breathless, clearly buzzing with alcohol and adrenaline.

"Alex is wasted right now," she said quickly. "If we’re gonna get him to agree to the basement show, this is our window."

You turned back to Sam, giving him an apologetic look. "Sorry," you mouthed.

He didn’t look upset- just amused. He leaned in close, close enough to make your stomach flutter again.

"It’s cool," he said, voice low. "I’ll find you later."

You nodded, letting Abby pull you away.

Once you were off the dance floor and headed toward the back of the house, she gave you a look.

"So..." she said slowly. "You and Sam, huh?"

You raised your eyebrows, feigning confusion. "What about me and Sam?"

Abby rolled her eyes. "Girl. I saw you. That was not innocent. Didn't I tell you he's like, a total dick with girls."

You shrugged, your buzz making you a little too honest. "I don’t know. I’m just trying to have fun."

"Sure," she said, unconvinced. "Just don’t get caught up, okay?"

You paused but nodded. "Noted."

She let it drop, thankfully, as you stepped out onto the back balcony.

Alex was there, shirt off, one foot on the railing like he was gearing up to do something very dumb.

"I’m just saying-technically-it’s possible!" he shouted, pointing toward the pool far below. "If I get the angle right, I could so fuckin' make that."

Shane, drink in hand, was egging him on. "You gotta. That would be so fucking sick."

Harvey looked like he was about to pass out from secondhand anxiety. "Yoba Alex, no. You’ll die. Like actually die. I'm not doing CPR on your dumb ass."

Abby didn’t miss a beat. She stepped in front of Alex, placing a hand on his chest with a playful grin.

"Alexander." Her voice dripped with fake sweetness. "You are so brave. But don’t you think it would be, like.. way cooler if you hosted a band show in your actual basement instead of breaking all of your bones tonight?"

He blinked at her, "Huh? A band?"

"Yeah," you chimed in, sidling up beside her. You gave him a look you knew was working. "A super hot band. Real legends. Imagine how many people would come."

"And how many girls would think you’re a total hero for making it happen," Abby added, fluttering her lashes dramatically.

Alex squinted, swaying slightly. "...Woah. Wait- you're in a band."

Abby nodded, giving him her best ‘you know you want to’ smile.

He looked between the two of you like he was trying to do mental math but had forgotten what numbers were. Then he pointed at both of you.

"Yeah. Fuck yeah! Basement show. Legendary."

Shane dapped him up, "Dude, you're a fucking genius bro."

Harvey let out a sigh of relief.

Abby grinned, turning to you. "Mission complete."

Alex slung an arm around each of your shoulders, nearly knocking the wind out of both of you as he leaned his weight into the embrace. "Let's do shots!" he declared with the triumphant air of someone who genuinely believed he’d just invented live music. 

You exchanged a quick glance with Abby, both of you choosing-for his sake-to let him enjoy his little victory. Let him think it was his idea, that he was the mastermind behind the legendary basement show. Whatever got the job done.

He practically dragged the two of you back inside, stumbling slightly on the threshold but recovering with a loud, "I meant to do that."

Harvey followed with the expression of a man who was already calculating how much puke he’d be cleaning up later. Shane trailed behind him, smirking, clearly ready to egg Alex on until someone ended up passed out on the lawn.

You could already hear the music shifting again, feel the heat and bodies pressed together as you neared the kitchen. The night wasn’t over- not even close. And somewhere in that house, Sam was still looking for you.

Chapter 6: Cherry Lips*

Notes:

AO3 curse got me good guys... I ate bad sushi and it gave me fucking salmonella, THEN the salmonella gave me a colon infection and I was in the hospital! I'm okay now :D

As a thanks for your patience I made this chapter a little spicy.. so slight NSFW warning.
mwah <3

Alex swung open the door to the kitchen like he owned the whole damn house- which, being the president, he basically did. "Let’s go!" he called over his shoulder, leading you, Abby, Shane, and Harvey in. The kitchen light hummed above, casting a dull yellow over the chaos already in progress.

Emily was perched on the counter, legs swinging, drink in hand. Sandy and Haley were tucked into the corner near the fridge, whispering and laughing about something. Leah stood near the sink, chatting with Elliot, who looked a little too polished for this kind of party but was making the effort. Sam and Sebastian were leaning against the far wall, side by side like they came as a set.

A sticky, sweet smell of limes and artificial citrus filled the air. On the table sat a half empty bottle of bottom shelf tequila, the label peeling. Plastic shot glasses were lined up in jagged formation like soldiers awaiting orders.

Alex grabbed the bottle with a smirk and began filling the glasses with reckless efficiency. "SHOTS!" he shouted.

The room stirred. Emily slid off the counter. Haley and Sandy came giggling over. Leah gave a shrug and followed, and even Elliot relented with a resigned sigh. Sam made a beeline for the shots and caught your eye with a smirk that barely masked mischief.

He held up a glass to you, teasing. "You sure you can handle liquor, or should I fetch you a juice box instead?"

You stared him down, stubborn heat rising to your face, but your pride flared hotter. "Please," you said, grabbing a shot glass, "I could drink you under the table."

He grinned, biting back a reply as everyone started counting off in a messy chorus. "Three... two... one-!"

You threw it back.

The burn hit instantly, like licking a battery and then swallowing fire. Your eyes watered, but you refused to wince. Sam watched you closely, clearly waiting for the tell-but you held your poker face, barely. He looked impressed. Or maybe entertained. Probably both.

You coughed once-discreetly-and reached for a lime wedge like you weren’t desperate for it. Abby laughed behind you. "That’s gonna hurt later."

From the middle of the group, Alex raised his voice over the scattered conversations.

"Hey—shut up for a sec!"

The room quieted in degrees. He stood with another shot glass raised, already full again.

"Next weekend, SDP is hosting something way better than this shit. Goblin Destroyer’s doing a basement set- gonna be legendary."

Sam raised his hands like a victorious gladiator. Sebastian stayed leaned back, expression unreadable behind his black hair. Abby let out a low, mock-evil laugh.

"You better all be there," Alex added. "And I mean there. No showing up halfway through and pretending you ‘couldn’t find parking,’ Harvey."

The room exploded with cheers, clinks of plastic, and the unmistakable thump of someone turning the music up just a little too loud. Excitement fizzed in the air, sharp as the tequila still burning the back of your throat.

Sam leaned toward you again, voice low enough for just you to hear. "You coming to the show?"

You looked at him sideways, still tasting lime and fire. "Wouldn’t miss it."

Alex squinted around at everyone like he was trying to measure their blood alcohol content by aura alone. He gave a sharp shake of his head and announced, "Nope. Not good enough. You guys are not drunk enough for this to be a proper night."

Groans and laughs scattered through the group.

He grabbed a ladle-why was there always just one questionable looking ladle at these things?-and plunged it into the murky, radioactive red jungle juice sloshing in a plastic storage bin on the counter. It smelled like Kool-Aid and death.

"One full cup if you're not a pussy!" he barked, already pouring some into a stack of Solo cups and shoving them into hands. You ended up with one, naturally. It was warm. Of course it was.

As people hesitated, Alex clapped his hands like a ringmaster. "Yo, DJ! Rattlin’ Bog! Let’s go!"

The sound system crackled, and then that chaotic, unholy Irish drinking song blared to life. You couldn’t help but laugh- of course this was happening.

Haley jumped in first, spinning in place and taking a sip as she belted the opening line. "In the bog there was a tree!"

Everyone shouted the next bit. "A rare tree, a rattlin’ tree!"

Alex picked up right after, already swaying, slurring the cadence a little as he sloshed some of his drink on his shoes. Elliot followed, surprisingly precise, like he’d memorized the entire song out of a sense of duty. Leah danced through her verse with a genuine laugh. Emily threw in some dramatic flair, striking a pose mid-sip. Sandy did a weird little shimmy that made Haley cackle.

Abby nailed her part with grim punk energy, shouting each word like it was a battle cry. Sebastian looked like he was going to ignore the game entirely but leaned in just enough to deadpan his verse into the rim of his cup.

Then it was your turn. You stepped into the circle, trying not to stumble and definitely failing to remember the exact lyrics. But it didn’t matter. The chaos swallowed you whole. You yelled your line, took your drink, and swirled back into the mob as Shane launched into his verse, slurring every other word but somehow still on beat.

Harvey followed, surprisingly spry for someone who’d once said he preferred "quiet company" and "good wine." He took a big sip and raised his cup like he was toasting the gods.

And finally, Sam.

He swaggered into the center like it was a stage, eyes glassy, hair mussed, red plastic cup in hand. His verse was loud, mostly wrong, and he added a weird fake accent halfway through for no reason. Everyone lost it. He took a huge swig like he had something to prove and promptly almost tripped over his own feet.

Someone yelled "Encore!" and someone else hit the table too hard, sending a cascade of cups skidding to the floor. Jungle juice splashed everywhere.

You were dizzy now. Warm. Your skin tingled and the room had this lovely, slow tilting quality. You were laughing too much. Everything was hilarious. Someone had a traffic cone on their head. Leah was arguing about moss. Shane was trying to pet Sebastian’s hair and almost lost a hand.

And then- shouting.

Two dudes in the back, one with a backwards cap and the other shirtless for god knows what reason, were yelling. Chests puffed, drinks sloshing. The music hadn’t even stopped yet, but suddenly fists were flying, plastic cups exploding, people backing up fast. The kitchen turned into a ripple of motion.

You were blinking slow, barely processing it when a hand wrapped around your arm, firm and sudden.

"Hey," Sam said, breath hot and uneven. "Let's go outside."

He didn’t wait for you to argue. Just tugged you toward the back door, his grip tight like the world was spinning too fast and he was dragging you out of its orbit. You stumbled along behind him, your head cottony, adrenaline catching up too slow.

Outside, the night slapped you in the face. Cool, quiet, dark. The door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the chaos like someone hit mute.

You exhaled, shaky, leaning against the railing of the porch. Sam let go of your arm and leaned beside you, both of you panting, the silence ringing.

He looked sideways at you, eyes still glazed but sharp enough to hold your gaze. "You okay?"

You nodded slowly, the night air working against the spinning in your head. "Yeah. Just.. really drunk."

He huffed a laugh, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah. Me too."

His shoulder bumped yours, deliberate. "But I’d rather be drunk out here with you than sober in there."

The sounds from inside started to leak through again: more yelling, someone laughing too hard, maybe a chant starting. But it all felt far away now.

Out here, it was just the two of you.

The night air wrapped around you like a loose blanket, cool and quiet, but laced with tension. Sam was still beside you on the porch, leaning on the rail, one hand steadying himself like the wood beneath him might give out. Or maybe he was trying not to lean into you again too soon.

His gaze flicked to you- and then dropped, slow and deliberate, to your mouth.

He lingered there, eyes half lidded and dark, the drunken glaze in them no longer lazy, but focused. Heavy. His lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something, but the words caught behind whatever was roaring in his chest.

Then he looked back up, straight into your eyes.

You felt it, not just the look, but the pause before it. The way he searched your face like it was the only thing anchoring him to the moment. Your pulse thumped in your throat.

"You look really pretty tonight," he said, voice low and a little hoarse, the compliment slipping out with zero defense.

It hit harder than it had any right to.

You didn’t say anything. Just smiled-small, slow-and leaned in. Just enough to give him the answer he needed.

His breath hitched, and then he was kissing you.

It started soft, tentative, like he was scared he might break the moment if he rushed it. But your lips met his with the same heat you’d been holding back all night, and it only took a second for that gentleness to ignite into something wild.

His hand slid behind your neck, fingers twisting into your hair as your mouth opened to him, hungry and eager. Your own hands were everywhere, gripping his hoodie, sliding under it, fumbling clumsily at the hem of his t-shirt. You didn’t care that you were outside. You didn’t care that the porch light flickered above you or that the house was a symphony of noise just feet away.

Right now, all you cared about was the taste of cheap liquor on his tongue and the way he groaned into your mouth when you pressed your hips against his.

He tugged you closer, your bodies flush, his other hand gripping your waist like he needed something to hang on to. The railing dug into your back, but the only thing you felt was heat, everywhere, between you, in you, around you.

Sam pulled away just long enough to breathe. His breath was fast, lips swollen, eyes still locked on your mouth like he was already missing it.

"Fuck, Sunny," he whispered, and kissed you again, harder.

And for a moment, there was no world outside this porch. Just lips, hands, heat, and that low, burning urgency that had been building between you all night.

Sam’s lips broke from yours, trailing down to the curve of your jaw, then lower- warm and insistent. His mouth found your neck, slow kisses turning into open mouthed ones that sent shivers shooting down your spine. His hand gripped your waist tighter, and then you felt it: his thigh between your legs, firm and deliberate.

You gasped softly, instinct taking over before thought could catch up. Your hips moved on their own, grinding against the pressure, chasing that friction like it was the only real thing in the world.

Sam let out a low groan against your throat. "Yoba," he murmured, voice barely audible between kisses, "you’re so-"

"WOOOOO!"
"Yeah, get it!"
"Don’t stop on our account!"

A burst of whistles and drunken hoots cut through the night like ice water. Somewhere near the side yard, a cluster of frat guys had spotted you both and decided to offer their enthusiastic commentary.

You froze.

Sam paused, then pulled his face from your neck, his thigh easing back as the spell shattered. Your heart was racing, but now for all the wrong reasons. Face flushed hot with embarrassment as laughter echoed across the yard.

He blinked once, lips kiss bruised and red, then turned toward the noise. Without missing a beat, he gave a dramatic, sloppy bow in their direction, complete with a flourish of his hand.

The crowd roared again, delighted.

You covered your face, laughing in pure mortified horror.

Sam turned back to you, still grinning. "Come on," he said, voice lower now, laced with something gentler. "I’ll walk you home."

He offered his hand.

Still flustered, still half drunk and aching from everything that almost happened, you took it.

The porch faded behind you as the two of you stepped into the night, the house echoing with music and chaos as you left it all behind. His fingers stayed laced in yours, warm and steady, as the sidewalk stretched ahead like something brand new.

Chapter 7: WFM

The streets were quiet now. Just the distant hum of cars, the faint buzz of streetlights, and your footsteps echoing side by side on the cracked pavement. The summer air had cooled a bit, brushing soft against your skin, sticky with sweat and memory. Sam’s hand was still in yours, the grip looser now, more casual, but still there.

Neither of you spoke at first.

You passed an old bookstore closed for the night, its display window lit by a single bulb flickering like it was tired too. Sam kicked a loose pebble across the sidewalk.

"So... that was.. a moment," he said finally, half laughing.

You groaned, pressing your free hand over your face. "Oh my Yoba, I wanted to evaporate."

"Nah," he said with a grin. "I think they added a real romantic ambiance. Who doesn’t want an audience of frat bros when they're about to get devoured on a porch?"

You glanced at him sideways and snorted. "Devoured? Really?"

Sam shrugged. "I was on a trajectory."

You laughed, ducking your head. "Yeah, well. That trajectory got very publicly intercepted."

"Horribly intercepted," he agreed. "Brutal."

You both walked in comfortable silence a little longer, shoes scuffing the concrete. A cat darted across the street and disappeared under a parked car. Somewhere a sprinkler clicked on, hissing water over a silent lawn.

"I, uh," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand, "didn’t expect to... kiss you tonight."

Your breath caught a little.

"Me neither," you said. "But.. I’m glad you did."

He smiled, looking down. "Yeah. Me too."

And then you were in front of your building- lights dim in the stairwell window, your front door just beyond it. The world felt still again, like the sidewalk was the last place left on Earth.

You turned to him, heart thudding. "Do you... wanna come inside?"

The air shifted.

Sam hesitated.

He didn’t let go of your hand, not at first. He looked at your door, then back at you. His mouth opened, closed. Then he laughed. Awkward and soft, almost pained.

"I really shouldn’t," he said.

"Oh."

"Not because I don’t want to! Cuz I like, really want to.. but I shouldn’t."

Something in you pulled taut. "Uh, yeah. Okay.. no worries," you said.

He let go of your hand then, gently. "I'll see you around, Sunny. Goodnight," he said, giving you one last look, something unreadable behind his eyes.

"Goodnight," you said back, quieter.

You watched him walk away until he turned the corner. Then you let yourself inside.

The apartment was still and dim. You didn’t bother with lights. In the bathroom, you turned the tap and splashed cold water on your face, rubbing away the makeup in slow, tired circles. Black smudged the towel. Your reflection looked almost like someone else.

You stared at it too long.

That was so stupid, you thought, the fuck was I thinking?

You gripped the edge of the sink.

Your mind spiraled, clinging to the way he’d said shouldn’t- not couldn’t, not didn’t want to. Like he was trying to protect something. You. Himself. Or maybe it was nothing. Maybe he just didn’t want to wake up with regrets. Maybe you were the regret already. 

You sank to the edge of the tub, towel still in your hands.

He'll 'see me around'? What does that even mean,

It echoed inside your skull, looping endlessly.

And the only thing worse than hearing it was the silence that came after.

~

The Sunday morning sun poured through the blinds in long, lazy stripes, warming your sheets and your skin. You blinked against the light, groaning softly as you rolled over. Thankfully, your head didn’t feel like it was splitting in two: just a dull throb at your temples, and the familiar dryness behind your eyes that always came after a night of too many drinks and not enough water.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand.

10:30am

Your thumb hesitated over Sam’s name in your recent texts, hoping maybe you’d missed something. A "had fun last night," or even just a dumb meme. But nope. Nothing new.

Instead you found a text from Haley. A bunch of photos- blurry, weird, joyful. People dancing, drinks in hand, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. One of you and Sam on the dance floor, laughing at something. His hand on your waist. His mouth close to your ear.

You stared at that one the longest.

The scent of coffee crept in under your door, rich and earthy. It interrupted your sulking.

You stood up, dragging a hoodie over your shoulders and shuffling into the hallway barefoot. The apartment was unusually bright for how early it still felt, and the kitchen smelled like someone knew exactly what they were doing.

You found Abby standing at the counter, her back to you, hips swaying a little to whatever song was playing through her AirPods. She was wearing one of Sebastian’s hoodies-definitely not hers, judging by the size-and pouring sugar into her mug like it was a potion.

When she turned and saw you, she lit up.

"Oh my Yoba!" she practically squealed, pulling one AirPod out. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."

You raised a hand in a weak wave. "Morning."

"Coffee?" she asked, already grabbing a second mug.

"Please."

She handed it to you, and you cradled the warmth gratefully.

"You will not believe my night," she said, eyes shining. "Sebastian and I? Finally. Like, finally. I don’t know what clicked, but after that second shot he just-ugh. Yes."

You smiled, sipping. "Told ya he'd be an idiot if he didn't make a move."

"I know, right? But it never... like, happened. Until now. And-" she made a low whistle, fanning herself with one hand. "Let’s just say it was worth the wait."

You laughed with her, genuinely happy for her. Abby seemed like the type to crush easily and deeply, and Sebastian had been orbiting her for months. It was kind of sweet, really.

Still, something twisted quietly in your stomach.

You thought about last night. The way Sam’s hands felt. His lips on your neck. That moment just outside your door when you asked him to come in, and the way he said I really want to, but I shouldn't.

You had wanted it to be you telling a story like Abby’s this morning. Something messy and funny and satisfying. But instead, you were left with static silence and a half assed goodbye.

"I’m really happy for you, Abs" you told her, and you meant it.

But the words tasted bittersweet, sitting on your tongue beside the phantom memory of Sam’s breath against your ear and the way it had all stopped before it really began.

You hovered near the counter, fingers wrapped around the mug, the warmth from the ceramic seeping into your palms like it might soften what you were about to ask.

"Can I ask you something?"

Abby looked up from her coffee, eyebrows raised. "Always."

You hesitated, then said, "Why do you keep warning me about Sam?"

Her expression changed instantly. The lightness dropped from her face like a curtain being yanked down. Her shoulders tensed, lips pressing into a thin, unreadable line.

"Why do you say he’s a dick to girls?" you added gently.

Her eyes narrowed. Not at you, but like she was bracing for a storm. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing!" you said quickly. "Nothing bad happened. I’m just.. curious. That’s all."

Abby exhaled, long and slow, her grip tightening around her mug before she finally sat at the kitchen table. She rubbed her forehead like the conversation gave her a headache just by existing.

"It’s a long story," she muttered.

"I’ve got time."

She was quiet for a moment. Then, finally, she looked at you, eyes soft but serious. "Okay. Look. Sam’s... fun. He’s funny, he’s charming, he knows how to make people feel seen. That’s his whole thing."

She paused, brow furrowing.

"But he’s also a total man whore. I’m not trying to slut shame or anything, he just... doesn’t care who he hurts. Like, he’ll flirt with you all night, act like you’re the only person in the world, kiss you like it means something, and then the next day? Nothing. Like it never happened."

She took a sip of her coffee, then added, "That’s how he’s always been."

Your heart sank a little, but you stayed quiet.

"That’s why Penny doesn’t hang out with our group anymore," she said. "He broke her heart for a quick hook-up. Said all the right things, got her to fall for him, and then just-poof! Ghosted. It really fucked her up."

You blinked. That's why everyone got so weird when you asked where Penny was last night. You’d just assumed it was petty drama, or something dumb. But now it made a lot more sense.

"I’m telling you this because I really like you," Abby said, more firmly now. "As a friend. You’re chill, you’re not exhausting to be around, and I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not when I’m with you."

She leaned forward slightly.

"And I’m scared that if he does to you what he’s done to every other girl, it’s gonna wreck that. I don’t want you to get hurt, and I really don’t want to lose you over something he did."

You looked down at your coffee, swirling the liquid absentmindedly.

Part of you wanted to argue, to defend Sam, or at least the version of him you saw when he looked at you like you were something special. But another part... the quieter, sharper part... felt that pang of recognition.

Because if you were being honest, wasn’t that exactly what it felt like last night? One moment you were wrapped in him, tangled and breathless- and the next, nothing. Silence. Distance.

You didn’t know what to say.

You sat quietly, taking it all in. Your coffee still warm between your hands, the silence stretching, "Thanks. For telling me that."

Abby gave you a small, almost sad smile. "Of course. I just want you to be careful with him, okay? He’s one of my best friends, but..." She shook her head. "I don’t trust him. Not with stuff like this."

You nodded, the weight of her words settling somewhere in your chest like a stone. It didn’t undo last night, but it reframed it. Cast a long shadow over the memory of his mouth on your neck, his voice in your ear. You could still feel it. But now it didn’t feel as warm.

Abby glanced at you again, trying to lift the mood. "Anyway. What are you doing today?"

You sighed, dragging a hand through your hair. "Nothing. Probably just bed rotting, to be honest."

She snorted. "Mood."

You gave a weak laugh, sipping your coffee. "Might scroll TikTok until my brain leaks out of my ears. That counts as self-care, right?"

"Barely," she grinned. Then her expression brightened. "Hey. You wanna start the rooftop garden today?"

You blinked. "Wait, really?"

She nodded, eyes suddenly alight with energy. "Yeah, I’ve been hoarding these seed packets for a couple of days, and the weather’s finally not death. I could use some serotonin, and you look like you could too."

You smiled, "Yeah. That actually sounds kind of perfect."

Abby beamed. "Great. Meet me up there in like twenty?"

You nodded, and for the first time that morning, something in you felt lighter. Not fixed, not forgotten. But... possible. Something to put your hands in. Something to grow.

Chapter 8: But Not Kiss

Notes:

fun fact this entire fic is based off of a song that in my delusional mind is one sam writes for you

if you can guess what song it is based off of the hints in this chapter you get a prize

The last golden stretch of sun had just dipped below the buildings when you and Abby gave the rooftop garden one final once over. The planters were filled. Some with marigolds and lavender, others with little starter veggies: tomatoes, basil, a row of fragile looking green onions. Your hands were stained with soil, your nails a mess, your shirt spotted with water and dirt.

You looked at the garden like it was a living exhale.

"Not bad," Abby said, hands on her hips, squinting as she admired your work. "We’re basically farmers now."

You snorted. "Depressed farmers with back problems."

"Hot farmers," she corrected.

The rest of the evening blurred into lazy comfort. Abby ordered a greasy pizza, and you both collapsed onto the couch, half-wrapped in throw blankets, watching It Howls In The Rain- some weird indie horror with bad lighting and haunting visuals that made no sense and lingered longer than they should’ve. You remember laughing at the jump scares that didn’t land, muttering commentary with your mouth half full of crust.

Then nothing.

You must’ve passed out somewhere around the third act, your legs curled beneath you, head tilted back against the couch cushions. You woke with a start. Neck stiff, lights low. The TV screen was black. Abby was dead asleep next to you.

The clock on your phone glared 11:15 PM.

You blinked at the brightness, thumb swiping through your notifications. A single message sat at the top of your screen.

Sam: you up?

You stared at it.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t just the message- it was the timing. The vagueness. The fact that it echoed every warning Abby had given you just that morning. That it felt way too familiar. Casey familiar.

You thought you’d left that kind of bullshit behind.

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a few seconds before you gave in and typed:

You: unfortunately.

He responded almost instantly.

Sam: can i pick you up?

Sam: i wanted to show you something

You frowned. You were still gross from gardening, still tired, and more than a little wary of what "show you something" meant when it came from a guy like him. Especially after the way he’d gone radio silent all day.

Your fingers hovered again.

The last thing you wanted was to be another name in the long list of girls Sam had sweet-talked into regret.

You started typing your answer when a second message popped up.

Sam: like.. as friends?

You hesitated.

Part of you wanted to call him out, to ask why now, why so late, why the silence. But another part-maybe the worse part-was curious. What the hell could he possibly want to show you this late at night?

And why did you still want to know?

You sighed and texted back:

You: can this thing you want to show me wait until tomorrow?

Another reply came fast, like he was already waiting for it.

Sam: nope :) come onnn, i know you’re curious

You groaned quietly to yourself, rubbing your eyes.

You hated that he was right. You were curious. Stupidly. Annoyingly.

You: ugh fine

You: no funny business tho, i'm not in the mood

There was a beat of silence, and then:

Sam: already outside

Your head jerked up, heart giving a quiet stutter.

You padded toward the window, careful not to wake Abby, and peeked through the blinds.

Sure enough, Sam’s car was parked out front, headlights off, engine idling.

You shook your head, half exasperated, half... something else.

Still groggy, still pissed, still wary, you slipped on your shoes anyway.

~

You slid into the passenger seat, the door clicking shut behind you. Sam was already looking at you, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lazily on his knee.

"Hey," he said, that crooked little smile of his already tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Hey," you echoed, more cautious than casual.

A heavy silence settled between you. Not quite uncomfortable, not quite safe. Just... suspended. You stared at each other, like neither of you knew what the rules were anymore.

Eventually, you broke it. "So, uh... where are we going?"

Sam blinked, like he’d forgotten to plan for conversation. "You’ll see," he said, then turned the key in the ignition. The engine hummed to life, and you pulled away from the curb.

The drive was quiet. Not tense, but quiet in that way where every streetlight passed felt like a chance to say something and every second of not saying it made the gap grow wider.

You glanced over at him. "You’re not gonna, like.. kill me, are you?"

It was half a joke. Mostly.

Luckily, he laughed- a genuine, chest deep kind of sound. "No, no. Yoba. Just wanted to hang out with you. Like, actually get a chance to know you without being interrupted."

You raised an eyebrow. "And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?"

"Not this time," he said, eyes still on the road. "It’s gonna be cool, I promise."

You watched the streets change as he drove: storefronts giving way to warehouses, then those turning into nothing but cracked pavement and overgrown lots. Finally, he pulled off onto a gravel road and parked.

You looked out the window. Chain link fences stretched around the perimeter, signs rusted and sun bleached: NO TRESPASSING. DO NOT ENTER. Nature had started to take it back- grass pushing through cracks, vines crawling along the fence.

Sam leaned over you-not touching, but close enough to smell the faint clean musk of his soap-as he popped the glovebox. He pulled out a little baggie and a pack of rolling papers.

"You smoke?"

You looked at the joint materials, then back at him. "Yeah, sure."

He nodded, already starting to roll as you looked back out at the park. "What is this place?"

"Seb and I used to skate here all the time when we were kids," he said, licking the paper and sealing it with a flick of his fingers. "They shut it down a couple years ago- said it was unsafe, too many injuries or some shit. But I dunno... I still come here sometimes. Helps me think."

He tucked the joint behind his ear, grabbed a beat-up board from the back seat, then pushed open his door.

"Come on."

You followed him, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. He led you along the fence until he stopped at a section where the chain link had been peeled back just enough to squeeze through. He lifted it with one hand and turned to you.

"Ladies first," he said, voice lighter now, playful.

You rolled your eyes and ducked under the bent metal. Your heart picking up-not out of fear anymore, but something else. Something buzzing just under your skin.

You stepped into the dark, overgrown edges of the forgotten park, the night air cool and still, the world outside the fence fading behind you.

Sam ducked under the torn fence after you, the loose chain link rattling behind him. He dropped his board to the cracked cement with a soft clack, one foot pinning it down lazily as he slipped the joint between his lips and lit it. The tip flared orange in the dark, a curl of smoke drifting upward into the still air.

After his first slow inhale, he turned and passed it to you, his fingers brushing yours.

You took a hit, the smoke bitter and earthy on your tongue. The kind of burn that settled behind your eyes. You held it a second before exhaling, watching the plume curl off into the night.

Sam smiled. "Have you ever skated before?"

You let out a snort. "Does it look like I skate?"

He tilted his head like he was seriously considering it. "Okay, fair. Well, it’s your lucky night. Lemme teach you."

He plucked the joint from your hand again, eyes gleaming in the low light. "Come on, it’ll be fun. I won’t let you fall."

You eyed the board with deep suspicion. "That’s a horrible idea."

"Or," he countered, exhaling smoke through a grin, "it’s a great idea and you turn out to be a natural."

You laughed, slow and already buzzed, and took another drag when he passed it back. "If I die, I’m haunting you."

"You’d be such a hot ghost," he replied without missing a beat.

Against your better judgment-and because the high was hitting just right-you agreed.

What followed was near-death experiences, half-falls, and Sam holding your hands like you were learning to walk again. He guided you across the concrete in short, shaky glides, laughing every time you flailed. You screamed once when the board rolled too fast, and he had to catch you with both arms before you went flying.

"You’re doing great," he said, completely lying.

Eventually, your legs gave out from laughing more than effort, and you waved the metaphorical white flag.

"Okay, no," you wheezed, stumbling off the board and collapsing to the ground. "That’s enough near-death experiences for tonight."

Sam grinned and hopped on the board himself, pushing off with practiced ease. He moved like the park remembered him. Grinding low rails, riding the old dips of empty bowls and cracked ramps with a kind of careless grace. You sat cross-legged on the ground, chin in your hand, watching him spin and carve through the space like he belonged to it.

The joint was long gone. The high had settled soft into your limbs, into your chest. Everything was hazy and warm, the edges of the world blurrier than usual. Every joke in your head felt like the funniest thing ever.

Eventually Sam coasted to a slow stop, stepping off the board and walking it back over. He sat beside you with a soft thud, then dropped back flat against the cool concrete, arms spread wide.

He stared up at the stars- faint through the haze of city light, but still there.

You looked down at him.

Then you laid back too.

The ground was cool against your skin, grounding. You stared up with him, shoulder brushing his, both of you quiet in the night. The moment stretched.

The skatepark around you creaked with wind and age, the fence rattling occasionally. And still, lying there beside Sam, you felt something settle. Maybe not trust. But something like curiosity again.

Or maybe something closer to wanting to be wrong.

The silence between you stretched, deep and thick like the sky above- until you broke it.

"Why did you really bring me here, Sam?"

He didn’t look at you.

His gaze stayed fixed on the stars, his breath slow and steady. "Look, I..."

He trailed off, and for a moment you thought maybe he wouldn’t finish the thought at all.

Then, softly: "I’m sorry I kissed you."

You didn’t say anything. just waited, your heartbeat a low thrum in your chest.

He kept going. "It’s true that I wanted to get to know you tonight. I’m just... I’m not good with relationship stuff. I mess things up. Like, all the time."

He paused, long enough that you could almost hear his thoughts trying to organize themselves.

"And don’t get me wrong, I really-really-liked kissing you. That wasn’t fake. But..."

Another pause. His voice was quieter now, almost reluctant.

"I guess I just wanted to try to get to know you before rushing into something and regretting it. Like I always do. I just... didn’t want this to be another one of those things I ruin. Is that.. um.. okay?"

You stared at the sky for a while, your breath catching a little in your throat.

Then you nodded, slow and honest. "Yeah. I’d like that."

A small smile tugged at your lips, and when you glanced over, you saw his doing the same.

That quiet joy-so different from the kind you’d felt with him before-settled low in your chest, easy and warm. He’d shared something honest. Something uncertain. Something real. And that meant something to you. Maybe more than it should’ve.

A few minutes passed in comfortable stillness.

Then you lifted your hand, pointing to the sky. "Do you see that red one right there?"

Sam squinted. "Uh, that one?"

He pointed way off, toward a pale white speck.

You couldn’t help but laugh, light and amused. You reached over and gently guided his hand with yours, angling his finger until it lined up with the right one.

"No, that one. That’s Mars."

He let you move his hand, not pulling away. When you dropped yours back to your chest, he stayed looking upward.

You added, softer now, "Sometimes I feel like I’m from there."

He turned his head slightly, not quite looking at you, but close. "Yeah?"

You nodded slowly. "Like I don’t really get how people work. Or like I’m watching everything from far away, and just pretending I know what I’m doing. Faking it."

You weren’t sure why you said it.

Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the dark. Maybe it was just the way Sam had looked when he said I didn’t want to ruin it.

But the truth hung between you now, exposed and strange.

And he didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease.

He just laid there beside you in silence, the ghost of a smile still playing at the edge of his mouth. It was his turn to listen now.

You stared up at the sky, at Mars still glowing faint and red, the warmth of the high settling into your bones. Then, before you could second guess it, the words came pouring out:

"I’ve felt that way ever since my mom died."

The moment you said it, the air felt thinner. Like the night itself was holding its breath. You didn’t look at him right away. Just kept your eyes on the stars, your hand resting on your chest like it could hold everything in place.

Sam was quiet for a long moment.

"I’m sorry," he said at last. His voice was soft, careful. "I didn’t know."

You nodded, the corners of your eyes prickling just a little, but you didn’t let anything fall. "No, it’s fine. I don’t tell a lot of people. Everyone gets weird when I do. Like they don’t know what to say to me anymore."

He exhaled slowly, and when he spoke again, there was something rougher in his voice. "I get it."

You turned to glance at him.

"My dad," he said. "He’s over in the Gotoro Empire. Military. He’s been fighting over there for the last year."

You felt your chest tighten a little. "Shit."

Sam nodded faintly. "Yeah. No one ever knows what to say to that either. They either get awkward and change the subject, or they ask if I think he’s gonna die. Like- what the fuck kind of question is that?"

You didn’t say anything at first.

Instead, you reached over and found his hand resting near yours, fingers splayed out against the concrete. You gave it a gentle squeeze, wordless but sure.

He squeezed back. Slow, deliberate.

His eyes were still on the stars. "Thanks for telling me that stuff, Sunny."

You smiled faintly, a flicker of amusement cutting through the heaviness. "Thanks for the weed."

That got a laugh out of him. A real one. Quiet, but full.

He turned his head toward you, his smile crooked again, but different now. A little softer. A little more human.

"Anytime," he said.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel quite so far from Earth.

Chapter 9: Fantasy

Notes:

again, slight NSFW warning

not gonna get into the good stuff just yet...

You had a nice time last night.

It was a good change of pace, you think.

You’re not sure what this strange, shifting thing with Sam is going to turn into: if it’ll stay in that easy, undefined space or tip into something else entirely. But for now, you’re just happy you’re along for the ride.

I mean, that’s what college is for, isn’t it? Making memories. Having fun.

Abby hadn’t seemed to notice your absence last night. Or maybe she had and just didn’t bring it up. Either way, you chose to keep what happened between you and Sam to yourself. Not because you didn’t want her to know, but because you honestly wouldn’t know what to say. There wasn’t exactly a neat, packaged version of last night to hand her.

And besides, it had felt like Sam was reaching out for something real. Some kind of connection. You didn’t want to risk damaging whatever that was by making him feel like you’d run off and told someone the minute it happened. Trust, maybe- that’s what it had felt like. Fragile and new, but there.

So when Abby invited you to play Solarion Chronicles with Sam and Sebastian at their apartment that night, you happily agreed.

The two of you were now walking down the quiet street toward their apartment. The crisp, fresh Autumn air warm but fading toward dusk. Abby’s voice was animated as she went over the basics of the campaign, her hands gesturing wildly as she described her character’s epic battle from the week before.

You nodded along, half-listening, half-wondering what it was going to be like stepping into Sam’s space again so soon after last night.

And whether he’d look at you like it hadn’t happened at all.

Abby didn’t even slow down as she reached the door, just twisted the knob and let herself in like she owned the place.

