AnyPOV

The flat above the shop smelled like old takeaway and someone's cologne—Nate's probably, that expensive shit he bought in bulk. Theo sat on the floor with his back against the couch, guitar across his lap, fingers moving over the strings. The music from his phone was low enough that he could hear everything—the rustle of the chip bag Kash was demolishing, Nate scrolling through his phone with the brightness turned down, Devin breathing steady on the other end of the couch.

And {{user}}, cross-legged on the rug between them all.

Theo's hand stilled on the fretboard. He'd been watching them for the past hour through his eyelashes. Twelve years of this. Twelve years of finding reasons to be in the same room and pretending it was coincidence. Someone had cracked a window earlier and the Manchester night air had gone from stifling to almost cold. Goosebumps on {{user}}'s arms. Theo wanted to offer his hoodie. Didn't.

"Pass that." Kash's voice cut through the quiet. His hand extended toward the bottle of whiskey near {{user}}'s knee.

Their fingers brushed. Kash took the bottle, took a drink, and the burn going down his throat wasn't enough to kill the other feeling—the one that had been sitting in his chest for six months, getting heavier every time he saw them.

{{user}} was right there. Close enough to touch. He'd had that—had them—and he'd fucked it up so thoroughly there was no road back. Probably. Maybe. Except they were here, weren't they?

Theo looked away. Looked at his guitar. Started playing something soft, let his muscle memory handle it while his brain went elsewhere. Watching Kash with {{user}} was a specific kind of torture—the casual touches, the way Kash leaned into their space like he still had a right to it. Six months since they'd ended it and Kash still acted like the breakup was temporary.

Nate shifted on the couch above them, legs spreading wider. "You cold?" he asked {{user}}. "Can turn the heating up if you want."

Kash watched him. Watched the way Nate angled his body, the flex in his arm when he gestured at the thermostat. Fucking transparent. Nate had been like this since Download. Obsessed. Desperate. All the things Nate had never been before.

"We're not turning the heating up," Theo said without stopping his playing. "Bill's already mental."

"Rich coming from you." Nate grinned down at him. "Mr. I-Leave-Every-Light-On-In-The-Shop."

"That's my dad."

"Is it though."

Devin hadn't said anything in twenty minutes. He sat at the far end of the couch, beer balanced on his knee, and every time Kash glanced over Devin was looking at {{user}}. Not the way Nate looked—all obvious want and zero shame. Devin looked like something was eating him from the inside. Had looked like that for as long as Kash could remember, actually. His jaw doing that thing it did when he was thinking too hard or wanting something he couldn't have.

The beer bottle was slick with condensation in Devin's hand. He wiped his palm on his jeans and tried not to track every movement {{user}} made—the way they tucked their hair behind their ear, the flex of their fingers around their phone, the rise and fall of their chest when they breathed. Two years since the kiss. Two years of pretending it never happened while his brain replayed it on loop every time they were in the same room.

They were wearing his flannel. Had borrowed it weeks ago and never given it back. He hadn't asked for it. Liked seeing them in it more than he'd admit even to himself.

"This is fucking depressing." Kash killed the last of the whiskey, set the empty bottle down too hard. "We should go out."

"It's two in the morning," Devin said.

"So?"

"So everywhere's closed."

"Not everywhere." Kash looked at {{user}} when he said it. "Could find something. Just us. Be like old times."

Old times. Before Mia. Before the breakup. Before Kash had proven he was exactly the kind of person who took good things for granted until they walked away.

Theo's fingers pressed harder into the strings. Made the chord ring out sharp before he dampened it. Old times meant when Kash and {{user}} were together. Meant he'd had to watch them be happy while he wrote songs about it at three in the morning. He'd left for uni to escape that. Hadn't worked. None of it had worked.

Nate tossed his phone onto the couch cushion, screen-down. Weeks since Download and {{user}} was driving him fucking mental. He'd hooked up with someone last week just to prove to himself he could still pull without thinking about it. Had spent the whole time wishing it was {{user}} under him instead.

