3rd person POV

  It didn’t happen all at once. But little by little, Adam’s walls began to crumble.

  He started leaning into moments with Nickie.

  Sitting closer during band practice, trading quiet inside jokes, brushing shoulders without flinching.

  The small things.

  The things he used to brace against.

  Nickie noticed it all.

  The way his body lost that constant tension when he was near her.

  The way he sought her out, not just for feedback or practice logistics, but for no reason at all.

  A glance. A joke. A breath shared between beats.

  She never pushed. Never pried. She let him set the pace, and in return, he drifted closer, like a tide inching up the shore.

  ***

  Sunday, Band-Practice Religion

  The studio buzzed with heat, static, and the low hum of anticipation as REAPERAND dove into their fourth run of the set.

  Nickie’s sticks blurred through the air, Adam’s bass snarled like a living thing, and David’s guitar surged over it all like a wave of distortion and fury.

  It wasn’t just music. It was exorcism by amplification.

  And then…

  CRASH.

  Nickie’s snare flipped like it had a vendetta. Mid-song, mid-hit, mid-chaos.

  It was spectacular. Like it had launched itself in protest.

  Adam froze for half a beat, nearly choking on a laugh.

  Nickie, to her credit, didn’t miss a beat. She slammed her foot into the kick, twisted around, and flipped the snare back with one hand while keeping time with the other like it was all part of the show.

  When the song ended, the silence barely lasted a second.

  Adam pointed his bass at her like a weapon.

  “Snare-icide. That’s what we’re calling that move.”

  Nickie twirled a stick and smirked. “Bet you didn’t know the drum kit came with special effects.”

  David snorted. “Your snare just performed a stage dive.”

  “Should’ve warned it about the emotional toll of being in this band.” Nickie deadpanned as she adjusted the kit.

  Adam chuckled, already turning back to his amp.

  “Alright, encore time.”

  They launched into the track.

  This time, midway through the chorus, one of Nickie’s sticks snapped clean in half.

  She didn’t even blink. Just kept going with one stick, keeping rhythm like it was her plan all along.

  Adam caught it instantly, smirking.

  With the instincts of someone who lives next door to chaos and borrows sugar weekly, he grabbed a fresh stick from the small pile he’d started keeping near his pedalboard, and handed it over with a flourish.

  “Number four this week,” he said. “A new personal record!”

  Nickie grinned. “It’s called commitment to the craft, Bass Boy.”

  They were still neck-deep in the track when Adam, with zero warning, unleashed The Eternal Feedback like a beast uncaged… For three whole minutes.

  Nickie sighed dramatically when it was over. “Can we play a song without your banshee mating call?”

  “You love it. Admit it.”

  “It’s like listening to a demon gargling tinfoil.”

  “Exactly,” Adam replied, proud.

  Despite the noise and the chaos, the undercurrent of joy was unmistakable.

  This practice wasn’t just about tightening the set. It was about them. The energy, the teasing, the way they moved in sync without even trying.

  David, re-tuning his guitar, rolled his eyes affectionately as Adam called out, “One more time, from the chorus.”

  Nickie didn’t protest. She nodded, breathless and smiling, ready.

  Another take.

  Then another.

  It was the fourth “last take” before David groaned, “Adam, let the poor girl go home already.”

  Nickie laughed but didn’t move. “I’m good,” she said, tossing her sweaty hair out of her face. “Let’s go again.”

  David caught the look on Adam’s face: focused, alive in a way that had become more common lately.

  Less guarded.

  He watched his little brother give a rare, full smile as he counted them in again.

  David leaned back against the amp, hiding his grin.

  He saw it in the way Adam stood. Shoulders uncurled, eyes lifted.

  Like he’d remembered there was still something left to look forward to.

  ***

  Chapter 15.1: Texts from the Void

  Monday, Emo octopuses

  Nickie (9:14 PM):

  Did you know octopuses have three hearts?

  Adam (9:15 PM):

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Show-offs.

  Nickie (9:16 PM):

  Bet they’d be great at writing breakup songs.

  Adam (9:17 PM):

  Or terrible. Too emotional.

  Nickie (9:18 PM):

  You think they’d be emo?

  Adam (9:19 PM):

  Absolutely. Three hearts? All-black wardrobe.

  Later that Monday

  Nickie (10:22 PM):

  Do you think cats judge us?

  Adam (10:23 PM):

  Relentlessly.

  Nickie (10:24 PM):

  Even when they’re sleeping?

  Adam (10:25 PM):

  Especially when they’re sleeping. That’s when they plan their most devastating critiques.

  Nickie (10:26 PM):

  I knew it. My cat stares at me like I’m a failed experiment.

  Adam (10:27 PM):

  To be fair, we probably are.

  Nickie (10:28 PM):

  Great. Now I’m insecure in front of my own pet. Thanks for that.

  Adam (10:29 PM):

  Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll get a glowing performance review next nap cycle.