Sebastian barely looked up from the couch, controller in hand. "Sup."

Sam was at the dining table, already bent over a scatter of dice, maps, and miniature figurines. He glanced up at the sound of the door and, when his eyes landed on you, his face broke into that easy, crooked smile that made something in your chest go a little stupid.

"Oh, cool- you guys made it!"

You returned the smile, trying not to make it too obvious, and waved at Sebastian. "‘Course! It sounded like fun."

Abby, already halfway to the table, jerked a thumb in your direction. "Greenie over here’s never played before."

Sebastian’s head snapped up. "You’ve never played Solarion Chronicles?"

You gave a sheepish shrug. "Uhh.. nope. Don’t think so."

He turned to Abby, mock betrayal in his tone. "Can’t believe you brought a fuckin’ noob to Chron night."

Abby rolled her eyes.

Sebastian laughed at his own joke and set down his controller. "I'm kidding. We’ll teach you."

The way he said it made you think 'teach' might also mean 'mercilessly roast when you inevitably fail,' but there was an easy, joking warmth behind it.

Sam was already sliding a spare character sheet toward the empty seat beside him. "Don’t worry," he said, still smiling at you, "I’ll make sure you survive your first mission."

Butterflies again. Damn it.

Everyone shuffled into seats around the dining table, the scattered game pieces and worn rulebooks taking up most of the surface. The air had that comfortable buzz of friends about to sink hours into something completely ridiculous.

Sebastian leaned back in his chair and looked at you. "Alright, first step: you gotta make up your own character." He gestured between Abby and Sam. "They’ll go first so you get the idea."

Sam cleared his throat, then dropped his voice so low and gravelly it sounded like it belonged to a man twice his size. "Bjorn is the name. I’m a warrior from the badlands of, uh, Whatsitcalled."

Abby snorted, but stayed in character, smoothing an imaginary gown before speaking in an overly posh British accent. "My name is Elara. I’m an elven wizard. A pleasure to meet you."

She even gave you a small, dramatic bow, her eyes twinkling.

Sebastian nodded toward you. "Alright, your turn. Pro tip: you should probably be a healer. Party’s gonna need one."

You tapped your fingers on the table, thinking. "Hmm... alright. Then my name will be... Selene." You paused for effect. "I’m a healer... that.. heals..."

Abby burst out laughing, shaking her head.

Sebastian smirked. "Good enough. Ready to start?"

Sam was already reaching for the dice, his grin making it pretty clear that ready or not, you were about to be thrown headfirst into this.

Sebastian leaned forward, clearly enjoying his role as the one pulling all the strings tonight.

"Alright, here we go." He drew a card from the pile in the center of the table, gave it a quick glance, and cleared his throat like an actor about to step on stage. "Today’s quest will take us into the Necromancer’s Tower to try and reclaim the Solarian Staff from the clutches of Dreadlord Xarth."

Sam’s face lit up instantly. "Fuckin’ sick," he said, already cracking open an alcoholic seltzer. He slid one across the table to you, then tossed one to Abby without looking.

Sebastian kept going, his tone deep and dramatic.

"The king has entrusted you and your companions with recovering the Solarian Staff... a task that, if completed successfully, will ensure your place in the Hall of Legends- as well as a sizable fortune of gold and silver."

At the mention of the Hall of Legends, Abby’s eyes sparked like a cat catching sight of a dangling string.

Sebastian pressed on. "After a long month of journeying across unforgiving lands, you step onto a precipice to see your destination looming in the distance."

Sam leaned forward, adopting his ridiculous warrior voice again. "Ah, yes. I can practically smell the riches from here!"

Abby slipped seamlessly into her wizard persona, nose tilting up like she’d just caught a whiff of something unpleasant. "It’s not all about the fortune, you oaf. I’m trying to secure my spot in the Hall of Legends- not that a simpleton like you would understand."

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing as Sam clutched at his chest in mock offense, eyes wide like she’d just stabbed him with a dagger.

Sebastian, unfazed (probably used to this sort of back-and-forth) continued without missing a beat. "There, beyond a moonlit plain, lies the Necromancer’s Tower... where Dreadlord Xarth usurps the power of the stolen Solarian Staff for his own vile purposes."

The table quieted just enough for the weight of his words to sink in. The game had truly begun.

Sebastian’s voice dropped to a low, suspenseful tone. "The tower lies before you... what do you do?"

All eyes turned to you. You froze, glancing from face to face like you’d just been put on the spot in class.

Abby smirked. "Since it’s your first time playing, you should take the lead on this mission."

"What? No," you laughed nervously, "I don’t even know what I’m doing."

Sam leaned forward, elbow on the table, a hint of mischief in his grin. "Just go with the flow. There’s no right or wrong answers in this game." He gave you a quick wink, and suddenly you were out of excuses.

You sighed in defeat. "Uh... okay. Let’s go through the front door."

Sebastian immediately picked up the thread. "A skeleton guards the hallway before you. Its eye sockets glow faintly.. it looks dangerous."

Sam was already cracking his knuckles in excitement. Abby sat up straighter, eyes locked on Sebastian like she was ready to pounce. Their eagerness was contagious, so you nodded. "Alright- let’s fight it."

Sebastian’s gaze snapped to you. "The skeleton lunges toward you, Selene."

"Oh, shit- uh, I’ll raise my shield!"

"Roll for a defense check."

You rolled the die, holding your breath until it landed. "Seventeen. Is.. that good?"

Abby’s face lit up. Sam let out a celebratory "Yes!"

Sebastian nodded, a proud little smirk forming. "You successfully block the attack. The skeleton stumbles backward, giving Bjorn enough time to strike and slay the foul creature."

Sam reached across the table for a high five. "Nice teamwork, Sun-" He caught himself. "I mean.. Selene."

You couldn’t help but grin as your palm met his.

Sebastian’s voice took on that slow, deliberate cadence again, drawing everyone in.

"You continue walking down the hallway, taking care not to step on the creature’s remains. The air grows damp and foul as you enter a sewer-like corridor. To your left, a hallway glows with a peculiar green light. To your right, a staircase leads up into the dark. Which way do you go?"

Once again, the group’s eyes landed squarely on you.

You glanced around at them, feigning exasperation. "Let’s go into the hallway on the left, I want to know what the green light is."

Sebastian didn’t miss a beat.

"You all step cautiously toward the source of the light and enter a chamber. On your left, a ladder rises into shadow. On your right, three prisoners hang suspended inside strange glowing capsules. Their faces twist and warp as if they’re caught in the process of transformation."

Abby let out a breath, her voice low and grim. "These poor souls... could this be some kind of sick experiment by the Dreadlord?"

Your stomach turned at the mental image. "We need to get them out of there. Let’s break the capsules!"

Sebastian nodded slightly and leaned over the board.

"One by one, the capsules shatter. The prisoners collapse, their twisted forms finally stilled- freed from the dark magic that bound them. After putting those poor souls to rest, you and your companions climb the ladder. At the end of a narrow hallway above, a single door waits. Beyond it, the time has come to face Dreadlord Xarth."

Sam and Abby were practically vibrating with anticipation, dice in hand and grins on their faces. You gave them both a nod, then turned to Sebastian.

"We open the door."

Sebastian’s posture shifted instantly. Shoulders hunched, voice deepening into a raspy, ancient growl.

"Intruders? How dare you trespass into my private chambers!"

Abby leaned forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the imagined figure before you. "Where’s the staff, Xarth?"

Sebastian-as-Xarth let out a cold, wheezing laugh.

"Ahh.. so you’ve come for the Solarian Staff? FOOLS! You’ll make a fine addition to my skeleton army!"

His laugh spiraled into something maniacal before he snapped back into narrator mode.

"Dreadlord Xarth casts Shadow Beam on the party. Everyone roll for a defense check."

The table rattled with dice. Your 15 earned a relieved grin from Sam. Abby groaned at her pitiful 3, and Sam scowled at his unlucky 5.

Sebastian smirked. "Selene deftly dodges the blast. But, Bjorn and Elara are gravely injured. Selene, it’s your move. Remember: you can only heal one person per turn."

Sam and Abby immediately turned on each other, pleading their cases like rival politicians.

"C’mon, you need a tank to win this!" Sam argued.

"Oh please, you’d just run in swinging like an idiot," Abby shot back. "Heal me, Sunny. You know it makes sense."

You smirked. "Girls first, always. I heal Elara."

Abby threw both hands up in victory. "Yes! Love ya, Sunny!"

Sam’s face fell just slightly- though he said nothing, his eyes flickered with a playful I’ll remember this expression.

Abby was already leaning over her sheet. "I’m gonna cast Pure Bolt!"

"Roll for attack," Sebastian instructed.

Her die clattered across the table- perfect 20. The room erupted.

Sebastian grinned. "A blinding beam of white light slams into Xarth’s face! The Dreadlord shrieks, his form crumbling into dust. Elara seizes the Solarian Staff, raising it high above her head. Order has been restored to the world!"

Abby gave an exaggerated bow while you applauded. Sam leaned back, flashing you a small, almost proud smile. "Not bad."

Sebastian was already stacking cards and collecting dice. "Yeah, took me like three or four tries to beat my first scenario."

You grinned, still riding the rush of the game. "That was so much fun! Thank you guys for inviting me."

Abby smiled wide. "Told you you’d like it."

Sam smirked over the rim of his seltzer. "Guess we’ll have to bring you back for round two."

Sebastian gave you a little nod as he packed away the game pieces. "Yeah. Not bad for a first-timer.. even if you didn’t 'heal the tank'."

Sam shot him a look. "Don’t start."

The table broke into laughter, the kind that left a warm, lingering buzz in your chest.

~

After the game, everyone drifted into the living room, and Sebastian threw on one of those movies that was so bad it circled back around to being hilarious. With a couple drinks in you already, you were loose, laughing at every awkward line delivery. At some point, the group turned it into a drinking game. Take a sip every time the script made you cringe, which meant you were well on your way to a tipsy buzz.

You couldn’t help but notice Sam hadn’t really made any kind of move all night. Not that you expected him to, you were playing a board game with your friends... what was he going to do? Bend you over the table and fuck you in front of everyone? But still, a little attention wouldn’t have hurt.

Then, you felt a nudge against your knee. Sam leaned in slightly, voice low so only you could hear. "Hey, my drink’s empty. Come grab another in the kitchen with me?"

You nodded, following him into the quieter, dimmer space. "This movie is so fucking stupid," you laughed as he handed you a fresh seltzer.

"Right?" he smirked, cracking open his own can before leaning casually against the counter, his eyes half-lidded, studying you.

"Did you have fun tonight?" he asked.

"I did, yeah," you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"Good," he replied, matching your smile.

The air shifted. You stood there, staring at each other, the silence thick with tension. You decided to close the gap first, taking a step toward him. He stepped forward too, one hand coming up to cradle your face before he kissed you- slow at first, then deeper, hungrier.

The edge of the counter bit into your thighs as his hands gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly to sit atop it, his mouth never leaving yours, not even long enough for a breath.

Your hands instinctively curled into the fabric of his shirt as his mouth moved hungrily against yours, the cool aluminum of your forgotten seltzer sweating against your palm. His fingers dug into your hips like he couldn’t get you close enough, his body pressing between your knees.

The faint hum of the refrigerator and the muffled laughter from the living room faded to nothing. Just the two of you, breathing hard, lips colliding like you’d been holding back for far too long.

You felt the counter’s chill seep through your jeans, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach. He pulled back just enough to look at you, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded and intense.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he murmured, thumb brushing over your cheekbone before his mouth was on yours again, rougher this time.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss until you swore you could feel his heartbeat against yours. Your legs wrapped around his hips without thinking, pulling him closer, and his other hand gripped the counter beside you like he needed the anchor. The faint taste of his drink lingered on his tongue, sharp and sweet, and the way he kissed you felt reckless, like he didn’t care who might walk in.

You tilted your head, letting the kiss draw out until your chest ached for air. When he finally broke away, it was only to trail his lips down the side of your neck, teeth grazing your skin before he pressed another heated kiss there.

"Sam—" you breathed, but your voice caught when his fingers dug into your thigh, thumb brushing along the seam of your jeans.

"HEY! Lovebirds," Sebastian’s voice cut through the haze, loud and teasing from the living room. "You’re missing the best part!"

"Yeah!" Abby chimed in, half-laughing. "Put your pants back on!"

You froze, forehead pressed to Sam’s, both of you catching your breath. His mouth curved into a slow, almost wicked smile.

His hands stayed on your hips for another second like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Sam’s smile lingered just long enough for you to think he might say something-anything-but instead, he just gave you one last look. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes, and then he stepped back, smoothing his shirt like nothing had happened.

Without a word, he grabbed his drink, turned on his heel, and walked back into the living room, his voice joining Abby and Sebastian’s laughter like he’d been there the whole time.

You stayed perched on the counter, the cold pressing through the backs of your thighs, pulse still thudding in your ears. The kitchen felt quieter now, the hum of the fridge suddenly loud.

Your lips were still tingling, and your mind scrambled to make sense of what just happened.

What the fuck was that?

Chapter 10: Lick The Star*

Notes:

as a treat for your patience this chapter is super NSFW lmao

life updates at the end of this chapter - lets get right into it fuck a proof read

By the time the credits rolled, the four of you were slumped in various positions across the living room, empty cans scattered like battlefield remnants. The laughter had died down into occasional, lazy remarks about how awful the movie had been. Everyone was sinking into that hazy, end of the night quiet where no one wanted to be the first to move.

Sebastian stretched, arms over his head, groaning dramatically. "I’m calling it. I can’t take another one of those."

Abby shifted beside him, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "Soo.. I think I’m just gonna stay here tonight."

You raised your head, blinking at her. "Wait- what? You’re leaving me to walk home alone at-" you glanced at the clock glowing on the TV stand, "-one in the morning?"

Abby bit her lip, eyes flicking between you and Sebastian, cheeks faintly pink. "Sorry, Sunny. I just don’t feel like moving."

You sighed, rubbing your temples, half playful, half serious. "Cool. Love that for you. Guess I’ll just get murdered on the way back."

Sam’s voice cut in before anyone else could respond, steady but quiet. "I’ll walk you home."

Your gaze snapped to him. He was leaning back against the couch, half shadowed by the dim lamp, watching you with an unreadable expression.

"You don’t have to-"

"I don’t mind." He stood, grabbing his hoodie off the back of a chair and tugging it over his head in one fluid motion. "C’mon."

Abby gave you a little grin as you stood too, one that said far more than words could. You tried to ignore it, slipping your shoes on by the door.

The air outside hit cool against your flushed skin, crisp with the faint scent of leaves and distant woodsmoke. The street was quiet, washed silver by the streetlights.

Sam shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket as the two of you started down the sidewalk. For a moment, it was silent except for the sound of your footsteps on the pavement.

You stole a glance at him, wondering what-if anything-he was going to say about the kitchen. About walking away. About the way his lips had felt on yours.

But he didn’t look at you. Just walked beside you, steady and calm, like it was any other night.

Which only made your thoughts louder.

The night pressed in quiet around you, the streetlamps throwing long pools of silver light across the cracked pavement. Your footsteps echoed against the stillness, the occasional rustle of leaves filling in the gaps.

Sam walked with his hood pulled up, shoulders slightly hunched against the autumn chill. His stride was easy, unhurried, but there was something about the silence that gnawed at you.

You cleared your throat, forcing a casual tone. "...Thanks for walking me. Wasn’t exactly looking forward to dodging creeps on my own."

"Mm," Sam hummed, eyes still on the street ahead. "Yeah."

Not much else.

You tried again after a few paces. "That game was actually really fun. Way less complicated than I thought it’d be."

"Totally."

You glanced at him sidelong, searching for anything in his expression. But his face stayed unreadable, shadowed by the hood, hands buried deep in his pockets.

The silence stretched. Your chest tightened with the memory of his mouth on yours, the way his hands had gripped your hips like he couldn’t get close enough. The way he’d pulled back, smoothed himself down, and walked out of that kitchen like none of it happened.

You tried again, this time a little sharper. "You’re really quiet."

He gave a small shrug, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might say something.. then didn’t. Just, "Guess I don’t have much to say."

Your lips pressed together, frustration sparking low in your stomach.

The rest of the walk blurred by in that uneasy hush, broken only by your attempts at small talk. Each one met with the same short replies, like he was keeping you at arm’s length on purpose.

By the time your building came into view, your heart was thudding harder than you wanted to admit from the mounting pressure in your chest.

At the bottom of your stoop, you slowed to a stop, turning to face him fully. Sam stopped too, finally looking at you. The streetlight caught his eyes, dark and unreadable, his mouth set in that almost-smile that gave nothing away.

The silence between you stretched thin, fragile.

You wanted to demand what the hell was that in the kitchen? But the words stuck in your throat.

Instead, you just stood there: half daring him to speak first, half terrified of what he’d say if he did.

You tilted your head, waiting, hoping he’d say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there at the bottom of your stoop, eyes fixed on you like he was trying to burn through all the layers you were hiding behind.

Without a word, he stepped closer.

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin with a tenderness that contrasted the sudden, hungry way his mouth crashed into yours.

The kiss stole every thought you’d been about to spit out. You wanted to shove him back, demand answers, make him explain why he was so distant one minute and devouring you the next. But the taste of him, the heat of his body pressing flush against yours, melted all of that into nothing.

Your hands gripped at the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer instead of pushing away. His fingers traced along your cheek, slow, deliberate, even as the kiss deepened into something reckless, like neither of you cared that you were standing in plain sight on a public street.

You should’ve stopped him, should’ve pushed him back and demanded an answer for the way he’d been toying with you all night, all week- but right now you didn’t give a fuck. The heat in your stomach roared to life, drowning out every thought but one: more.

You were dizzy with it, drunk on him, your back brushing against the railing of your stoop.

Just as suddenly as he started, Sam pulled back. When he broke the kiss, his lips hovered just above yours, breath hot and uneven. 

"Open the door," he murmured.

You blinked, trying to mask the flush in your cheeks with a teasing tilt of your head. "And why would I do that?" you asked, your voice playful but shaky with want.

His mouth curved into something dark, knowing. "Don’t play dumb," he said, low and certain. "You know what I want."

Your pulse stuttered. You fumbled with the keys, unlocking the door, and his mouth was on yours again before the lock even clicked open. He shoved you inside, slamming the door shut with his boot.

The two of you stumbled through the dark apartment, a blur of tugging and tearing fabric. Your jacket fell to the floor. His shirt joined it seconds later. His hands gripped your hips like vices, pressing you against the wall as his mouth devoured your neck, teeth scraping against your skin.

By the time you hit the bed, you were bare under his weight, flushed and breathless. He pressed your thighs apart, spreading you wide with a possessive groan.

"Fuck, Sunny," His voice cracked, gaze fixed between your legs. "You’re perfect."

Before you could say a word, he lowered his head.

His tongue was hot and insistent as it dragged over your folds, tasting you like he’d been craving this for weeks. You gasped, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging when he latched around your clit and sucked, hard. The slick, obscene sounds filled the room as he worked his tongue inside you, curling, stroking, teasing every nerve until your thighs trembled around his head.

"Sam—oh my Yoba—" your voice cracked, hips rocking helplessly against his mouth. He groaned against your cunt, the vibration making you whimper louder, wetter.

It built fast, overwhelming, the tension coiling tight in your stomach until you shattered, moaning his name as you came on his tongue. He didn’t stop, didn’t give you a second to breathe, he just kept licking, drawing out every aftershock until your body went limp beneath him.

When he finally pulled back, his mouth was slick, his lips shining. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand and smirked. "Could eat you all night."

Still panting, you barely registered the sound of his belt hitting the floor. Then his pants were shoved down, his boxers next. Your breath catching when he freed himself.

"Holy shit," you whispered before you could stop yourself.

Sam really was pretty everywhere.

He was thick, long, the kind of size that made your thighs instinctively press together. He noticed, of course, grinning wolfishly as he wrapped his hand around himself, stroking slow.

"Don’t tell me you’re scared now," he teased while rolling a condom on, voice low, dark.

Your mouth was dry. "I’m not-"

"You’ll take it," he cut you off, leaning down to kiss you again, his cock sliding against your slick folds, teasing your entrance. "You can take it, baby. I’ll make sure."

The first push burned. Stretching you wider than you were used to, his length filling you inch by inch. Your nails dug into his shoulders, head falling back as a strangled moan escaped.

"Fuck-Sam—”

"Relax, baby," he gritted, kissing the corner of your mouth as he sank deeper. "You feel so good already. Just—breathe."

He bottomed out with a groan that rattled through his chest, forehead pressed to yours. You could barely breathe, body taut with the fullness of him.

Then he moved.

Slow at first, letting you adjust, rolling his hips in long, deliberate strokes that made you feel every thick inch. The burn melted into pleasure, sharp and consuming, until you were clutching at him, begging without words for more.

He gave it to you.

His rhythm grew rough, desperate, hips snapping hard against yours. The bed creaked with every thrust, your moans filling the room as his thumb brushed your cheek almost tenderly; even as he fucked you raw.

Your climax built fast, every thrust sending sparks shooting down your spine. He angled his hips just right, grinding deep, and you broke. Crying out as your walls clenched tight around him.

"Fuck—just like that," he groaned, thrusts turning erratic, brutal. His pace stuttered, his breath hot against your throat. One last deep thrust and he shuddered, spilling inside you with a rough, guttural moan of your name.

The room was thick with heat, both of you gasping for air, bodies slick with sweat.

He didn’t pull away right away. Just rested his forehead against yours, chest heaving, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw again, softer now.

"Shit..." he breathed, voice wrecked.

Sam slid the condom off, tying it deftly before tossing it into the trash can by your desk. He exhaled hard through his nose, chest still heaving, then flopped down onto the bed beside you.

For a beat, neither of you said anything. You both turned your heads at the same time, faces flushed and hair a mess.

"Hey."

"Sup."

The simultaneousness sent you both into a shaky, breathless laugh.

"That was.." he trailed off, eyebrows raised like he was actually uncertain. "..okay?"

You snorted, rolling your eyes at him. "Duh."

He smirked, satisfied with the answer, then pushed himself upright, already tugging his jeans back on. "Stay there," he told you, pointing at the rumpled sheets.

Too spent to argue, you let your head sink into the pillow while he disappeared down the hall. A minute later he returned, tossing your scattered clothes onto a chair before setting a cold water bottle on your nightstand.

You cracked it open immediately, chugging half in one go. "Thanks."

"No problem." He lingered by the bed, watching you for a second, before you patted the empty space beside you.

"You can sleep here y'know?," you said, voice soft but teasing. "Promise I don't bite."

For a moment, his expression actually wavered. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "As much as I’d rather not walk into hearing Seb and Abby fuck, I’d really rather not get shit from them for not coming home."

You sighed, but you got it. "Fair enough."

He leaned down, tugged the blanket higher over you, and smoothed a hand over your hair in a gesture far more tender than you’d expected. "Get some sleep. I’ll see myself out."

You watched him walk toward the door, pulling his hoodie over his head. Just as he reached for the handle, he stopped, turning back.

"Oh- shit. Almost forgot." His grin tilted crooked. "I’m supposed to remind you our basement shows at SDP tomorrow. You’re coming, right?"

You blinked at him, still drowsy and glowing. "'Course."

"Cool." He tapped the side of his phone like a reminder. "Text me."

"Goodnight, Sam."

"'Night, Sunny."

And then he was gone, the sound of the door clicking shut carrying him with it.

You lay back against the pillows, body warm and heavy, the faint ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin. The water bottle sat cold at your side, untouched now as your eyes drifted closed.

Sleep took you quick, pulling you under before you could think too hard about any of it.

Notes:

ermm... is that good.. HAHA, i've never written NSFW i never realized how hard it would be

man i've had a crazy couple of weeks. if any of you follow my tumblr (@someannoyingbrunette) you'll know that i had a colon infection caused by fucking salmonella 😭😭 literally one of the top worst experiences of my life. i got put on this strong ass antibiotic that gave me vertigo for 4 days straight, i was soooo sick. THEN when i thought i was safe it came back!!! yay!!! so i had to go to this gastroenterologist -WHO TURNED OUT TO BE DROP DEAD GORGEOUS BTW- and tell this greek god of a man all about my bathroom issues. he ended up ordering me (at the ripe old age of 24) a colonoscopy. i will spare you the details but holy fuck this was such a dehumanizing experience i have no shame anymore. ANYWAY: i'm okay now! super, even! i had to reschedule my medical license exam so that sucks, other than that updates will return once a week ;') thank you for all of your comments and kudos! it helps a lot knowing there are people enjoying this lol - mwah <3

Chapter 11: This Heaven Has Bars*

The afternoon slid by faster than you expected. Every time you glanced at your phone, another text from Sam lit the screen.

Sam: don’t be late tonight
You: you mean don’t be cooler than you tonight
Sam: impossible

You: a frat basement doesn’t count as a venue
Sam: just wait, you’ll see

The banter carried you through the lull of the day. You sprawled across your bed, music playing low, scrolling absently between conversations but always circling back to him. Every buzz of your phone tugged at the corner of your mouth.

By the time the sun sank low, nerves had started to creep in under the excitement. You’d only seen them practice once, if you could even call it that. Not exactly the kind of performance that screamed show-ready. Still... you had faith. Or maybe it was just that you couldn’t say no to Sam when he asked.

The apartment was quiet when the sky outside turned indigo. Abby had swung by earlier, a whirlwind of perfume and jangling bracelets, rummaging through her drawers for something to wear.

"Wish me luck," she’d said, tugging you into a hug that smelled like her shampoo and smoke.

"You don’t need it," you told her, grinning. "But yeah. I’ll be rooting for you."

She’d smiled, kissed your cheek, and bolted out the door, leaving her room a mess of discarded clothes and open drawers. The silence she left behind felt heavier than usual.

You wandered into your own room, staring at your closet like it held the answer to everything. It didn’t. Nothing looked right, nothing felt casual enough yet still special enough. You wanted to look like you’d just thrown something on - effortless - but every option screamed trying too hard.

Another buzz from Sam.

Sam: doors at 8, don’t make me come drag you out

You laughed to yourself, tossing your phone onto the bed before pulling out that one outfit you’d been avoiding. Easy. Done.

Still, as you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing your hair, your stomach flipped. It wasn’t just the show. It was him. The weight of last night lingered on your skin, heavy in your chest. The memory of his mouth, his hands, the way his voice had cracked when he said your name- those things weren’t fading.

And now you were walking into his world. His stage, his band, his crowd.

The thought made you breathe deep, steadying yourself. Whatever happened tonight, you weren’t going to spend it second guessing.

When you finally stepped outside, the night air was cool, electric, filled with that restless energy that comes before something big. The streets hummed quiet, the glow of Haley's cars headlights pulling you forward like a beacon. She leaned on the horn twice, grinning through the windshield, and you jogged the last few steps before sliding into the backseat.

"Finally," Haley said, flicking her blinker as she pulled back onto the road. "We were about to come knock on your door."

Leah twisted around from the passenger seat, her copper hair tumbling over her shoulder. "You ready?" Her eyes sparkled with that kind of restless energy she always carried before anything remotely exciting.

"Yeah," you said, buckling in. "Nervous, though. Not sure what to expect."

Emily, perched next to you in the back, laughed and tugged at the hem of her sequined top. "Same. But I do know I expect to look hotter than every bitch in that house. Period."

Haley smirked, one hand drumming on the steering wheel. "Please. You’re looking at the queen of concert fits." She gestured to her low-cut tank and perfectly distressed jeans like she’d been planning them for weeks.

"You guys are ridiculous," Leah said, rolling her eyes but smiling. "I just want to see some music. I don’t even care if it sucks- it’s a concert."

You laughed softly, sinking into the seat as the car filled with chatter. Haley and Emily trading outfit tips, Leah humming under her breath about how she missed live shows, the three of them bouncing energy off one another like it was easy.

The closer you got to campus, the thicker the foot traffic became. Groups of students cutting across the street, the echo of laughter in the air, the bass of someone’s speaker rattling from a porch.

When you finally pulled up to the frat house, the noise hit you first. Not as loud as that party weeks ago, not as crowded either. The line of people outside was thinner, clusters of students hanging around the lawn instead of a full-blown mob spilling into the street.

Still, there was energy to it. The thrum of conversation, the faint vibration of amps being tested inside.

Haley slowed, sliding into a spot a little down the block. "Alright, ladies," she said, checking her lipstick in the rearview. "Let’s go get rowdyyy!"

Leah practically bounced out of the car, tugging Emily along with her, while you lingered a second, watching the house glow warm against the night.

~

Sam's POV

Sam sat on the edge of the makeshift stage, his leg bouncing restlessly as the basement slowly filled. The air smelled like warm beer and sweat already, the hum of amps vibrating under his boots. People trickled down the stairs in pairs and groups, chatter echoing against the low ceiling, but his focus kept drifting back to the entrance.

He told himself he was just checking the turnout. Making sure the crowd was decent, that it wasn’t gonna be a flop. But every time someone ducked under the doorway, he caught himself hoping it was you.

Behind him, Sebastian was crouched low, tuning his bass with sharp, precise movements. His expression was cool, detached, but the way his jaw flexed gave him away- he was just as on edge, just better at hiding it.

Abby was the opposite. Bouncing on her toes behind the kit, tapping her sticks against her thighs, mouthing lyrics to herself. She was buzzing like she'd downed five coffees

The frat president had parked himself right next to Sam, radiating cologne and cheap beer, his snapback turned backward like it was glued there.

"Brooo, this is gonna be sick," Alex said, clapping Sam on the shoulder a little too hard. "House is already packed. Okay, not packed packed, but like-it’ll get there. Don’t even trip."

Sam just nodded, eyes flicking back to the stairwell.

Alex leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was letting him in on some great secret. "Can't believe all I had to do to get a bunch of bad bitches in here was host a basement show. Who fuckin' knew?"

Sam blinked, realizing he hadn’t absorbed a single word.

"Yo," Alex said, waving a hand in front of his face, his grin tilted goofy. "You good? You’re looking kinda... pukey right now."

Sam dragged his hand over his mouth, forcing out a dry laugh. "Yeah. Fine."

Alex didn’t seem convinced, but before he could say more, Sebastian’s bass growled low through the speakers. The sound cut sharp across the chatter, and heads in the crowd turned toward the stage.

Abby twirled her sticks, grinning like she’d been waiting all week for this exact second. "Let’s fucking go," she muttered under her breath.

Sam’s fingers tightened around the pick in his hand. Any second now, you’d come down those stairs. He told himself he didn’t care if you saw him screw up, that wasn’t what this was about.

The truth was, his pulse didn’t slow, not even a little. He was playing tonight for everyone in that room, sure.

But mostly, he was playing for you.

Sam adjusted the strap on his guitar, rolling his shoulders back as he stood. The weight of it grounded him, the familiar curve of the neck fitting into his palm like muscle memory. His chest was still tight, still restless, but the minute his fingers brushed over the strings, something clicked into place.

"You guys ready for some fuckin' music?" He shouted into the microphone.

The crowd pressed closer toward the stage now, the room dim except for a couple of cheap spotlights mounted in the corners. Voices overlapped and cheers spilling over the hum of amps. Abby smacked her sticks together—tick, tick, tick, tick—a signal, sharp and bright.

Sebastian’s bass thundered in, thick and low. Sam strummed out the opening chord, the sound raw and jagged, filling the basement with vibrations that crawled straight into his bones.

The jitters bled out of him instantly. This. This was what he knew how to do.

His voice cut into the noise, rough but steady, riding the riff like he’d been born for it. The crowd answered back with movement, heads nodding, feet stomping, cheers breaking through when the chorus hit.

Sam didn’t think about the stairwell anymore. Didn’t think about anything but the music rushing out of him, loud and consuming. His body moved with it. Shoulders leaning into the chords, hair falling into his eyes, throat raw as he pushed each lyric into the crowd.

Abby was a blur of motion behind him, pounding the kit with manic precision. Sebastian’s head bobbed with the rhythm, eyes closed, lost in his own world of strings and resonance.

For the first time tonight, Sam wasn’t restless. He was alive.

The set blurred: songs bleeding into each other, riffs catching, sweat starting to bead along his hairline. Every shout from the crowd fueled him, every stomp on the sticky floor made him drive harder into the mic.

He wasn’t looking anymore. Not for the door, not for the time, not for the way Alex hovered at the side with a beer in one hand and a girl in the other, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

In the middle of a riff, mid-verse, his eyes cut across the crowd and landed on you.

Front row. Right there.

The noise, the lights, the entire room fell away for a split second.

You were smiling, lit up by the dull glow of the basement lamps, your gaze locked straight on him.

Sam’s mouth curved into a grin. Sharp and uncontainable, never missing a beat as his hands flew across the strings.

He sang the next line like it was only for you.

~

Your POV

The basement was a blur of bodies. Students packed shoulder-to-shoulder, the air thick with sweat and stale beer, the floor vibrating under stomping feet. The lights weren’t much, just a couple of harsh spot bulbs, but it didn’t matter. The energy made the space glow.

You’d wormed your way through the crowd with Leah tugging your wrist, Haley and Emily trailing behind with drinks in hand, until you’d somehow landed right at the front. The music hit like a punch, loud enough to rattle in your chest, to swallow every thought you’d carried with you on the walk here.

When your eyes finally found Sam again you couldn't stop yourself from staring.

Guitar strapped across his shoulders, head tilted down as his fingers flew across the strings, the mic pressed to his mouth. His voice was rough, raw, cutting clean through the noise. He was all motion: leaning into the chords, hair falling into his eyes, sweat catching at the curve of his jaw.

It was magnetic.

And when he looked up, when his gaze locked on yours, you froze.

For a heartbeat, it felt like the crowd, the music, the whole damn room just dropped away.

He grinned. Wide, sharp, unguarded. Right at you.

"Tangle me into your limbs

The mystery, is killing me"

The sound didn’t falter, his hands didn’t miss a single note, but you could feel the shift. Like the performance wasn’t for the room anymore. Like it was aimed, straight and deliberate, at you.

"Spill your secrets to me

Skin to skin"

Every lyric that left his mouth felt heavier, more pointed. His gaze kept finding you between riffs, holding long enough that your stomach flipped and your throat went dry.

"Sit back, and I'll paint your portrait

The softest of lines"

You felt the heat of people pressing against your back, Leah’s shoulder bumping yours as she cheered, but none of it mattered.

Because Sam was looking at you like no one else existed.

"The rest is so unimportant

Right now you're mine

Right now you're mine"

The music roared on - Abby hammering her drums like she was born with sticks in her hands, Sebastian laying down bass lines that rattled the walls - but Sam’s voice cut through it all. His voice, his eyes, his crooked grin trained on you every chance he got.

And with every second, it got harder to breathe.

The set raged on. Sweat beaded at Sam’s temple, darkening the collar of his shirt, but his grin only widened every time your eyes met. You couldn’t look away- didn’t want to. He was a storm onstage, all sharp riffs and rough edged vocals, but beneath it all he was steady, magnetic, pulling you in closer with every note.

The crowd was moving now, bodies pressed tight, Leah bouncing beside you with her hair flying, Emily and Haley shouting along to a chorus they’d clearly just learned two minutes ago. The floor thudded with stomps, the walls rattled with bass, and you felt alive in a way you hadn’t in weeks.

After one last crashing chord that made Abby nearly splinter her sticks, silence rushed in. The crowd broke into cheers, loud enough to rattle your ribs.

Sam leaned into the mic, breathless, voice rough from the set.
"Thanks for coming out," he said, that crooked grin flashing again. "We were Goblin Destroyer."

The room erupted, whoops and claps echoing off the low ceiling. Abby flung her sticks into the crowd like some kind of rock star, Sebastian muttered a quick "later" into the mic before unplugging, and Sam gave one last strum before setting his guitar down.

They hopped off the makeshift stage (plywood and milk crates dressed up with a rug). Abby landed light on her feet, buzzing with adrenaline, while Sebastian looked like he wanted a cigarette more than applause. Sam was last, the sweat slick hair at his temples curling, his chest still heaving with the effort of it.

"You guys fucking killed it," you blurted, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt. You threw your arms around Abby, who hugged you back just as fiercely, her skin warm and damp with exertion.

"You think so?" she asked, eyes wide and sparkling. "I didn’t even drop a stick!"

"Not once!" you laughed.

You turned to Sebastian and Sam next, offering your palms up.

Sebastian smirked and smacked your hand without hesitation, his ring clinking against your palm. "Good. Now let’s get the fuck out of here."

Sam’s slap lingered longer, his calloused palm warm against yours, his eyes catching yours again like it wasn’t an accident.

Abby, bouncing on her toes, tossed her hair back. "We should hit Stardrop. I’m not ready to come down yet." Her grin widened, teeth flashing. "Drinks on me!"