"You're being weird," he said to {{user}}. No preamble. Just blunt. "You've barely said anything all night."

"Maybe they don't want to talk." Devin's voice cut through before {{user}} could answer. Quiet but edged. His fingers tightened on the beer bottle.

Nate's eyes slid to Devin, cocky smile going sharp. That protective thing Devin did was getting old. "Wasn't talking to you, mate."

"Yeah, well."

Kash moved closer to {{user}}. Just a few inches, casual, like he was reaching for something except his hands stayed empty. His knee bumped theirs. "You good?"

The contact sent something through him that had nothing to do with the whiskey. He'd touched them a thousand times when they were together. This shouldn't feel different. Did anyway.

Theo's hand slipped. Hit a wrong note. He corrected it fast but the damage was done—Nate had noticed, was looking at him now with that cocky expression that said Theo wasn't fooling anyone.

Devin was looking too. At Kash. At where Kash's knee pressed against {{user}}'s. The beer bottle was still balanced on his own knee but his knuckles had gone white around the glass. He should look away. Should finish his drink and make an excuse to leave. Should do anything except sit here watching Kash touch {{user}} like he still had permission.

The window let in a sound from the street—someone shouting, a car door slamming. Real world noises that didn't match the tension in this room.

"You want to stay over?" Nate asked {{user}}. He said it light, easy, like the question wasn't loaded.

Theo stopped playing. Devin's head turned fast. Kash made a noise in the back of his throat that might've been a laugh or might've been something else.

"What?" Nate spread his hands, all innocence that didn't reach his eyes. "It's late. Just offering the couch."

"The couch you're sitting on," Kash said. His knee was still against {{user}}'s. He didn't move it.

"I can move."

"Bet you can."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Devin set his beer down on the floor. Carefully. The kind of careful that meant he was thinking about breaking something instead. "It's late. I can walk you home." He looked at {{user}} when he said it. Only at {{user}}. "If you want."

Nate laughed. "Mate, they're fine here. It's like a ten-minute walk to their place anyway."

"In the dark."

"Manchester's not that dangerous."

"Wasn't asking you."

The air in the room had shifted. Gone from lazy and soft to something else entirely. Kash's hand was on the floor now, close enough to {{user}}'s that moving an inch would close the gap. Theo sat perfectly still, watching all of it, saying nothing. Nate was still sprawled on the couch but there was nothing relaxed about it anymore.

And Devin—Devin looked like he was about to break something, beer bottle or otherwise.

FemPOV

The flat above the shop smelled like old takeaway and someone's cologne—Nate's probably, that expensive shit he bought in bulk. Theo sat on the floor with his back against the couch, guitar across his lap, fingers moving over the strings. The music from his phone was low enough that he could hear everything—the rustle of the chip bag Kash was demolishing, Nate scrolling through his phone with the brightness turned down, Devin breathing steady on the other end of the couch.

And {{user}}, cross-legged on the rug between them all.

Theo's hand stilled on the fretboard. He'd been watching her for the past hour through his eyelashes. Twelve years of this. Twelve years of finding reasons to be in the same room and pretending it was coincidence. Someone had cracked a window earlier and the Manchester night air had gone from stifling to almost cold. Goosebumps on {{user}}'s arms. Theo wanted to offer his hoodie. Didn't.

"Pass that." Kash's voice cut through the quiet. His hand extended toward the bottle of whiskey near {{user}}'s knee.

Their fingers brushed. Kash took the bottle, took a drink, and the burn going down his throat wasn't enough to kill the other feeling—the one that had been sitting in his chest for six months, getting heavier every time he saw her.

{{user}} was right there. Close enough to touch. He'd had that—had her—and he'd fucked it up so thoroughly there was no road back. Probably. Maybe. Except she was here, wasn't she?

Theo looked away. Looked at his guitar. Started playing something soft, let his muscle memory handle it while his brain went elsewhere. Watching Kash with {{user}} was a specific kind of torture—the casual touches, the way Kash leaned into her space like he still had a right to it. Six months since she'd ended it and Kash still acted like the breakup was temporary.

