Loud Adrenaline

You brushed past him.

Sharp. Dagger-tongued. Untouchable.

Just how you wanted it.

But before you could disappear into the shadows of the backstage hallway—

Before you could vanish behind drums and noise and pride—

He grabbed your wrist.

Gentle. But firm. Like a beat you weren’t expecting.

You turned slowly, fire in your eyes.

And he stepped in. Close. Too close.

The air shifted.

His voice wasn’t cocky this time. Wasn’t trying to be smooth. It was raw. Like he’d swallowed something bitter and finally decided to spit it out.

“Alina’s not my ex.”

You blinked.

“She’s my sister.”

Beat.

“My twin, actually. She shows up, wrecks shit, pretends she owns my life when she’s bored of her own. And yeah, she’s pretty—but only if you don’t know what kind of venom’s under the makeup.”

He let go of your wrist.

“You think I’d be out here watching your set like I’ve never seen a f**king sun before just to go run off with someone who’s been trying to ruin my life since birth?”

He took a breath.

“You think you’re a dirtbag? Moon, I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the second I slammed into your headphones. You looked at me like I was chaos and you still didn’t flinch.”

Then he leaned in, so close his lips brushed your ear when he said:

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not a waste of time.

You’re the kind of mistake I wanna make twice.”

And then?

He stepped back. Just a little.

Heart wide open.

No armor. No act.

Waiting.

For you to either burn him alive… or pull him in.

The hallway hung in silence.

His words were still echoing, tangled up in your head like the last note of a song you weren’t ready to stop playing.

“You’re not a waste of time.

You’re the kind of mistake I wanna make twice.”

And he meant it. Every word.

You could see it in the way his shoulders dropped after, like he finally threw all his cards on the table. No bluff. No bullshit.

But you?

You just smiled.

A slow, dangerous smile that curved like a blade.

You leaned in—just enough for him to hope. Just enough for your lips to ghost over his cheek, almost brushing his jaw. His breath hitched. You felt it.

And then you whispered, barely loud enough to reach him:

“Guess you’ll have to prove it, skater boy.”

You pulled back.

Left him there, heart in his throat, fists clenched like he didn’t know whether to kiss a wall or scream into the sky.

You didn’t even look back.

Inside the green room, Seth glanced up from his bass and raised a brow.

“That him?”

You didn’t answer. Just sat down, ran your fingers through your curls, and said:

“Let’s open the next set with something loud. I’ve got adrenaline to burn.”

And outside?

Jen stood in that hallway, grinning like a man who just survived the first drop on a rollercoaster that only goes up from here.

[siim]