~

The four of you spilled through Stardrop’s door, the air instantly warmer, thicker with the mingled scents of beer and fried food. Voices overlapped in messy laughter, the clatter of pool balls rang out from the back corner, and music hummed low from the jukebox.

Behind the bar stood Gus, a broad-shouldered man with a grin as wide as his mustache was long. He leaned across the counter, spinning some story to a couple of regulars who were already red-faced with laughter. His booming chuckle rolled through the bar like it was part of the music.

"Gus!" Abby called, waving a hand as she pushed through the crowd with you trailing close behind. "Hook us up!"

"Abigail!" Gus bellowed back, his mustache twitching with his smile. "Didn’t think I’d see you until the weekend."

"It’s a special occasion," Abby grinned, slapping a twenty down on the counter. "Four green tea shots."

Sebastian slid onto the nearest stool, raising a brow. "Green teas? Really? That’s like the most—"

"If I’m buying the first round," Abby cut him off sharply, "then I get to pick what we drink. And no one’s allowed to complain about it."

Sam chuckled under his breath, leaning an elbow on the counter beside you. "She’s got a point, Seb."

You just grinned, happy to play along. "Honestly, green tea shots sound so good right now."

Gus worked fast, his hands surprisingly graceful for such a large man, pouring and sliding four shot glasses neatly onto the counter. Pale green liquid shimmered under the bar lights.

Abby passed them out, smirking as she shoved one into Sebastian’s hand before lifting her own.

You raised yours too, catching Sam’s eye over the rim of your glass. "To the band!" you said, your voice clear over the noise around you.

Four glasses rose together, the clink sharp and satisfying, before you all threw them back.

The sweetness of the green tea shot still lingered when you slapped a card down on the bar. "Alright, my turn. Get whatever mixed drink you want."

Abby’s face lit up like Christmas. "Dangerous words," she teased, immediately ordering something neon and fruity.

Sebastian went straight for a whiskey coke, predictable as ever. Sam glanced at you before murmuring his order to Gus. Something darker, something strong.

You chose quickly, not wanting to be left out, and within minutes the four of you were holding tall glasses instead of tiny shots.

The drinks came fast, the buzz faster. Jokes piled on top of each other until your cheeks hurt from smiling. Abby acted out the moment she thought she was going to drop a stick, miming a full on collapse that had Gus laughing along with the rest of you. Sebastian pretended to be offended when Abby called him a 'moody bassist stereotype', but the corner of his mouth betrayed him, twitching up despite himself.

Sam didn’t say much, but you felt him listening. Always leaning just close enough that his laugh brushed against your shoulder, his eyes catching yours whenever the group erupted into another round of banter.

Eventually, Abby slapped Sebastian’s arm and announced, "Cigarette break. Come on, emo boy."

He groaned, but followed her toward the door, muttering something about needing air anyway.

That left just you and Sam.

The second the door shut behind them, he shifted, turning toward you fully. The noise of the bar was still loud, but it felt distant now, muffled under the weight of his attention.

He leaned in, his voice low, rough from the show. "Bathroom. Five minutes."

And before you could answer, he pushed back from the bar, disappearing into the crowd with his drink still half-full.

Your pulse spiked.

You sat there, staring at the spot he’d just vacated, until the seconds began to crawl. Then you glanced down at your glass.

Liquid courage.

You tipped it back, chugging the rest in one go. The mix burned, sharper than the shot, warmth flooding your chest and spreading to your fingertips. You set the glass down hard, heart racing, nerves buzzing right along with the alcohol.

Five minutes.

You slid off the stool, weaving your way through the bodies, and headed toward the narrow hallway where the bathroom sign glowed dim in the back.

The bathroom door creaked open just as you rounded the corner. Sam stood there, shoulders filling the frame, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp.

He didn’t say a word. Just grabbed your wrist and tugged you inside, shutting the door with a click that felt final.

The room smelled faintly of disinfectant and cheap soap, the single bulb above buzzing soft. You barely had time to glance around before Sam was on you. Pressing your back against the door, his mouth crashing into yours.

The kiss was nothing like the ones outside. Gone was the cautious heat, the pauses for breath. This was hungry, immediate, like he’d been waiting all night. His hands slid under your shirt, rough palms skating over your ribs as his tongue pushed past your lips.

You gasped against him, fingers tangling in the damp curls at the base of his neck. The taste of liquor still clung to his mouth, sharp and heady, making your head spin as his body pressed flush against yours.

He groaned low when you tugged harder, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. His hands traveled lower, gripping your hips, pulling you tight against the hard line straining his jeans.

"Fuck," he breathed into your mouth, voice rough, forehead pressing against yours for a second like he needed to catch himself- then his lips were on you again, harsher this time, teeth catching at your bottom lip.

Heat pooled low in your stomach, your body reacting faster than your thoughts could catch up. You wanted more, needed more.

Your hands slid down, fumbling with his belt, and he broke the kiss just long enough to smirk against your mouth. "Yeah?" he rasped, his voice strained.

You answered by sinking to your knees.

The bathroom tile was cold under your legs, but the look on Sam’s face as you worked his jeans open burned hotter than anything. His head tipped back against the door, jaw clenched, breath coming uneven as you freed him.

"Shit," he muttered, his hand tangling in your hair when your lips brushed over him.

The taste of him, the weight of him on your tongue, made your stomach flip. You started slow, teasing, and his groan vibrated low in his chest, his hips twitching despite his effort to stay still.

When you took him deeper, his grip tightened, a ragged sound spilling from his throat. "Sunny.." His voice cracked, wrecked and raw, like he wasn’t used to losing control like this.

The cramped bathroom, the faint noise of the bar bleeding through the door, it all disappeared under the sound of him. Under the way he gasped your name, the way he muttered "fuck, just like that" through gritted teeth.

You hollowed your cheeks, worked him harder, and the sharp curses that fell from his lips made your core ache with want.

"Gonna—fuck-" His warning cut short as his head slammed lightly against the door, his whole body tensing under your hands.

The taste of him hit your tongue, hot and overwhelming, as his grip in your hair tightened before loosening slowly, his breath shuddering out of him.

For a long second, the only sound was both of you breathing, the faint hum of the light above.

When you finally looked up, his eyes were on you- dark, blown wide, his chest still heaving.

"Yoba, you're perfect." he muttered, his mouth curving into a crooked grin.

Sam’s hand lingered in your hair a moment longer, his chest still rising and falling unevenly. Then he crouched down, sliding a palm under your elbow, tugging you gently to your feet.

"C’mon," he murmured, voice still rough, lips brushing your temple as he steadied you. His fingers trailed down your side before stopping at your waistband. He worked at your button with shaky precision, his mouth tilting into a smirk. "Your turn."

Heat shot through you at the implication, but you pressed your hand against his chest, stopping him. "Later," you whispered, catching his eyes with a knowing grin. "Just... make it up to me some other time."

Sam didn’t argue. He just breathed out a laugh, pressing a softer kiss to your lips. Brief, grounding, so different from the hungry mess you’d just shared. Then he tugged the bathroom door open.

The muffled roar of the bar rushed back in, laughter and clinking glasses swallowing the little pocket of heat you’d carved out in that cramped space. His hand slid automatically to the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd, casual like it had always belonged there.

Outside, the night air was cooler, carrying the sharp tang of cigarette smoke. Abby was crouched low on the sidewalk, her hair spilling over her face as she lit the end of a cig with cupped hands, while Sebastian leaned against the brick wall above her, exhaling a slow stream of smoke like it was the only thing tethering him.

"Hey," Abby said, looking up with a grin, eyes sparkling even in the dim streetlight. "We ordered the Uber."

Sam didn’t respond, just plucked the cigarette from between Sebastian’s fingers and brought it to his lips, taking a long drag like it was second nature. His other hand never left your lower back, warm and firm, anchoring you there beside him.

"The fuck, man? Buy your own pack." Sebastian gave a short, dry laugh, shaking his head but letting it go. Already pulling another cigarette out of his carton.

"You’ll live," Sam shot back, exhaling smoke away from your face.

Abby just raised her brows at the way Sam kept you tucked close, but said nothing, blowing smoke into the night sky like she knew more than she’d ever admit.

The sidewalk was littered with old gum stains and the occasional discarded flyer, the neon glow from Stardrop’s sign buzzing faintly above. The bar’s muffled laughter and clinking glasses bled through the door every time it opened, but out here it was just the four of you, smoke curling into the crisp night air.

Sam flicked ash off the end of Sebastian’s cigarette, dragging again before handing it back without a word. His arm brushed yours as he did, the hand on your lower back steady, casual, but undeniably his.

"Just keep it, I don't want your cooties." Sebastian muttered, lips twitching like he wasn’t all that bothered.

Abby leaned against the wall now, one knee bent, her cigarette glowing bright as she dragged deep. "I still can’t believe how good we sounded in there," she said, her voice giddy, jittery with leftover adrenaline. "Like, I didn’t fuck up once. Not once. Did you guys hear me nail that fill in the second song?"

"You’ve mentioned it three times," Sebastian said flatly, blowing smoke out through his nose.

"And I’ll mention it again," Abby snapped, pointing at him with her cigarette. "Because it was cool and I deserve recognition."

You laughed, leaning a little into Sam’s side. "Let her have her moment. That fill was insane."

Abby’s face lit up, triumphant. "See? Sunny gets it."

Sebastian rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at his mouth. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Uber’ll be here in, like, eight minutes," he said, glancing at the screen before tucking it back into his pocket.

"You’re just mad we’re cooler," Abby said, tossing her hair dramatically.

Sam snorted around his smoke.

"Eight minutes?" Abby groaned, dragging out the words. "That’s, like, forever."

"Guess you’ll just have to entertain yourself," Sebastian deadpanned.

"Oh, don’t worry," Abby said, grinning wickedly. "I’ll find a way." She blew a stream of smoke up at the neon glow, looking far too pleased with herself.

"Better than ten," Sam quipped, taking another drag. "You want me to start doing stand-up while we wait?"

"No one wants that," Sebastian said dryly.

"Disagree," Sam said, grinning. "I’ve got a killer tight five about Alex’s haircut."

"Oh my god," Abby cackled, stubbing her cigarette against the wall. "That mop on his head is a joke."

The group fell into an easy rhythm then. Passing jokes back and forth, flicking ash to the pavement, laughing too loud at nothing at all. The buzz from the shots lingered, mellowed now by the cool air and the hum of leftover adrenaline.

When headlights finally swung across the curb, Abby stubbed out her cigarette on the wall with a flourish. "Chariot’s here," she announced, brushing ash off her jeans.

Sam’s hand was still on your back as the four of you moved toward the waiting car, the night wrapping itself tight around your little group.

Notes:

lyrics in this chapter are from Skin to Skin - Movements

**POLL**: should I edit this fic for it to be 'y/n' instead of the nickname 'Sunny'? i love x reader fics that don't use y/n but i'm not sure if mine comes off as confusing. which would y'all prefer?

Chapter 12: She Hates Me

The Uber was a silver hatchback that smelled faintly of fast food and those little pine tree air fresheners. You slid in first, Sam close enough behind you that his thigh pressed against yours in the cramped back seat. Abby took the middle up front, legs folded awkwardly, and Sebastian claimed the window, leaning his head back like he might fall asleep right there.

"Just the two stops tonight?" the driver asked, voice cheerful in a too many Friday night college kids kind of way.

"Yup," Abby said, already buckling in. "Drop me and Sunny first, then these two."

Sam leaned forward, resting his forearms on the back of Abby’s seat. "Don’t trust Seb to get us home without supervision?"

Sebastian cracked one eye open. "You’d be the one to get lost, not me."

The driver chuckled, pulling away from the curb. "You guys sound like siblings."

"Please don’t curse me like that," Abby said immediately, wrinkling her nose.

"Yeah, no," Sam added, shaking his head. "I’m way hotter than her brother would ever be.. if she like.. had one."

"Excuse you," Abby shot back, twisting around in her seat. "I’m literally the star of the band. I could have you replaced like that!" She gave a loud snap of her fingers. "You saw all of my loyal fans out there tonight!"

"Mmm, pretty sure your 'loyal fans' all came to see the real star of the show tonight- which, last time I checked would be..." Sam said, puffing up a little, pretending he's in deep thought. "Ohh, right! That would be me."

"They come for the music, not either of you," Sebastian muttered, eyes still half-shut.

"Thank you, Captain Buzzkill," Abby fired back, but she was smiling.

You snorted, the sound slipping out before you could catch it. Sam glanced sideways at you, his grin quick and sharp like it was meant just for you.

The ride settled into easy banter after that, the kind that tumbled over itself in jokes and half-arguments. Abby tried to convince the driver to let her control the aux; Sebastian threatened to jump out of the moving car if she did. Sam narrated every street corner like a tour guide until Abby groaned and smacked him on the shoulder.

The city blurred by outside, neon signs bleeding against the dark, clusters of students spilling across sidewalks. The chatter in the car hummed low and warm, the kind of noise that made your chest ache with something almost like belonging.

Before long, the car slowed in front of your building.

"Alright, first stop," the driver said.

Abby was already unbuckling, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Later, losers," she said brightly, leaning over the seat to jab Sebastian in the arm one last time.

You shifted toward the door, but not before Sam leaned in just slightly, close enough that only you could hear. His lips brushed your cheek, quick but unmistakable.

"Text me," he murmured.

Your stomach flipped. Butterflies swarmed, restless and impossible to ignore.

You gave him the smallest nod, hoping Abby and Sebastian hadn’t noticed, and slipped out of the car with your pulse racing.

Abby tugged you toward the entrance, chattering about how she was starving and already planning a midnight snack raid. You tried to answer, but your thoughts were tangled elsewhere. Caught in the echo of Sam’s voice, the ghost of his lips on your skin.

By the time you crawled into bed, the buzz from Stardrop had softened into a warm haze. You pulled your phone onto your chest, thumb hovering over his name, replaying every look, every grin, every word from tonight.

Sam

You: get home safe <3

Sam: miss me already?

You: stfu lmaoo you wish

You: just wanted to say that i had a really fun time tonight :)) you killed that show

Sam: made that show my bitch fr

Sam: i'm glad you liked it :) there's more where that came from

Sam: maybe you'll get lucky and i write a hit song allll about you one day

You: ooo better make it a good one

You: night sam :)

Sam: dream about me ;)

When your eyes finally closed, it was with a stupid smile tugging at your mouth, butterflies still alive in your chest.

~

The library smelled like dust and printer ink, the low hum of the AC almost loud enough to drown out the shuffle of pages and the occasional cough. Your textbook lay open in front of you, notes scrawled in the margins, but your focus kept drifting to the little buzz of your phone sitting face-down beside the stack.

Sam.

The thread of conversation had been nonstop the last couple of days. Memes, half-finished thoughts, late night rambles that stretched past midnight. You’d seen him in person too, always in a group with Abby and Sebastian, but never alone. Not like Stardrop. Not like the bathroom.

That was about to change. Lunch, just the two of you. You’d replayed the plan in your head so many times it was embarrassing.

A soft voice broke your thoughts.

"Hi.. is this seat taken?”

You glanced up. Penny, clutching a stack of books to her chest, hair falling into her eyes like she was hoping it would shield her.

"Not at all," you said, pushing your bag aside to make room.

She sat delicately, smoothing her skirt before opening one of her books. For a minute, you worked in silence, the scratch of your pens filling the space.

Then Penny spoke again, her voice so quiet you almost missed it. "What class are you working on?"

You told her, and she nodded, offering something about her education theory midterm in return. Small talk. Polite, even easy, once you got past the initial hush of her demeanor.

It wasn’t until she tilted her head slightly, still not looking directly at you, that she asked, "Do you... have plans for lunch? We can grab something from the dining hall.. if you're not busy."

You froze, pen hovering above the page. The answer sat heavy in your throat. Part of you wanted to keep it vague, spare yourself the complication. But lying - especially over something as small as lunch- felt worse.

"I would love that! But today, I’m kind of uh.. meeting Sam."

Penny’s head turned then, sharp enough that her hair slipped from her shoulder. Her eyes widened, the surprise clear before she blinked it away.

"Oh," she said softly. "I didn’t know you were together."

Your pulse jumped. "No! We’re not. We’re just friends." You said it too quickly, the words tumbling out like you’d rehearsed them.

Penny looked down at her book, fingers tracing the edge of the page. Her voice came quieter still, barely above the hum of the AC.

"I get it.. I was friends with him too, once."

The weight of her words lingered between you, heavy in the silence that followed.

"Yeah, I heard... I’m really sorry that happened to you, Penny. Something like that happened to me too once. But—"

You didn’t even get the words out before Penny shot up from her chair. The legs screeched against the floor, turning heads a few tables away. Her face went red so fast you almost didn’t recognize her.

"He told you?!"

Books thudded as she started grabbing them, shoving them haphazardly into her bag.

"No, no! Wait—he didn’t tell me anything!" you blurted, scrambling to stand too. Your chair nearly tipped back.

"Then who?" she hissed, voice sharp but cracking at the edges. "Abby? Haley? Or was it another one of those fake bitches?" Her hands shook as she fumbled with her zipper, eyes glossing with tears.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out. You couldn’t snitch on Abby. You couldn’t even think.

"I.. I’m sorry. Can we just talk about it? I really was looking forward to being your friend."

That made her pause. For a heartbeat she just stared at you, startled, like the words had slipped past her defenses. Then her expression hardened again.

"Friends? With you? Really? After you just embarrassed me in front of everyone here?" Her voice dropped low, almost a whisper, but it still hit like a slap. "No. You guys deserve each other."

She yanked her bag over her shoulder, wiping at her eyes with the cuff of her sweater.

"Penny—" you tried, reaching out.

"I have to go."

She didn’t look back as she speed-walked toward the door, her hair a copper streak under the fluorescent lights. The soft thunk of the door closing behind her left a strange hollow in the library, the low hum of air conditioning and scattered whispers rushing back in.

You sank slowly back into your seat. The pen you’d been holding rolled off the table and hit the floor with a small clatter you didn’t even bother to pick up.

Fuck. That actually could not have gone any fucking worse. Great job, Sunny! You've probably just thrown away you're entire brand new friend group!

You rubbed a hand down your face, sighing. Penny’s exit was still buzzing in your ears like an alarm. You bent to gather your things when a shadow fell over your table.

"I believe you dropped this."

You turned, startled, to find Elliott holding out your pen. Even in the middle of a college library, he carried himself with the posture of a man who’d read every classic and retained it.

"Oh. Elliot. Thanks..." You took the pen, your voice cracking. "Did you, uh.. see any of that?"

He chuckled softly, polite but amused. "It was hard not to watch. I might even use it for inspiration in my next creative writing piece."

You groaned, covering your face with your hand. "Oh Yoba, that’s so embarrassing! I’m so sorry."

"No need," he said with a faint smile, already helping gather stray papers into a neat stack. "Life has a way of turning on its own drama, whether we invite it or not."

You gave a small, grateful laugh, even though you didn't understand what the fuck he just said. You zipped your backpack closed just as your phone lit up. Abby.

Shit.

Your stomach lurched. Penny must’ve told her everything.

You hesitated before answering. "...Hello?"

Abby’s voice came through, cheerful, almost sing-song. "Heyy, Sun! Quick question for ya!."

"Uh, sure."

"Why didn’t you buy me dinner first?"

Your brows furrowed. "Um... what?"

"Oh, you know—" Her voice went sharp, gleeful. "Usually it’s polite to buy a girl dinner first before YOU BEND ME OVER AND FUCK ME!"

You froze in the middle of the library, heads turning as if they could hear the chaos through your phone. Elliot nonchalantly trying to get a better listen by moving closer to you. Blood drained from your face. She knew.

"Abby—listen to me—"

"You seriously told Penny I told you what happened between her and Sam?" she snapped. "What the fuck, Sun? I told you that in confidence and you just—"

Heart hammering, you shoved your backpack on and stormed past Elliot, fumbling for air.

"Yoba, ABBY!" you finally shouted once you cleared the doors.

"WHAT?!" she barked back.

"I didn’t tell her shit! I never said you were the one who told me." Your voice cracked from the panic but you forced yourself to keep going. "All I said was that I heard something happened with them, because she brought it up, and then she just started crying. That’s it. That’s all I said. I never said your name."

Silence on the line. The longest thirty seconds of your life.

Finally: "...Okay."

You blinked. "Okay?"

"I believe you," Abby said softly, her tone smoothing out.

Relief washed through you so hard your knees went weak. "Thank you."

"Sorry I got crazy."

You huffed a laugh, tension spilling out of your chest. "It’s fine. You're lucky you're funny."

"Still—my bad."

"Seriously. Don’t worry about it."

Just like that, the firestorm passed. The knot in your stomach loosened, though a trace of Penny’s red, tear-streaked face still clung to you.

You kept Abby on the line as you walked, weaving between students and the occasional delivery bike barreling down the sidewalk. The panic in your chest had dulled, but not completely.

Abby sighed. "The only reason I even called freaking out was because Maru rang me first. Said Penny had just called her crying, and then Maru starts accusing me of... I don’t even know. Like I’m some kind of ringleader."

You frowned. "Okay, wait. Who the fuck is Maru?"

"Penny’s best friend," Abby said flatly. "Since, like, kindergarten. Ride-or-die, childhood bond shit."

You pursed your lips. "...Never heard of her."

"Well, you wouldn’t have. She’s also Sebastian’s half-sister, so that’s how I know her. But her loyalty’s with Penny first, always. So if Penny’s upset, Maru’s the one sharpening knives in the background."

You dragged a hand down your face. "Oh my Yoba. What did I just get myself into?"

Abby gave a wry little laugh through the receiver. "Welcome to Z.U.! Drama’s basically a core requirement."

You huffed but didn’t argue. The whole thing sat like a stone in your stomach, the weight of it heavier with each step toward the café.

Sam was posted outside, leaning against the brick wall like the sidewalk was his stage. Skateboard balanced against his shin, headphones looped around his neck, his thumbs flicking across his phone. The late afternoon light caught on his blonde hair, making it practically glow.

He didn’t see you yet.

"Okay," you said into the phone, your voice a little smaller. "I’m here."

"Good luck, sexy," Abby teased.

You ended the call, shoved the phone in your pocket, and lifted your hand in a wave.

Sam glanced up. His eyes met yours. That dangerous, easy smile bloomed across his face like it had been waiting all day just for you.

Notes:

I'M SO SORRY PENNY

first i marry her in SDV just to divorce her after i get the strawberry room, and now i write her with trauma.

#stoppennyhate

Chapter 13: #1 Crush

The bell above the café door chimed as you stepped inside, the warmth and scent of espresso washing over you. It was cozy - crowded with the usual noise of students tapping at laptops, laughter spilling over mismatched mugs, and the low hiss of the milk steamer in the background. Sam held the door for you, a lazy little grin tugging at his mouth like it was second nature.

You wanted to tell him about Penny, but he asked for your help in studying for an upcoming exam. You decided that the drama could wait and that it wasn't worth ruining the entire day over it. You wanted to just focus on tutoring him and put that whole situation in the back of your mind.

"Whatcha want?" he asked, glancing up at the chalkboard menu.

"Just a latte," you said, digging for your wallet.

But before you could even unzip your bag, he was already pulling out his card. "I got it," he said easily.

"Sam—"

He shook his head. "Nah. Least I can do since you’re giving up your afternoon to help my dumb ass study."

You gave him a look. "You’re not dumb."

He smirked, leaning just a little closer across the counter. "You haven’t seen me try to focus on anything longer than thirty seconds."

The barista slid your drinks toward you - his black coffee, your latte with foam hearts - along with some sandwiches and you followed him to a booth tucked near the back. The seats were worn in leather, the table carved with years of initials and doodles. It felt private. A little too private, maybe.

Sam dropped his backpack with a thud and slid in across from you, stretching out like he owned the place. "Alright, Professor Sunshine," he said, spinning his pen between his fingers. "Teach me your ways."

You pulled your notes and textbook out, trying not to smile. "Okay, so if we start with the main concepts from last week’s lecture—"

But his gaze was already drifting out the window, then back to your lips, then to the latte foam. You paused mid-sentence.

"Sam," you said gently, "are you even listening?"

He snapped back, guilt flashing across his face. "Sorry. I’m trying, I swear. It’s just—" He let out a small groan, dragging a hand through his hair. "My brain’s a bitch sometimes. ADHD and all that. I can’t make it care about this stuff no matter how much I want to."

Your irritation softened instantly. "Hey, it’s okay," you said. "Don’t apologize for that. We can figure out a way to make it more interesting."

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. "More interesting, huh?"

You nodded, tapping your pen against your notebook. "Yeah. Like, I don’t know — we could turn it into a game or something."

Sam’s grin spread slow and deliberate, the kind that made your pulse skip. "Or," he said, voice dropping, "we could take it back to my place. You quiz me.. and every time I get one right, you take something off."

Your jaw dropped, heat rising to your face before you could stop it. "Sam!"

"What?" He laughed, all fake innocence, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just say that in the middle of a crowded café. "You said make it more interesting."

You shook your head, trying not to laugh even though your cheeks were burning. "You’re impossible."

He leaned forward, grin softening. "And yet, you keep hanging out with me."

You rolled your eyes, flipping open the book to hide the way your lips were twitching. "Shut up and read the next paragraph before I actually start grading you."

"Yes, ma’am," he said, the way he said it - low, teasing, obedient only in tone - made something flicker in your chest you couldn’t quite name.

He started reading, stumbling a little over the terminology, but the effort was real. You sipped your latte and tried not to stare at his hands. Long fingers tapping against the page, restless, impatient. Every few lines he’d glance up to check if he’d said something right, and every time he did, that grin tugged back at your defenses like gravity.

By the time he finished the section, your coffee was half gone, and his foot had found yours under the table. Casual at first, then not so casual.

"Sooo," he said, voice low, "how am I doing, Teach?"

You arched an eyebrow. "Better than expected."

"Cool," he murmured, his smile lazy, dangerous.

They actually got a decent rhythm going after that, him reading aloud while you quizzed him, breaking down concepts into jokes and half serious metaphors until he was actually getting the answers right. The late afternoon sun had dipped low enough to cast soft gold across the café windows when your phone buzzed on the table. One glance at the screen made your stomach drop.

"Shit—sorry, I gotta get to class," you blurted, already stuffing papers into your bag.

Sam blinked, then gave a crooked grin. "Thanks again for helping me, seriously. I owe you big time." He slung his backpack over his shoulder and nodded toward the door. "C’mon, I’ll give you a ride."

You frowned. "A ride? I thought you came on your skateboard?"

"I did," he said, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Just hop on my back."

You stared at him. "Are you crazy?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted, already crouching down. "But I won’t let you fall. Come on... unless you’re—" His grin widened mischievously. "Chicken?"

Your eyes narrowed. "I’m not chicken! I just think that’s a good way to get hurt."

He immediately started making over the top clucking noises, drawing a few stares from people outside the café. "Bawk bawk bawk!"

"Ugh, fine!" you snapped, but you were already laughing as you climbed onto his back, your arms looping around his shoulders.

"Atta girl," he said, steadying you. "So, where to?"

"Jumino Hall," you said breathlessly. "I've got history class."

"Gross," he teased, kicking off. The skateboard rolled forward smoothly, the world tilting around you as you clung to him for balance. At first, your heart raced. Every bump felt like it’d send you flying, but Sam’s grip was solid, his balance effortless. Then he laughed, and you realized your arms had tightened around his throat.

"Uh—Sun? Little hard to breathe," he rasped.

You gasped, immediately loosening your hold. "Oh Yoba, sorry!"

He just chuckled. "You’re good," he forcefully choked out the words on purpose.

You rolled your eyes, laughing despite yourself. By the time he coasted to a stop outside Jumino Hall, the rush of wind and laughter had turned the ride into something you didn’t want to end.

He crouched a little so you could slide off, his hands brushing your legs as you did. "There you go, safe and sound."

"Thanks for the ride," you said, still a little breathless.

He smiled, that same teasing glint in his eyes, then leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. "Anytime. Later, gorgeous."

You watched as he pushed off again, skating down the sidewalk like it was nothing, sunlight catching in his hair until he disappeared around the corner. Only then did you turn toward the doors of Jumino Hall. Cheeks still warm, heart still pounding.

~

You slipped into your usual seat in Professor Gunther’s lecture hall just as the lights dimmed and the projector flickered to life. The faint hum of the old system filled the room, the smell of dry erase markers and coffee heavy in the air. Alex was slouched to your left, half-asleep with his hoodie pulled up, while Elliott sat on your right, posture perfect as always, notebook open and pen already poised.

Elliott leaned slightly toward you, his voice low. "Any updates on the Penny situation?"

You shook your head, keeping your eyes on the slides. "Not really. I haven’t told Sam about what happened, so.. just keep it under wraps for now, yeah?"

"Of course," he murmured, tone soft with understanding. "Mum’s the word."

You managed a small smile, grateful, before the professor’s booming voice cut through the room. "Today, we’ll be discussing ancient Dwarfish artifacts and their cultural significance..."

You tried to focus, jotting down notes as the projector cycled through relics and half buried ruins, but the steady rhythm of the lecture was broken by a faint snore beside you. Alex jerked awake with a snort, blinking rapidly before grinning when he saw you.

"Oh—hey, farm girl," he said, stretching lazily. "You’re a nice sight to wake up to."

You rolled your eyes. "Hey, Alex."

Elliott made a quiet scoff, barely audible but sharp enough that Alex caught it. He ignored him completely, leaning over your notebook instead. Before you could react, he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of your notes.

"Alex!" you hissed. "You know it’s not that hard to write your own notes."

"Yeah," he said, leaning back with a smirk, "but why would I when you can do it for me?"

You exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Unbelievable."

He only chuckled under his breath, already half dozing again as Professor Gunther’s lecture droned on. You turned back to your notebook, deciding today was not the day to start another argument, not after everything with Penny. You just needed to make it through this class without another fire to put out.

~

Sam's POV

Sam sprawled across the couch, guitar balanced against his thigh, the late afternoon light cutting sharp lines through the blinds. The apartment was quiet. Too quiet without Sebastian’s keyboard or bass humming in the background, or even his dry commentary filling the silence. He ran a lazy riff up the neck of his guitar, something soft and unfinished that didn’t sound like anything yet.

His mind wasn’t really on the chords anyway. It kept drifting back to you. Your laugh over coffee, the way you said his name when you were trying not to smile. He found himself grinning, shaking his head at the memory.

That text he’d sent you the other night came back to him-maybe I’ll write a song all about you someday. He’d said it like a joke, but now, plucking aimlessly at the strings, the thought didn’t feel so funny.

He’d written songs about girls before. Plenty of them. The type who inspired a verse or two, catchy lines about heartbreak or neon lights. But you... you weren’t that kind of song. You made him want to write something real, something that didn’t sound like anyone else. And that was weird.

He let out a small, frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Dude, what the hell are you doing?" he muttered to himself. "Since when do you get hung up like this?"

If Sebastian were home, he’d probably know what to say. He always did. Cool headed, detached, annoyingly perceptive. Sam could almost hear him now: 'You like her. Just don’t mess it up like you usually do.'

Sam sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Maybe that was the problem. He didn’t know what 'not messing it up' even looked like.

The faint ding of his phone snapped him out of it. He set the guitar aside, heart giving a quick, stupid jump. Maybe it was you. Maybe you’d finished class early, maybe you were thinking about him too.

He swiped the screen, only for his chest to sink a little. Not you. An unknown number.

hey, was all it said.

No name. No context. Just that one small word blinking up at him, suddenly making the quiet apartment feel a little heavier.

Maybe it was one of the girls he used to hook up with.
That thought made Sam pause mid strum, thumb brushing absently over the strings.

It was fine, right? Just a text. You wouldn’t be mad - you couldn’t be. It wasn’t like the two of you were dating.

Still, something about it felt.. weird. He hesitated for a second before finally typing back, short and casual:

who dis?

The reply didn’t come right away. He filled the silence with the soft hum of his guitar, cycling through chords that didn’t sound right anymore. When his phone finally buzzed, the name on the screen made him still.

penny.

Oh.
Damn.

Why the hell was she texting him? He thought she hated him, or at least wanted nothing to do with him. The last time they’d spoken hadn’t exactly ended on friendly terms.

Part of him wanted to respond out of curiosity, out of guilt, maybe even out of habit. But another part of him, the one that had been trying to move forward, told him not to open that door again. Not when things were finally starting to feel.. good. Normal.

Not when there was you.

He tossed the phone back onto the couch with a sigh and went back to playing, trying to drown the thought out. His fingers picked up where they’d left off, the melody coming easier once he focused on the sound instead of the past. Something light, a little uncertain. Something that sounded like the way he felt when you laughed.

The buzz of his phone cut through it again. Once. Twice. He glanced over.

hello?????

He groaned, setting the guitar down. This was getting annoying.

He grabbed his phone, thumb hovering for a moment before he typed back, flat and unamused:

wrong number

Then he tossed it aside again, running a hand through his hair. Whatever this was, he didn’t have the energy for it tonight.

Chapter 14: Pool House*

By the time the weekend rolled around, you were done. Classes had eaten every ounce of your time that week — papers, readings, quizzes, repeat — and you hadn’t done anything remotely fun since what felt like forever. So when Abby begged you to go to Alex’s pool party, it didn’t take much convincing.

You needed a break.
And, let's be real here: you weren’t about to turn down the chance to see Sam in a swimsuit. That would’ve been actual, legitimate torture.

When you and Abby finally pulled up to Alex’s frat house, the backyard lights were already glowing warm and golden against the cool night air. It was one of the last 'summer nights' before autumn would take over, the kind of night where the air nipped at your skin but the steam rising off the heated pool made everything look dreamlike.

Thankfully, the crowd was small. Just the people you knew best.

You and Abby were the last to arrive, so everyone was already scattered about, drinks in hand, comfortably halfway into party mode.

Sebastian sat at the edge of the pool, wearing black swim shorts and a soaked white t-shirt. You couldn't help but stare at the ways his muscles flexed under his shirt - Wait.. Sebastian's actually ripped? Abby looked like her eyes were gonna pop out of her head at the sight. Rightfully so.

He was quietly watching as Sam and Alex took turns seeing who could make the biggest splash. Every time one of them hit the water, Sebastian flinched like he’d just taken a wave to the face himself.

Across the yard, Elliott, Harvey, and Shane were sitting at a patio table playing cards, a small tower of bottle caps collecting between them. The girls - Haley, Emily, Sandy, and Leah - were in the pool, laughing and shouting over the music. Haley was already yelling at Alex and Sam for "completely destroying" her hair with their cannonballs.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

Abby nudged you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Okay, not gonna lie, I came for this exact view."

You followed her gaze and... yeah, you couldn’t even pretend to argue. Sam had just climbed out of the pool, water dripping down his chiseled chest, sun-kissed hair plastered to his forehead. He was grinning, hands on his hips, teasing Alex about his "weak splash form." You never considered yourself a religious person, but at that moment you wanted to get down on your knees and thank Yoba for the gift of sight.

You rolled your eyes, but the blush that rose to your cheeks wasn’t fooling anyone.

"Beer?" Abby said, already grabbing two from the cooler.

"Yes. Yoba, yes." You took one, popped it open, and the two of you made your way over to Sebastian, who was still sitting by the pool like he’d been tasked with lifeguard duty.

He looked up as you and Abby joined him. "Hey. You two finally escaped academic prison?"

"Barely," you said, sitting down beside him and dipping your feet into the water. "If I see another discussion post, I might actually commit."

Sebastian smirked. "Those are the worst."

Sam noticed you then. He waved from the pool, all boyish grin and wet hair, before dunking Alex’s head under the water just to make him yell. The girls screamed in protest again, but even they were laughing now.

Abby clinked her beer against yours. "To bad decisions," she toasted.

You grinned. "And to Sam’s abs."

She laughed. "You said it, not me."

Sam’s grin was pure trouble the second he spotted the beer in your hand.

He slicked his hair back, the water glinting off his skin under the string lights, and swam toward you with an easy, unhurried stroke. You could already tell he was up to something. That spark in his eyes gave him away every time.

"Hey," he called, voice teasingly casual. "You’re just gonna sit there drinking while I'm dying of thirst?"

You narrowed your eyes. "There's a whole ass cooler over there, Sam."

"Yeah, but yours looks better."

Before you could react, he lunged forward and swiped the can right out of your hand. You yelped, half in shock and half in laughter.

"Sam!"

He floated backward, smirking as he took a long, exaggerated swig. "Mmm. Tastes like victory."

"Give it back!" You leaned forward, arm outstretched, but he just shook his head, still backing away through the water.

"Nuh uhh," he taunted, that familiar playful lilt in his voice. "You’re gonna have to come and get it if you want this back."

Behind you, Abby was already giggling, whispering something to Sebastian, who only rolled his eyes and muttered, "He’s asking for it."

You huffed dramatically. "You’re such a child."

"Then come babysit me," Sam shot back, grin widening.

You tried to glare, but the laughter broke through before you could hold it in. Setting your beer-less hand on the tile, you stood, slipped off your cover-up, and tossed it toward Abby, who wolf whistled immediately.