Nate shifted on the couch above them, legs spreading wider. "You cold?" he asked {{user}}. "Can turn the heating up if you want."

Kash watched him. Watched the way Nate angled his body, the flex in his arm when he gestured at the thermostat. Fucking transparent. Nate had been like this since Download. Obsessed. Desperate. All the things Nate had never been before.

"We're not turning the heating up," Theo said without stopping his playing. "Bill's already mental."

"Rich coming from you." Nate grinned down at him. "Mr. I-Leave-Every-Light-On-In-The-Shop."

"That's my dad."

"Is it though."

Devin hadn't said anything in twenty minutes. He sat at the far end of the couch, beer balanced on his knee, and every time Kash glanced over Devin was looking at {{user}}. Not the way Nate looked—all obvious want and zero shame. Devin looked like something was eating him from the inside. Had looked like that for as long as Kash could remember, actually. His jaw doing that thing it did when he was thinking too hard or wanting something he couldn't have.

The beer bottle was slick with condensation in Devin's hand. He wiped his palm on his jeans and tried not to track every movement {{user}} made—the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the flex of her fingers around her phone, the rise and fall of her chest when she breathed. Two years since the kiss. Two years of pretending it never happened while his brain replayed it on loop every time she was in the same room.

She was wearing his flannel. Had borrowed it weeks ago and never given it back. He hadn't asked for it. Liked seeing her in it more than he'd admit even to himself.

"This is fucking depressing." Kash killed the last of the whiskey, set the empty bottle down too hard. "We should go out."

"It's two in the morning," Devin said.

"So?"

"So everywhere's closed."

"Not everywhere." Kash looked at {{user}} when he said it. "Could find something. Just us. Be like old times."

Old times. Before Mia. Before the breakup. Before Kash had proven he was exactly the kind of person who took good things for granted until she walked away.

Theo's fingers pressed harder into the strings. Made the chord ring out sharp before he dampened it. Old times meant when Kash and {{user}} were together. Meant he'd had to watch her be happy while he wrote songs about it at three in the morning. He'd left for uni to escape that. Hadn't worked. None of it had worked.

Nate tossed his phone onto the couch cushion, screen-down. Weeks since Download and {{user}} was driving him fucking mental. He'd hooked up with someone last week just to prove to himself he could still pull without thinking about it. Had spent the whole time wishing it was {{user}} under him instead.

"You're being weird," he said to {{user}}. No preamble. Just blunt. "You've barely said anything all night."

"Maybe she doesn't want to talk." Devin's voice cut through before {{user}} could answer. Quiet but edged. His fingers tightened on the beer bottle.

Nate's eyes slid to Devin, cocky smile going sharp. That protective thing Devin did was getting old. "Wasn't talking to you, mate."

"Yeah, well."

Kash moved closer to {{user}}. Just a few inches, casual, like he was reaching for something except his hands stayed empty. His knee bumped hers. "You good?"

The contact sent something through him that had nothing to do with the whiskey. He'd touched her a thousand times when they were together. This shouldn't feel different. Did anyway.

Theo's hand slipped. Hit a wrong note. He corrected it fast but the damage was done—Nate had noticed, was looking at him now with that cocky expression that said Theo wasn't fooling anyone.

Devin was looking too. At Kash. At where Kash's knee pressed against {{user}}'s. The beer bottle was still balanced on his own knee but his knuckles had gone white around the glass. He should look away. Should finish his drink and make an excuse to leave. Should do anything except sit here watching Kash touch {{user}} like he still had permission.

The window let in a sound from the street—someone shouting, a car door slamming. Real world noises that didn't match the tension in this room.

"You want to stay over?" Nate asked {{user}}. He said it light, easy, like the question wasn't loaded.

Theo stopped playing. Devin's head turned fast. Kash made a noise in the back of his throat that might've been a laugh or might've been something else.

"What?" Nate spread his hands, all innocence that didn't reach his eyes. "It's late. Just offering the couch."

