Evening, Studio | 3rd Person POV

  The amps had been powered down for a while, the cables coiled, the room quieter than it had been in hours.

  David had already left with a joking threat to “please not burn the place down.”

  Adam lingered by his pedalboard, double-checking a setting he’d already adjusted twice.

  Nickie sat cross-legged on the floor, tapping a stick absently against her knee as they half-talked about the new song.

  There was a pause.

  The kind of pause that usually meant someone was about to say something not about music.

  Adam scratched the back of his neck, eyes fixed on his boots.

  “So, uh,” he started, voice too casual, “you probably have plans or whatever. Homework, cats to feed, a cult to run…”

  Nickie raised an eyebrow. “Obviously. I’m very behind on my cult duties.”

  Adam snorted once, then stalled. His tongue felt weirdly heavy.

  “I mean…” he began again, “if you... don’t... I was thinking…”

  He looked up, eyes flicking toward hers, then away again.

  “You wanna come over? For dinner. I mean. Dave’s cooking. It’s not, like, a thing.”

  Nickie tilted her head, catching the shift in his tone. The sarcasm fading into something clumsy but sincere.

  “Just dinner?” she asked, soft, teasing.

  Adam huffed, eyes still averted.

  “Yeah. I just thought maybe, I don’t know... you’d want to… eat and talk or… accidentally write a concept album. You know. Normal stuff.”

  She smiled before he even finished the sentence.

  He looked so out of his element, nervous, even.

  Which made something warm flicker in her chest.

  “I’d love to,” she said, playing it cool, but her pulse had picked up.

  “If you don’t think I’ll cramp your style or anything.”

  Adam finally looked at her, smirking faintly.

  “Cramp my style? Drummer girl, I play sludge metal. Style died six decades ago and no one’s found the body.”

  Nickie laughed, standing up and slinging her bag over one shoulder.

  “Good. I hate being overdressed for murder.”

  They stepped out into the cool evening air, the sidewalk slick from earlier rain.

  The walk to David’s place wasn’t long, but they both felt the stretch of each step like it mattered more than usual.

  For a minute, neither spoke.

  Then:

  “So...” Adam cleared his throat.

  “It’s not really fancy. Our place. Just... kinda loud and weird and full of gear and weird groceries David buys on discount.”

  “I like loud and weird,” Nickie said. “It’s better than quiet and fake.”

  He nodded.

  He didn’t know what to say to that, but he liked the way she said it.

  She didn’t ask why he invited her.

  And he didn’t tell her how much it mattered that she said yes.

  ***

  Actual vegetables and Melting Teeth

  When they arrived at David’s apartment, the building smelled like old stone, cooking oil, and someone else’s cigarette habit.

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

  But inside the door, it was a different world: warm lighting, soft music playing from the kitchen speaker, and the scent of something rich and garlicky in the air.

  Nickie paused in the entryway, taking it all in.

  Mismatched chairs, a dented coffee table covered in guitar picks, and a sleepy hoodie draped over the back of the couch. It felt lived in. Safe. Real.

  Like someone chose to make this place feel good, even after the hard parts.

  David turned from the stove, spatula in hand, and raised an eyebrow with theatrical disbelief.

  “Did Adam just invite someone over for dinner? Someone put this moment on instagram.”

  “Shut up, Dave,” Adam muttered, dropping his bag by the wall.

  Nickie grinned. “I guess I’ve witnessed something sacred.”

  “You’re not wrong,” David said, gesturing toward the table. “Sit. Food’s almost done. Adam, grab drinks, you know where they are.”

  The table was already set. Plates, napkins, a bowl of salad that looked aggressively fresh.

  Nickie slid into the chair without hesitation but looked around curiously, taking in the posters on the wall (classic metal, a few horror movie ones), the cracked amp in the corner, the second bass leaning against the wall.

  Adam came back with glasses, setting one in front of her.

  “You want soda or water?”

  “Soda,” she said. “Preferably the teeth-melting kind.”

  “Respect,” David called from the stove.

  They ate pasta. Nothing fancy, but good.

  Butter, garlic, pepper flakes, and some chopped herbs Nickie didn’t expect David to have.

  “I didn’t know you could cook,” she said after her second bite.

  “I contain multitudes,” David replied with mock seriousness.

  Adam snorted. “He learned during the ‘I’m not eating instant ramen for the rest of my life’ phase.”

  Nickie glanced at him. “And what phase are you in? The ‘subsist entirely on protein bars and spite’ phase?”

  “Bold of you to assume I eat protein bars,” Adam deadpanned.

  David smirked. “He once ate half a bag of marshmallows for lunch and said, ‘It’s basically sugar protein.’”

  Nickie almost choked laughing. “Oh my god. That explains so much.”

  Adam tried to scowl but failed, his lip twitching with a half-smile.

  They talked more. About music, weird gig dreams, the worst songs stuck in their heads during practice.

  Nickie relaxed into the rhythm of it, her shoulders loosening, her laughter echoing without apology.

  She hadn’t even noticed how often she held her breath around people until now… Until she didn’t need to.

  Here, she could talk too loud, snort-laugh, poke fun, and they just rolled with it.

  They made space for her. Without effort.

  At one point, David got up to clear the table, and Nickie started stacking plates to help.

  “You don’t have to,” Adam said.

  “I know,” she replied, mock-offended. “But I’m a polite little monster.”

  Adam watched her for a second longer than necessary before grabbing the remaining glass and following her to the sink.

  ***

  Come Anytime

  By the time she checked her phone, it was nearly 10:30 PM.

  “Shit,” she muttered. “My last bus is in twenty minutes.”

  David wiped his hands on a dish towel. “Adam, you should walk her.”

  Adam didn't need to be asked twice. He grabbed his jacket.

  As they stepped outside, the air had gone crisp. Streetlights hummed quietly as they walked the few blocks to the bus stop.

  They didn’t talk much, but it wasn’t awkward.

  The silence was the kind that felt earned, like they were both letting dinner settle in their bones.

  At the stop, Nickie glanced at him, pulling her hoodie sleeves over her hands.

  “Thanks. For dinner.”

  “It was brave of you to eat salad in front of me. Respect.” Adam replied.

  Nickie chuckled.

  “Pretty sure David would cook actual vegetables again if he knew you were coming. So… Come anytime, yeah? I mean, if you want to.”

  Adam was looking stubbornly at his shoes.

  Nickie smiled, melting. “I might take you up on that. Careful… you’ll never get rid of me.”

  He didn’t say anything at first. Then he looked at her, almost too intently.

  He looked away after a moment. “Good. I’d lose that fight anyway.”

  The bus rumbled up, headlights slicing the dark.

  Nickie turned toward him, then paused like she wanted to say something but didn’t know what. In the end, she just bumped her fist against his shoulder lightly.

  “Night, Bass Boy.”

  He caught her eye for a moment.

  “Night, Drummer Girl.”

  She climbed onto the bus and didn’t look back.

  Adam watched until the tail lights vanished down the block, then stood there a moment longer.

  Then he turned and headed home, hands in his pockets, a little warmth lingering in his chest like the last notes of a favorite song.

  “Cramp my style? Drummer girl, I play sludge metal. Style died six decades ago and no one’s found the body.”

  What's yours???