"Go get him, tiger!"

You shot her a look but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. The cool night air brushed against your skin, and for a heartbeat you hesitated then dove cleanly into the pool, the water wrapping around you in a rush of warmth and light.

Sam’s laughter echoed through the backyard as you surfaced.

"Alright, thief," you called, pushing wet hair from your eyes. "You asked for it."

He raised the can in mock salute, floating backward again, all confidence and mischief. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

You lunged toward him, sending up a splash that caught the edge of his shoulder. He dodged, laughing harder now, the beer can still held just out of reach.

The chase was on. Bright water, golden lights, the sound of your laughter tangling with his as the night unfolded around you.

Sam swam backward with an effortless glide, keeping just out of your reach. Every time you lunged, he twisted away, his grin widening like he was enjoying the chase far too much.

"You’re really gonna make me work for a sip of my own drink?" you said, treading water and narrowing your eyes.

He tilted his head, that maddeningly smug grin still in place. "You seemed like you could use a little motivation."

You splashed him. Hard.

Sam blinked the water out of his eyes, laughing. "Oh, so it’s war now?"

"Absolutely."

You dove under the water before he could react, kicking hard and coming up behind him. When you surfaced, you grabbed his wrist - the one holding the can - and he laughed so loud it echoed against the stone walls of the pool.

"Whoa, sneaky!" he said, twisting his arm, but not quite pulling away.

You were close now. Close enough to see the tiny droplets clinging to his lashes, the glint of light tracing the curve of his jaw. His grin faltered just slightly as your fingers brushed his. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

"Gotcha," you murmured, tugging the beer from his hand.

He let it go easily, but his voice dropped low, teasing. "Did you, though?"

Before you could answer, he reached out, gently curling his fingers around your wrist - not enough to hold you, just enough that you felt the warmth of his touch even through the water.

The air between you shifted, electric and charged in a way it hadn’t been a second ago.

You swallowed, trying to sound nonchalant. "You always this annoying, or do I just bring out the best in you?"

Sam smirked, eyes flicking down briefly before meeting yours again. "Oh, you definitely bring something out of me."

You felt the blush creep up your neck, but you met his smirk with one of your own. "Careful, Sam. I might start thinking you actually like me."

He leaned in just a fraction closer, the space between you barely a breath now. "What if I do?"

Your heart skipped - but you broke into a grin, using the moment to splash him full in the face.

"Then you’ll have to earn the rest of this beer,"

Sam gasped, mock offended, wiping his face as you swam away. "Oh, it’s on now!"

Laughter rippled between you again, but the tension stayed. Humming beneath every glance, every chase through the glowing water.

You made a break for the shallow end, splashing through the water until you reached Alex, who immediately threw his hands up.

"Whoa, what’d I do?"

"Human shield!" you gasped, ducking behind him. 

"That’s cheating!" he called, still halfway across the water.

You peeked over Alex’s shoulder, grin wide. "That’s not cheating! That’s called improvising."

Haley smirked from beside you. "More like cowardice."

"Hey!" you said, raising the half empty can, "It's a tactical retreat! Who's side are you on anyway?" Then, locking eyes with Sam, you tipped it back and downed the rest in one go.

The girls burst into cheers and laughter as you crushed the can against your palm. Alex threw his head back to look at you. "I love it when you use me for my body."

You rolled your eyes and smacked him on the arm while he laughed, then wadded your way over to Sam.

Sam shook his head, still smiling. "You’re lucky you’re cute, or I’d demand a rematch."

"Noted," you said, voice light but heart still thrumming.

You climbed out of the pool, the cool air brushing against your damp skin. The deck lights made everything shimmer: droplets on your shoulders, the faint steam from the water, Sam’s eyes that followed you with that teasing look he wore too well.

You grabbed two beers from the cooler, tossed one toward him as he climbed out behind you. He caught it easily, flashing that grin again.

"Aw, you do like me," he said, cracking his can open.

You rolled your eyes, taking a swig of your own. "Don’t push it."

Together, you made your way back to where Abby and Sebastian were sitting. Abby perked up the second she saw you two.

"Well, look who’s suddenly besties," she teased.

Sebastian looked between you and Sam, raising a brow. "You get your beer back?"

"Yep," you said quickly.

"Good," he muttered, leaning back. "Bastard steals my shit all the time."

"Uh, do not."

"Uhh, do too."

"Uhhh, do no-"

Abby grinned, undeterred. "I have a brilliant idea!"

"No," Sebastian said flatly.

"Chicken fight!" Abby declared. "C’mon, it’ll be so much fun."

"Pfft. If you guys feel like losing, yeah." Sam took a sip from his can.

You and Sebastian exchanged a look. One of those silent, we’re too old for this looks.

"Pass," Sebastian said first.

"Yeah, same," you agreed.

"Wow," Abby said, gasping dramatically. "Party poopers. Actual. Party poopers."

Sam nodded solemnly. "Couldn’t have said it better."

You sighed, already seeing where this was going. "If we say no, you’re not gonna let it go, are you?"

"Absolutely not," Abby said without missing a beat.

"Fine," you said, setting your beer down and pushing your wet hair back. "But if I get kicked in the face, I’m suing."

Sebastian groaned. "This is peer pressure."

"Yo," You turned to see Alex swimming up to your edge of the pool. "Are we talking chicken fights over here?"

"Fuck yeah we are, bro." Sam said before downing the rest of his beer.

"Bro. It would be an honor and a privilege to be the judge of this match."

"Bro. That would quite literally, mean the world to me." Sam knelt down to dap Alex up.

"I don't think chicken fights need a judge.. do they?" You whispered to Abby.

"No, but who cares!" Abby squealed, clapping her hands. "Okay, okay- me and Seb versus you two!"

Sam shot you a grin, eyes glinting. "You better be ready to win."

You smirked right back. "Oh, you have no idea what you’ve just signed up for."

The water was warm again as you stepped back in, Sam following behind you. Abby and Sebastian were already in position. She was sitting confidently on his shoulders, splashing playfully while he muttered something about "regretting this already."

Sam grinned, turning to you and lowering himself slightly in the water. "C’mon, up you go."

You hesitated for half a second and then placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the smooth slide of water and muscle beneath your palms as he lifted you easily. The motion brought a rush of warmth to your cheeks.

"Whoa— okay, I’m up," you laughed, steadying yourself as his hands came to rest firmly on your thighs to balance you.

"You good?" he asked, looking up briefly.

"Yeah," you said, though your voice came out a little breathless.

His grip tightened just enough to keep you steady, fingers secure but careful, his thumbs brushing lightly against your skin each time he adjusted. It sent a little current through you. Enough to make you very aware of every inch of where you touched.

Across the pool, Abby was already calling, "You two ready to lose?"

Sam smirked, his voice warm beneath you. "Not a chance."

"On three!" Alex called from the side. "One.. two... three!"

The battle began in a splash of laughter and thrashing arms. You lunged toward Abby, both of you trying to shove the other off balance. Sebastian waded carefully beneath her, steady and determined, while Sam shifted easily with your movements, his hands moving to steady you each time you swayed.

"Left, left!" he laughed when Abby grabbed your wrist.

"I’m trying!" you said, laughing too hard to sound convincing.

Water sprayed everywhere. Abby almost had you, but you caught her shoulder and pushed just enough. She yelped and toppled sideways, sending both her and Sebastian under the surface in a wave of water.

"Let's go!" Sam shouted, his hands raising you slightly higher before you slid back into the water, laughing so hard you could barely breathe.

Abby surfaced, sputtering. "Not fair! You two cheated!"

"Judge Alex, do you concur?" Sam said, grinning as he turned towards him.

"I don't know what that means, but nah. You for sure didn't cheat."

You met his gaze, still catching your breath, whispering, "Did we cheat?"

"Maybe a little, but I wanted us to win. So, shhh."

You rolled your eyes and smiled. "You're a jerk."

He smiled, quieter now. "You don't seem to mind."

For a moment, the noise of the party faded. The water rippled between you, golden lights flickering across his face, his hand still resting lightly on your leg under the surface. Just enough to remind you it was there.

Then Abby splashed you both, laughing again. "Rematch!"

You grinned, shaking the water from your hair. "You’re on."

~

The water had gone from blissfully warm to faintly lukewarm, and your fingers looked like raisins. When Abby started another rematch proposal and Sam reached for yet another splash war, you laughed, shaking your head. "Alright, I’m calling it. My skin’s about to dissolve."

You climbed out, the night air cool against your shoulders. Grabbing a towel from the pile near the deck, you wrapped it around yourself, savoring the dry cotton and the quiet away from the splashing chaos behind you.

Across the patio, the steady clink of bottle caps and low voices drifted from the table where Elliott, Harvey, and Shane sat. The glow from the string lights threw everything into a cozy gold haze. Cards, cans, the faint shimmer of condensation.

"Mind if I join?" you asked, padding over.

Elliott looked up first, smiling. "Not at all. But be warned, Harvey’s been on a hot streak."

Harvey chuckled, setting down his cards. "It’s just simple strategy. Nothing special,"

Shane leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Guess we’re just humoring the future doctor."

You laughed, sliding into an empty seat. "What are we playing?"

"Nothing serious," Elliott said, gathering the deck. "Mostly an excuse to talk and pretend we’re good at math."

"Perfect," you said. "My kind of game."

You laid your towel tighter around your shoulders, the dampness from your swimsuit cooling fast. Shane handed you a can from the table.

"So," he said, "you go here, right? What’s your major?"

"Agriculture," you said. "Transferred in this semester, actually. From OSU.. Oasis Springs University."

Elliott perked up. "Oasis Springs? I spent a summer there for a workshop. Brutally hot, but great writing scene."

"That’s because all anyone can do is sit in the shade and write," you said with a grin. "Not exactly a prime spot for farming."

He laughed, and you caught the glint of his earrings in the light.

Harvey nodded, shuffling the deck. "Must be nice to learn about farming. Been buried in anatomy notes since August."

"Which means," Shane added, "he’s the only one here who actually understands what’s going on in class."

Harvey shot him a good natured look. "That's not true. You probably know more about sports management than anyone."

"I guess," Shane said, shrugging. "Not as noble as saving lives, but someone’s gotta keep the athletes from bankrupting the school."

You smiled, resting your chin in your hand. "We’re quite the mix, huh?"

"Pretty much," Elliott said. "Future novelist, future doctor, future agent, and.. a farmer?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Gee, way to really make it sound like I'm reaching for the stars."

The conversation flowed easily after that. Stories about awful professors, bizarre roommates, the best coffee spots near campus. Laughter rippled across the table, light and familiar, and for the first time all week, you felt the tightness of school and deadlines ease off your shoulders.

The laughter around the card table softened as the back door creaked open.
Two figures stepped out onto the patio, Penny and a pretty girl with pinkish braids and glasses. You've never seen her before, but you would put your money on that being Maru.

For a moment, the entire backyard seemed to still. Even the music from the speakers suddenly felt too loud, out of place against the quiet weight that settled over the group.

You froze mid-sentence, the condensation from your can chilling your fingertips. Penny looked small standing beside Maru, her arms wrapped around herself, eyes flicking nervously across the yard. Maru had a hand on her shoulder. Firm, steady, as if daring anyone to say something.

They hadn’t been invited. Everyone knew it.

The laughter from the pool died in seconds. Sam was the first to notice. His grin faded, eyes locking on Penny like he’d seen a ghost he wasn’t ready to face. He blinked once, then twice, the tension in his jaw tightening as he climbed out of the pool.

Water dripped from his hair, his shoulders, his hands as he grabbed his t-shirt from a deck chair and tugged it on without looking away.

Abby, halfway through a joke, stopped talking when she saw where his attention had gone. The air shifted - too quiet, too thick.

Penny started forward hesitantly, Maru right behind her. You could hear her whisper something. You couldn’t make it out, but the tone was small, tentative, apologetic maybe.

Before she could reach him, Abby stepped into her path.

"Not tonight, Penny," Abby said, voice sharper than you’d ever heard it.

Maru bristled. "We just came to talk."

"Yeah, well, you can do that somewhere else," Abby snapped.

Penny shrank under the weight of the exchange. Sam had gone completely still. Then, in one sudden motion, he pushed past Abby and Maru, his expression unreadable but his movements tight, clipped - like he was seconds away from boiling over.

He crossed the deck toward you, water still dripping from his shirt. Without saying a word, he reached for your hand.

"Come with me," he said, voice low.

You blinked, startled. "Sam—what’s—?"

"Please." Just that. One word, rough around the edges.

You set your drink down and followed, your heart hammering in your chest. You could feel eyes on you - everyone's - as Sam led you through the back gate, out into the dimly lit street beyond.

Neither of you spoke as he walked straight to his car, keys already in hand. He opened the passenger door for you, still tense, and slid into the driver’s seat.

The silence stretched. The soft hum of the engine filled the space between you. You turned toward him, searching his face. His hands were gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Sam..." you said quietly. "Are you okay?"

He didn’t look at you right away. His jaw flexed once, then he exhaled, the sound heavy.

"I just—" he started, then shook his head. "No. Not really."

You waited, not pushing, watching the streetlights flicker across his profile as he finally turned toward you.

"I fucked up, Sunny."

The words came out low, almost a whisper.

You nodded slowly, your hand brushing his arm. Not pulling, just there. "You can tell me."

He looked at you for a long moment, like he was trying to find something steady to hold onto. Then he nodded, barely.

The air between you settled, quiet but charged. A mix of hurt and confusion that hung heavy in the space between your breaths.

"I.. I did a lot of stupid shit before," he started, each word careful, heavy. "And Penny.. she got caught up in it. I, uh.. I used her. Not because I wanted to, not really. I was just in a bad spot, Sunny. Mentally, emotionally.. I wasn’t okay. And I—Yoba, I regret it. Every single thing about it."

Your chest tightened. The hand brushing his arm stayed, steady and warm. You didn’t speak, just let him spill the words, knowing they were tearing at him even as they reached you.

He swallowed hard, jaw flexing, hands clenching the wheel again. "I can’t change the past. I can’t.. make it better for her. But, when I saw her walk in with Maru, I felt like she was gonna try to ruin what we have. Whatever this is. And I—" He exhaled, heavy and ragged, "I just.. I just want something to go right for once. Something I don’t screw up."

Your heart squeezed at the raw honesty in his voice. The tension, the guilt, the desperation: it was all there, laid bare. For the first time, Sam wasn’t the teasing, invincible guy you chased across a pool. He was just.. him. Vulnerable. Human.

You reached up, gently brushing your fingers along his cheek, tilting his face toward yours. His eyes flicked to yours, wide and searching, and in that moment, the noise of the world, the party, the problems - all of it - fell away.

"Sam," you whispered, your thumb tracing along his jaw, "I'm not going anywhere."

He exhaled slowly, a small, shaky laugh escaping. "Really?"

You leaned in, closing the gap, letting your lips meet his in a soft, tentative kiss. His hands lifted from the wheel, one resting on your waist, the other cradling your face gently, like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on.

It was quiet, gentle, grounding. The kind of kiss that didn’t need words, that didn’t try to fix the past or promise forever. It just existed, here and now.

Sam’s hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer, and the heat between you snapped into something sharper, more urgent.

He deepened the kiss, tilting his head to give you better access, and you could feel the press of his body, the slick heat of the night and the cool leather of the car seat under you. Your hands tangled in his damp hair, tugging gently as his tongue brushed yours, slow and teasing at first, then demanding.

The world outside disappeared completely. There was only him, the rapid beat of your heart, the warm weight of him pressed against you. Each kiss pulled you closer, and the restraint you’d both held onto all night vanished in the shared heat of the moment.

Sam’s lips trailed down your jaw, and then your neck, hot and insistent, his hand sliding from your waist to your back, pressing you flush against him. You gasped, tilting your head to give him better access, a shiver running down your spine at the fire of his touch.

"Take my mind off things for a bit?" he muttered against your skin, voice rough, edged with desire.

How could you say no? You shivered, tugging him back to you, kissing him again with everything you’d been holding in. The teasing, the laughter, the tension, all of it. His hands roamed just enough to drive you wild. Your body responded like a magnet, drawn to every movement, every heat soaked brush of skin.

The air in the car was thick, heavy with your combined breaths, hearts hammering in time, the car suddenly feeling both impossibly small and completely infinite. You couldn’t think past the feel of him, the taste of him, the way he made everything else fade.

You moaned softly, pressing closer, tilting your head, your lips parting, letting him take over just enough to lose yourself in the heat. Your fingers dug into his damp shirt, gripping, tugging, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling every movement, every reaction as if you could memorize it.

He groaned again, low and rough. His hips pressed harder against you, rolling subtly, teasing, desperate, and you pressed back instinctively, matching every move.

You ground against him, hips rolling, letting the friction build, knowing he could feel every inch of it. Every gasp, every shiver, every low moan was a spark that made the fire between you two pulse harder, faster. Your hands tangled in his hair, your body pressing, arching, writhing in a delicious, maddening rhythm.

"Backseat," you manage to say, reluctant to break away from his hot mouth.

You clamber to the back, his hands lingering as you crawl off of him. He slithers on top of you. It’s cramped, but you couldn’t care less when his lips meet yours again in time with his hips. A guttural moan rips from your throat at the contact, causing him to let out a low, dangerous chuckle. 

He offers a light graze over your covered pussy. You rub yourself against his hand, eager and shameless. He doesn’t tease too much, just as needy as you are. Sam thumbs over your clit, rubbing in circles that have you gasping for air. Your bikini bottom is slid to the side as the pads of his fingers run between your sensitive folds. 

"So fucking wet for me," Sam breathes out in awe, slowly pressing a finger into you.

Your jaw clenches, body tensing at the intrusion. You’re almost dizzy as you squirm underneath him. 

Another finger is pushed into your aching cunt, and when he curls upwards the sensation forces your hands to grab onto something with a noisy groan. You settle for the handle on the door behind you.

You resist the urge to whimper at the emptiness when his fingers leave you. Anticipation crawling on your skin as he reaches into the center console to pull out a condom as he pulls his shorts down to the middle of his thighs. 

You almost forgot just how big Sam is until you feel the tip push past your entrance. Your nails dug into the leather of the armrest, eyes shutting tight as he makes his way deeper into you. Despite your vocal impatience, he still takes it slow. Twitching against your walls the further he pushes himself in.

It's pitch black outside, but the flickering streetlights have your back. You admire the sight of Sam above you, the manner in which his swollen lips are parted savoring the sensation of your pussy surrounding him. His brows are knit, holding what little restraint he has left as you adjust to his size. He’s pushed your legs to your chest, folding you nearly in half as he bottoms out. 

"You okay?" he asks once you’ve gone quiet. But you don’t acknowledge the question, much too focused on how full you feel. He asks again, tapping your thigh to snap you out of it.

"Please, keep going,"

He pulls himself out completely, rubbing the head against your entrance and along your clit before thrusting back in. The gentle, tentative touch is long gone. Morphing in favor of a firm grip on your thighs as he fucks himself into you. Every plunge sends shocks up your spine, knocking the breath out of your chest and forcing little moans out of your mouth. 

"You’re so tight, holy shit.." Sam mutters between thrusts. He brings one of your legs over his shoulder, bending down and pressing impossibly deeper into your walls. You clench around him from the movement and the rhythm he’s tried to keep up stutters for a moment.

He’s rough and sloppy from drinking. But it’s exactly what you want. The sound of Sam's labored breathing fills your ears, losing himself inside you.

"You feel so fucking good," a careless thought slips out. The look in the blonde’s eyes darkens, and his hand brushes across your swollen clit. Your entire body shivers at the brief touch, cunt squeezing tighter around him. 

"Yeah?" his thumb rubs those very same circles as earlier, your legs shaky and hips stuttering as he teases you, "Wanna make you feel even better,"

There’s not a single ounce of you that could doubt his declaration right now.

He begins to speed up along with the timing of his cock pushing in and out of you. 

"Oh Yoba, oh fuck," you’re thrashing, legs jerking wildly as Sam gives a half assed effort to keep them in place. He’s too focused on your shameless moans, especially when he hits a particularly sensitive spot within you. You spasm uncontrollably under him, "Shit- right there-"

An arrogant laugh reverberates from his chest, rolling his hips and fucking that same spot that brings a certain daze in your head that no amount of weed could ever give. You’re seeing stars behind your eyelids, struggling to keep them open. All you can think of is Sam’s cock filling you. His fingers smear your own slick across your clit as you approach your climax.

"Gonna cum?" the words come out slurred, hardly coherent. 

You can only nod your head, unable to speak out loud. He doesn’t bother teasing you anymore, too preoccupied with watching and feeling how your body convulses around him, "That’s it, baby, let it out."

He leans down, keeping that same vigorous pace his fingers have set on your clit while he buries himself in you. His face nestles in the crook of your neck, pressing your legs almost painfully against your chest. The pain is nothing compared to the waves of pleasure that wash over you as your orgasm crashes into you. Sam’s hand slams against the window above you as he rides through your climax, his own descending upon him shortly after yours. 

You two lay there for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath. He’s the first to move, pulling out and ripping the condom off. It’s difficult for you to move right now. Your legs ache and shake like you just ran a marathon. He tosses you your clothes.

You both sit there in the quiet for a moment, letting the hum of the engine fill the space. The rush of adrenaline from earlier is fading, leaving a comfortable, soft sort of exhaustion behind. Sam finally leans back, rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Thanks," he says quietly, his voice almost sheepish. "For.. taking my mind off things for a bit."

You smirk, tugging your damp hair back into place. "Anytime," you tease lightly, giving him a small smile.

He glances over at you, a little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I mean it."

You shrug, trying to keep the mood light. "I'll take your mind off anything if you're gonna fuck me like that."

He laughed. For a beat, the car is quiet again, the kind of comfortable silence that feels more like company than absence. Then Sam clears his throat. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

You nod. "Yeah, I'd rather not go back in there."

He nods and puts his seatbelt on, pulling smoothly onto the street. You fish your phone out of your bag.

Abby

You: sam's taking me home

Abby: you guys okay?

You: yepp 

You: tell ya later

Once that’s done, you lean back, exhaling slowly. "Do you think anyone saw us back there?" you ask cautiously, glancing at him.

He shakes his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Nah. The windows are tinted. No one saw a thing."

You let out a little laugh, feeling the tension from earlier ease just a little more. "Good. Because that would’ve been.. awkward."

Sam chuckles, eyes on the road. "Awkward is one word for it."

By the time he pulls up in front of your place, the night has deepened into a peaceful, almost gentle darkness. Sam kills the engine, turning to look at you. "You good?"

You nod, smiling softly. "Yeah. I’m good."

He hesitates, then reaches over to cradle your jaw and kisses you. "Bye,"

"See you," you reply, and with a last grin, you step out of the car, the memory of the night settling warm and light in your chest.

Notes:

over 1,000 reads???? whatttt

thanks for reading my shitty lil fic <3 i'm trying to become a better writer so i really appreciate all of the support!! i really want to rewrite the first couple of chapters (they're so bad don't even try to lie to me LMAO) but i'm lazy and i'll prob do that after i finish the fic.. no idea how many chapters it's gonna turn out to be !

also the concept of sam and alex 'bro-ing out' is so funny to me sorry if it's not in character

Chapter 15: If You Are To Bloom

Goblin Destroyer had scored their first official show thanks to Abby’s relentless convincing. Gus finally agreed to let them play, though only on the condition that most of their set be cover songs. The band didn’t mind; any press was good press. Abby had a bigger reason to fight for it anyway: a local band competition was coming up in Zuzu City, with a 1,000G prize and a chance to open for a touring group called Boycott- one of the biggest upcoming metal bands in the valley.

Tonight was their warm-up. Proof they could handle the stage, and they'd be damned if they were going to fuck this chance up. 

You were excited for them. Really excited. They’d been working so hard for this, and they deserved the chance to show everyone what they could do. But a small, uneasy part of you twisted beneath all that pride. You’d seen what could happen when a band started to take off. You’d seen who Casey became—who you became—when everything started moving too fast, when the late nights and the praise and the pressure changed the people you thought you knew. The memories still gnawed at the edges of you like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing. You took a slow breath, shoved the feeling down, and forced a smile as Abby’s van rolled to a stop in front of the Stardrop. Tonight wasn’t about the past. It was about them.

The Stardrop smells like lemon cleaner and beer when you push the door open. The tables have been pushed to the sides, a small stage set up near the back corner where fairy lights hang above the mic stands. You’ve barely stepped inside before Sam and Sebastian are already hauling in the first of what feels like a hundred amps.

You grab one of the smaller cases - though it’s still ridiculously heavy - and follow Abby toward the stage.

"I did not realize there was this much equipment," you mutter, setting the case down beside a tangle of cables. "Do you guys tour with a full orchestra?"

Abby laughs, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "Yeah, welcome to band life. Glamorous, isn’t it?"

"Super glamorous," you deadpan, flexing your sore fingers. "My arms are going to fall off before the show even starts."

Across the room, Sam grins over his shoulder as he plugs in a pedalboard. "Hey, that’s just part of the experience. You’ve gotta earn your free ticket."

You shoot him a mock glare. "Oh, I see. So manual labor is the price of admission now?"

"Yup," he says cheerfully, then adds with a smirk, "And no refunds."

Sebastian walks past with a stack of cables draped over his shoulder. "Don’t listen to him," he says dryly. "We’d never charge you. We just exploit your kindness."

You snort. "Wow, thanks, Seb. That’s so much better."

Abby’s laughing as she drops onto an amp case. "I can’t believe Gus actually said yes to this."

Sam grins, tugging the strap of his guitar over his shoulder. "You should’ve seen Abby in negotiation mode. I thought Gus was gonna say no, but she had him cornered before he even finished wiping down the counter."

Abby smirks proudly. "Please. I just reminded him how many drinks he’d sell if the hottest band in Zuzu played here."

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "You mean us or you?"

She tosses her hair dramatically. "Both."

Before anyone can respond, Gus strolls over with a wide grin and a small tray balanced in one hand. "For my favorite new performers!" he says cheerfully, setting down four frosty beer bottles on the amp case. "On the house. Can’t wait to hear you all play."

You blink. "Oh, I’m not actually—"

"What’s your role in the band?" Gus asks kindly. "You sing? Keys? Maybe percussion?"

You hesitate, heat creeping up your neck. "Uh.. I’m just friends with them."

Sam leans an elbow on his guitar, smirking. "She’s our groupie."

You swat him on the arm, half laughing, half mortified. "I am not."

"Yup, follows us around like a puppy." he laughs, rubbing his arm. "Might have to get a restraining order if she keeps hitting me,"

Before you can retaliate, Abby swoops in, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "Aw, I love my little groupie," she coos, squeezing you against her.

You groan, laughing as you try to shove her off. "Oh my yoba, stop!"

Sebastian shakes his head, smirking faintly. "You guys are gonna scare Gus off before we even play a note."

Gus just laughs, clearly entertained. "Don’t worry, kid. Every great band’s gotta have a number one fan."

Oh, this is going to be a long night.

You take a sip of the beer he handed you, shaking your head with a grin. The stage lights flicker as Sam tests a chord on his guitar, the sound vibrating through the floor.

You pull your phone from your pocket and shoot a quick text to Haley.

haley <3
You: you on your way? band’s almost set up

Haley: be there in 5 !

Haley: got my tripod n stuff

Haley: tell sebby to smile :))

You: you'll be lucky if u get an eyeroll <3

You grin down at the message. Haley had agreed to photograph and film the show for them so they’d have something professional to submit for the Zuzu competition. If everything went right tonight, it could actually mean something big for them.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you turn just in time to see Sam crouched by one of the monitors, fiddling with the input cables. His hair’s a little messy from running his hands through it, and there’s a smudge of black from his guitar strap on the edge of his shirt.

"Need help, rockstar?" you ask, crouching down beside him.

He glances up, flashing a grin. "You offering technical support or moral support?"

"Whatever pays more."

He laughs, tugging at the cable until it finally clicks into place. "Then probably moral support. We’re broke."

You smirk, leaning against the amp. "Guess I’ll settle for beer then."

"Beer and my undying gratitude," he says, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically.

"Oh, no! That's too much I can't possibly accept that." You say sarcastically.

"Hey, you’d be surprised what my gratitude’s worth," he shoots back, and there’s a hint of that playful spark in his eyes.

You roll your eyes, trying (and failing) not to smile. "Pretty sure it doesn’t cover the cost of my labor tonight."

He strums a few chords, the sound echoing lightly through the empty bar. "Then I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you."

You cross your arms. "Uh huh. How? Free concert tickets?"

"Nah," he says, smirking. "I was thinking something more personal. Maybe a backstage pass."

You snort, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous."

"You know you love it when I flirt."

You shove his shoulder lightly. "Don’t flatter yourself."

Before he can reply, Abby’s voice cuts through the air. "Sam! Get your ass over here, we’ve got levels to check!"

Sam laughs, straightening up and slinging his guitar over his shoulder. "She’s the boss."

"Yeah," you say with a grin. "And you’re the employee who’s about to get written up."

He flashes you a grin over his shoulder as he heads for the stage. "Worth it."

Gus steps up to the front door, unlocking it with a loud click before flipping the sign to Open. You can already see a few early regulars lingering outside, peeking in through the glass, drawn by the glow of the stage lights and the promise of live music.

You take a breath, your stomach fluttering with secondhand nerves.

The low hum of voices fills the Stardrop as people start trickling in. Locals, friends, a few curious faces you don’t recognize. Gus is already working the bar like a pro, sliding mugs of beer down the counter while someone laughs too loud near the jukebox. The fairy lights above the stage cast everything in a warm, buzzing glow.

Abby’s behind her drum kit, tapping the snare rhythmically as she tests her pedals. Sebastian is tuning his bass, calm and quiet as always, fingers moving with practiced precision. Sam’s up front, mic stand adjusted, guitar strap slung comfortably over his shoulder. He looks totally in his element. Confident, easy, like the stage belongs to him.

The door bursts open, and Haley slips inside with her camera bag bouncing against her hip. "Sorry I’m late!" she says breathlessly, hurrying over. "Traffic on Main was a nightmare."

"You’re fine," you assure her, helping untangle her tripod. "They haven’t started yet."

"Good." She drops to her knees, unfolding her tripod legs with expert speed. "I wanna get a few shots before the lights dim."

You crouch beside her, holding a cable in place while she adjusts the angle. "You really think these videos will help with the competition?"

"Oh, totally," she says, focusing her lens on the stage. "Presentation matters as much as sound. They look like a real band. That’s half the battle."

You glance toward Sam, who’s laughing with Abby about something on her setlist, and smile without realizing it.

Haley catches it instantly. "Sam’s pretty cute, huh?" she says casually, eyes still on her camera screen. "What’s up with you two?"

Your head snaps toward her. "What?"

She grins. "Don’t play dumb. You two have that look."

You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. "He’s cute, sure. But.. I don’t really know."

Haley raises a brow, clearly unconvinced but merciful enough not to press further. "Mhm," she hums, smirking as she adjusts her focus. "Well, for the record, you’d make a cute couple."

Before you can respond, the mic squeals slightly, drawing everyone’s attention toward the stage. Sam taps it once, clearing his throat.

"Hey, everyone!" His voice carries easily over the noise, bright and easygoing. "Thanks for coming out tonight! We’re Goblin Destroyer—don’t worry, we’re mostly harmless." A ripple of laughter moves through the crowd.

He grins, glancing back at Abby and Sebastian. "We’re stoked to be playing here at the Stardrop for the first time, so grab a drink, make some noise, and enjoy yourselves. First up’s a little something to get you moving."

Abby’s sticks clicked together - tick, tick, tick, tick - and the familiar opening riff of Basket Case tore through the Stardrop. Sam’s guitar came in sharp and clear, Sebastian’s bass grounding the sound with a steady thrum that vibrated through the floorboards.

At first, the crowd was indifferent, just a handful of people tapping their feet while finishing their drinks. But then the chorus hit, loud and perfectly rough, and something shifted. Heads started bobbing. A few people got up from their seats. Before long, the small dance floor in front of the stage was packed with swaying bodies and off-key voices shouting the lyrics right back at them.

You couldn’t stop grinning. They were killing it.

The louder the crowd got, the more alive Sam became. You could see it in the way his shoulders loosened, the way he leaned into the mic, the way his grin grew wide and wild. It was like watching a fuse burn down to something explosive; pure, electric energy radiating from him. He didn’t just look confident, he looked like he belonged up there.

For a second, you forgot to breathe. You’d never seen him like this before, not even at the basement show. This wasn't the goofy, laid back Sam you knew- this was Sam the performer, the musician, the one who could make an entire room fall in love with a song they’d heard a thousand times before.

From the corner of your eye you noticed a group of girls near the front, laughing, cheering, one even calling his name like they already knew him. And maybe it was stupid, maybe it didn’t mean anything, but something in your chest tightened anyway.

So when Abby counted off the next song, you didn’t stay in the back. You slipped through the crowd until you were right up front, close enough to feel the bass through the soles of your shoes.

The opening chords of Liar (It Takes One to Know One) hit, raw and fast and full of bite. Sam’s voice cut through it. Stronger, grittier, and when your eyes met, you made sure he saw you singing along. Every word.

He smiled into the mic, a flash of teeth that looked half like a challenge and half like thanks. His gaze lingered for a beat too long before he looked away, spinning toward the mic again, hair falling into his face as he launched into the next verse.

Sebastian was locked in, but every now and then you could see him try to loosen up, bouncing slightly with the rhythm. Abby, on the other hand, was thriving. She twirled her drumsticks between fills, grinning so wide you could see it even from the front row. The crowd fed off her energy, clapping and shouting as the song built toward the chorus.

The Stardrop was alive.

You could feel it in your chest: the bass, the drums, the laughter, the music. Beneath it all, a pulse of something personal humming between you and Sam with every chord.

You can’t help but smile as you watch them come to life under the lights. Whatever doubts you had earlier faded with every note. This is where they belong. 

They ran through a few more classic covers- stuff Gus would approve of, songs that kept the bar buzzing with nostalgia and cheap beer. Every chord, every cheer made the place feel smaller, tighter, like the air itself was pulsing with the music.

You let yourself stop thinking for once and just watched him.

Sam under the stage lights was unfair. The soft gold glow from above caught the angles of his face just right, the sheen of sweat at his temple, the silver glint of his lip ring and brow piercing when he leaned into a lyric. He had a cigarette (one he definitely stole from Sebastian) tucked perfectly behind his ear. His blonde hair clung to his forehead in wild, damp strands, and when he shook it out between songs, your heart tripped over itself.

And those hands. God, those hands.

Callused from strings and sticks, veins visible when he flexed his fingers, steady when he strummed. He looked alive in a way that made something deep inside you ache.

You hated how perfect he seemed up there. Hated how easy it was for him to draw you in. But mostly, you hated how hopelessly you were falling for him.

The sound shifted. Abby twirled a drumstick and gave a little nod toward Sam, who grinned before stepping closer to the mic. You could tell right away this wasn’t another cover. The energy changed, quieter at first but charged.

His voice cut through the chatter:

"Come on, baby, tell me, are you like me?

Do you have a darkness no one sees?

Do you smile when you're up to no good?"

The words sank under your skin before you even realized you’d stopped breathing.

You straightened, suddenly alert, eyes glued to him.

"Now I'm no stranger to bending the truth

But I swear to God and his skies of blue

There's somethin' off with me and maybe,

Somethin' off with you"

You blinked, trying to focus, but the room felt like it had tilted just slightly. Like the floorboards under your boots were breathing along with the bass.

This song can’t be about you, you told yourself. He was just kidding when he said that thing the other night about writing a song. He had to have written this before he met you. No way would Sam write something like that about a girl he’d only known for, what—a month?

But then again... what were you two, exactly?

The thought burned a little. You’d never actually defined it. Just late nights, stolen glances, a handful of moments that blurred the line between fun and something else... Friends with benefits? Was that all this was supposed to be? Is that what you even wanted?

Abby’s voice echoed in your head- her warning, half teasing, half serious: "Sam’s the type of guy to write a love song about you and then ghost you the next day."

You swallowed hard, eyes locked on him.

He didn’t look at you this time. His gaze stayed somewhere above the crowd, somewhere safe, while his voice carried:

"So don't run

Just like the others always do

Just like the other always do"

Okay. Don’t run. Got it.

Because you definitely weren’t just overthinking everything and fighting the sudden urge to bolt out of the bar for some air.

You forced yourself to breathe, to stand still, to let it all sink in. Maybe it didn’t matter if the song was about you or not. Maybe what mattered was that, for three minutes, it felt like it was. 

Fuck.

You like him. You really, really like him.

~

The final note rang out and dissolved into the roar of the crowd. For a moment, none of them moved. Abby panting behind the drums, Sebastian giving a small, dazed grin, Sam standing center stage with his chest heaving and his hand still wrapped around the neck of his guitar.