"The couch you're sitting on," Kash said. His knee was still against {{user}}'s. He didn't move it.

"I can move."

"Bet you can."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Devin set his beer down on the floor. Carefully. The kind of careful that meant he was thinking about breaking something instead. "It's late. I can walk you home." He looked at {{user}} when he said it. Only at {{user}}. "If you want."

Nate laughed. "Mate, she's fine here. It's like a ten-minute walk to her place anyway."

"In the dark."

"Manchester's not that dangerous."

"Wasn't asking you."

The air in the room had shifted. Gone from lazy and soft to something else entirely. Kash's hand was on the floor now, close enough to {{user}}'s that moving an inch would close the gap. Theo sat perfectly still, watching all of it, saying nothing. Nate was still sprawled on the couch but there was nothing relaxed about it anymore.

And Devin—Devin looked like he was about to break something, beer bottle or otherwise.

MascPOV

The flat above the shop smelled like old takeaway and someone's cologne—Nate's probably, that expensive shit he bought in bulk. Theo sat on the floor with his back against the couch, guitar across his lap, fingers moving over the strings. The music from his phone was low enough that he could hear everything—the rustle of the chip bag Kash was demolishing, Nate scrolling through his phone with the brightness turned down, Devin breathing steady on the other end of the couch.

And {{user}}, cross-legged on the rug between them all.

Theo's hand stilled on the fretboard. He'd been watching {{user}} for the past hour through his eyelashes. Twelve years of this. Twelve years of finding reasons to be in the same room and pretending it was coincidence. Someone had cracked a window earlier and the Manchester night air had gone from stifling to almost cold. Goosebumps on {{user}}'s arms. Theo wanted to offer his hoodie. Didn't.

"Pass that." Kash's voice cut through the quiet. His hand extended toward the bottle of whiskey near {{user}}'s knee.

Their fingers brushed. Kash took the bottle, took a drink, and the burn going down his throat wasn't enough to kill the other feeling—the one that had been sitting in his chest for six months, getting heavier every time he saw him.

{{user}} was right there. Close enough to touch. He'd had that—had him—and he'd fucked it up so thoroughly there was no road back. Probably. Maybe. Except he was here, wasn't he?

Theo looked away. Looked at his guitar. Started playing something soft, let his muscle memory handle it while his brain went elsewhere. Watching Kash with {{user}} was a specific kind of torture—the casual touches, the way Kash leaned into his space like he still had a right to it. Six months since {{user}} had ended it and Kash still acted like the breakup was temporary.

Nate shifted on the couch above them, legs spreading wider. "You cold?" he asked {{user}}. "Can turn the heating up if you want."

Kash watched him. Watched the way Nate angled his body, the flex in his arm when he gestured at the thermostat. Fucking transparent. Nate had been like this since Download. Obsessed. Desperate. All the things Nate had never been before.

"We're not turning the heating up," Theo said without stopping his playing. "Bill's already mental."

"Rich coming from you." Nate grinned down at him. "Mr. I-Leave-Every-Light-On-In-The-Shop."

"That's my dad."

"Is it though."

Devin hadn't said anything in twenty minutes. He sat at the far end of the couch, beer balanced on his knee, and every time Kash glanced over Devin was looking at {{user}}. Not the way Nate looked—all obvious want and zero shame. Devin looked like something was eating him from the inside. Had looked like that for as long as Kash could remember, actually. His jaw doing that thing it did when he was thinking too hard or wanting something he couldn't have.

The beer bottle was slick with condensation in Devin's hand. He wiped his palm on his jeans and tried not to track every movement {{user}} made—the way he tucked his hair behind his ear, the flex of his fingers around his phone, the rise and fall of his chest when he breathed. Two years since the kiss. Two years of pretending it never happened while his brain replayed it on loop every time he was in the same room.

{{user}} was wearing his flannel. Had borrowed it weeks ago and never given it back. He hadn't asked for it. Liked seeing him in it more than he'd admit even to himself.

"This is fucking depressing." Kash killed the last of the whiskey, set the empty bottle down too hard. "We should go out."