  Tuesday, Embrace the weirdness

  Nickie (11:11 PM):

  There’s a squirrel outside my window just… staring at me. Do you think it’s planning something?

  Adam (11:12 PM):

  Definitely. They’re organized. Probably plotting your downfall.

  Nickie (11:13 PM):

  Should I fight it?

  Adam (11:14 PM):

  No. Squirrels fight dirty. I’d run.

  Nickie (11:15 PM):

  …It just left. Should I be worried?

  Adam (11:16 PM):

  You’ve got 24 hours. Use them wisely.

  Thursday, Food wars

  Nickie (10:02 PM):

  Do you think bagels are just lazy donuts?

  Adam (10:03 PM):

  No. Bagels have depth. Donuts are just show-offs.

  Nickie (10:04 PM):

  Excuse me! I’m offended on behalf of all donuts.

  Adam (10:05 PM):

  I stand by my opinion. Donuts are the rockstars. Bagels are the underrated indie bands.

  Nickie (10:06 PM):

  …Okay, fair.

  Friday, Intergalactic noise plans

  Nickie (1:37 AM):

  What if aliens are just waiting for us to invent cooler music before they show up?

  Adam (1:38 AM):

  Then we’re doomed. Humanity peaked with distortion pedals and fuzz.

  Nickie (1:39 AM):

  Nah, they’ll hear sludge metal and think we’re gods.

  Adam (1:40 AM):

  More like kindred spirits drowning in cosmic dread.

  Nickie (1:41 AM):

  "Greetings, Earthlings. Your riffs are filthy. We approve."

  Adam (1:42 AM):

  Then they abduct us to play the galaxy’s first doom-fest.

  Nickie (1:43 AM):

  Headlining: Planet Crusher & The Black Hole Collective.

  Adam (1:44 AM):

  Let’s start a band before they beat us to it.

  Nickie (1:45 AM):

  Deal. Intergalactic sludge supremacy, here we come.

  Adam locked his phone, a faint smile tugging at his mouth.

  He didn’t know what they were, but whatever it was… it felt good to wait for her texts.

  ***

  Chapter 15.2: The Responsible Rocking Chronicles

  Saturday, Stick regulation

  Adam: “Drummer girl, how many sticks did you lose this week? Should we start a fundraiser or something?”

  Nickie: “I wouldn’t lose them if someone didn’t keep borrowing them to pretend they’re Wolverine.”

  David: “We need a chart. A spreadsheet. Maybe a ‘Missing Sticks Hotline.’ I’m not buying another pack until there’s a system.”

  Saturday, David is a dad

  David (holding up a pair of drumsticks he found under the amp):

  “Well, someone keeps leaving their toys all over the place. What do I always say? If you don’t take care of your gear, you don’t deserve to have it.”

  Adam: “Dave, you know you’re not actually our dad, right? Or is this some long-lost sitcom we’re living in?”

  Nickie: “He’s just practicing for when he gets his own dad band. ‘The Grounded Chords’ or something.”

  David: “Very funny. But when you two need rides to gigs, suddenly I’m cool.”

  Sunday, Snapping strings

  David (after snapping another string): “Oops.”

  Nickie: “Oops? That’s your go-to? You’ve snapped so many strings, we could start a collection.”

  Adam: “Call it modern art. ‘The Fragile Strings of a Guitar Dad.’”

  Nickie: “At this point, you should just carry a backup guitar for your backup guitar.”

  Saturday, Saint Dave

  Nickie: “Another string? Dave, at this rate, you’re gonna have to start playing with fishing line.”

  Adam: “Or barbed wire. Might finally match the tone you’re going for.”

  Nickie: “Actually, harp. Let’s get him a harp. Those strings survive war zones.”

  Adam: “Yeah, Dave can shred emotionally instead of physically.”

  Nickie (mock serious): “Be honest. Do you ever wake up, look at your guitar, and think, ‘One of you bitches is dying today?’”

  David (sighing dramatically, replacing the string):

  “Saint David. Patron of snapped strings and relentless teasing. My miracles include tuning under fire and not quitting this band.”

  Wednesday, They all remember

  Nickie:

  “There it is! The elusive Bass Face! Someone grab a camera before it retreats into the wild!”

  Adam:

  “You’re just jealous you don’t have a Drummer Face.”

  Nickie:

  “Please. I have a different face for every cymbal crash. Try to keep up, Mr. One Expression.”

  Later that practice

  Adam: “Careful, Drummer Girl. We don’t need a repeat of The Snaricide Incident.”

  Nickie: “Oh my god! it happened one time!”

  David: “Instruments remember, Nickie. Instruments remember.”

  Right at the end of that practice

  Nickie: “Drums win every time. You can’t fight rhythm.”

  Adam: “Bass is the backbone. Without me, you’re just noise.”

  David groaned as another string snapped.

  Adam and Nickie burst out laughing.

  In this band, chaos wasn’t a side effect. It was the secret sauce.