Then the cheers hit. Real, genuine cheers. People whistled, shouted, clapped. Someone yelled, "You guys rock!" and a handful of others rushed forward, phones out, asking for the band’s socials.

You couldn’t stop smiling. They’d done it. They really did it.

Sam jumped down from the stage, laughing as a small crowd of girls swarmed him and Sebastian, asking about their next gig, where they recorded, whether they had a SoundStone page. Abby was basking in the attention too, chatting animatedly with a couple of people who wanted to know what brand of sticks she used.

Through the noise and movement, Sam’s eyes found yours.

Your heart hammered in your chest.

He started moving toward you, muttering polite thank yous and sidestepping as the same girls from earlier tried to get his attention again. You moved too, meeting him halfway through the press of bodies, the air buzzing with sweat and static and the leftover hum of the amps.

"Did you like the se—" he started, still slightly out of breath.

You didn’t let him finish.

You grabbed his shirt and kissed him.

For a heartbeat, he froze. Then his hand came up to your waist, pulling you closer, and the rest of the world might as well have disappeared.

The noise in the bar blurred into something distant and shimmering. It wasn’t until you broke away, breathless, that reality snapped back in- all the eyes, all the people, all the witnesses.

Your cheeks flamed. "Oh my Yoba," you muttered under your breath.

Sam’s grin was crooked, dizzy, and perfect. "Sooo..." he said, tilting his head, voice just loud enough for you to hear over the music that was starting up again from the jukebox. "Is that a yes?"

Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline from the kiss blending with the leftover electricity of the show. Sam was watching you with that stupidly smug, boyish grin that made it impossible to stay embarrassed for long.

You rolled your eyes and gave his chest a light shove, trying to hide your smile.
"Yes, you idiot."

His grin widened, pure sunshine and sweat and victory. Without missing a beat, he reached for your hand, his fingers slipping between yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his palm grounded you, even as your pulse fluttered wildly in your throat.

"C’mon," he said, giving your hand a gentle tug toward the bar, eyes gleaming with that spark that always made you feel like trouble was waiting just around the corner. "Let’s get a drink."

Notes:

things feel kinda spaced out rn but let me cook 🙏🙏 i got some juicy stuff planned

Songs mentioned in chapter: Basket Case by Green Day & Liar (It Takes One To Know One) by Taking Back Sunday

Song Sam's lyrics are from: Evil Side by The Dirty Nil

i actually kinda like putting in real songs as 'lyrics' he writes for you cuz all you guys can go listen to them & be delusional like me <33 i love living in la la land~ i'm running for mayor there btw #votebrunette

Chapter 16: A.M.P.

The Stardrop still buzzed with leftover energy. Laughter, clinking glasses, that low hum of excitement that always hangs in the air after a good show. Sam’s hand brushed yours as you both pushed through the crowd toward the bar, and even that tiny touch sent a pulse through you. You told yourself it was just the adrenaline.

"Two Long Islands," he told Gus, leaning an elbow on the counter like he’d been born there.

You raised an eyebrow. "Starting off strong?"

He flashed that grin. The one that always made it hard to keep a straight face. "Think I earned it."

You couldn't help but tease him, "Earned it, huh? You played old emo music."

"Hey! They're classic."

You laughed, shaking your head as Gus slid the drinks across the bar. The glass was cool and sweating in your hand, the scent sharp - lemon and cola. Sam held his up.

"To our first show outside of a basement."

You clinked your glass against his. "And to not fucking it up!"

He smirked. "There's always next time."

You took a sip, the drink hitting smooth and deceptively sweet. The burn settled warm in your chest. Sam leaned closer to be heard over the noise, his voice just low enough to make it feel like a secret.

"You were right up front the whole time," he said, eyes gleaming. "Didn’t think you were the type to fight for the spotlight."

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Someone had to keep you from falling off the stage."

He grinned. "You sure it wasn’t just ‘cause you wanted the best view?"

Your mouth opened, ready with a retort, but the words caught when you saw the spark in his eyes. That playful, unguarded spark that always felt like it meant more than he’d ever admit.

"Maybe," you said, half a smile tugging at your lips.

He laughed softly, but before he could say anything else, a voice cut through the noise.

"Sam!"

You turned just as a girl sidled up beside him - tall, gorgeous, eyeliner perfect, confidence radiating off her like perfume. She didn’t even glance your way before leaning her hip against the bar, smile wide.

"That was such a killer set," she said. "Seriously. You were amazing up there. You’ve gotta tell me when your next show is."

Sam straightened a little, his easy grin slipping into something more polite. "Thanks, uh—?"

"Lila," she said quickly, leaning in like she expected him to remember it. "I’d love to grab a drink with you sometime. Maybe talk music?"

You blinked. Wow. Subtle.

You didn’t say anything, but your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. The jealousy came sudden, sharp, unwelcome. You had no right to feel it, not really. You weren’t together. But that didn’t stop the twist in your stomach when she laid her hand on his arm.

Sam noticed.

He glanced from her hand to your face and something flickered in his expression. His posture changed, casual but deliberate, and he took a small step back.

"Hey, appreciate the compliment," he said, voice even, "but I’m kinda busy right now."

Lila blinked, smile faltering. "Oh. You mean—" she glanced toward you, the first acknowledgment you’d gotten since she appeared, "you’re together?"

You opened your mouth to clarify, to say something diplomatic, but Sam beat you to it.

He looked right at her, calm and steady. "We’re not," he said, "but you’re interrupting something."

Her lips parted slightly, surprise flashing in her eyes. She huffed out a soft, awkward laugh. "Right. Okay. Well—maybe I’ll see you around,"

"Maybe not," Sam said easily, then turned back to his drink as she walked away.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. "You didn’t have to do that," you said quietly.

He shrugged, taking a slow sip before setting the glass down. "Didn’t feel like pretending to be polite."

You tried to fight the smile tugging at your mouth. "You could’ve just said you weren’t interested."

"I did," he said, tilting his head. "In my own way."

There was a beat of silence. The noise of the bar faded to a low hum.

"You jealous?" he asked softly, that teasing note back in his voice.

You looked away, trying to ignore the heat in your face. "You wish."

He chuckled, brushing his thumb along the rim of his glass. "Yeah," he said after a moment, his voice dropping, "I kinda do."

The words hit heavier than they should’ve, lingering between you like smoke. You met his eyes and saw the unspoken question there, the one neither of you were ready to answer.

So instead, you raised your drink again and tried to sound casual. "You ready for another drink?" you said lightly.

Sam clinked his glass against yours, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. "Fuck yeah."

The ice clinked softly as you both finished your drinks, the tension between you humming louder than the music.

Sam grinned as he lifted his hand to get Gus’s attention. "Another round!" he called over the noise.

Gus gave him a thumbs up from behind the bar, already reaching for the bottles.

You were still finishing your first drink when a familiar voice rang out. "There you guys are!"

Abby bounded over, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to her forehead, still riding the high of the show. Haley followed, camera bag slung across her shoulder, and Sebastian trailed behind, quiet but looking content in that subtle, satisfied way of his.

You turned toward Abby immediately and threw your arms around her. "You were amazing!" you said, half laughing as you squeezed her. "The fills you did during the bridge of Dear Maria? Insane."

Abby pulled back, eyes bright. "You think so? I was so worried I overdid it."

"Overdid it?" you said. "You owned it."

Sebastian chuckled as he slid onto the stool beside you. "She can’t tell the difference between overdoing it and blowing the roof off."

You reached over and gave his arm a light tap. "You fucking killed it too, Seb. Seriously,"

He looked down, trying not to smile. "Thanks. I’ll take that."

Haley dropped her camera bag onto the counter and leaned in between you all. "Okay, first of all—that show was sick. Second of all, I got some amazing shots."

"Sweet." Sam said, taking the fresh drinks Gus slid his way.

"Lighting was a pain, but the angles worked. I’ll send everything tomorrow once I clean it up." she said proudly.

You frowned. "You’re not staying for a drink? You earned one, too."

Haley shook her head, adjusting the strap on her bag. "Nah, if I don’t start editing now, I’ll never get through them all in time. 'Sides, you guys look like you’re settling in."

You reached out to squeeze her hand before she went. "Thanks again, Hales. They owe you big time."

"Just promise me you’ll all remember me when you’re famous," she said, flashing a grin before waving her goodbye.

You watched her slip toward the door, the camera swinging gently at her side. Then you turned back to the bar, where Sam was already sliding another Long Island your way.

"Careful," he said with a teasing smirk. "This one’s stronger."

You laughed. "You trying to knock me out or something?"

"Maybe," he said, eyes glinting.

Abby rolled her eyes and lifted her glass. "Alright, everyone—cheers to the first of many shows!"

You clinked your glass against theirs, the ring of it lost in the crowd’s noise. The drink was colder this time, smoother, but the alcohol was starting to catch up. The warmth spread down your neck, curling in your stomach until the edges of the room felt softer, looser.

You talked for what felt like hours. Abby reenacted her favorite moments from the set, complete with drumstick gestures. Sam kept tossing in jokes. Sebastian chimed in now and then, dry humor slipping out so quietly you almost missed it, but every time he did, everyone cracked up.

By the time Sam signaled for another round, your laugh had gone from light to uncontrollable, and Abby had her head down on the bar, still giggling about something Sam said five minutes ago.

"A fourth round?" you said, blinking at your half empty glass.

Abby lifted her head just long enough to grin. "Yes, pleaassseeee!"

Sebastian gave a mock sigh. "This is going to end in her puking, isn’t it?"

Sam chuckled. "Only if you start it."

Gus brought the drinks over, shaking his head with a knowing smile. The bar had filled even more - locals, strangers, someone turning up the jukebox to something loud and fast. The air smelled like sweat, citrus, and success.

You held up a hand before Gus could start pouring again. "Actually, I’m good. Water for me this round."

Abby whipped her head toward you, scandalized. "Water?" she gasped dramatically. "Traitor!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Someone’s gotta make sure we all make it home alive. You three keep celebrating—I’ll be the responsible one tonight."

Sebastian raised his brows, amused. "That’s a bold choice considering what you’re volunteering to drive."

"Yeah," Sam added with a grin, "Abby’s van is basically held together by duct tape and a prayer."

You snorted. "I've driven worse."

Abby leaned over the bar, her balance questionable at best, and planted an exaggerated kiss on your cheek. "Best groupie a girl could ever ask for!" she announced loudly enough for half the bar to hear.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to laugh as she nearly fell against your shoulder. "You’re lucky I love you."

"Damn right you do!" she said, grinning before spinning back toward the others.

Gus slid a glass of water your way, nodding approvingly. "Smart move, kid."

You took it gratefully, the cool taste cutting through the haze of the drinks you’d already had. Beside you, Sam raised his fresh Long Island in mock salute. "My hero."

"Yeah, yeah," you rolled your eyes, clinking your water glass against his.

That was when Abby straightened suddenly, eyes going wide. "Oh my Yoba. We have to dance."

Sebastian groaned. "No."

"Yes!" she said, already grabbing his arm. "Come on, you can’t say no on a night like this!"

Before he could protest again, she had both you and Sam by the wrists, dragging the entire group toward the small patch of open floor near the jukebox. The song blasting through the speakers was something fast and messy, the kind that made everyone move even if they didn’t know the rhythm.

You laughed, letting her pull you in. The floorboards vibrated beneath your shoes, the air heavy with heat and noise. Abby was a blur of purple hair and laughter, spinning in circles that made Sebastian look both mortified and weirdly charmed. Sam didn’t bother pretending to resist; he just moved with it, head tipping back as he laughed, the grin on his face brighter than the neon behind the bar.

You danced with them, half off beat, half too giddy to care. The alcohol had softened the edges of everything. The lights, the laughter, the memories clawing at the back of your mind. You were still a little buzzed, but you knew if you waited it out another hour or two, you’d be good to drive.

For now, though, you didn’t care about anything but this: Abby’s drunken shouting of lyrics that didn’t match the song, Sebastian’s rare smile as he tried to keep her upright, Sam spinning you in a sloppy twirl that ended with both of you laughing too hard to breathe.

The Stardrop was alive. The whole place pulsed with music and motion, and for once, you didn’t think about what might come next. Not about the competition, or how things might change, or whatever you and Sam were.

For now, the present was loud, bright, and a little unsteady.

And the present was really fucking fun.

~

The night air hit you like a breath of relief the second you stepped outside. Cool, sharp, laced with the faint scent of rain and asphalt. The Stardrop’s music still thumped faintly behind you, but out here it was just laughter, hiccups, and the sound of shoes scuffing against gravel.

You leaned against Abby’s van, key in hand, and watched the scene unfold with a mix of fondness and exhaustion.

Sebastian was half carrying, half dragging Abby toward the van. She was completely gone - her head lolled against his shoulder, hair falling into her face as she mumbled something incoherent about "being the next Deftones."

"Okay," Sebastian grunted, wrestling the passenger door open. "You’re—" he hoisted her up like a sack of potatoes "—done for the night."

Abby made a sleepy noise of protest as he buckled her in. "You’re such.. a mom," she slurred, before her head tipped against the window and she was instantly out.

Sebastian brushed his hands off, straightening with a sigh. "She fell asleep on a bar stool," he muttered. "How does that even happen?"

"Talent," you said, trying not to laugh.

Behind you, Sam was in his own world. You turned just in time to see him step back from the van, squinting up at the sky with the kind of focus that only came from being very drunk.

"What are you doing?" you asked, already wary.

"Backflip," he said confidently, setting his beer down on the curb.

Your stomach dropped. "Sam, no."

He grinned over his shoulder. "Chill, I got this."

"Sam!"

He bent his knees slightly, teetering dangerously like he was gearing up to launch himself into a trip to the emergency room.

Sebastian, seeing the same disaster you did, sighed and reached into his pocket. "Oh, for fuck’s sake."

He pulled out a cigarette, held it up in the air, and called out, "Hey, Sam. Look."

Sam froze mid-crouch, eyes instantly locking on the cigarette like a cat spotting a laser pointer.

Sebastian gave the faintest smirk. "Go fetch."

Then, without missing a beat, he tossed it into the backseat of the van.

Sam practically dove after it, stumbling but somehow managing to land inside. He held it up like a trophy before flopping against the seat.

"Yoba," you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Sebastian climbed in beside him, shutting the door behind them before giving you a look through the window. The kind that said this is your problem now.

You exhaled, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. "Unbelievable," you murmured, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Abby was softly snoring beside you, her hair tangled, eyeliner smudged. Behind you, Sam was humming off-key to whatever song was still playing in his head, and Sebastian had already lit both of their cigarettes, leaning his head back against the window with the weariness of someone who had accepted his fate long ago.

You started the engine, the van sputtering to life like it needed convincing.

The drive back was.. surprisingly calm.

The roads were mostly empty, the streetlights flashing by in steady rhythm. You rolled the windows down so the night air could sweep through, cool and crisp, and turned the radio low - just enough to fill the silence with the faint hum of something familiar.

In the rearview mirror, Sam was staring out the window, cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers, hair whipping in the breeze. His voice was soft when he finally spoke.

"Thanks for driving," he said, eyes still half lidded.

You smiled faintly, keeping your eyes on the road. "It's cool. Someone’s gotta keep you idiots alive."

Sebastian gave a quiet chuckle. "Amen."

Silence again. The good kind. The kind that came after a night that burned hot and bright.

They’d worn themselves out, you realized. All the noise and chaos of the bar, all the laughter and music, had finally burned down to something quiet and peaceful. Abby snored softly in the seat beside you, Sebastian’s cigarette burned low, and Sam’s head had tilted just slightly against the window, eyes fluttering closed.

You glanced at them in the mirror - these chaotic, brilliant, ridiculous people - and felt that small, soft ache in your chest again.

The van gave one last rattling sigh as you pulled into the narrow driveway outside Sam and Sebastian’s apartment. The headlights cut across the cracked pavement, illuminating the peeling numbers on the door before you switched them off. The sudden quiet felt heavier than the noise of the drive, just the ticking of the cooling engine and the faint hum of cicadas in the distance.

You turned slightly in your seat, taking in the scene behind you. Abby was out cold, still slumped against the window, her seatbelt digging into the oversized denim jacket she’d stolen from Sebastian months ago. Sam and Sebastian both looked half conscious at best, the kind of exhaustion that came from too much adrenaline and too much alcohol.

"Hey," you said, voice soft in the dark. "We're here."

Sebastian let out a low groan that might’ve been agreement. "Barely."

You smiled. "You guys wanna unload the gear tonight, or wait until morning?"

There was a pause. Then, almost in unison, both men said, "Fuck that."

You laughed, unbuckling your seatbelt. "Good. Because same."

Sebastian rubbed at his eyes, stifling a yawn. "I’ll get Abby." He climbed out of the van and came around to the passenger side. You watched as he carefully unbuckled her and scooped her up- one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back. She stirred just enough to mumble something about wanting fries, then went limp again.

"Night," Sebastian muttered, nodding toward you as he carried her inside.

"Night," you echoed.

That left you and Sam.

He was still sitting in the back seat, staring blearily at nothing. When you opened the door, he grinned up at you, eyelids heavy. "Groupie's here to save the day."

"Come on, rockstar," you said, offering a hand. "Let’s get you inside before you fall asleep out here."

He took your hand with exaggerated ceremony, nearly toppling into you as he stood. You caught him with a laugh, steadying him by the arm.

"You good?"

"Never been better," he said, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you as you half guided, half dragged him toward the apartment.

Inside, the place was dim and quiet. You could hear Sebastian’s door shut down the hall, Abby already being tucked away. You steered Sam toward his room, and when you finally got him to the bed, he dropped onto it like gravity had been waiting all night.

He blinked up at the ceiling, then turned his head toward you with a conspiratorial whisper. "Hey. Can you keep a secret?"

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Uh.. yeah?"

He held up a finger like he was about to reveal state level classified intel. "My name’s not actually Sam.." He paused dramatically. "..It’s Samson.."

You gasped in mock shock, playing along. "No. Way."

"Way," he said, eyes wide, his face the very picture of faux seriousness. Then, with the same expression, he pointed at you. "Your turn."

You leaned against the doorframe, suppressing a grin. "You want a secret? Okay." You lowered your voice like you were about to match his intensity. "My name’s not actually Sunny... It's-"

He sat bolt upright, eyes huge. "No. Fucking. Way."

"Yeah, way."

His mouth hung open for a moment before he nodded sagely, like you’d just revealed a truth of the universe. "Wild."

You chuckled, shaking your head as you grabbed the blanket folded at the foot of his bed. "Alright, Samson. Time to sleep off the genius."

He watched as you tossed the blanket over him, grin lazy and crooked. "You’re not gonna take advantage of me while I’m like this?"

You laughed, already backing toward the door. "Not tonight,"

He sighed dramatically. "Damn."

"Goodnight, Sam."

"’Night," he said your real name for the first time. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach at the way it sounded rolling off his tongue.

You closed the door behind you, the faint hum of his laughter fading into the stillness of the apartment.

The couch in the living room was waiting- worn, too small, but soft enough. You kicked off your shoes, sank into it, and pulled a stray throw blanket over yourself.

The distant sound of Sam’s muffled singing drifted from his room before going quiet.

For the first time that night, everything was still. The air smelled faintly of cigarettes and rain, and the quiet hum of the fridge filled the gaps between your thoughts.

Chapter 17: Manifest Destiny

Notes:

surprise update !

i'm going to be trying to post a bunch of chapters this week :) i passed my license exam (yippee!) and i'm going to start working at a hospital the first week of November! my hours are going to be crazy the first week or two of working there, so i'm not sure when i'm going to have time to update this fic once that happens.. but i want to leave you guys well fed ! ♡♡

i am *NOT* abandoning this but i also don't want to rush it!! for now, enjoy the plethora of updates this week. i'll keep you all up to date on shit regarding my schedule over on tumblr ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The smell of coffee was the first thing that reached you.

You blinked awake, sunlight bleeding softly through the blinds, cutting narrow lines across the living room. Your neck ached from the couch, but not nearly as bad as you expected. The throw blanket had tangled around your legs sometime during the night, and your phone, dead on the coffee table, looked like it had given up on you hours ago.

No hangover. Thank yoba.

You stretched, groaning quietly as you sat up. Somewhere down the hall, you could hear the muffled sound of someone snoring- probably Sam. Abby, you guessed, was out cold too.

The smell of coffee got stronger when you stood, drawing you toward the kitchen.

Sebastian was already there, hair an absolute disaster, one hand braced on the counter while the other poured steaming black coffee into a chipped mug. The bottle of Advil sat open beside him.

He didn’t even look up when he spoke. "Morning."

"Hey," you said, voice still rough with sleep.

He finally turned, holding out the coffee pot in offering. "Want some?"

You nodded instantly. "Please."

He poured you a mug and slid it across the counter. "Out of cream and sugar. Sorry."

You took a sip anyway, wincing slightly. "It's fine."

Sebastian smirked faintly, popping two Advil and chasing them down with his own coffee.

You leaned against the counter beside him, both of you still moving in that sluggish, early morning way.

"So," you said, glancing over at him. "On a scale from one to fuck my life, how bad is your hangover?"

He exhaled through his nose. "Somewhere between ‘I hate light’ and ‘never trusting Abby’s drink recommendations again.’"

You snorted into your mug. "To be fair, she thought the Long Islands had actual tea in them. I think Sam was the one who started it anyway."

Sebastian gave you a long look, then slowly shook his head. "That explains too much."

You both fell quiet for a few moments, the silence oddly comfortable. The faint hum of the fridge, the occasional clink of a spoon in the sink, the early warmth of sunlight creeping across the tile. It all felt calm, easy.

"She really did great last night, though," you said eventually.

Sebastian nodded. "She did."

Another beat of silence passed.

You smiled faintly. "...You like her?"

"Yeah," he said, eyes on his mug. "I do."

You were about to say something else when the shuffle of feet came from the hallway.

Abby appeared, wrapped like a burrito in a blanket, hair sticking up in all directions. She squinted against the light, looking like a ghost resurrected too soon.

"Morning, sleeping beauty," Sebastian smirked.

She groaned in response, trudging past both of you to collapse at the table. "I’m never drinking again."

You grinned over your mug. "You said that last time."

Abby’s head hit the table with a soft thud. "This time I mean it."

Sebastian arched an eyebrow. "You said that last time too."

"Shut up," she mumbled into the wood.

You and Sebastian exchanged an amused look before he poured her a mug and set it in front of her. She peeked up at it like it might bite, then wrapped her hands around it with a tiny, pitiful sound.

After a long sip and a heavy sigh, she squinted at you. "You’re too happy. Why aren’t you dying?"

You shrugged. "Hydration?"

Sebastian snorted. "Or, you know, not drinking six rounds of rocket fuel."

Abby pointed a weak finger at him. "You let me."

"I physically couldn’t stop you," he said. "You’re like a drunk tornado."

She grinned despite herself, curling tighter into her blanket. "I'm a fun drunk."

"Sure," he said dryly, "if that helps."

You laughed quietly, sipping your coffee. The morning sunlight had crept higher now, catching the steam rising from the mugs, painting everything gold and a little too warm.

Abby hummed softly, the edges of her hangover fading for the moment. "Sam alive?"

Sebastian shrugged. "Haven’t heard from him yet. If he’s smart, he’ll stay unconscious another hour."

You hid a smile behind your mug, remembering the way he’d said your name last night before you’d shut his door.

"Yeah," you said quietly, "probably for the best."

Abby’s phone buzzed against the table, the sharp trill making her flinch so hard her coffee nearly sloshed over the rim.

"Yoba, ow," she muttered, fumbling for it under her blanket, "Who the fuck is texting me?"

You chuckled softly, setting your own mug down as you plugged your phone into the charger on the counter. The screen stayed black for a moment, dead as you’d left it last night.

Abby squinted at her phone, scrolling with exaggerated care. "Oh, it’s from Haley," she said, voice still hoarse. "She sent over the pics and videos from last night."

Sebastian perked up slightly, leaning a hip against the counter. "Already?"

"She’s insane," Abby said fondly, scrolling faster now. "Come here, both of you. She got everything—like everything."

You and Sebastian moved around the table, peering at the tiny glowing screen. The photos were surprisingly good despite the mayhem of the Stardrop. Sharp angles, soft lighting, that electric motion only Haley could capture. Sam on vocals, hair falling into his eyes. Sebastian caught mid riff, all focus and shadow. Abby, wild and alive behind the drums.

"She nailed it," you murmured, smiling.

Abby grinned, even as she winced at the noise of her own excitement. "Right? These look so good! And she got videos of us playing our songs, not just the covers." She paused, eyes widening a little. "Oh fuck. That means we can actually send this in for the comp."

Sebastian nodded, a small approving smirk crossing his face. "Shit. We might actually have a shot."

Abby clutched the phone to her chest, swaying slightly in her blanket cocoon. "Okay, okay, as soon as I stop feeling like roadkill, I’m sending this in. I swear. We’re actually doing this."

Your phone buzzed to life on the counter, the screen lighting up with notifications. Messages. Missed calls. A text from Haley.

You unplugged it and thumbed it open, scrolling through the gallery she’d sent you. Most were the same: bright flashes of the band, the crowd, the lights - but one made you stop.

It was you.

You, standing near the front of the stage, head tilted up toward Sam as he sang. He wasn’t looking at the crowd; he was looking right at you.

Something soft and involuntary tugged at your chest.

A smile slipped across your lips before you could stop it.

"She send you stuff too?" Sebastian’s voice came from just over your shoulder, quiet but curious.

You startled slightly, angling your phone away. "Not really," you said quickly, locking the screen before he could catch a glimpse. You turned to face him, forcing an easy grin. "Just the same stuff she sent Ab. I’m gonna, uh, grab a quick shower."

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, sipping his coffee. "Towels are in the cabinet. Hot water takes a minute."

"Thanks," you said, snagging your overnight bag from beside the couch.

The bathroom was dim and still, a thin beam of sunlight slipping in through the narrow window. You set your bag on the counter and leaned against the sink, exhaling.

Your phone buzzed again.

You unlocked it, thumb hovering over the photo. The image filled the screen: Sam mid song, mouth open just slightly, that raw, unguarded look in his eyes as he sang. He looked so hot. You were turned toward him, a smile caught in the lights.

You traced the edge of the photo with your thumb, feeling that flutter in your chest again. The one you kept pretending not to feel.

It wasn’t just a good shot. It was a moment.

And from the way he was looking at you—

You swallowed, setting the phone face down on the counter.

The pipes rattled as you turned on the shower, steam beginning to fill the room.

Maybe it was just the show. The adrenaline. The timing.

But as you stepped under the spray, warm water cutting through the quiet, you couldn’t help thinking about the way he’d said your name last night. Soft, and half a whisper. 

~

After the much needed shower, you threw on some sweats. Thanking yourself for packing comfy clothes.

The bathroom door swung open just as you reached for the handle, only to nearly bump into someone standing on the other side.

You froze. So did he.

Sam blinked at you, hair sticking up in every direction, eyes squinting against the light like it was his mortal enemy. He looked like death warmed over.

"Uh," he croaked, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry. I—uh—needed to—"

You held up a hand, trying not to laugh. "It’s fine. I’m done."

Relief washed over his face like you’d just told him Yoba himself was handing out free hangover cures. "Thank fuck."

You stepped aside, and he shuffled past you into the bathroom, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

"You want some water?"

He nodded and you shut the door gently behind him. You tossed your overnight bag onto the couch before heading for the kitchen.

Sebastian was gone - probably already dealing with their gear - and the apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the fridge. You grabbed a water bottle and the Advil from the counter, shaking two tablets into your hand.

Before you could knock, you heard it.

The unmistakable, awful sound of retching.

"Sam?" you called, frowning.

A beat. Then, weakly, "I’m good! I’m—uh—just.. leave it outside."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, sure."

You cracked the door open anyway.

He was kneeling over the toilet, one hand gripping the edge, the other braced on the floor. His shoulders were tense, his face pale. You didn’t think twice, you crossed the tile and knelt beside him, placing a steady hand between his shoulder blades.

"Easy," you murmured. "Just breathe."

He didn’t argue, just stayed there while another wave hit. You rubbed slow circles on his back, wincing in sympathy. When it finally passed, he leaned his forehead against his arm, breathing raggedly.

"Holy shit," he muttered hoarsely. "I’m never drinking again."

You smiled softly. "That’s what Abby said, too."

That earned a weak laugh. He looked up at you through half lidded eyes, flushed and exhausted. "You didn’t have to—uh—see that."

"Yeah, well, I wasn’t gonna leave you to die in here," you said lightly. You picked up the water bottle and pressed it into his hand. "Drink. Small sips."

He nodded, obeying without protest.

Once the color started to come back to his face, you leaned back on your heels. "You should probably brush your teeth before you try to talk to anyone again."

He groaned but nodded again, too drained to argue.

"Thanks," he mumbled, still not looking up.

You smiled. "And shower too while you're at it."

"Asshole."

"You're welcome," You patted his back again and let out a small laugh.

You got to your feet, heading for the front door. Behind you, you heard him turn on the sink, and the sound of running water mixed with the faint, miserable sigh of someone realizing hangovers were real consequences.

You slid the door shut behind you, the humid morning air washing over your skin. Somewhere inside, the shower started running, Sam finally trying to scrub away the regret of last night.

Sebastian was out by the van, sleeves rolled up, hauling out amps and cables like he’d been born doing it. His hair fell into his face, and he moved with the quiet focus of someone with stubborn determination.

"Need help?" you asked, stepping down onto the cracked pavement.

He looked up briefly, squinting against the light. "Nah," he said, setting an amp on the ground with a thud. "You did enough last night. Appreciate the drive."

You crossed your arms, smirking. "So this is what your gratitude looks like? Refusing free labor?"

A small, tired grin tugged at his mouth. "Something like that."

You laughed softly and decided not to argue. He clearly had it handled.

Abby was sprawled across the porch steps, laptop balanced on her knees and sunglasses shielding her eyes from the morning sun. A blanket was wrapped loosely around her shoulders like she was hiding from the day itself.

When she spotted you, she brightened - or as much as someone with a hangover could. "Hey, sunshine," she croaked, patting the step beside her. "Get over here. I need your brain."

You climbed the steps and sat next to her, peeking at the screen. Rows of thumbnails filled the laptop, each one a frozen moment from the night before: the flash of stage lights, a blur of motion, the glow of adrenaline captured frame by frame.

"What are we doing?" you asked.

"Trying to pick the best clips for the contest submission," she said, scrolling through Haley’s uploads. "Haley sent like fifty videos, and my eyes are gonna melt if I watch another one alone."

You leaned in a little closer. "Remind me—what’s the deal with this contest again?"

Abby perked up slightly, her voice gaining some of that usual spark despite the rasp in it. "Okay, so, the Stardew Sound Competition. Any local band can enter, right? You send in a live performance video—something that shows you’ve got stage presence and actual talent, not just a garage recording. If they like what they see, they pick you to compete against like twenty other bands from the valley."

You nodded, following along as she clicked through the footage.

"And if you win," she continued, "you get a thousand gold and the chance to open for Boycott when they kick off their tour here in Zuzu. I think I told you that part."

That last part hung in the air, heavier than the rest.

"Yeah, opening for Boycott," you repeated, the weight of it sinking in. "That’s huge."

Abby grinned, the excitement breaking through her hangover haze. "Right? I mean, can you imagine? Playing in front of that crowd? It’d put us on the map."

You smiled, watching as another clip played: Abby pounding the drums like the world depended on it, Sam’s voice raw and powerful, Sebastian’s bass cutting through the noise.

"You deserve it," you said quietly.

Abby nudged you with her elbow. "We deserve it," she corrected. "You’re part of this mess whether you like it or not."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Right, can't forget about your number one fan."

"Exactly."

The sound of the shower shutting off filtered faintly through the window behind you. You both shared a look - amused, knowing - and turned your attention back to the screen as another video started to play.

Abby pointed at it. "Ooh, this one. I think this one’s the one."

You leaned forward, the morning sun warm against your face, as the screen flickered to life with the memory of last night’s freak show. The music, the lights, the laughter.

"Yeah," you murmured. "This one feels right."

Abby hit the submit button with a dramatic flourish, like she was sealing a sacred deal with destiny.

"Done," she said, leaning back and closing the laptop with a satisfied click. "We’re officially in."

You grinned, warmth blooming in your chest. "No turning back?"

"Nope," she said, eyes gleaming despite the exhaustion still clinging to her. "Now we just wait and pray to Yoba that they see how fucking awesome we are."

Before you could respond, the screen door creaked open behind you.

Sam stepped out, blinking blearily against the sunlight like a vampire seeing day for the first time. His hair was still damp from the shower, sticking up in every possible direction, and he had a half empty water bottle clutched like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

He squinted at you both. "Why is it soo bright out here?"

Abby snorted. "Because it’s the afternoon, genius."

"Feels personal," he grumbled, dropping down onto the porch step beside you. "Like the sun knows I’m hungover and decided to punish me."

"I'm not punishing you," you teased, nudging his arm.

He groaned, leaning his head back dramatically. "Not you. Shut up, you know what I mean."

"You're such a baby," you laughed.

"Uh huh," he muttered, "Okay, no more talking."

Out in the driveway, Sebastian was bent over the back of the van, hauling out another amp. He looked up just long enough to notice the three of you sitting comfortably on the porch like a bunch of useless spectators.

"Hey, Sam," he called, voice dry. "You wanna stop watching me unload your shit and maybe, I don’t know, help?"

Sam lifted his head weakly, clearly weighing the pros and cons of pretending not to hear. "I’m still in recovery, man."

Sebastian straightened, one brow raised. "From what? Waking up at 2pm?"

Abby snickered. "You should probably help him before he kills you."

Sam pointed at his water bottle with fake seriousness. "Hydration is key to survival. If I don't drink this, I could die."

Sebastian just sighed and turned back to the van. "Dick."

Abby, sensing his patience wearing thin, smirked and leaned toward Sam. "Tell you what," she said, voice sugary sweet. "Either you go help him, or I’m going to have to take your guitar home with us."

That got his attention immediately. He blinked at her, affronted. "You won't."

"Try me. It's in my van."

For a long, tense moment, Sam stared at her like she’d just threatened his firstborn child. Then, with an exaggerated groan, he pushed himself to his feet. "Fine, fine, I’m going."

You bit your lip to hide your smile as he trudged down the steps like a man heading to his doom.

Sebastian gave him a deadpan look when he finally joined him. "Glad you could make it."

"Don’t sound too excited," Sam muttered, already regretting every life choice that led him here.

Abby laughed, nudging you with her elbow. "I give him five minutes before he drops something."

You smirked, watching Sam stumble his way around a speaker cable. "You’re being generous."

The two of them bickered good-naturedly by the van, Abby leaned back on her hands with a satisfied sigh, and the morning sunlight stretched lazily across the porch.

When the last piece of equipment hit the floor with a dull thud, Sebastian stood there, hands on his hips, surveying the mess of cables and instrument cases littering the small living room. Sam, meanwhile, had collapsed onto the nearest chair, muttering something about worker’s comp.

Abby shut her laptop with a click and stood, stretching with a groan. "Well, my job here’s done. Guess I’ll let you boys bask in your domestic glory."

Sebastian shot her a tired smirk. "Try not to crash the van on your way home."

"Funny," she said, brushing past him as she grabbed her keys.

You waved to both of them. "See you guys later. Text me when you hear anything about the contest."

Sam gave a tired smile, still half sprawled in the chair. "Yes ma'am"

Sebastian just gave a small nod, already reaching to untangle a bundle of cords on the floor.

You and Abby climbed into her van, the doors creaking like old bones. The engine coughed once before sputtering to life, and soon you were back on the road. Windows down, the smell of dust and sunlight filling the cab.

For a while, it was quiet. Abby hummed softly under her breath, sunglasses perched on her nose, one hand lazily draped over the steering wheel. She looked happy. Lighter than she had in weeks, despite the lingering hangover.

You waited until you were a few blocks away before dropping the line casually. "So.. Sebastian told me he likes you."

The reaction was immediate. Abby’s foot slammed on the brake, the van jerking hard enough that your seatbelt locked.

"WHAT?" she blurted, whipping her head toward you.

You were laughing before she even finished the word. "Yoba- Abby!"

"No fucking way," she said, eyes wide behind her sunglasses. "You’re lying."

"I swear I’m not." You tried to sound serious, but the grin breaking across your face made it impossible. "You should’ve seen his face when you passed out last night, too. He was so gentle with you. Totally smitten."

Abby leaned back in her seat, processing. For a moment she was quiet, then the biggest smile spread across her face. "Holy shit."

You raised an eyebrow. "This is.. good news. Right?"

She shook her head quickly, cheeks flushing pink. "Are you kidding? This is the best news I’ve had in months!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Good."

She reached over and smacked your arm lightly. "You could’ve told me sooner!"

"Bro, he literally just told me this morning. I wanted to see if you’d survive the hangover first," you teased.

