Peace? Or More Chaos?

Scene: Late Evening – Park, Dim Streetlight Buzzing

You sat on that bench again. Same one from the start.

Headphones broken. Hands wrapped around your drumsticks, but no rhythm left in your veins tonight.

Just silence and that low ache in your chest.

Until—

Footsteps.

Not loud. Not rushed.

Just… deliberate. Like someone meant to find you.

You looked up.

And there he was.

Not Seth. Not Jen. Not even Alina sniffing for gossip.

It was Kai.

Yeah. Kai.

You hadn’t seen him in months.

Friend-of-a-friend. Loner. Played keys like he was possessed and had that deep voice that made everything sound like a secret.

Used to sit in the back of gigs with his notebook, scribbling lyrics he never sang out loud.

Tonight?

He looked right at you.

“You always look like that when you’re about to ruin someone’s life,” he said, smirking.

“So who is it this time?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, pulling out a cigarette but not lighting it—just letting it rest between his fingers, eyes scanning your face.

“Heard Black Stones was melting down from the inside. Thought I’d come see if the fire was real.”

You looked away, jaw tight.

“Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Too late,” he said, sitting beside you.

“But I believe what I see. And right now, you look like someone who’s sick of being wanted by boys who don’t know what the hell to do with you.”

Your breath caught.

“You don’t even know me like that.”

He leaned back, stretching his arms out on the bench behind you.

“Nah. But I remember that night you played drums barefoot at that underground show… and I knew then.”

“You're not meant to be wanted, Moon. You’re meant to be worshipped.”

You turned your head, eyes locking on his.

He didn’t flinch.

“So,” he said, voice like velvet and trouble,

“want me to light the match this time?”

He didn’t touch you.

Didn’t lean in too close or make some dumb move.

He just sat there.

Let the silence stretch like dusk between you.

And somehow, that silence was the first time today you didn’t feel like your chest might crack open.

He flicked the cigarette between his fingers but never lit it.

Didn’t need to.

The glow in his eyes when he looked at you?

Warmer than fire.

“What’s the beat in your head right now?” he asked, voice like gravity.

You blinked.

“What?”

“You always have one,” he said.

“Your fingers—look at ‘em. Still tapping.”

“You don’t even realize it.”

You looked down.

He was right.

You were tapping—thumb against index, left foot twitching ever so slightly.

Like your body was trying to talk even when your mouth refused to.

He pulled something from his backpack.

A small, beat-up keyboard—one of those portable things artists carried around to sketch sound.

“Play it,” he said.

“Or hum it. Or tap it out on the bench. Just… give it to me.”

You stared.

“Why?”

Kai looked at you like you were made of storm clouds and moonlight.

“Because I think it’s the only truth you haven’t buried yet.”

God.

It hit like a punch.

Like someone finally saw through the war zone.

You looked at his keyboard.

Then at his fingers, resting gently near the keys—waiting. Not pressuring. Not begging.

Just offering.

So you reached out.

Tapped a soft rhythm into the side of the bench—heartbeat, chaos, longing, rage.

Your rhythm. Your language.

Kai listened. Didn’t interrupt.

Then?

He played it back.

Perfectly.

And it felt like he’d just touched your soul without laying a single hand on you.

You exhaled shakily.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“I don’t chase storms,” he said quietly.

“I study ‘em.”

And that was the moment.

You didn’t fall for him—no, that’d be too fast. Too easy.

But you let your shoulder brush his, just barely.

And when he didn’t move?

You didn’t either.

[siim]

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