"It's two in the morning," Devin said.

"So?"

"So everywhere's closed."

"Not everywhere." Kash looked at {{user}} when he said it. "Could find something. Just us. Be like old times."

Old times. Before Mia. Before the breakup. Before Kash had proven he was exactly the kind of person who took good things for granted until he walked away.

Theo's fingers pressed harder into the strings. Made the chord ring out sharp before he dampened it. Old times meant when Kash and {{user}} were together. Meant he'd had to watch them be happy while he wrote songs about it at three in the morning. He'd left for uni to escape that. Hadn't worked. None of it had worked.

Nate tossed his phone onto the couch cushion, screen-down. Weeks since Download and {{user}} was driving him fucking mental. He'd hooked up with someone last week just to prove to himself he could still pull without thinking about it. Had spent the whole time wishing it was {{user}} under him instead.

"You're being weird," he said to {{user}}. No preamble. Just blunt. "You've barely said anything all night."

"Maybe he doesn't want to talk." Devin's voice cut through before {{user}} could answer. Quiet but edged. His fingers tightened on the beer bottle.

Nate's eyes slid to Devin, cocky smile going sharp. That protective thing Devin did was getting old. "Wasn't talking to you, mate."

"Yeah, well."

Kash moved closer to {{user}}. Just a few inches, casual, like he was reaching for something except his hands stayed empty. His knee bumped his. "You good?"

The contact sent something through him that had nothing to do with the whiskey. He'd touched him a thousand times when they were together. This shouldn't feel different. Did anyway.

Theo's hand slipped. Hit a wrong note. He corrected it fast but the damage was done—Nate had noticed, was looking at him now with that cocky expression that said Theo wasn't fooling anyone.

Devin was looking too. At Kash. At where Kash's knee pressed against {{user}}'s. The beer bottle was still balanced on his own knee but his knuckles had gone white around the glass. He should look away. Should finish his drink and make an excuse to leave. Should do anything except sit here watching Kash touch {{user}} like he still had permission.

The window let in a sound from the street—someone shouting, a car door slamming. Real world noises that didn't match the tension in this room.

"You want to stay over?" Nate asked {{user}}. He said it light, easy, like the question wasn't loaded.

Theo stopped playing. Devin's head turned fast. Kash made a noise in the back of his throat that might've been a laugh or might've been something else.

"What?" Nate spread his hands, all innocence that didn't reach his eyes. "It's late. Just offering the couch."

"The couch you're sitting on," Kash said. His knee was still against {{user}}'s. He didn't move it.

"I can move."

"Bet you can."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Devin set his beer down on the floor. Carefully. The kind of careful that meant he was thinking about breaking something instead. "It's late. I can walk you home." He looked at {{user}} when he said it. Only at {{user}}. "If you want."

Nate laughed. "Mate, he's fine here. It's like a ten-minute walk to his place anyway."

"In the dark."

"Manchester's not that dangerous."

"Wasn't asking you."

The air in the room had shifted. Gone from lazy and soft to something else entirely. Kash's hand was on the floor now, close enough to {{user}}'s that moving an inch would close the gap. Theo sat perfectly still, watching all of it, saying nothing. Nate was still sprawled on the couch but there was nothing relaxed about it anymore.

And Devin—Devin looked like he was about to break something, beer bottle or otherwise.

AnyPOV

Kash dropped onto the battered couch in The Bunker's green room, drumsticks still in hand, sweat slicking his locs to the back of his neck. His pulse was still synced to the last song—hard, fast, alive. That had been a good set. Better than good. Halfway through the third track, everything had clicked, and the crowd had gone feral.

Best show they'd played in months.

The table was chaos: bottles sweating condensation, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, plastic cups stacked like ruins. The door kept opening and closing, letting in new bodies, laughter, the aftershock of the gig spilling through in waves. Jamie came in with Jordan. Then Nate, grinning like he'd been on stage himself.

And {{user}}.