Abby giggled, gripping the steering wheel tighter as she pulled back onto the road. Her grin didn’t fade the entire drive home.

You leaned your head against the window, the sunlight flickering through the buildings as the van rumbled along. Abby was humming again. Off-key, happy.

Chapter 18: Sugarcoated

It had been a week since Abby sent off Goblin Destroyer’s submission for the Stardew Sound Competition.

Seven LONG days of absolute, deafening silence.

No calls, no emails, no "congratulations, you’re in!" Just.. nothing.

You could tell it was starting to weigh on them.

Abby had gone quiet in the group chat, her usual strings of chaotic memes replaced with halfhearted thumbs-up reactions. She was barely leaving her room. Sam had been spending every spare hour in the practice room, playing the same riffs over and over until his fingertips were raw. And Sebastian... well, Sebastian had simply withdrawn. His texts clipped and his sarcasm duller than usual.

They tried not to show it, but you could feel the disappointment hanging between them, heavy and unspoken.

So, you decided to do something about it.

It started as a thought- one of those idle, half-baked ideas that takes root when you’re supposed to be paying attention. You were sitting in Principles of Botany, the warm hum of Professor Rasmodius’s voice drifting through the lecture hall, something about spore dispersal and mycorrhizal networks.

You weren’t listening.

Instead, you were staring at the edge of your notebook, doodling little treble clefs in the margins and wondering what each of them would like if you baked something. Cookies? Brownies? Muffins?

The thought made you smile. It wasn’t much, but maybe it’d make them feel a little better.

You didn’t want to ask, though. That would ruin the surprise.

Next to you, Haley was twirling a strand of her golden hair around her pen, pretending to take notes while scrolling her phone under the desk. Penny sat on your other side, perfectly upright, her handwriting neat and deliberate as she filled a page with color coded notes.

You hadn’t spoken to her in weeks.

She hadn’t spoken to you, either. Not since everything with Sam had gotten.. complicated.

Now, she acted like you didn’t exist.

That was fine. You didn’t care what she thought of you or of your situationship. It’s not like she could claim someone who clearly didn’t want her.

You drew another little heart in your notebook margin just to spite the thought, then underlined it.

You secretly hoped she'd notice.

When Rasmodius finally dismissed the class, the room exploded into motion. Chairs scraping, papers rustling, the smell of chalk and coffee lingering in the air. You shoved your notebook into your bag and turned to Haley, who was already standing and stretching dramatically.

"Hey," you said, "random question."

She arched a perfect eyebrow. "What's up?"

"Do you happen to know what Sam, Sebastian, and Abby’s favorite desserts are?"

Haley blinked, then grinned, clearly delighted by the subject. "Ooh, planning something?"

"Kind of," you said, smiling. "But don’t tell them. It’s supposed to be a surprise."

She leaned in conspiratorially. "Okay, let’s see.. Sam’s easy. He’s obsessed with those maple bars they have at the Queen’s Dining Hall. Like, I swear, the man would fistfight a freshman over the last one."

You snorted. "I wouldn't doubt it."

"Abby’s even easier," Haley continued. "She’s basically in love with Leah’s blackberry cobbler. Every time Leah brings one to girls night, Abby eats half of it and then complains about her stomach hurting. It’s a cycle."

You nodded, mentally jotting it down. "Okay, that’s two. What about Sebastian?"

Haley made a face. "Don’t bother with sweets for him. He hates them."

You frowned. "What, like all sweets?"

"Never seen him eat any," she said with absolute certainty. "You want to do something nice for him, get his mom to send over her pumpkin soup. Freshman year he lived off that shit."

You blinked at her. "How the fuck am I supposed to talk to his mom?"

Haley laughed, already slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Oh, that’s the fun part. She’s married to one of the chemistry professors here. I see them all the time at that Italian place down the block—Bella Mia or whatever. Just go around lunchtime; she’ll probably be there. Look for someone that looks like Seb in a red wig."

You stared at her, halfway between horrified and impressed. "You just.. know this?"

She shrugged, smiling smugly. "I know everything."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. "Of course you do."

As you both stepped out into the afternoon light, you could already feel the plan forming in your mind. Sticky maple bars, blackberry cobbler, and somehow, a jar of pumpkin soup.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t even that much work.

But for them?

Yeah. It’d be worth every minute.

You sat down on one of the benches outside the science building, waving goodbye to Haley as she disappeared down the path, her blonde hair catching the sunlight. The crisp autumn air bit faintly at your cheeks, and the smell of fallen leaves mingled with the distant scent of cinnamon from the campus café.

You pulled out your phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe and opening your messages. Leah’s contact sat near the top.

You typed fast before you could second guess yourself.

Leah 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

You: any chance you’d be willing to share your blackberry cobbler recipe? abby’s obsessed and i wanna surprise her.

It only took a minute for the typing bubbles to appear.

Leah 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

Leah: I’m afraid that recipe’s a secret 🥀

Leah: How about I make it for you instead? Just pick it up later 

You: deal. what do i owe you?

Leah: That bad boy goes for about 390G. 😏

You snorted out loud, earning a confused glance from a passing student.

Leah 𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

You: guess i’ll have to take out a loan then 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Leah: For you, it's free :)

Leah: Swing by around 3. I'll text you the address

A second later, your phone buzzed again with a pin drop - she actually didn't live that far from you and Abby. Perfect.

You leaned back against the bench, grinning at your phone. One item off the list.

Now that Abby’s cobbler was handled, you checked the time. 11:07 a.m. Perfect.

You still had a few hours before the pick-up, which meant plenty of time to tackle Sam’s maple bars... and the part of the plan that was either genius or deeply stupid: stalking Sebastian’s mom.

You opened your browser and typed, maple bar recipe, scrolling through a dozen options before landing on one that looked promising. It had the right kind of golden brown shine, soft center, and that sugary glaze Sam apparently worshiped at the dining hall. You saved the link and took a quick screenshot of the ingredient list.

Yeast, milk, butter, brown sugar...
You could already smell it in your mind - sweet, warm, sticky. Exactly the kind of thing that might actually make him smile.

Satisfied, you locked your phone and got to your feet, the bench creaking slightly as you stood.

Your car was parked at the far end of the lot. Your poor, beat up little sedan that rattled every time you hit forty. The paint had faded to a dull gray, and one of the hubcaps was still missing from when you’d "gently" bumped into a trash can last semester.

Still, she started every time. That was all that mattered.

You slung your bag over your shoulder and started walking, the gravel crunching under your boots. The sun was high, the breeze cool, and you couldn’t help the small, mischievous smile tugging at your lips.

~

You parked outside Bella Mia, your engine sputtering once before cutting off completely. For a minute, you just sat there, hands gripping the steering wheel, tapping your thumbs against the worn leather.

This is so stupid, you thought. Who just—shows up to spy on someone’s mom like this?

The midday rush hummed around you. Clinking silverware from the patio, low chatter, the faint hiss of espresso machines. You craned your neck toward the outdoor seating area, scanning faces one by one.

It didn’t take long to spot her.

A woman sat near the railing, sunlight catching on a shock of bright red hair. She looked exactly like Haley’s description- Sebastian in a red wig, down to the same sharp jawline and resting scowl that softened every few seconds when she smiled. Across from her sat a tall man with a buzzcut and an expensive looking watch, gesturing stiffly as he spoke. He didn’t look particularly friendly.

You instantly thanked yourself for never having to take chemistry.

You took a deep breath, muttering under it, "Okay. Just.. be normal."

You got out of the car before you could lose your nerve.

The gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you crossed the parking lot, heart thumping a little too fast. Every instinct screamed don’t interrupt, but Sebastian's mom didn’t look thrilled with the conversation anyway. Her eyes kept drifting away from her companion, nodding politely at whatever lecture he was giving.

With a rush of stupid determination, you strolled up to the table. "Um—excuse me? Sorry to bother you, but.. are you Sebastian’s mom?"

The man immediately rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply. "Oh, for Yoba’s sake—"

She turned toward you with polite surprise that quickly softened into warmth. "I am! And you are?"

You ignored the man’s attitude and smiled. "I’m Sunny. I’m, uh, friends with Sebastian and the rest of the band."

Her expression brightened instantly. "Oh, you’re one of the band friends! He’s mentioned you before."

You blinked. He what?

Before you could unpack that, she gestured to the man. "I'm Robin, this is Demetrius—my husband."

He gave a curt nod, clearly done with being here.

"Hi," you said, forcing politeness. Then, sheepishly, "Sorry if this sounds weird, but I was actually hoping you could help me with something."

Robin tilted her head. "Oh?"

"I wanted to make Sebastian some of your pumpkin soup. I heard it’s his favorite—and I thought it might cheer him up. The whole band’s been kind of down lately."

Her expression melted into something soft and touched. "That’s so sweet of you. Is he okay?"

Before you could answer, Demetrius muttered, "What the hell does he have to be sad about?"

Robin’s head snapped toward him so fast you almost stepped back. "Demetrius." Just one word, firm and sharp enough to silence him instantly.

You blinked. Damn.

Turning back to you, she sighed. "Ignore him. Is Sebastian okay?"

You offered a quick, nervous laugh. "It’s nothing huge—just nerves, I think. They sent off their submission for the Stardew Sound Competition last week and haven’t heard back yet. I thought something homemade might help take their minds off it."

Robin’s smile returned, this time softer, more maternal. "That’s incredibly kind of you." She reached into her purse, pulled out a pen, and snagged a napkin from the table. Her handwriting was quick but neat, looping elegantly as she jotted down the recipe.

"There," she said, handing it over. "That’s my pumpkin soup. Don’t tell him I gave it to you—he’ll think I’m embarrassing him again."

You folded the napkin carefully, tucking it into your bag like it was treasure. "Thank you. Really. And sorry for interrupting your lunch."

Robin waved you off with a bright grin. "You didn’t interrupt anything worth saving."

Demetrius exhaled sharply through his nose.

If Elliot was here he'd be having a field day.

You smiled awkwardly. "Right. Well, uh—thanks again."

She nodded. "Thank you for being kind to my son."

That caught you off guard. You blinked, then smiled softly. "He deserves it."

With that, you turned back toward the parking lot, the napkin safe in your bag and your pulse finally beginning to slow.

As soon as you slid into the driver’s seat, you let out a long breath and laughed under your breath. "Okay... that could’ve gone way worse."

Now armed with both recipes, you turned the key in the ignition.

The engine sputtered, coughed, and roared reluctantly to life.

Next stop: Joja Mart for ingredients.

~

You wandered aimlessly through the sterile brightness of Joja Mart, your cart rattling unevenly with every push. The air smelled faintly of floor cleaner and artificial citrus, and the overhead lights buzzed just loud enough to be irritating.

You’d already lost count of how many aisles you’d been down. Every time you spotted something vaguely useful, you tossed it into the cart without checking the list. Flour. Brown sugar. Maple extract. Evaporated milk. A bundle of pumpkins..

Your brain was on autopilot, still replaying the lunch encounter with Robin and Demetrius, when a familiar voice - teasing, low, and dangerously recognizable - cut through the hum of background music.

"You following me?"

Oh, no.

You froze, the box of butter you’d just grabbed slipping from your hand and landing with a dull thud in the cart. Slowly, cautiously, you turned around.

And there he was.

Sam leaned casually against a mop like it was a prop in one of his ridiculous band photos, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. He was in a Joja janitor’s uniform - blue polo, name tag, the whole deal - and had his ever present headphones looped loosely around his neck. His hair looked even messier under the harsh fluorescent light. Somehow, that just made him look more unfairly good.

You blinked. "Sam! Hey! What are.. you doing here...?”

He grinned, eyes glinting. "Hanging out. I’m just a fan."

You snorted, looking him up and down. "A big fan, huh?"

He held up his name tag with mock pride. "Nah. I work here, genius."

You opened your mouth to argue, but laughter slipped out instead. You rolled your eyes. "Yeah. I got that, dick."

He leaned on the mop handle, head tilted, watching you. "So what’s all this?" He nodded toward your cart.

You felt your pulse stutter. The cart was full of obvious baking ingredients: sugar, flour, butter, syrup, a whole bottle of maple extract right on top.

"Grocery shopping," you said quickly, forcing a casual shrug. "Just—basic stuff."

"Uh huh." He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press it, thank Yoba. Either he hadn’t noticed or he just didn’t care enough to question it.

You smirked. "When’s your shift over?"

"Four," he said, spinning the mop idly. "But I go on break in, like, twenty minutes. You could hang out and bother me if you want."

There it was. The easy, effortless flirt that came so naturally to him. The way his tone dipped slightly, playful and just a little daring.

You matched it with a grin. "Tempting. But sadly, I’m busy today."

He clutched his chest in mock heartbreak. "So cold. You wound me."

"Don’t worry," you said, smirking as you nudged your cart forward, "you’ll live."

He stepped closer, enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne. "You sure about that? I might need some CPR."

Before you could answer, a gruff voice barked from behind him.

"Sam! Get back to work, I'm not doing all this shit by myself."

You glanced past him to see Shane, arms crossed, frown permanently etched onto his face. He was in the same uniform, looking about ten seconds away from smacking Sam with a mop handle.

Sam groaned dramatically. "Shut up, dude. You steal shit from here all the time. I can't talk to my girl for five minutes?"

Your heart dropped.

Shane muttered something under his breath, "Whatever," before stomping off toward the stockroom.

Sam turned back to you with a grin that was all trouble. "Guess that’s my cue. I’ll see you later?"

You gave him a small, teasing smile. "Your 'girl' ? Since when?"

He avoided eye contact with you. "It slipped out. I dunno. Don't make a big deal out of it."

Oh, you are so making a big deal out of it.

You crossed your arms. "Think I'd remember being asked to be 'your girl'. Last time I checked, I'm still single. Huh! Weird.."

"I know, I know, I know- oh my yoba, please stop talking." 

You watched a blush creep onto his cheeks from his bright red ears. 

You narrowed your eyes, smiling. "That's so cute. You're blushing."

"Never blushed in my life. I gotta go, see you later?"

"You might."

He pointed at you like he was making a deal. "Don’t make me chase you down."

"You wouldn’t dare."

"Oh, I absolutely would."

You laughed, shaking your head as he sauntered off, spinning the mop like a guitar.

Once he disappeared around the corner, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and turned your focus back to your cart. You grabbed the last few things you needed, tossed them in, and headed for the checkout.

The whole time, you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

Even if he was an idiot, he still managed to make your heart skip a beat.

~

After picking up the still-warm blackberry cobbler from Leah’s cozy little condo, you finally made it back to your apartment.

You nudged open the door with your hip, juggling the cobbler and two grocery bags, and stepped into the small but familiar space you shared with Abby. The blinds were half closed, the couch covered in a suspicious pile of laundry (probably hers), and the faint hum of the fridge filled the quiet.

You peeked into Abby’s room - empty. Perfect.

Setting everything down on the kitchen counter, you took a second to breathe, surveying the ingredients you’d assembled like a general before battle: flour, yeast, brown sugar, maple extract, butter, pumpkin, cream, spices. The works. Leah’s cobbler sat like a crown jewel off to the side, still glistening with syrupy blackberries.

You’d debated inviting the whole group, but honestly? That would’ve been a shit show. Tonight needed to be something smaller, something that felt more them. Just the band.

You pulled out your phone and opened the group chat:

Hooligans 🐹

You: hey losers

You: come to mine and abby's place at 7

You: dinner's on me

Sam: dinner???

Seb: is it edible

Abby: 👀

You: have some faith in me pls

Sam: idk u bought a scary amount of random shit today

Seb: food poisoning type shit

Abby: LMAOO

You: 7. don't be late. or early.

Yoba, you're never doing anything nice for them again.

You glanced at the clock: 3:40 p.m. - plenty of time.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves, and turned on some music. The kind of upbeat, indie nonsense that always played in The Stardrop on open mic nights.

The next few hours blurred into a half-frantic, half-serene rhythm.

You started with the maple bars, whisking the yeast and milk together while the sweet scent of sugar filled the small apartment. The dough came together in sticky handfuls, clinging to your fingers as you kneaded it against the counter. Every so often, you’d have to stop and dust more flour across the surface, humming softly to the music. The air grew warmer as the oven preheated, sunlight pouring through the window and catching flecks of flour floating like snow.

While the dough rose, you turned your attention to Robin’s pumpkin soup. Her recipe, still slightly crumpled from your bag, sat propped against the toaster. You followed it carefully. Sautéing the onions until they turned translucent, roasting the pumpkin with a drizzle of oil, blending it all with cream until it became a silky, golden swirl. The smell that filled the room was pure comfort: earthy, rich, a whisper of autumn and home.

By the time you started frying the maple bars, your phone timer was a constant companion, beeping every few minutes. The glaze came together in a glossy amber sheen, thick and fragrant with maple. You dipped the warm bars one by one, setting them out to cool on parchment like treasures.

The cobbler stayed untouched on the counter, waiting for its grand reveal.

By the time you looked up again, it was almost 6:30. The apartment smelled like a bakery in a dream - warm sugar, spice, and a hint of vanilla in the air. The sink was a war zone of mixing bowls and spoons, but everything else looked.. kind of perfect.

You cleaned yourself up. Washed the flour off your hands, changed into a soft sweater that didn’t smell like frying oil, and pulled your hair back again, a few loose strands framing your face. By the time you stepped out of your room, the apartment felt calm, the kitchen bathed in the soft amber light of the setting sun.

Then you froze.

Abby was standing in the middle of the kitchen, her jaw slack, eyes wide and glistening.

For a split second, panic surged in your chest. "Abby? Hey—are you okay?" You rushed toward her, but before you could say anything else, she turned to you, her voice small and trembling.

"You did this for us?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the wobble in her voice. Her eyes brimmed with tears, one spilling down her cheek as she looked around: the neatly arranged plates, the cobbler on the counter, the pumpkin soup still steaming gently in the pot.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around her before she could start apologizing for crying. "Of course I did," you murmured into her hair. "I just wanted to make you happy."

For a second, she was still - then she melted against you, arms tightening around your waist.

"This is... seriously the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me," she said, her voice breaking just a little.

You felt your chest squeeze, warmth blooming there that had nothing to do with the oven still cooling behind you. You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "I love you, Abs."

She gave a soft, watery laugh and wiped her cheek with her sleeve. "I love you too, idiot."

You both laughed, the sound easy and light now, the air between you sweet with the smell of sugar and pumpkin spice.

She glanced at the food again and groaned dramatically. "I want to eat everything right now, but we should wait for the boys, huh?"

You grinned. "They should be here soon,"

As if summoned, a knock came at the door. The muffled sound of Sam’s voice, "We brought beer! ...and Sebastian’s attitude."

Abby snorted. "My favorite combo."

You opened the door to find them both standing there, Sam grinning ear to ear and Sebastian looking mildly suspicious, like he expected this to be some kind of elaborate prank.

The second they saw the spread, though, both froze. Sam’s eyes widened. Sebastian blinked, eyebrows lifting for maybe the first time in recorded history.

"Holy shit," Sam breathed. "You did all this?"

Before you could respond, Abby crossed her arms, smirking through lingering tears. "Yeah. She did. Pretty amazing, huh?"

Sebastian gave a small, lopsided smile. "That’s... actually really cool."

Before you could brace yourself, Sam lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you in a bear hug. Sebastian joined a moment later, awkward but sincere, and Abby laughed as she squeezed in too.

Suddenly, you were caught in the middle of all three. Warm, breathless, slightly crushed - but smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

You tried to protest. "Okay—alright! Enough! You guys are gonna break me—"

Sam only squeezed tighter. "Too bad."

When they finally pulled back, you were laughing, eyes bright. "You’re all so mushy," you said, waving a hand toward the counter. "Now stop being emotional and eat before it gets cold."

Abby sniffled, smiling wide. "Yes, chef."

The four of you dug in. Maple glaze dripping, cobbler steaming, pumpkin soup warm and perfect. The laughter came easily, the mood light, and for a while, the world outside didn’t matter.

No competitions. No silence. No worries.

Chapter 19: Young Wicked

Another couple of days went by. Still nothing.

Just the same awful, dragging silence that had been hanging over everything like fog.

You could tell it was still eating at them, even if they didn’t say it out loud. Sam was a little quieter in the mornings, Abby’s laugh didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Sebastian seemed to have perfected the art of staring into space mid-conversation.

But after that dinner, they did seem lighter.
Less brittle.

You’d caught Sam actually smiling during practice the next day, mouthing stupid lyrics into his mic just to make Abby laugh. Sebastian had gone along with it, rolling his eyes but clearly hiding a grin behind his hair. It wasn’t perfect... there was still that undercurrent of waiting. At least they were living again.

It made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’d done something right.

With Spirit’s Eve right around the corner, the band finally had something to look forward to: a basement show booked for the night of the festival.

You and Sam were in town that afternoon, weaving through the cramped aisles of a vintage costume shop that smelled faintly of dust and cinnamon. Plastic bats hung from the ceiling, fake cobwebs draped over everything. The old pop station on the radio kept skipping between songs.

And now, your biggest problem wasn’t band-related anxiety.

It was Sam holding up a bright red devil costume and looking way too pleased with himself.

"Check it out, what about this one?" he asked, his tone dripping with mischief.

You stared at it. Then at him. Then back at it.
It was... a lot of red.

You blinked. "Samson. That’s not a costume. That’s lingerie with horns."

"Oh come onn," Sam groaned, practically begging. "You’d look so hot in this."

You gave him a flat look. "If I showed up to the party tonight wearing nothing but red dental floss and horns, I think I’d be arrested."

He laughed as you rolled your eyes and kept walking, pushing past a rack of plastic scythes and torn fishnets. The cart squeaked behind you as he followed like an annoying little shadow.

"I thought girls liked to dress like that for Spirit’s Eve," he said, pretending to sound innocent.

"Some do, I guess." You shrugged, flipping through a rack of black dresses that all looked like they were designed by someone who hated fabric.

"Ohhh," he said, dragging out the word. "I get it. You’re ‘not like the other girls,’ huh?"

You turned and shoved him in the shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make his grin widen. "No, jackass. There’s just a difference between looking hot and just being straight up naked."

"Fair," he said, rubbing his arm dramatically. "Still think you’d kill it in red, though."

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, glancing at the racks again. "I do wanna look hot, just not in a ‘getting-banned-from-campus’ kind of way. Don’t like any of these costumes so far, though..."

You paused, eyes flicking to him. "Devil’s not a bad idea, though. Why don’t you dress up as one?"

Sam perked up, grin already forming. "Only if you’ll be my angel."

You let out a short laugh. "You wish."

He leaned on the cart, smirking. "Wanna make a bet?"

You raised a brow. "A bet?"

"Yeah." He pointed at you like he was setting the terms of a very serious deal. "If you win, you get to wear whatever you want. But if I win.." He paused for effect, clearly enjoying himself. "You have to go as an angel. Wings, halo, the whole thing."

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "That sounds suspiciously like a win-win for you."

He shrugged. "Hey, I don’t make the rules."

"You literally just did."

He grinned wider. "So what do you say? You scared you’ll lose?"

You crossed your arms, biting back a smile. "Depends. What are we betting on?"

Sam tapped his fingers on the handle of the cart, clearly scheming. "We’ll settle it right now — parking lot race. First one to the car wins.”

You blinked. "A race? Are we twelve?"

He shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "If you're a slow runner just say that."

You narrowed your eyes. "You’re on."

Two minutes later, the both of you stood outside the shop, plastic bags rustling in the wind. The late October air bit at your cheeks. Sam stretched his arms dramatically like he was about to run a marathon.

"You know," you said, tying your jacket around your waist, "you’re about to lose and look so stupid."

"Oh yeah?" He grinned. "Say that again when you’re flapping your little angel wings at the party tonight."

"Keep dreaming, Lucifer."

"Don’t gotta dream when I’m about to win."

You both lined up by the crosswalk. "Ready?" you said, crouching slightly.

"Ready."

"Go!"

You sprinted. Sneakers slapping pavement, cold air in your lungs, and for a glorious moment you were ahead. Sam laughed behind you, trying to catch up, and you felt a flash of victory.

Until he cheated.

He cut across the curb, bolted diagonally through the lot, and slapped his hand against the side of his car a full second before you reached it.

He turned, panting, triumphant grin in place. "And that’s how it’s done."

"You cheated!" you shouted, half laughing, half winded.

"Uh, no. Technically, you didn’t specify how to run the race."

You threw your hands up. "That’s not fair."

He leaned against the car, grinning wide. "Life’s not fair, angel."

You glared, still catching your breath. "If I have to be an angel, I’m at least picking what kind."

Sam tilted his head, pretending to think. "What, like a Winter Star ornament or something?"

"What about.. a fallen angel?"

His grin faltered for just a moment. Not because he didn’t like it, but because he really liked it. "Yeah," he said, running a hand through his hair, trying to play it cool. "That's actually kinda fire."

"Good," you said, brushing past him to toss your bag into the car. "’Cause that’s what you’re getting."

He laughed, following after you. "Fallen angel and a devil. We'll make a pretty good pair, huh?"

You shot him a look over your shoulder. "Don’t get ahead of yourself,"

He smirked. "Too late."

~

You and Abby were getting ready in your apartment, the place an absolute mess of clothes, makeup, and guitar cables. Her witch hat was sitting crooked on the table next to an empty energy drink can, and your fallen angel wings were leaning against the couch like they were judging you.

Abby was sitting on the floor cross-legged, trying to draw eyeliner with her phone camera as a mirror. "If this smudges mid-show, I swear to god I’m quitting the band," she muttered.

"It'll be fine, just don't get plastered before you guys go on." You said, leaning against the counter, adjusting your halo.

She looked up at you, giving you that familiar half-laugh, half-groan. "I don’t know why I’m so nervous. It’s not even technically a show, we're playing for like thirty minutes at a party."

"Yeah, but it’s a Spirit’s Eve frat party," you said. "Which automatically makes it cursed."

That got a laugh out of her. "True. The last time we played one of those, some guy threw up in the kick drum."

"See? You’re already starting from a low bar. Whatever happens tonight, it’ll still be an upgrade."

She leaned back on her hands, looking up at the ceiling. "You know, you’re right. I just—" she hesitated, tapping the eyeliner pen against her knee. "I want it to go well. Especially with the new song."

"It will," you said simply.

She nodded, but her shoulders stayed tense. "Yeah. It’s just... a lot’s been changing lately. With the band. With Seb."

You glanced over. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She smiled faintly, not looking at you. "It’s good though. He’s—different lately. Softer, I guess. I didn’t think he knew how to be soft."

You snorted. "You're so down bad."

"Fuck off!" She laughed, the tension easing for a second. "Real talk though, it’s like.. I don’t know. We actually talk about stuff. He’s still awkward as hell, but it’s nice. I didn’t expect to actually like him this much."

You smiled, pulling your jacket on. "So it's official then?"

She groaned. "Don’t start. I’m trying not to jinx it."

"I’m not jinxing anything. I’m just saying, you two seem good together. Balance each other out. He broods, you keep him from disappearing into a cloud of vape smoke."

That made her laugh again — a real one this time. "That’s probably the most accurate description of us ever."

She stood, slipping on her boots. "I just don’t wanna make it weird for the band if it goes south, you know?"

You picked up your keys from the counter and tossed them to her. "Then don’t let it go south."

She caught them, smiling. "Easier said than done."

You shrugged, grabbing your bag. "Shit like that should be easy if you like each other." 

Abby looked at you, exhaled, and nodded. "Yeah. You’re right."

"Always am."

"Shut up."

You both laughed as you headed out the door, her witch hat slightly askew and your wings bumping into the doorframe.

"Yoba, we look ridiculous," she said, locking up behind you.

"I think you mean ridiculously hot," you grinned.

She laughed as you both climbed into her van. "Let’s go get the boys."

The drive over was quick. The music low, the windows cracked just enough to let in the cold autumn air. You and Abby were still laughing about whether or not her hat would survive the night when you turned onto Sam and Sebastian’s street.

Sure enough, they were already outside waiting.
Their gear was piled neatly by the curb: amps, cables, drumsticks poking out of a tote bag that looked one bad decision away from ripping open.

Sebastian was leaning against the railing, mask already in place. A classic Ghost Face look, black cloak, the lazy stance, the cigarette dangling from his hand. He looked more like he’d wandered off a horror movie set than was headed to a college party.

Sam, on the other hand, was impossible to miss.
Red horns, red shirt, an unbuttoned leather jacket, fake fangs he was clearly too proud of. He looked exactly like someone who’d spent way too long getting ready to look like he hadn’t tried at all.

As soon as you and Abby hopped out of the van, Sam grinned - wide and cocky - eyes sweeping over your costume from the black wings to the halo tilted just slightly off center.

"Did it hurt?" he said immediately.

You groaned, not even looking at him. "Don’t."

He ignored you completely, grin widening as he leaned on one of the amps. "When you fell from heaven?"

Sebastian let out the driest sigh imaginable from behind his mask. "I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that."

"Yeah, same," Abby said, already walking past to start loading gear into the van. "Samson, grab your amp before I curse you."

Sam laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender before turning back to you. "Couldn't help myself."

You raised a brow. "Bet you're proud of that one."

He smirked, fangs catching the light. "I can do better," He flicked your wings as he walked past you. "Cute wings, by the way."

Sebastian picked up his bass case and muttered, "If I have to listen to one more of these interactions, I might actually become a slasher."

"We get it, Sunny looks hot." Abby shot back, slamming the van door open. "Now shut up and load your stuff before the neighbors call the cops again."

Sam smiled at you once more before grabbing his amp and hauling it into the back of the van. "Yes, ma’am."

You shook your head, fighting a smile as you followed to help.

Abby met your eyes as you passed, her grin sharp. "Told you he’d flirt in character."

"He's lucky he's cute," you muttered, tossing a cable bag into the back.

~

By the time you got to Alex’s frat, the place was already a zoo.

The front lawn was packed. Students everywhere, spilling out onto the sidewalk in costumes that ranged from clever to questionable. Fake blood, bunny ears, cheap plastic armor. Music pulsed from inside the house, bass shaking the porch lights. The smell of beer, sweat, and weed hung in the air.

"Holy shit," Sam muttered, adjusting his seatbelt. "This is insane."

Abby leaned forward over the steering wheel, trying to find a place to park. "Is the whole fucking school here?"

"Looks like it," Sebastian said from the backseat, "Feels like a fire hazard waiting to happen."

"Perfect vibe for Goblin Destroyer," Abby grinned, spotting an opening behind the house. She threw the van into park, killed the engine, and turned around. "Alright, boys. Let’s haul this nightmare in."

You all piled out, the air immediately colder away from the heat of the crowd. The music was still loud, though, even from the back lot. Abby popped open the doors, and the mountain of gear inside seemed to double in size now that it needed carrying.

"Where the hell is Alex?" Sam asked, scanning the yard. "He was supposed to have people here to help."

Abby shrugged, pulling her hat lower over her eyes. "Knowing him, he’s either drunk already or passed out in a bush somewhere."

You were about to respond when a familiar voice called out, "Hey!"

You turned to see Elliott and Harvey sitting on the patio steps. Elliott dressed in a pirate coat with fake gold trim, Harvey in a bomber jacket and aviator sunglasses that looked way too legit to be a costume.

"Hey guy!" you waved.

Elliott grinned, standing up and brushing off his pants. "Need a hand?"

"Please," Abby said immediately. "That would be a big help."

Sam shot her a glare.

"What? You wanna take this all in yourself?" she replied, already heading toward the van.

Elliott followed after her, while Harvey fell into step beside you.

"Fallen angel, huh?" he said, smiling. "That’s.. fitting."

You laughed lightly. "That’s what everyone keeps saying tonight."

He adjusted his jacket, his tone softening just a little. "You look great, though. You really pull it off."

You glanced over, caught off guard but smiling back. "Thanks, Harvey. You don’t look too bad yourself, Top Gun."

He chuckled. "You know, I actually—"

Suddenly, Sam was right there.

His hand brushed against the small of your back. Just a light touch, casual on the surface, but firm enough to make you feel it. The kind of touch that said more than words ever could.

He didn’t look at Harvey. Didn’t say a word. Just kept walking beside you, expression unreadable, jaw tight.

Harvey hesitated mid-sentence, coughed, and fell silent. He gave a polite nod, then sped up a little to catch up with Elliott and Abby ahead.

You glanced up at Sam, but he kept his eyes forward, grip tightening briefly before he dropped his hand and shoved it into his pocket.

You didn’t say anything either. The air between you felt heavier than the amp cables you were carrying.

You just walked side by side toward the van, boots crunching on gravel, the muffled thump of the party still shaking the ground.

Behind you, Sebastian muttered, "Damn, dude."

Sam stopped walking and turned halfway toward Sebastian, brows pulling together. “What?”

Sebastian shrugged, "I’m just saying, man. That was kinda fucked up. Harvey’s nice."

Sam scoffed under his breath, looking away. "Whatever." He started walking again, faster this time, boots scuffing against the gravel.

Sebastian let out a low whistle. "Real mature, bro."

"Drop it," Sam said without looking back. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. That tight, brittle tone that meant don’t push me right now.

Abby shot you a quick glance over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised, but didn’t say anything. The tension was obvious, humming in the air like feedback before a mic scream.

You just kept walking, eyes on the van, pretending to adjust your wings even though they didn’t need it.

No one spoke again until you reached it. The only sounds were footsteps, shifting gear, and the faint rumble of bass from the house.

When you finally reached the back doors, Abby clapped her hands once, forcing a light tone. "Let’s get this shit inside before we all freeze to death."

Everyone jumped into motion. Grateful, maybe, for the distraction.

Sam kept his distance, hauling the heavier stuff without a word. You caught yourself watching him once or twice - the way his jaw stayed tight, the muscle ticking just slightly when he thought no one was looking.

You wanted to say something.
You didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed a crate of cables and followed Abby toward the house, the laughter and chaos from the party spilling louder with every step.

It was going to be a long night.

Chapter 20: Killed By An Angel

The back door groaned as Abby pushed it open with her shoulder, letting in a rush of warm air and noise. The smell of beer, sweat, and too many pumpkin scented candles hit all at once. The kitchen lights flickered faintly under the bassline rumbling from the living room, and the counters were already a warzone of red cups, half-eaten chips, and questionable mystery liquids.

"My shoes are gonna be so sticky," Abby muttered, stepping over a spilled drink.

You followed close behind, wings brushing the doorframe again, clutching the crate of cables to your chest. The boys trailed after you, amps and instruments in hand, weaving through the bodies and laughter that filled every corner of the house.

They set up quick - practiced motions, quiet efficiency. The band knew this drill like second nature. The makeshift stage was tucked into the corner of the basement: a patchwork of rugs, tangled extension cords, and old Halloween lights flickering orange and purple.

You, Harvey, and Elliot helped where you could. Plugging in cables, untangling wires, passing drumsticks, trying not to get your wings caught on anything. The low hum of amps filled the space as the band checked sound, Abby’s voice echoing faintly in the mic, "Check, check — one, two— holy shit, that feedback’s gonna kill someone."

Sebastian adjusted a dial. "Fixed it."

"What would I do without you?" Abby said with a grin.

He gave a lazy grin.

Sam, meanwhile, stood at his mic, head tilted, tuning his guitar. He hadn’t said much since the parking lot. Every now and then you caught him glancing your way.. not directly, but just enough to notice. When your eyes met once, he looked away fast.

The tension sat there like static.

When everything was set, you had a small window before they went on. Abby stretched her arms over her head and nodded toward the stairs. "Drink time. Let’s find Alex before he sets something on fire."

"Might be too late for that," Sebastian muttered, coiling a spare cable.

You all headed upstairs, the thump of the bass from the living room shaking under your boots. The air was thick, humid from too many people and too little ventilation. Someone had rigged a strobe light in the hallway, and it flashed lazily as you passed. Catching faces mid-laugh, fake blood gleaming under the brief flashes.

The kitchen was just as bad as expected.

A sea of costumes - zombies, vampires, a guy wearing only a bedsheet toga. The counter was buried in bottles, mixers, and melting ice. And right in the center of it all, leaning dramatically against the fridge with a red Solo cup in each hand, was Alex dressed as an undead gridball player. Shocker!

"THERE they are!" he yelled when he spotted you. "My fucking guys!"

"Hey, bud," Abby said, stepping around a passed out fairy on the floor. "You sober enough to remember we’re supposed to play soon?"

Alex squinted at her, one cup halfway to his mouth. "Define.. sob..er."

Sebastian sighed. "He’s gone."

"So gone," Sam agreed, grabbing a cup from the counter.

You smirked. "Were you guys expecting him to be anything less?"

Alex staggered toward you, arms wide. "Sunny!"

You took an instinctive step back. "Alex, don’t—"

Too late. He bear hugged you anyway, nearly knocking your halo askew. "You look sooo good! I hope it didn't hurt-"

You laughed, trying to steady both of you. "When I fell from heaven? Yeah, thanks Alex."

