The Hardcore Gig | 3rd person POV
The venue was packed, the air thick with sweat and adrenaline.
Hardcore riffs rattled the walls as the pit churned like a storm.
Adam and Nickie stood just shy of the chaos, close enough to feel the floor shake beneath their boots.
David had warned them before they got inside, a hand clapped on Adam’s shoulder like a parent scolding unruly teens.
“I swear, if either of you gets hurt, I’m making you both sit through my entire guitar solo repertoire as punishment.”
“Noted, Dad,” Nickie had grinned.
“Relax,” Adam had added, deadpan. “We’ve done at least three dumb things today already. We’re statistically due for good decisions.”
But when Nickie had to sidestep a flying shoe with the reflexes of a street cat, David shot them a told-you-so look from his safe corner.
During a break, as the noise softened into buzzing amps and breathless chatter, a girl approached Adam: fishnets, combat boots, and a swagger built on knowing how to take up space.
She barely glanced at Nickie, like she was just another shadow in the room.
“Hey,” she purred, eyes flicking up and down Adam’s frame. “You look like you belong onstage. You in a band?”
Adam rubbed the back of his neck, hesitant. “Yeah. Something like that.”
The girl grinned wider. “Maybe I’ll come to your next gig. You should let me know.”
She leaned in, voice dropping to a lower register. “Bet you look even prettier when the lights hit you just right.”
Adam flinched. Barely, but Nickie saw it.
“Uh, thanks,” he said, taking a small step back. “Don’t have anything lined up though.”
“Oh come on. No need to be shy.”
The girl reached for his arm.
Adam dodged her touch without thinking, the movement too practiced to be conscious. “Really. I’m fine.”
That was enough.
The girl blinked, caught off guard by the rejection.
Her smile faltered.
She glanced between Adam and Nickie, who was still standing where she’d been the whole time, arms crossed. Something in her expression soured.
Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked off into the crowd, her boots stomping harder than necessary.
Adam let out a breath and looked over at Nickie.
“You good?” she asked, voice casual but laced with meaning.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
“Yeah,” Adam said, eyes still a little distant.
"She was a finalist for Worst Pickup Line 2025. Next time, I growl."
Adam huffed a quiet laugh.
“Might need you to bite next time,” he muttered, his smile faint but real.
“I just might.”
***
The Doom Metal Night
“Remember, no mosh pit injuries. If you break a finger, don’t come crying to me,” David warned them as they approached the venue.
Adam rolled his eyes, exchanging a look with Nickie like, ‘You wanna take this one?’
“WE GOT IT LAST TIME, Dave. Just a mild concussion and one shoe lost to the void. It was a great night.” Nickie said.
The low, droning riffs filled the room, the walls vibrating under the weight of distortion.
The crowd swayed like a single slow-moving beast, heads nodding in unison.
David kept his usual safe distance, arms crossed, eyes flicking between the stage and the younger two.
Adam and Nickie stuck near the back, bobbing their heads in time, mouthing along to lyrics too guttural to understand.
At some point, Nickie ducked out to the bathroom.
When she returned, her steps slowed. A girl in a ripped Misfits T-shirt and a spiked collar was already leaning far too close to Adam.
“You’ve got that broody musician vibe. I like it,” the girl said, voice dripping with performative confidence.
Adam blinked, visibly uncomfortable. “Uh… thanks, I guess.”
She stepped in. Too close. “You should let me buy you a drink. Or maybe we could find a quieter spot to... talk.”
Adam shifted, his body angling away as his eyes darted toward the crowd. “I appreciate it, but I’m not really looking for anything like that.”
Her hand hovered near his shoulder. He leaned away without making a scene, but the tension was visible in his jaw.
“If you change your mind…” she murmured, stepping in even closer.
Too close.
Whispering something right into his ear.
Adam’s face changed instantly. His scowl was sharp and immediate.
Across the room, Nickie’s stomach turned. She watched the whole thing with a rising wave of irritation.
‘Why does he have to deal with this crap?’
She stepped forward just slightly. Enough to be in his line of sight, casually adjusting her bag like she hadn’t been watching the whole thing unfold.
Adam locked eyes with her. His whole posture changed, like someone who'd just been thrown a lifeline.
“Excuse me,” he said firmly, brushing past the girl. “I need to get back to my friend.”
The girl’s expression faltered. “Fine, bye.” she muttered, clearly disappointed.
Adam walked straight to Nickie, a breath of relief slipping out. He didn’t have to say anything.
Nickie just gave a small nod, the kind that said I saw. You’re good.
As they stood side by side again, Nickie leaned slightly toward him and muttered, “You attract weirdos, Bass Boy.”
Adam sighed. “Don’t remind me.”
There was a pause, long enough for the music to swell again, long enough for the moment to settle.
Then Nickie asked, quieter this time, “What did she say to you? That made you scowl?”
Adam hesitated. His jaw clenched for a second before he answered, eyes fixed somewhere over the crowd.
“She said…” He shook his head slightly, like he still couldn’t believe it. “‘Bet you’re the kind who likes it when someone else takes control.’”
Nickie blinked. “What the fuck?”
Adam let out a dry laugh, no humor in it. “Yeah. Like that’s a normal thing to say to a stranger.”
There was silence between them again. Heavy.
Then Nickie’s voice cut through, steady. “You okay?”
Adam didn’t answer right away. Then, softly: “I am now.”
She bumped her shoulder gently against his.
“C’mon. Let’s get a drink before another aspiring dominatrix finds you.”
Adam huffed a tired laugh. “God, please.”