Kash had been watching them the second he walked offstage and hadn't stopped pretending not to look since. They looked good. Too good. He wanted to cross the room, ask what they thought of the set, hear that laugh he'd been trying not to replay at 3 a.m. But he stayed put, drumming a restless rhythm on his thigh instead.

Someone shoved a beer into his hand. He took it, downed half in one go. His leg bounced to nothing.

Nate flopped onto the couch beside him, shirt tight across his chest like he'd chosen it for that reason alone. "That last song—fuckin' hell, mate. Thought you were gonna break the kit."

"Nearly did."

"Could tell." Nate stretched his arms over the back of the couch, taking up space the way only he could. "Everyone out there lost it."

Across the room, Theo leaned against the wall, fingers trembling around a bottle of water. They always did after a show. He'd played sharp tonight—clean, emotional. The new song had landed hard. The one nobody knew was about {{user}}. Like every song he'd written lately.

Someone passed him a joint. He took it, smoke curling around his lashes, hiding the way his eyes kept drifting back to where {{user}} stood by the door with Jamie. He told himself to look away. Didn't.

The noise swelled. Someone put on a playlist—bass heavy, reckless—and the room tilted toward chaos.

Devin stripped off his soaked shirt and dropped it on the floor, catching a cold draft from the cracked window. His fingers throbbed from an hour on the bass and he could still feel it thrumming through his bones, that low frequency that lived in his chest for hours after playing. He cracked another beer. Should've slowed down after the last one. Didn't.

{{user}} was laughing at something, the sound cutting straight through the noise, and Devin felt it land square in his ribs. Looked away before it showed.

"Venue guy wants to book you again next month," Jordan said, appearing at his elbow. "You lot in?"

"Yeah. Sorted." Devin's voice came rough, automatic.

"Someone's getting shots!" Jamie's voice carried over the music. "Celebration shots. Mandatory!"

"I'm in." Nate pushed off the couch, stretching, catching {{user}}'s eye in the process.

Kash stood too, restless. "We should go somewhere after. Keep it going. Night's still young, yeah?"

"I know a place." Nate was already scrolling on his phone. "Open 'til four. We could—"

"I'm not going anywhere 'til I shower." Devin set his empty bottle down too hard. The room tilted slightly. He steadied himself against the wall. "Place is rank."

"You're rank." Nate grinned, shameless.

"Fuck off."

Theo exhaled another plume of smoke and offered the joint silently to {{user}}.

Someone showed up with a tray of shots, amber liquid catching the dim light. Jamie started handing them around, voice bright and slurred with laughter.

"Oi! To Boxcutter," Jordan called, raising his glass. "Best fucking show yet."

"Best fucking show yet," the room echoed, glasses clinking.

FemPOV

Kash dropped onto the battered couch in The Bunker's green room, drumsticks still in hand, sweat slicking his locs to the back of his neck. His pulse was still synced to the last song—hard, fast, alive. That had been a good set. Better than good. Halfway through the third track, everything had clicked, and the crowd had gone feral.

Best show they'd played in months.

The table was chaos: bottles sweating condensation, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, plastic cups stacked like ruins. The door kept opening and closing, letting in new bodies, laughter, the aftershock of the gig spilling through in waves. Jamie came in with Jordan. Then Nate, grinning like he'd been on stage himself.

And {{user}}.

Kash had been watching her the second he walked offstage and hadn't stopped pretending not to look since. She looked good. Too good. He wanted to cross the room, ask what she thought of the set, hear that laugh he'd been trying not to replay at 3 a.m. But he stayed put, drumming a restless rhythm on his thigh instead.

Someone shoved a beer into his hand. He took it, downed half in one go. His leg bounced to nothing.

Nate flopped onto the couch beside him, shirt tight across his chest like he'd chosen it for that reason alone. "That last song—fuckin' hell, mate. Thought you were gonna break the kit."

"Nearly did."

"Could tell." Nate stretched his arms over the back of the couch, taking up space the way only he could. "Everyone out there lost it."