He gave a dramatic effort to stand by himself again, then immediately got distracted by someone dressed as medusa and wandered off shouting, "Turn me into stone right now, you won't!"

Abby leaned on the counter, shaking her head. "We’re playing in like forty minutes. He’s gonna forget his own name by then."

"That’s assuming he remembers we’re even here," Sebastian said.

Sam took a long sip from his cup, eyes on the crowd, voice low. "He’ll remember when the amps start shaking his floors."

You glanced at him. His devil horns had started to slip sideways, the plastic catching the light. He still hadn’t looked at you properly since the Harvey thing. You could feel the distance even in a crowded room. The kind that pressed against your ribs and made every word feel heavier than it should.

Abby, sensing the weird energy, clapped her hands. "Alright. Drinks before the fun starts." She poured shots of something dangerously red from a bottle that smelled like fire and sugar.

"To Spirit’s Eve!" she said, raising hers.

You clinked glasses with the others. Sam hesitated, then met your eyes - just for a beat - before knocking his back in one go.

The burn hit your throat hard.

"Yoba," you coughed. "What the hell is that?"

"Why did we do that, oh my yoba," Abby gagged. "Bad idea."

Laughter broke out, easy and loud. For a second, it felt normal again.

As the group scattered you found yourself next to Sam again, both of you half leaning on the counter.

The air between you felt strange.

You stared at the condensation dripping down your cup before finally saying, quietly, "What was that earlier?"

He didn’t answer right away. Just rolled the cup between his palms, watching the ice swirl. "What do you mean?"

"Harvey," you said, keeping your tone level.

His jaw flexed. "Didn’t mean anything by it."

"It kinda felt like you did."

He looked at you then, properly. Eyes sharp, but not angry. More... conflicted. "He was flirting with you."

You blinked. "What? He was being nice. Why do you even care? It's not like we're dating."

Sam huffed a humorless laugh. "Yeah, nice. Sure." He looked away again, shaking his head. "Forget it."

"No, I won’t," you said, crossing your arms. "If something’s bothering you, just say it. Don’t pull this weird silent treatment shit."

His voice dropped, low enough that you almost had to lean closer to hear. "You have no idea what it’s like watching some guy look at you like that."

You hesitated. "Excuse me? You don't get to say shit like you own me when you don't."

He caught himself, exhaled hard through his nose, and looked toward the basement stairs. "You know what? You're right, we're not dating."

You opened your mouth, but he was already walking away, horns still slightly crooked, red jacket brushing past the doorframe.

"I'm gonna double check the levels before we start."

"Sam- I didn't mean it like that! Fuck!" You stared after him, pulse fluttering against your throat.

Abby appeared at your side a second later, her witch hat now missing and eyeliner slightly smudged. "What did I miss?"

"Nothing," you said, forcing a smile. 

She gave you a long, knowing look, then sighed. "You two are gonna kill me."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Don't worry about it, just focus on killing it tonight."

Downstairs, the crowd was already gathering near the basement door, voices rising with anticipation. The party’s energy was peaking, that restless, buzz before everything breaks loose.

You stood there for a second after Sam disappeared down the stairs, the noise of the party swallowing the space he’d left behind. The lights flickered again, flashes of red and orange cutting through the kitchen haze, and all you could think was I shouldn’t have said it like that.

You hadn’t meant to sound cold.. just honest. He didn’t own you, and he shouldn’t act like he did. But the words had come out sharper than you’d intended, and now he probably thought you didn’t want him at all.

You rubbed your thumb along the rim of your cup, the echo of his expression still playing on repeat in your head. That flash of hurt before he’d looked away.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath.

He didn’t deserve to go into a show feeling like that. Not with how much this night meant to him. Not with how much it meant to all of them.

You told yourself it needed to be said. You couldn’t just let him act jealous every time someone so much as smiled your way. You weren’t his. Not officially.
But gods, you wanted to be.
And that made everything worse.

You sighed, downed the rest of your drink, and decided the only thing you could do right now was not spiral. Sam needed space, and you needed a distraction.

"Wish me luck?" Abby said, giving your arm a quick squeeze before heading toward the basement.

You smiled faintly, bumping your fist against hers. "Always. Go make 'em scream."

She grinned. "That’s the plan."

When she disappeared down the stairs, you exhaled, shoulders sagging. The basement door closed behind her, muffling the buzz of tuning instruments and nervous laughter.

Time to find the girls.

You pushed through the kitchen, weaving around people dancing, drinking, shouting. The music was loud enough now that the floorboards thrummed under your boots. The living room was lit mostly by strings of orange lights and the occasional fake flame from the mantle.

You spotted them instantly - Haley, Leah, Emily, and Sandy - all crowded near the couch with drinks in hand, laughing like they owned the place.

Haley saw you first and waved, her fake blood-smeared prom dress catching the light. "My angel!"

You smiled, heading over. "Hey, Carrie."

She gave a dramatic twirl, nearly sloshing her drink. "Do I look traumatized enough?"

"You look like you drowned in a punch bowl."

"I'll take it," she grinned.

Leah leaned over from the arm of the couch, her elf ears poking through her hair. "You look great, Sunny. Seriously. The wings are killer."

"Thanks," you said, tugging self-consciously at one of them. "They’ve hit like five doorframes already."

Emily, who was dressed in a matching ghost bride outfit with Sandy - full veils, lace gloves, the whole thing - handed you a cup. "Here. Drink. You look like you need it."

You laughed. "That obvious?"

Sandy smiled knowingly. "You’ve got that look."

"What look?"

"The ‘my situationship said something stupid and now I don’t know if I wanna punch him or kiss him’ look," Emily said, raising her brow.

Haley gasped, "Sam? "

You groaned, covering your face with your hand. "How do you people always know?"

"Because," Haley said, smug, "you only look that stressed when he’s involved."

Leah snorted into her cup. "Typical musician shit."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. "It’s not like that."

"Oh, it’s definitely like that," Emily said. "Spill."

You hesitated, eyes flicking toward the floor. "We just... had a thing. Not a fight, exactly. Just—" You exhaled, trying to find the right words. "He got weird about Harvey talking to me earlier. And then I said something I shouldn’t have."

"What’d you say?" Sandy asked gently.

"That he doesn’t get to act like he owns me when we’re not dating."

"Oof." Haley winced. "Yeah, that’ll do it."

You slumped onto the couch beside Leah. "I didn’t mean it to sound like that, though. I just—"

"Needed to make your point," Leah finished for you.

"Exactly."

The group exchanged glances. Sympathetic, but amused. Haley gave a mock sigh. "I hate boys."

Sandy sipped her drink. "Ew, they're the worst."

"Still," Emily said, tilting her head, "you’ll figure it out. He’s into you, clearly. Jealousy just makes people stupid."

You gave a small smile. "Yeah. Tell me about it."

The conversation drifted after that. Talk of costumes, festival gossip, Haley dramatically recounting some guy who’d spilled an entire beer on her earlier. You found yourself relaxing, laughing again, the tightness in your chest easing bit by bit.

From where you sat, you could hear faint traces of soundcheck bleeding up from the basement. The faint thump of Abby’s kick drum, a low rumble of bass, then Sam’s voice testing the mic.

That familiar warmth twisted in your stomach again. Even angry, even hurt - his voice always pulled you in.

You looked toward the basement door across the room, the muffled sound of the crowd growing louder. The show was about to start.

"Go on," Haley said, following your gaze. "You know you wanna watch."

You hesitated. "I don’t want it to be awkward."

Leah smiled softly. "You care. That’s not awkward. That’s human."

You sighed, setting your drink down. "Alright. But if he glares at me mid-song, I’m leaving."

Emily grinned. "If he does, I’ll boo him for you."

"Deal."

You laughed and stood, smoothing your wings before heading toward the basement stairs. The air was thicker there, heavy with anticipation and the smell of fog machine fluid.

You paused at the top step, the low hum of amps vibrating through the wood beneath your feet.

Whatever happened earlier, whatever came next - you’d deal with it.

For now, you just wanted to see him sing.

Notes:

uh ohhh it's getting juicy 😳

i'm so sorry for the short chapter !! also my bad for not updating as much as i said i would this week 😭😭 life got crazy and i totally didn't take into account that this week was halloween so i've barely had time to write

starting my new job tomorrow & it's gonna be crazy hours for my first couple of weeks so bear with me <3
bye for now :)) i'll be back asap !

Chapter 21: Rom-Com Gone Wrong

Notes:

Ladies, gentleman, non-binary baddies...

we are so fucking back.

Sam's POV

 

The basement lights were too bright.
Or maybe it was just his head that was loud. A constant hum of irritation that wouldn’t settle no matter how many times he adjusted this damn cable.

Sam crouched beside the pedalboard, fingers flying a little too fast over the cables. He’d already rewired the same setup twice, more out of frustration than necessity. The whole room buzzed: voices upstairs, footsteps creaking overhead, the faint chant of the crowd waiting for them to start. It all just made him feel more trapped in his own head.

He couldn’t stop replaying it. The look on your face, the way your voice cracked slightly when you said it - You don’t get to say shit like you own me when you don’t.
You’d been right. You were always right.
Didn’t make it sting any less.

He was halfway through coiling another cable when something slipped, a connector snapped against his knuckle hard enough to sting.

"Shit!"

"Dude," Sebastian said from behind the bass rig, straightening with a frown. "What’s your deal tonight?"

"Nothing," Sam muttered. He tossed the cable aside a little harder than necessary, the coil skidding across the rug. "Just setting up."

"Setting up like you’re about to fight the amps," Abby said dryly from the drum kit. She was spinning a stick between her fingers, watching him like he was one bad look away from exploding. "You good or what?"

"I said I’m fine."

Sebastian arched a brow. "You sure? ‘Cause you look like you’re about to punch your own guitar."

Sam exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Can you just— let it go?"

Seb stared at him for a long moment, then crossed his arms. "Don’t take your fucking mood out on us, man."

Sam’s jaw clenched. "I’m not—"

"You are," Seb cut in, stepping closer. "Whatever’s going on, figure it out after the show. Right now, you’re just making it worse."

"Seb," Abby warned lightly, sensing the spark.

But Sam had already snapped. "I said drop it, alright?!"

The shout bounced off the basement walls. For a second, nobody moved. Even the faint thump of the bass from upstairs seemed to fade.

Abby’s stick stopped spinning. Her voice was calm but sharp as glass. "Seb’s not wrong. You need to cool off before we start. We’ve got one set — don’t fuck it up because you’re pissed at something else."

Sam’s throat felt tight. Guilt slid in fast, under the anger. He dragged a hand over his face and let out a long breath. "...Yeah. Whatever,"

Seb looked away, muttering, "Just don’t bite our heads off for existing next time."

Abby nodded once, satisfied enough to go back to adjusting her cymbals.

Sam crouched again, quieter now, fingers steadier as he checked the cables. "Didn’t mean to snap."

"Then don’t," Abby said without looking up.

The soundcheck started again, more muted this time. Sebastian plucked a few test notes, the bassline vibrating through the floor. Abby’s kick drum joined in. A heartbeat, steady and grounding.

Sam tried to focus on it. Tried to sink into the rhythm and not the mess in his head. But every time he tuned a string or adjusted the mic, he saw your face again.. the way your brows had drawn together, the small tremor in your voice before he walked away.

He wanted to believe he’d been justified. That seeing Harvey lean in toward you, hearing you laugh like that - that it had meant something. But all it really did was make him feel small and stupid.

She was right, he thought. You’re not dating.

Still, the thought of anyone else making you smile like that made his chest ache in a way he didn’t want to admit out loud.

Abby finished tightening her snare and glanced up at him. "You sure you’re good?"

He hesitated. "Fine."

She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t press either.

Seb checked the crowd through the narrow stairwell. "We'll start in five."

Sam nodded, flexing his fingers once before reaching for his guitar. The strap settled across his shoulder like armor. Familiar, solid, safe.

He avoided both their eyes as he said, "Let’s just get this over with."

The setlist taped to the mic stand in front of him blurred a little, his eyes catching on the last song title.

'Stars'

His chest tightened.

He’d written it for you.
Every chord, every word. All of it had been about you.

It wasn’t even subtle. Abby had called it "his big confession track," and she wasn’t wrong. He’d spent nights trying to get the tone right, balancing every verse between wanting and restraint, the way you made him feel like something brighter, lighter, maybe even better. It was supposed to mean something when he played it tonight, his way of telling you everything without saying it outright.

Now?

Now it felt pathetic.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the scuffed floor. The words you’d thrown at him looped over and over in his skull.

He’d deserved it. And still, it cut deep.

Maybe he’d imagined all of it. Every glance, every small moment that made him think you wanted this as badly as he did. Maybe you’d only ever seen him as something easy, temporary. Someone to fill the silence, to make you laugh, to disappear when things got complicated.

Maybe I’m just a good fuck to her, he thought bitterly.

He hated that the idea made his throat tighten. He hated that it even mattered.

He dragged a hand through his hair, gripping the back of his neck until it hurt. "Get over it," he muttered under his breath.

But the harder he tried, the worse it got. His pulse thudded in his ears. Every word, every verse he’d written for you felt like a punchline now. The melody that used to feel like hope just sounded hollow.

We’re not even dating, why do you even care?

You were right, weren’t you?

He had no claim. No right to the jealousy, no excuse for the way his chest burned every time someone else made you smile.

And still, part of him wanted to scream. Because for once in his life, he’d actually let someone in - let you in - and now it felt like he’d made a fool of himself for believing it could be more.

He stared at his guitar. The strings gleamed under the flicker of the basement lights. That song used to mean something.
Now it just made him angry. 

"Fuck the song," he muttered. The words came out low and rough, half to himself. "And fuck this."

He forced himself to stand, shoulders stiff, jaw tight.

If I’m gonna make it big, he thought, I can’t waste time chasing something that isn’t real.

He slung the guitar strap over his shoulder, the weight of it grounding him. The noise from upstairs swelled. Cheers, laughter, the promise of distraction.

He could work with that.

He could bury everything he felt under the music.

Abby counted off the start of their set from behind the drums, her sticks tapping against the rim in time. Sam nodded once to Sebastian, fingers curling around the neck of his guitar.

"Let’s make ‘em remember us," he said, voice low, tight.

And then he struck the first chord hard enough to drown out every thought left in his head.

~

Your POV

The stairs shook with every stomp from above, the whole house breathing heat and noise as you pushed your way toward the basement door. Someone dressed as a vampire spilled beer dangerously close to your wings, a zombie tripped on the last step and almost took you with him, and still you kept going because the alternative was standing still and drowning in your own thoughts.

Your chest felt tight enough to crack.

You pressed a hand against your sternum as you squeezed past two people making out against the wall, the bass vibrating through your palm. You didn’t know what you were expecting when you came down here. Some miracle moment where Sam happened to glance up and magically understand everything you meant, everything you didn’t say, everything you regret now.

But you came anyway.

Because the idea of him going onstage angry - at you - twisted something in your stomach you couldn’t ignore.

The basement was packed. Bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, the air thick with sweat, spilled beer, fog machine haze, and the electric hum of anticipation. Spirit's Eve lights flickered overhead, casting everyone in shifting orange and purple shadows.

You had to wedge yourself between a guy in a shark costume and someone with LED devil horns just to get a clear view.

And then you saw him.

Sam.

Center stage, guitar slung low, head dipped, hair falling forward as he tore through a riff so sharp it felt like electricity slicing through the room. His voice hit next: raw, rougher than usual, like the song had teeth and he didn’t care if it bit back.

He didn’t see you.

He didn’t look at anyone.

But gods, you could feel him.

Something in his posture was coiled too tight. His jaw clenched. His shoulders drawn. Every chord he hit felt like he was exorcizing something. Anger, hurt, something jagged you wished you could pull out of him with your bare hands.

Guilt pulsed through you in waves.

You hadn’t meant to hurt him. Not like that. You’d only meant to stand your ground, set a boundary before things twisted into something toxic. You wanted him to understand that jealousy didn’t give him a claim on you -

But that didn’t mean you didn’t want him.

You swallowed, throat thick, eyes locked on him even as the crowd shoved and swayed around you.

He’d changed with you. Softened. Opened up piece by piece, like he wasn’t used to letting anyone see the tender parts. You’d watched it happen in real time. The gentler smile, the way his voice dipped when he said your name, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long.

And you’d loved it.

Loved him.

But now that softness was gone.

Replaced with something burning.

Your stomach turned. You wished you could undo that moment in the kitchen - not the truth behind it, but the way it came out. Wished you could tell him you weren’t trying to push him away, only trying to keep things from becoming something you couldn’t fix.

You wished he would just... hear you.

Understand you.

Apologize for acting like he had a right to be angry about Harvey.

And you wished he knew - really knew - how much you wanted him. How much you were ready to say, if he’d just look at you long enough for you to get the words out.

But now wasn’t the time.

Not while he was up there burning alive onstage.

You were in the middle of the crowd by the time the chorus hit, and the sound rolled over you in a wave. Louder, harsher, more desperate than you’d ever heard him play. Abby kept glancing at him between cymbal hits, brows pinched. Sebastian’s bassline was tight, precise, grounding, but even he shot Sam a few worried looks.

Sam didn’t look at either of them.

He didn’t look at the crowd.

He didn’t look at you.

He was playing like he had something to prove.. to himself, to you, to the entire room.

He’s letting it out, you thought, heart thudding painfully. He’s letting all of it out.

And you wanted nothing more than to push through the front row, climb onto that stage, grab him by the collar, and drag him into the kind of hug he couldn’t ignore. The kind that said I didn’t mean it like that and I’m sorry and don’t shut me out all at once.

But the music swallowed your thoughts whole.

And all you could do was stand there, wings trembling every time the bass hit, watching the boy you cared for unravel one chord at a time.

The bass rattled your ribs as you lingered near the back wall, your cup gripped tight between your hands. You kept telling yourself you’d go forward in a second. Right after this verse, right after this chorus, right after you took another sip.

The drink burned all the way down.
Liquid courage. Fake courage.
But you’d take whatever you could get.

Sam didn’t look your way once.

And that hurt worse than anything he could’ve said.

You swallowed hard, forcing your shoulders back, and started pushing through the crowd. Step by step, weaving between pirates and witches and bloodstained prom kings. Your wings got jostled. Someone spilled something neon on your shoe. You didn’t care. Your eyes were locked on the stage.

Just get to the front. Mouth "sorry." Let him see you. Let him know.

He’d see you there and maybe - maybe - he’d soften. Maybe he’d smile, even a tiny bit. Maybe he’d do that stupid thing where he sang a few lines directly at you like he used to, just enough to make your skin spark and your knees weak.

You were almost there: two rows from the front, close enough to feel the breeze from Sam’s movements onstage-

When a hand landed firmly on your shoulder.

You jolted, spinning around.

Harvey.

Perfect.
Absolutely great.
Why did it have to be Harvey?

He leaned close so you could hear him over the music. "Hey! You okay?"

You forced a breath. "Kinda! Not really! I just wanna get to the front!"

He took that in, glanced over the packed crowd, then nodded. "I’ll help. Grab onto my shoulder, I’ll get ya there."

"Oh no, that’s okay, really, I—"

He shook his head, cutting you off. "It’s no problem. My way of apologizing for earlier. I didn’t know you and Sam were—"

"We’re not dating," you blurted, louder than intended.

Harvey straightened a little. "Oh."

The crowd surged around you, bodies pressing close, but suddenly the noise felt distant.. like the only thing anchoring you was your own pulse hammering in your ears.

"But—" you stammered, heat flushing your cheeks, "I want to.. Date him- I mean."

Harvey blinked, surprised but gentle about it. The kind of understanding expression that made things sting even more because he wasn’t the one who mattered. For the love of Yoba, you needed to get to the front before anything else could be misunderstood.

Harvey’s smile was small, apologetic.
"I get it," he said over the music. "He’s a lucky guy. I’ll be upstairs if you need me."

Before you could answer, he was already pushing his way through the crowd, shoulder first, disappearing into the blur of sweat and lights.

You turned back toward the stage and froze.

Sam was staring directly at you.

Not a casual glance.
Not an accidental sweep of the crowd.

A look.

Sharp. Hot. Hurt.
A flash of anger sparking behind his eyes.

Your breath hitched.

Then he jerked his gaze away so fast it cut deeper than if he’d glared at you. Like looking at you physically hurt. Like he couldn’t stand to hold your eyes for even a second longer.

You moved fast, plunging forward again, shoving where you normally would’ve apologized. But a group of girls in glittery skirts and matching outfits closed ranks at the front row, locked in place like they owned the barrier.

"Excuse me—sorry—can I—"

They didn’t even turn. One just flicked her hair over her shoulder.

Panic flared.
You lifted your hand, waving desperately toward Abby-

But she didn’t see you.
She was in full performance mode, arms a blur, matching Sam’s reckless, furious pace as best she could.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He definitely saw you with Harvey.
Definitely drew the worst conclusion humanly possible.

Your chest tightened painfully as you scanned the packed basement for another opening-anything, any path-

Penny.

She was right up front. Practically leaning on the stage. Close enough for Sam to reach out and touch if he wanted.

And the second you noticed her..
You saw it click in his eyes, too.

His posture shifted. His jaw set. He took one heavy step toward the edge of the stage - right towards her.

A cold rush went through you.

Oh.
Oh, he was doing this on purpose.

He was gearing up to make you jealous. To hurt you the way he thought you’d hurt him. To give you something to watch. Something to choke on.

He reached the front edge of the stage, guitar slung low, body angled toward Penny like she was the only one in the room.

Your stomach dropped.
Your pulse stuttered.

Oh Yoba.
He was actually going to do it.

He knelt down and cupped her chin.

Slow. Deliberate.
His thumb skimmed up her cheek and traced the corner of her mouth. Not obscene, not filthy, but intimate enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

The whole room erupted. A few people screamed. Penny went pink from her collarbone to her hairline, surprise flickering across her face.

But she leaned in.
She leaned in.

Maru, right beside her, looked smug enough to make your stomach twist.

Your vision blurred at the edges.

You couldn’t do this.
You could not stand here and watch him touch someone else like that. Not when you knew exactly why he was doing it, not when you knew that look used to be reserved only for you.

Something primal flickered across Abby’s face, like she genuinely might vault over the drum set and rip him offstage. Her sticks faltered for half a beat before she forced the rhythm back under control.

Then her eyes scanned the crowd.
Found you.

And she went pale.

You didn’t stay to see her reaction fully. You didn’t stay for anything.

Your body moved before your brain did.

You turned and shoved your way through the crowd, urgent, reckless. People cursed as you barreled past them. Someone tried to steady you; you ripped your arm away. Your wing snagged on something and tore loudly, fabric splitting down the seam. But you didn’t slow down.

You couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t exist in that room for another second.

The stairs came into view - blurry, swaying - and you launched yourself toward them, shoulders slamming against strangers, the music pounding behind you like it was chasing you up the steps.

You needed air.

You needed out.

~

Sam's POV

 

He noticed a shift in the crowd, the way bodies parted, a flash of black wings tearing as you shoved past someone. He caught only the tail end of it: you disappearing toward the stairs like you couldn’t get away fast enough.

Something inside him just... dropped.

The next chord came out sharp, ugly.

Seb shot him a warning look.
Abby outright glared.

But Sam kept playing because stopping would’ve meant acknowledging what he’d just done. And he couldn’t - he couldn’t handle that. Not yet. Not with the heat still crawling under his skin.

He moved down the stage, closer to Penny. The crowd screamed like he’d just done something incredible.

He didn’t feel incredible.

He didn’t feel anything but sick.

And when he moved away from her, he made the mistake of glancing up at the drum kit.

Abby’s face was murder.

She looked like she wanted to embed a drumstick in his spine.

The rest of the song felt like static. Every strum too hard, every lyric off because his throat was tightening more and more with each beat. His chest hurt. Actual, physical hurt. By the time they ended the track, the applause sounded miles away.

Abby slammed her sticks down.
Seb’s bass thudded into the stand.

The second the mic was off, she was up and storming across the stage.

Sam didn’t even have time to brace.

"What the fuck was that?!" she hissed.

Seb swore under his breath, stepping back like he didn’t want to be caught in the blast radius.

Sam swallowed. "Abby—"

"No. Don’t ‘Abby’ me. Don’t you dare." She jabbed a finger into his chest. "You really just did that? In front of her? Of all fucking people?!"

He clenched his jaw. "She said—"

"I don’t give a fuck about what she said," Abby snapped. "You humiliated her! And Penny? Penny? Are you out of your fucking mind?!"

The crowd was still loud, still cheering, but down here everything felt too sharp, too close.

Sam stepped back. "You don’t get it."

"Then explain it," Sebastian said quietly. "Because right now you just look like a dick."

Sam glared at him. "She was with Harvey."

"Fucking Harvey, Sam!?" Abby shot back immediately. "She was trying to get to the front— not climbing into his lap!"

"She was smiling with him," Sam said, the words coming out harsher than he meant.

Abby stared at him like he’d grown a second head. "She smiles at everyone, Sam. She’s Sunny. That’s what she does."

His throat tightened. "Well it didn’t feel like ‘everyone’."

Abby’s expression softened for half a second — then hardened again.
"Grow the fuck up."

Sam flinched.
Actually flinched.

"You hurt her," Abby said, voice low now, dangerous. "And she ran because she didn’t want anyone to see."

Sam opened his mouth - but nothing came out.

Because the guilt hit him too fast, too hard.

Abby stepped closer. "You better pray she even wants to hear your voice after this."

Sam couldn’t stay there. Not under Abby’s glare. Not under Sebastian’s disappointment.

He needed a drink.

He pushed past a cluster of cheering students, ducked behind the side door, and slipped upstairs two at a time. The noise of the main floor hit him hard, but none of it mattered.

He needed a fucking drink.

Someone tried to high-five him. Someone else shouted his name. He ignored all of it.

He grabbed the first bottle he saw on the counter, something amber and burning, and poured a shot into a plastic cup. Downed it in one go.
It scorched all the way to his stomach.

Didn’t help.

He poured another.

"Real classy," Sebastian muttered behind him.

Sam didn’t turn. "Don’t start."

"Oh, I’m starting."
Seb stepped up beside him, arms crossed, expression hard. "What the fuck is going on with you?"

"Can I not have a fucking drink?"

"Bro." Seb’s voice sharpened. "Abby’s furious, the crowd’s confused, and Sunny looked like she was fucking shattered—"

Sam’s grip on the cup tightened. "I said drop it."

"Oh, I know what you said." Seb’s tone snapped. "But you don’t get to treat her like that and pretend it was just ‘performance energy’ or whatever bullshit you’re about to feed me."

Sam’s chest tightened. "You don’t know anything about it."

Seb’s eyes narrowed. "Then tell me."

Sam didn’t.
He couldn’t.
The words jammed in his throat like splinters.

Seb let out a breath, sharp and frustrated. "You’re such a fucking dumbass when it comes to her."

Sam flung the empty cup into the sink, the crack echoing through the kitchen. A few people looked over. He didn’t care.

"Back off, Seb."

"No."
Sebastian stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I’m not letting you implode the band because you don’t know how to talk to the girl you’re in love with."

The words hit too hard.

Sam stiffened. "..I’m not—"

"Look at yourself."

Sam didn’t realize he was shaking until he looked down and saw his fingers trembling.

Seb exhaled, softer this time. "Just... fix it, man. Don’t let Abby get there first, because she’s gonna—"

"Gonna what? Tell her I'm a fuck up?" Sam muttered.

Seb blinked. "What?"

"That I'm not worth it?"
Sam’s voice cracked around the edges. "She's right."

That stunned Seb into silence for a beat.

Sam couldn’t stand there anymore - not with the walls closing in, not with the buzz of the party pressing against his skull, not with the ghost of your expression burned into him.

"I need air," he said, already turning away.

Seb reached out to stop him. "Dude—"

Sam pulled his arm free harder than he meant to. 

Seb let him go, jaw tight, concern buried under frustration.

Sam pushed through the living room crowd until he reached the back hallway. It was quieter, dimmer. The cold night air seeped through the cracked window, carrying in bits of laughter from outside.

He froze.

Voices filtered through the open gap, just outside the porch.

Your voice.
And Abby’s.

He edged closer, just enough to hear but not be seen.

"—you didn’t deserve that," Abby was saying, her voice soft and fierce all at once.

"You were right about him, Abby." you whispered, the sound cracked with tears you were trying to swallow. "I shouldn’t have gone down there."

"You went because you care about him," Abby said. "And he cares about you. But right now he’s being the world’s biggest dickhead, and I’m gonna kick his ass for it."

Sam closed his eyes.

Your voice wavered. "It just— it hurt."

His chest twisted.
He leaned his head back against the wall.

"Of course it hurt," Abby murmured. "But don’t you blame yourself for his bullshit."

Sam swallowed, throat dry.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to walk out there and face you after this.
He didn’t know how to fix something he’d cracked with his own hands.

He took one step toward the door. Finally, finally ready to look at you, to apologize, to kneel if he had to—

A hand touched his arm.

He jerked.

"Sam?"

Chapter 22: Back to Strangers

Notes:

Y'all I'm so sorry for the long wait (੭ ;´ - `;)੭ ♡
Life caught up with me and the holiday season is always SO busy with my big ass family

Fr this time I'm gonna continue with the once (or more if I have time) a week updates until we finish !!

The porch railing was cold against your spine, the wood damp from the night air. You curled forward anyway, elbows braced on your knees, hands pressed over your face as if you could physically hold the trembling in place.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t—

Your breath hitched, and that was it.

Hot, humiliating tears slipped through your fingers before you could stop them. Your shoulders shook. Every inhale felt too shallow, like your lungs were shrinking. You hated it. Hated that stupid knot in your chest, hated how easily Sam could twist you up, hated that you’d let yourself hope for something softer than this.

And more than anything, you hated that a single look from him - sharp, angry, wounded - could break you open like you were made of paper.

Abby’s hand moved in slow circles between your shoulder blades, grounding and steady, the warmth of her touch cutting through the cold.

"You done cryin’?" she murmured, voice soft but teasing at the edges. "We got a party to get to."

You let out a wet laugh that sounded more like a hiccup. Your hands lowered from your face to your lap, trembling slightly. Mascara smeared across your fingertips - damning evidence of how hard you’d tried not to fall apart.

You sniffled and turned toward her.

Abby gave you a lopsided grin, all freckles and gentle mischief and fierce protectiveness.

"Thanks," you whispered, voice scratchy. "For.. being here. For staying."

She shrugged like it was nothing, but her eyes warmed. "Always."

You looked away for a second, swallowing thickly. "Sorry I’m—" You gestured vaguely at your face, your wings, the porch. "Sorry I’m being stupid. Crying over a boy you literally warned me about."

Abby barked out a laugh.

Loud, bright, cutting straight through the fog in your chest.

"Sunny," she said, nudging your shoulder with hers, "if you ever stop being stupid, I’m gonna have to find a new best friend. And that sounds exhausting. I like you exactly like this."

You couldn’t help it - you smiled. A real one this time, shaky but real.

Abby squeezed your arm before stepping back.

"Come on. Stand up. You look like a sad raccoon."

"Wow. Thank you. Love the support."

"You’re welcome," she said sweetly.

You pushed yourself upright, the porch boards creaking under your boots. You swiped the back of your hand under your eyes, pulling away streaks of black you could only hope weren’t as bad as they felt. Your wings drooped lopsidedly, one torn, but you adjusted your shoulders anyway, trying to fix what you could.

Abby offered her arm.

You looped yours through hers immediately, grateful for the solid warmth of her beside you.

"Ready?" she asked.

You nodded, even though you weren’t ready at all.

But you turned with her anyway, the two of you angled toward the back door. Toward the noise and lights and warmth of the party waiting on the other side.

You and Abby stepped through the doorway together, arms linked, the warmth and noise of the house washing over you in a dizzying rush.

You barely made it three steps before Abby’s arm locked up.

Before you froze beside her.

Before your breath stopped completely.

Because right there in the narrow hallway-

Penny was kissing Sam.

Her hands fisted in the collar of his shirt.
Her body pressed to his.
Her mouth on his.
Sam was frozen, eyes wide, caught mid-movement like he didn’t even understand what was happening until it was already happening.

Your stomach flipped so violently you thought you might actually be sick.

For a full, impossibly long second, you just stared.

Too stunned to blink.
Too stunned to breathe.
Too stunned to even feel anything except that awful, hollow punch of disbelief straight to your ribs.

Abby’s jaw dropped.
"Is he— fucking—" she whispered, but she couldn’t even finish.

You didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

Then Sam shoved her away.

It was quick, sharp, frantic. Penny stumbling back a step as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like he needed the taste gone immediately.

His eyes snapped up, straight to you.

And the panic in them was instant.

"Sunny— wait— it’s not— I didn’t— she just—"

Your vision blurred.

Your ears rang.

Your chest felt like it was collapsing inward.

"Are you fucking serious," you said, voice low, wrecked, cracking on the edges.

Not a scream.
Not a sob.
Just the bare truth of heartbreak carved into six quiet words.

Sam took a step forward, reaching out. Instinctive and desperate.

You stepped back.

Abby reached for your arm.

You tore free.

And then you ran.

You didn’t wait for an explanation.
Didn’t look at Penny.
Didn’t look at Abby’s furious expression or Sam’s horrified one.

You just bolted.

Out of the hallway.
Through the living room.
Past a cluster of people who glanced up in confusion as you shoved past them.
Out the front door.
Down the porch steps so fast you nearly slipped.
Into the cold night air that burned your lungs with every breath.

The cold grass squished under your shoes as you stumbled across the front lawn, breath tearing out of you in uneven, shaky bursts.

This is too much.
Way too much.
You shouldn’t have come tonight.
Shouldn’t have transferred.
Shouldn’t have let yourself fall for a boy who didn’t know what the hell he wanted.

Your fingers clawed at the straps of your wings.

You ripped them off—
a jagged tear of velcro and fabric—
and threw them onto the ground so hard they bounced once before lying still.

They looked pathetic.
You felt pathetic.

You dragged a hand over your face, trying to breathe, trying to exist, trying not to collapse on the stupid lawn like a wilted plant.

"Sunny!"

Your whole body flinched.

You turned around just in time to see Sam burst out the front door, almost tripping over the threshold in how fast he moved.

His left eye was already swelling.

Good.
Abby must’ve nailed him.
You hoped it hurt.

He spotted you instantly. Relief crashing across his face like he’d found oxygen again.

He sprinted toward you.

You tried to walk away.

He caught your arm.

"Will you just listen to me?!" he barked, voice cracking on the last word.

You yanked your arm back so fast he stumbled.

"Leave me alone."

"No."
He grabbed at the air like he wanted to reach again but was too afraid you’d pull away harder.
"I’m not gonna leave you alone, Sun. Listen—"

"Why?"
You whirled on him, fury and heartbreak twisting in your chest.
"Why the fuck should I listen to you?"

He looked wrecked.
Actually wrecked.
Hair a mess, chest heaving, eye swelling, breath cold in the night air.

"Because I fucking like you!"
The words blew out of him like he hadn’t meant to shout them.
"Okay?!"

You froze.

Your heart punched your ribs.
Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He took a shaky step closer.

"So can I talk now?" he asked, voice rough, almost pleading. "Please?"

You swallowed, throat burning, and nodded once.

He ran a trembling hand through his hair.

"I didn’t kiss her," he said immediately. "She kissed me. I didn’t even want to—"

"Really?"
Your voice cut sharp and fast, bitterness snapping out before you could stop it.
"‘Cause that’s not what it looked like on stage when you were practically eye-fucking her."

Sam recoiled like you’d slapped him.

"For fuck’s sake—" he groaned, dragging both hands down his face in frustration.

You stood there, arms crossed tight over your chest, breathing hard. Waiting for whatever the hell he was going to say next.

"That didn’t mean anything," Sam said quickly, breath fogging in the cold air. "I just.. wanted to make you jealous, I guess."

You stared at him like he’d said the dumbest sentence in existence.

"That’s fucking stupid."

"I know— I know." He held up both hands, like he was surrendering. "Really stupid. I get it. I’m sorry. I wanted you to feel the same way I felt when Harvey—"

"You did that because you thought Harvey was flirting with me?!"
Your voice pitched up in pure disbelief.
"Sam, do you even hear yourself? Do you know how toxic that shit sounds?"

He flinched, jaw tightening.

"I get it now," he said quietly. "I really do. I’m sorry. That was... really fucked up."

He dragged his hands through his hair again, fingers shaking.

"I'm not used to this." A frustrated sigh left him, raw around the edges, fogging in the cold night.

You stood there, arms crossed, staring at him.
Silent.

String lights casting him in pale gold.
The torn wings lying in the grass between you.
Your chest aching like your ribs were too small to hold everything you felt.

You weren’t sure if his apology was enough.
You weren’t sure if anything could be enough after tonight.

He finally spoke again, voice softer, almost careful.

"...Can we... start over?"

The words hung between you like fragile glass.

You didn’t answer.

Not because you didn’t have an answer-
but because your mind was too full.
Too loud.
Too fried.

Your head throbbed.
Your eyes burned.
Your throat felt raw.
Your heart felt bruised.

You stared down at the grass, at the crushed bit of velvet from your costume wings.
The ground swayed faintly from the rush of adrenaline still clinging to your veins.

You needed a second.
You needed to breathe.
You needed-

He called out your real name this time. Sam’s voice dipped, uncertain now. "Please say something."

But you couldn’t.

Not yet.

All you could do was stand there in the cold, staring at the dirt, feeling every ounce of the night pressing in on you like a weight threatening to tip you over.

Flashbacks slammed into you without warning.
Casey’s voice.
Casey’s hands.
Casey’s promises that turned sour.
Casey’s apologies that sounded way too much like Sam’s right now.

Your vision blurred.

Your chest tightened until you could barely inhale.

"I can’t do this," you whispered.

Sam’s head jerked up.

"...What?" His voice cracked. Actually cracked.

"I can’t.." Your throat closed around the words. "I’m not going to do this again."

His face fell. Confusion. Fear. Something softer. Something broken.

Tears spilled hot and fast down your cheeks before you could stop them.

"I’m not built for this lifestyle," you choked out. "I’ve tried before- I.. I really like you, Sam, but... I can’t."

His mouth opened. Closed.
He looked like someone had just pulled the ground out from under him.

"Oh."
Barely a sound.
Barely a breath.

Just oh.

The kind of oh that sounded like shattering glass.

Even after everything he’d done tonight-
the jealousy
the stage stunt
the kiss

...you wanted to hug him.

You wanted to step forward.
To fix it.
To soften the blow.
To take his face in your hands and tell him he wasn’t the only one hurting.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You felt too cracked open, too raw, too ashamed of how deep all of this cut.

You turned away, each step feeling like it took something out of you.

Sam didn’t chase you this time.

He didn’t say your name.
Didn’t try to grab your arm.
Didn’t argue.

He just stood there in the cold, watching you walk away from him for the second time that night.

You didn’t look back.

You couldn’t bear to.

You walked farther down the sidewalk until the music from the party faded into a dull thump in the distance. The streetlamps painted long shadows on the pavement. Your hands shook as you pulled out your phone.

You ordered an Uber.

You just want to go home.

Chapter 23: She Deserves

Sam's POV

 

The moment you turned your back on him, something inside Sam went quiet.

A kind of silence so sharp it almost hummed.

He didn’t chase you this time.
He couldn’t.
His legs refused to move, like the cold air had hardened around him and locked him in place.

You got smaller with every step you took down the sidewalk.
Smaller.
Smaller.
Gone.

Sam let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and it came out as a broken, uneven sound.

He dragged a hand over his face.

His cheekbone throbbed where Abby had hit him.
His left eye pulsed in time with his heartbeat.
His chest felt like someone had scooped out all the bones and left only bruises behind.

He deserved worse.

He knew that.

He looked down at the grass.

Your wings were still there.
Crushed.
One bent.
One torn.
Thrown aside like you couldn’t stand the sight of them.

Like you couldn’t stand the sight of what tonight turned you into.

Sam crouched down slowly - knees aching, head pounding - and picked them up.

They felt lighter than he expected.
Fragile.
Warm from your body heat.
He held them like something important, something he’d broken without meaning to.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, gripping the fabric tighter.

The front door banged open.

Abby stormed out like a bullet.

Her eyes locked onto him instantly, and Sam almost took a step back.

She didn’t run to follow you.
She ran to kill him.

"There you are," she snapped, voice low and vicious. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Sam didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

"The one person who fucking gets me in this school. You just had to break her heart too? Yoba, Sam. Do you even think before you stick your dick in someone?" she stopped short in front of him. Fists balled.

Abby’s eyes caught the wings in his hands.

Her face changed, just a little.

Softened.
Hardened again.

"You’re an asshole," she whispered. "You know that?"

Sam swallowed hard. His throat burned.

"I didn’t kiss Penny," he said, voice raw, like it scraped coming out. "She kissed me."

Abby scoffed. "I don’t give a shit if she kissed you or if you tripped and fell into her mouth. Do you realize what that did to her?"

He did.

He realized it the second he saw your face.

He replayed that moment in his head like a glitching tape:
you, staring at him like he’d ruined something sacred.
your voice breaking on the words.
your wings slipping off your shoulders as you ran.

Sam squeezed the fabric until his fingers shook.

"I fucked up," he said quietly. "I know."

"Yeah," Abby said. "You did."

She pushed past him - shoulder checking him hard enough to make him stumble - and kept walking down the sidewalk, trying to catch up to where you used to be.

But you were gone.

Sam watched her go.

He stood there with your wings in his hands, the cold crawling under his skin, his breath clouding the air.

He looked at the street.

At the corner where you disappeared.
At the darkness beyond it.

Something twisted painfully in his chest.

He turned and walked back toward the house, shoulders hunched, guilt dragging at every step.

Behind him, the torn wings dragged against the grass, leaving two thin lines in the frost as he carried them inside.

He had no idea how to fix this.

He only knew one thing:

He’d do anything - anything -  for a chance to try.

The moment Sam stepped back into the house, the warmth hit him like a slap.

Music.
Laughter.
Bass vibrating through the floor.
People squeezed into the living room, oblivious to the disaster happening ten feet away.

Sam’s jaw tightened.

He kept the wings clutched in one hand, fingers locked around the crushed velvet so tightly the wire inside bent.

Every sound grated on him.

Someone bumped into him.
Didn’t even say sorry.

He barely heard them over the roar building in his head.

She’s gone.
You did this.
You broke it.
You always break it.
You always ruin everything.

The thoughts spun faster, sharper, digging under his skin like shards of glass.

Sam’s breathing got tight.
Fast.
Unsteady.

His hands shook.

He shoved his way through the hallway, ignoring the looks, ignoring the questions. He could feel the pressure in his chest climbing, coiling, ready to blow.

Then he heard it.

Penny’s voice.

Laughing.

Laughing.

Somewhere near the kitchen.

Sam’s vision tunneled.
A single, hot spike of anger shot through him, violent and uncontrollable.

His grip on your wings tightened until the wire inside snapped.

He didn’t even realize he’d done it.

He moved before he thought, before he could stop himself. Storming into the kitchen, shoulders tense, breath ragged.

Penny was leaning against the counter with two friends, like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t detonated someone’s whole night. Like she hadn’t kissed him out of nowhere and smiled about it.

She turned at the sound of his footsteps.

"Oh, Sam—"

He slammed his hand down on the counter so hard the bottles rattled.

Everyone froze.

The room went dead quiet.

Penny blinked, startled. "You.. okay...?

Sam didn’t yell.

He didn’t need to.

His voice came out low, trembling with barely leashed fury.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Penny straightened, defensive. "Excuse me?"

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" He could barely form words. His breathing was too fast, his chest too tight. "You don’t get to kiss me. You—"

His voice cracked.
He stepped back, dragging a shaking hand through his hair.

People were staring now.

Whispers.
Wide eyes.
Phones lifting subtly.

His heart punched against his ribs, too fast. Too loud.

His hands were shaking so violently he had to clench them into fists just to keep them from trembling.

He hated this.

He hated losing control.
Hated this familiar burn under his skin.
Hated how easy anger came, how fast it built, how hard it was to put back in the cage once it slipped out.

Penny took a step toward him.

"Sam, calm down—"

"Don’t," he snapped, the word cracking like lightning. "Stay the fuck away from me."

Her mouth shut.

He breathed hard through his nose, forcing himself to look anywhere but her. His pulse was in his ears, drowning out everything. His vision flickered at the edges - too bright, too sharp, too much.

This is what got him in trouble.
This is what scared people.
This is what pushed you away.
This is what always pushed everyone away.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

That’s when the thought hit him. Ugly, obvious, and suffocating:

No wonder she left.

He opened his eyes again, chest heaving.

He stormed toward the back door without another word, your wings still crushed in his fist. The party noise swelled around him, but he barely heard it. He shoved the door open hard enough that it slammed against the siding.

Cold air hit him.

He sucked in a breath like he’d been drowning.

But it didn’t help.

Not even a little.

He walked across the yard, past the empty tables and scattered cups, until he reached the dark corner near the fence. His hands shook as he dropped your wings onto the cold ground.

And let out a hoarse, quiet sound that wasn’t a sob but carried the weight of one.

~

Your POV

 

The morning hit you before you were ready for it.

Sunlight pushed through your curtains in thin, accusing lines.
Your eyes burned when you opened them.
Your throat felt scraped.
Your head pulsed like you’d been hit.

You didn’t remember falling asleep.

One moment you were stumbling through your front door, kicking off your shoes without untying them, dropping your phone on the counter.

The next-

Black.

Now you were sprawled on top of your blankets, still half in costume, makeup smeared across your pillowcase like bruises.

You groaned and rolled onto your back.

Everything hurt in a dull, heavy way. The emotional hangover settling into your bones.

Then your phone buzzed.

You winced, reaching for it with shaking fingers.

22 unread messages.
3 missed calls.
14 new notifications from Instagram.
A missed call from Abby.
And one from Sam.

Your stomach twisted.

You didn’t open anything.

Not yet.

You sat up slowly, pressing your palms into your eyes until stars burst behind the lids. Flashbacks flickered: Penny’s hands on his collar, Sam wiping his mouth like he hated himself, Abby’s fist connecting with his face, the wings falling off your shoulders, Sam whispering oh like a dying thing.

Your chest tightened.

You dragged yourself out of bed and into the bathroom.
The mirror was unkind.

Mascara streaked down your cheeks.
Eyes puffy.
Costume crooked.
Lips dry.
You looked like someone who had cried herself unconscious.

You splashed cold water on your face.

It didn’t help much.

You were still scrubbing at your skin when your phone buzzed again.

You blinked at Abby’s text, the words blurring slightly from how puffy your eyes still were.

Abby: You awake? I’ve got an early class, but I left your favorite latte + that stupid little pastry you like on the counter.
Abby: Don’t go to class today. You look like shit. Love u.

You let out a tiny, broken laugh through your nose.

Yoba, you loved her.

You texted a single heart back. It was all you had in you.

There was no universe in which you were going to class today.
You could barely stand to see your own reflection, there was no way in hell you could face an entire campus full of people and their whispers.

Not after last night.

You needed a day to disappear.
To cocoon yourself and fall apart in peace.

You showered because you had to, not because you wanted to. The hot water pricked at your skin, but it didn’t wash the heaviness out of your chest. Your makeup melted away in dark streaks down your neck and into the steam.

When you stepped out, the bathroom mirror fogged over, sparing you from having to look too closely.

You took the mercy.

You tugged on your softest sweats—the oversized grey pair with the fraying drawstring—and one of Abby’s old tees she wouldn’t miss. It hung loose on your frame, swallowing you in familiar fabric.

You padded into the kitchen with wet hair dripping down your back.

Exactly where she said was your iced latte, beads of condensation sliding down the plastic cup, a little paper bag folded closed next to it, and a sticky note in Abby’s messy handwriting:

Eat.
Drink.
Do nothing today.
If you leave your bed I’ll break your kneecaps.
💜 Abby

You stood there for a moment, staring at it, feeling your throat tighten again but gentler this time. A soft ache, not the sharp stab from last night.

You opened the bag.

Your favorite pastry.

You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took the first bite.
Flaky, buttery, sweet.
Comforting in a way you didn’t deserve but desperately needed.

You pulled the iced latte closer and took a long sip. The cold sweetness hit your chest like a sigh you’d been holding for hours.

You lowered yourself onto the couch and curled into the corner cushions with the cup held between both hands.

The apartment was quiet.

No music vibrating through your ribs.
No screaming crowd.
No jealous stunts.
No Penny.
No Sam standing there with swollen eyes and broken apologies.

Just you.

For the first time since last night, your body began to unclench, little by little.

You opened your phone, intending to doom scroll yourself numb, but the first thing that lit up your screen was his name.

Sam: can we please talk?
Sam: please

You locked your phone instantly.

Nope.

Not today.

You took another long sip of your latte, pulled a blanket over your legs, sank deeper into the couch and let the quiet hold you.

Your eyes were just starting to sink closed, your cheek pressed into the couch cushion, latte half-finished on the coffee table—

DING.

DING. DING.

DINGDINGDINGDING—

You groaned into the pillow.

You forced your heavy eyes open, reached blindly for your phone, and squinted at the notification banner exploding across your lock screen.

⭒⋆boys go 2 jupiter⋆⭒

Haley: SUNNY SUNNY SUNNY

Leah: SUNNNN

Leah: SPILLLL WHAT HAPPENED

Haley: sam literally looks dead

Haley: girl did u do that to his eye i cant 😭😭

Abby: that may have been me.. 🤭

Emily: queen behavior

You typed slowly, because your brain was mush.

⭒⋆boys go 2 jupiter⋆⭒

You: hope it hurts

Abby: yuh 💪💪

Leah: damn u strong as hell😭

Haley: WAITWHAT

Haley: SO WHAT HAPPENED

You: a lot dude idek

You: can u break up with someone if you're not dating them? cuz i think i did

Emily: :(

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, mind fogged, chest tightening again.

The girls were still typing - rapid-fire condolences, jokes, threats - but their words began to drift into a dull blur as something in you dipped.

Like the floor inside you just lowered another inch.

You slumped deeper into the couch, blanket pulled up to your chin.
You didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

Your eyes burned again.
Not the dramatic crying. Just that tired, heavy sting.

⭒⋆boys go 2 jupiter⋆⭒

You: idk guys. i don’t rlly wanna talk abt him rn

Leah: 🤍🤍

Emily: u dont have to <3

Abby: i’ll kill whoever breathes near u today

Haley: ik im sorry :((

Their comfort only made your throat tighter.

You were seconds away from throwing your phone to the other end of the couch when another notification slipped in.

From Sandy.

Sweet, soft-spoken Sandy, who never texted first unless something was genuinely wrong.

Sandy: girls night?
Sandy: we can do a sleepover at my place if u want
Sandy: i’ll make the cocoa w/ the marshmallows you like

You stared.

A small, startled warmth spread under your ribs.

Another message:

Sandy: u don’t have to talk. just show up. we’ll do the rest.

Your throat closed.

Your eyes stung for a completely different reason now.

You blinked hard and typed back:

You: maybee i have class tmwr

Abby: ik you're not going to that fuck ass class dont lie

Sandy: is that a yessss 👀

Sandy: ab kidnap her & bring her to my place at like 8

Abby: yes ma'm 🫡

The idea of dragging your emotionally mangled body across campus felt impossible. The apartment felt heavy, but it was yours, and the thought of leaving it made your chest tighten.

You: ur so sweet sandy but i think i just want to be alone tonight :((

You: we'll have a girls night soon i promise 🫶

Sandy: u got it hun just know we're here !

You told the girls you loved them.
You told them you were tired.
They understood immediately.

You let your phone fall onto your lap, blanket tucked tight around you, heart aching but held.

Abby came home early anyway.

She walked into the apartment carrying a grocery bag full of snacks and two bottles of cheap wine like she was entering a battlefield.

When she saw you curled up on the couch in your blanket cocoon, she let out a breath and kicked off her shoes.

"Hey Sunshine," she said. 

Something in the way she said it made you lift your head.

She was jittery. And Abby wasn’t a jittery person unless she was hiding something.

You squinted at her.

"Spit it out," you said.

She blinked. "What?"

"You’re vibrating. You only vibrate when you’re hiding something."

"I— what? No, tonight’s about you. We’re not talking about anything else."

"Abby."

She winced.

You sat up, blanket still pooled around your waist. "Just tell me."

She hesitated another second, then burst.

"Fine! Fine... The band got accepted into the competition."

You blinked.

"What?!"

She grinned so wide it practically split her face. "WE MADE IT. Sun, the first round is in two weeks."

You felt something warm bloom for her. Real happiness, despite the ache still sitting in your chest.

"Abby, that’s amazing."

"I KNOW!" she squealed, flopping onto the couch beside you like a kid who’d had too much sugar. 

You laughed.

She nudged your shoulder. "So.. will you come to one of the shows?"

You froze.

The question hit exactly where you weren’t ready for it.

Your smile thinned. "...Maybe."

Abby’s expression softened. No disappointment. No pressure. Just understanding.

"Hey," she said gently, "you don’t have to go for him. You can go for me."

That hit you straight in the chest.

You pulled your blanket closer. "I know. I’ll.. think about it."

She nodded once. "Good enough."

She cracked open a wine bottle using the dull end of a fork and poured you each a mug because you didn’t own real wine glasses.

"So," she said sipping, "are you actually going to class tomorrow?"

You snorted. "Fuck that."

She laughed, bright and relieved. "Yeah. Good. You deserve a little time off."

There was a small silence, comfortable at first, until Abby glanced at you sideways.

"Has Sam tried to talk to you?"

Your jaw clenched. "Uh huh. He keeps texting."

"And?"

"I’m not in a talking mood."

"Whatever, fuck him." she said immediately.

Abby turned on the TV. She grabbed controllers and handed you one.

"You ready to lose?"

You scoffed. "You wish."

Chapter 24: Motor Mouth

Days went by.

Then more days.

Then enough of them that you stopped counting.

You still hadn’t spoken to Sam.

Not once.

Not a text.
Not a glance.
Not even an accidental brush of eyes across a room.

You avoided him with the kind of precision that only came from fear mixed with stubbornness. You took different paths across campus. You showed up late to places you had to be, left early when you could, ducked into bathrooms or stairwells when you caught a flash of dirty blonde hair in your peripheral. Spirits Eve felt like it had happened in another lifetime, but the bruise it left inside you was still tender. Still ugly. Still flaring if you pressed on it even a little.

December came fast.

Too fast.

The air sharpened. Frost bloomed along the edges of windows. The world shifted into grays and silvers and quiet mornings that made everything feel heavier.

You would like to say you’d been focusing on your classes.

You hadn’t.

Your planner sat untouched on your desk, pages curling at the corners, deadlines written in ink that now felt accusatory. You missed lectures. Slept through alarms. Let assignments pile up until the thought of opening your laptop made your chest tight.

Some days you didn’t leave the apartment at all. Other days you left just long enough to grab coffee and convince yourself that counted as participating in life. Mostly, you existed.

And it felt pathetic.

Your friends were busy, really busy. Emily was posting about some internship thing. Leah kept inviting people out. Haley had a new crush every other week. Sandy sent you sweet check-in texts you sometimes didn’t answer until hours later because even kindness felt like something you had to perform for.

Abby too.

That one hurt the most.

You and Abby hung out less and less, not because you didn’t love each other, but because life had started pulling her in a direction that brushed too close to your wound.

She spent most of her time at Sam and Sebastian’s apartment now. Practicing. Rehearsing. Running through setlists until her fingers ached and her voice went hoarse. The band competition moved fast. Round after round, each one closer to something big.

You mostly saw her in the mornings. She’d be halfway out the door, boots on, jacket slung over one shoulder, bag bumping against the wall as she moved. She’d pause when she saw you.

Every time.

"Hey, Sun," she’d say softly, like she was testing the ground before stepping on it.

"Hey," you’d answer, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

She’d hesitate. Hover. Like she wanted to say more but didn’t know how without hurting you.

"I’ll be back late," she’d say. "There’s a run-through tonight."

"Okay."

She’d watch you for a second longer than necessary.

"You good?"

You learned how to lie easily.

"Yeah."

She never looked convinced.

The first couple rounds of the competition, she came home buzzing. She’d drop her stuff by the door, kick off her boots, pace the living room like she was still onstage.

"We killed it," she’d say, eyes bright. "Seb almost fucked up the bridge but Sam covered it. Crowd was insane. Like—insane."

Your stomach would dip at his name. You tried not to flinch.

You tried to be excited.

"That’s awesome," you’d say. "I’m really proud of you."

And you meant it. You really did.

But every story came with him threaded through it. Sam fixing an amp. Sam yelling over feedback. Sam laughing when something went wrong. Sam, Sam, Sam- present in every memory you weren’t there to make.

Abby noticed.

She always did.

Eventually, she started skipping details. Replacing his name with vague gestures. "One of the guys." "Someone." "They."

You appreciated the effort even as it made everything feel more hollow.

As December settled in, something inside you sank deeper.

You slept too much or not enough. Food tasted like nothing. Your body felt heavy, like it was moving through syrup. You spent long stretches curled on the couch, staring at nothing, replaying moments you hated yourself for missing.

You wondered - quietly, shamefully - if Sam had moved on.

If he was laughing again.
If the bruise on his face had faded.
If he’d stopped caring.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

You told yourself this was better.

No more jealousy.
No more anxiety.
No more waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But some nights, when the apartment was quiet and Abby was out, the silence felt too loud.

You’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, and think about wings.

How they’d felt on your shoulders.
How light you’d been before everything cracked.
How easy it was to lose something once you believed you didn’t deserve it anymore.

You weren’t living your best life.

You weren’t really living at all.

You were just.. here.

Abby came home later than usual that night.

You were exactly where you’d been for the past hour: curled into the corner of the couch, blanket over your legs, a family-sized bag of chips balanced on your lap, reruns of Livin’ Off The Land playing softly in the background. The theme song hummed along, familiar and harmless and empty.

The door opened and shut.

Boots kicked off.
Keys tossed.

You didn’t look up.

Abby walked straight in front of the TV and stopped.

"Hey—" you started, annoyed, just as the screen went black.

Click.

Silence.

You stared at her as she turned, arms crossing over her chest. Her face was unreadable in that very specific way that meant she’d already decided to be mad and was just waiting for you to catch up.

You slowly popped another chip into your mouth, chewing deliberately.

Daring her.

She exhaled sharply.

"Okay. Enough," she said. "You’re done being a depressed little shit. That’s Seb’s job."

Before you could react, she reached down, yanked the chip bag right off your stomach, and held it up out of reach.

"Hey!" you protested, sitting up a little.

"You’re not getting these back until you listen to what I have to say."

You stared at the bag. Then at her. Then you sighed and slumped back into the couch, letting yourself sink like you always did.

"What do you want?" you asked tiredly.

"I want you to get your ass up," Abby said, "and start being Sunny again."

You scoffed weakly. "What are you talking about? I’m fine—"

"No," she cut in immediately. Sharp. Final. "You’re not fine. You don’t hang out with us anymore, you haven’t been to class in Yoba knows how long, and I know you and Sam—"

You sat up fully now.

"Who says I’m acting like this because of Sam?"

She deadpanned you. Flat stare. Unblinking.

You wilted under it.

"Okay," you said quickly, rubbing your face. "Maybe it started because of Sam. But I don’t know. I just.. I don’t feel like myself right now." Your voice dropped. "Give me a break, okay?"

Abby’s jaw tightened.

"No more breaks," she said. "I want my best friend back."

The words hit harder than you expected.

Your chest squeezed painfully as guilt crept in, thick and unwelcome. You’d been so wrapped up in your own hurt that you hadn’t really stopped to think about what it looked like from the outside. About how she must have felt, coming home to a quieter apartment, watching you shrink further into yourself every day.

You swallowed.

"I’m sorry," you said softly. "I didn’t mean to push you away too."

Her expression cracked instantly.

She sighed and dropped onto the couch beside you, tossing the chip bag back into your lap like it had never been hostage at all.

"I know," she said. "And I get it. I really do." She nudged your shoulder with hers. "But I miss you."

Your throat tightened.

"I miss me too," you admitted.

She glanced at you sideways. "Then here’s the deal."

You looked at her.

"I accept your apology," she said, "on one condition."

You braced yourself. "Which is?"

"That you actually try. Start being yourself again. Not all at once. Just... start."

You nodded slowly. "Okay."

"Good," she said immediately. "Because you can start by coming to the semi-finals."

Your stomach dropped.

"...Abby."

She groaned. "Don’t."

You hesitated, fingers curling into the blanket. "I don’t know if I can."

"You can," she said firmly. "And before you say his name—don’t." She leaned closer, eyes serious. "You’re not going for Sam."

You looked at her.

"You’re going for me."

Something in her voice - steady, unwavering - made your chest ache.

"I just don’t want to fall apart," you whispered.

She softened. "Then fall apart in the crowd. I’ll still play. And afterward, we’ll get fries and you can complain about how loud it was."

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself.

She smiled, victorious. "So?"

You stared at the dark TV screen. At your reflection faintly staring back.

Then you nodded.

"...Okay," you said. "I’ll go."

Abby grinned like she’d just won the whole damn competition.

"Hell yeah," she said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "There she is."

For the first time in weeks, something warm flickered inside you.

~

You didn’t go with Abby.

You couldn’t.

The thought of being trapped in her van with Sam made your stomach knot. After weeks of silence, after all that distance, you didn’t want your reunion to happen shoulder-to-shoulder with gear piled at your feet and Sebastian pretending not to notice the tension choking the air.

That felt like too much.

So you agreed to meet her there. You told yourself it was fine.

Still, as Haley’s car rattled down the road toward the venue, your leg bounced uncontrollably. You kept wondering if Sam even knew you’d be there. If Abby had told him. And worse, if he didn’t care.

Your brain filled in the gaps with ugly little what ifs.

What if he’s already over it?
What if he looks at you like you’re a stranger?
What if he doesn’t look at you at all?

"Officially here," Haley said, jerking you out of your spiral.

You blinked.

The car slowed, headlights sweeping over a massive open lot glowing with strings of lights and neon signs. Music thundered through the air, bass heavy enough to vibrate in your ribs.

"Oh," you breathed.

You were glad she came. Genuinely. You weren’t sure you could’ve done this alone.

You just wished she hadn’t dragged Alex.

"Yo," Alex said, sticking his head halfway out the passenger window as Haley parked, eyes lighting up. "This place looks sick. You think they got beer here or should we have pre-gamed?"

Haley scoffed, cutting the engine. "Oh my Yoba, do you always have to be drunk?"

Alex shrugged. "I dunno."

You stepped out of the car and the sound hit you full force.

LOUD.

Not just music, layers of it. A band already tearing through a set on the main stage. People shouting. Laughter. Feedback screeching briefly before smoothing out again.

The venue was huge. An outdoor stage framed by scaffolding and lights, hundreds of people packed together in shifting clusters. Band posters plastered every available surface. Booths lined the edges selling merch: patches, tees, pins. Food trucks blazed with color and smoke, grease and sugar hanging thick in the cold air.

Graffiti crawled over the walls like it had grown there naturally.

Despite yourself, something in your chest loosened.

"Okay," you admitted quietly. "Yeah. This is kind of sick."

"Kind of?" Alex laughed. "This fuckin' rules."

As you walked closer, Haley wrinkled her nose. "It’s disgusting. Why are there beer cans everywhere?"

She wasn’t wrong.

Trash overflowed the bins, cans crushed under boots, dark patches of spilled beer staining the blacktop. The place smelled like alcohol, sweat, smoke, and cold metal.

Alex disappeared briefly and came back grinning, holding three beers.

"Drink up," he declared, handing one to each of you.

You hesitated, then took it. The cold aluminum grounded you in a way you hadn’t expected.

You took a sip as you moved into the crowd.

The band onstage finished their song to roaring applause. You barely registered who they were. Your focus kept snagging on flashes of blonde hair in the distance that turned out to be strangers.

Every time, your heart jumped.

Goblin Destroyer was up next.

You pressed closer with Haley beside you, Alex already bobbing his head to the music like he was born in a pit. The crowd was thick here, bodies packed tight, the stage lights washing everything in red and purple.

You craned your neck toward the side of the stage.

Your pulse picked up.

You hadn’t seen him yet. That somehow made it worse.

Your fingers tightened around your beer as the stage lights dimmed, the crowd surging forward with excited noise.

Any second now. You swallowed, bracing yourself.

You were here for Abby. Not him.

You repeated it like a mantra as the first distorted chord screamed through the speakers and the night fully came alive.

Goblin Destroyer strutted onto the stage like they owned it.

The lights snapped on - harsh white, then bleeding into green and red - and your breath caught hard in your throat.

You hadn’t seen Sam in what felt like forever, and the sight of him hit you all at once.

He stood at the mic, guitar slung low on his hips, adjusting the stand with practiced ease. Dirty blonde hair fell just slightly into his face, catching the light every time he moved. His eyebrow piercing flashed. So did the one in his lip. Familiar. Painfully familiar.

Your heart lurched.

His black eye was gone.

In its place were deep, dark circles carved under both eyes, shadows that made him look sharper somehow - more hollow. Like sleep had been optional lately. Like something had been eating at him from the inside.

For a split second, it was almost like seeing him for the first time again.

Almost.

He looked the same, sure. Same posture. Same mouth. Same calloused hands - Yoba, his hands - curling around the neck of his guitar.

But there was something behind his emerald eyes now.

Something darker.
Heavier.

Then, like someone flipped a switch, it vanished.

Performer Sam snapped into place.

He leaned into the mic, lips curling into a crooked grin as the crowd roared.

"The fuck is up, semi-finals!?" he shouted. "We’re Goblin Destroyer— but I'm betting most of you knew that."

Cheers exploded, louder than you expected.

"And we’re here to ask you one thing," he continued, voice confident, sharp, alive. "Are you ready for some real fucking music?!"

The crowd lost their minds.

You felt the sound ripple through your chest.

They’d grown a following.

That much was obvious.

People pressed forward, shouting, fists in the air. Some of them already knew the words Sam was about to sing. That realization stung in a quiet, stupid way.

You wished - briefly, selfishly - that you’d been there to see it happen.

The band crashed into their first song with pure fury.

Loud, distorted, unapologetic. Abby’s drums hit like gunfire, precise and aggressive, driving the rhythm straight through the crowd. Sebastian’s bass growled beneath it all, steady and grounding, his head bobbing slightly as he locked into the groove.

Sam was everywhere.

He sang like it hurt and didn’t care who knew it. Voice raw, strained in the best way, cracking just enough to feel real. He moved across the stage like he belonged there. Leaning into the mic, stepping back, swinging the guitar with muscle memory and instinct.

He looked like a rock star.

The crowd ate it up.

People jumped. Screamed. Sang along. Someone near you shouted every lyric like it was a confession.

Haley leaned in close to your ear. "Okay," she yelled over the noise, "I hate to say it—but they’re actually insane."

Alex whooped beside you, spilling beer as he pumped his fist. "FUCK YEAH!"

You barely heard them.

Your eyes kept drifting back to Abby. Focused, fierce, sweat already shining on her skin as she pounded the drums like she was exorcising something. Pride bloomed warm and bright in your chest. She was killing it. Absolutely killing it.

Sebastian too, in his own way. Calm. Grounded. Anchoring the chaos.

You hated how natural it still felt to watch Sam.

How easily your gaze found him.
How your chest tightened when he smiled at the crowd.
How something in you ached when he closed his eyes mid-chorus like the music was the only thing keeping him upright.

For a brief, dangerous second, his eyes swept across the crowd.

You froze.

Your breath hitched.

But the lights were too bright, the faces too many. His gaze slid past you without stopping, and you didn’t know whether that made you feel relieved or hollow.

You took a long sip of your beer, grounding yourself as the song slammed to an end and the crowd erupted again.

You were here for Abby.

You reminded yourself of that as the band launched into the next song, louder and faster than the last.

Still-
you couldn’t deny it.

Watching him up there, alive and burning and broken in ways you recognized...

It hurt.

"YO, FARM GIRL! YOU GOOD?!" Alex yelled, bending down toward you, beer sloshing dangerously close to disaster.

You startled, then laughed despite yourself. "I’m good!" you yelled back, flashing him a weak thumbs up.

He squinted at you, unimpressed. "THEN ACT LIKE IT! IT WON’T KILL YOU TO HAVE SOME FUN ONCE IN A WHILE!"

Just like that, he turned back to fist pumping like he’d said his piece and was done with it.

You stood there for half a second, the music pounding through you, Abby’s drums rattling your bones, Sam’s voice tearing through the night.

You know what?

He was right.

Fuck being sad.

Fuck spiraling.

You were at a concert. An actual, loud, sweaty, chaotic concert.

Haley caught your eye mid-jump, platinum hair flying, mascara probably running, a grin stretched across her face. When she saw you looking, she pointed at you like there she is and bounced harder.

You laughed.

Then you jumped too.

At first it was awkward, your body stiff and movements unsure, but then the rhythm grabbed you. The bass thudded in your chest. The drums pulled you forward. You let your head move, your shoulders loosen, your voice shout along even when you didn’t know the words.

Your anxieties slipped their grip.

You danced.
You laughed.
You shouted lyrics that didn’t matter.

For a while, you forgot.

You forgot Sam.
Forgot the silence.
Forgot the ache.

You just were.

By the time the set neared its end, you were breathless and warm, beer gone, cheeks flushed. Alex, in a moment of drunk heroics, hoisted Haley up onto his shoulders so she could take pictures, her shrieking with laughter as she balanced herself.

You looked up at her-

That’s when it happened.

Sam saw you.

It was instant. Like the world snapped into focus too sharply.

Your body froze, deer-in-headlights, heart slamming so hard it hurt. Onstage, Sam faltered for half a beat- just a fraction of a second, but you caught it.

So did he.

His eyes locked onto you through the lights, through the crowd, through the noise. For a split second, that dark look crept back in. And this time, you understood it.

Hurt.

Raw. Unhidden. Barely contained.

Something twisted painfully in your chest.

Then he swallowed, stepped closer to the mic, fingers tightening around his guitar like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

"Alright," he said, breathless, voice rougher than before. "Since you guys have been such an awesome fuckin’ crowd—"

Cheers erupted.

"I wanna make our last song of the night special," he continued, eyes flicking away from you now, fixed somewhere far beyond the stage. "This is a new song I’ve been workin’ on."

You felt your stomach drop.

Onstage, Abby glanced over at Sebastian, brows knitting together.

Sebastian shrugged back, confused.

Sam didn’t look at them.

He just started playing.

The guitar came in soft at first. Slower, more deliberate than anything they’d played so far. A progression that felt unfinished but intentional, like it had been written at three in the morning and never meant for anyone else to hear.

Abby hesitated, then picked it up by instinct, easing into a stripped-down rhythm. Sebastian followed, carefully, anchoring it. The crowd quieted, sensing something different.

Sam leaned into the mic.

When he sang, it wasn’t polished. It sounded like confession. Like regret. Like wanting something back and knowing you might never get it.

Your chest tightened painfully as his voice carried over the crowd, raw and cracked in places, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone anymore.

Like he was singing for one person.

You knew this song wasn’t just new.

It was about you.

Sam’s voice carried over the crowd, rough and bitter and unmistakably aimed, and every syllable felt like it landed directly in your chest.

"She thinks she missed the train to Mars,

She’s outback counting stars”

Your breath caught.

"She’s not at work, she’s not at school

She’s not in bed,

I think I finally broke her”

Your throat tightened painfully.

The crowd swayed, unaware. Some people nodded along. Someone shouted approval. Someone else raised their phone higher to

"I bring her home, everything I want

Nothing that she needs

I thought she’d be there holding daisies

She always waits for me”

That one broke you.

Not in the way that sends you running, but in the way that makes your chest feel too small for everything happening inside it. Your face went hot anyway, overwhelmed, exposed, heart pounding so hard you felt dizzy.

He wasn’t blaming you.

He was owning it.

“—shit,” Alex muttered, immediately lowering Haley off his shoulders. She stumbled a little, still smiling, until she saw your face.

“Sunny?” she asked, concern snapping into place.

You shook your head, a small, breathless laugh slipping out with the tears. “I’m— I’m okay,” you said, even if you weren’t sure it was true.

Happy wasn’t the right word.

Relieved wasn’t either.

You just… felt too much all at once.

You wiped at your cheeks quickly, already moving toward the side, where cables and crew clustered in shadow. Toward the place where performers disappeared when the lights went out.

“I just— I need a second,” you said, mostly to yourself.

Haley opened her mouth to argue, then stopped, watching the direction you were heading. Understanding flickered there.

“Go,” she said quietly. “I’ll be right here.”

You nodded and slipped through the thinning edge of the crowd, heart hammering, ears ringing. Sam’s voice followed you, still singing, still steady, like he was holding himself together one line at a time.

Behind you, onstage, Abby locked back in after a brief, searching glance at the crowd. Sebastian followed her lead. Sam finished the song without faltering, but his eyes kept drifting toward the side of the stage.

Toward you.

You were almost there.

Just past the speakers. Just past the barricade. You could see the dim glow of the side-stage entrance now, a security guard leaning against the fence, distracted by the set.

A hand caught your wrist.

Cold. Calloused.

Familiar in a way that made your stomach drop straight through the floor.

“Sunny?”

You froze mid-step, breath hitching so sharply it hurt. Your fingers curled instinctively, like your body knew who it was before your brain dared to catch up.

“It is really you?”

Notes:

Song in this chapter: Stars - Hum

If you saw the old version of this chapter no you didn’t 😳😳
My dumbass pasted the wrong version in from my docs and I didn’t proof read it