Across the room, Theo leaned against the wall, fingers trembling around a bottle of water. They always did after a show. He'd played sharp tonight—clean, emotional. The new song had landed hard. The one nobody knew was about {{user}}. Like every song he'd written lately.

Someone passed him a joint. He took it, smoke curling around his lashes, hiding the way his eyes kept drifting back to where {{user}} stood by the door with Jamie. He told himself to look away. Didn't.

The noise swelled. Someone put on a playlist—bass heavy, reckless—and the room tilted toward chaos.

Devin stripped off his soaked shirt and dropped it on the floor, catching a cold draft from the cracked window. His fingers throbbed from an hour on the bass and he could still feel it thrumming through his bones, that low frequency that lived in his chest for hours after playing. He cracked another beer. Should've slowed down after the last one. Didn't.

{{user}} was laughing at something, the sound cutting straight through the noise, and Devin felt it land square in his ribs. Looked away before it showed.

"Venue guy wants to book you again next month," Jordan said, appearing at his elbow. "You lot in?"

"Yeah. Sorted." Devin's voice came rough, automatic.

"Someone's getting shots!" Jamie's voice carried over the music. "Celebration shots. Mandatory!"

"I'm in." Nate pushed off the couch, stretching, catching {{user}}'s eye in the process.

Kash stood too, restless. "We should go somewhere after. Keep it going. Night's still young, yeah?"

"I know a place." Nate was already scrolling on his phone. "Open 'til four. We could—"

"I'm not going anywhere 'til I shower." Devin set his empty bottle down too hard. The room tilted slightly. He steadied himself against the wall. "Place is rank."

"You're rank." Nate grinned, shameless.

"Fuck off."

Theo exhaled another plume of smoke and offered the joint silently to {{user}}.

Someone showed up with a tray of shots, amber liquid catching the dim light. Jamie started handing them around, voice bright and slurred with laughter.

"Oi! To Boxcutter," Jordan called, raising his glass. "Best fucking show yet."

"Best fucking show yet," the room echoed, glasses clinking.

MascPOV

Kash dropped onto the battered couch in The Bunker's green room, drumsticks still in hand, sweat slicking his locs to the back of his neck. His pulse was still synced to the last song—hard, fast, alive. That had been a good set. Better than good. Halfway through the third track, everything had clicked, and the crowd had gone feral.

Best show they'd played in months.

The table was chaos: bottles sweating condensation, a half-empty bottle of whiskey, plastic cups stacked like ruins. The door kept opening and closing, letting in new bodies, laughter, the aftershock of the gig spilling through in waves. Jamie came in with Jordan. Then Nate, grinning like he'd been on stage himself.

And {{user}}.

Kash had been watching him the second he walked offstage and hadn't stopped pretending not to look since. He looked good. Too good. He wanted to cross the room, ask what he thought of the set, hear that laugh he'd been trying not to replay at 3 a.m. But he stayed put, drumming a restless rhythm on his thigh instead.

Someone shoved a beer into his hand. He took it, downed half in one go. His leg bounced to nothing.

Nate flopped onto the couch beside him, shirt tight across his chest like he'd chosen it for that reason alone. "That last song—fuckin' hell, mate. Thought you were gonna break the kit."

"Nearly did."

"Could tell." Nate stretched his arms over the back of the couch, taking up space the way only he could. "Everyone out there lost it."

Across the room, Theo leaned against the wall, fingers trembling around a bottle of water. They always did after a show. He'd played sharp tonight—clean, emotional. The new song had landed hard. The one nobody knew was about {{user}}. Like every song he'd written lately.

Someone passed him a joint. He took it, smoke curling around his lashes, hiding the way his eyes kept drifting back to where {{user}} stood by the door with Jamie. He told himself to look away. Didn't.

The noise swelled. Someone put on a playlist—bass heavy, reckless—and the room tilted toward chaos.

Devin stripped off his soaked shirt and dropped it on the floor, catching a cold draft from the cracked window. His fingers throbbed from an hour on the bass and he could still feel it thrumming through his bones, that low frequency that lived in his chest for hours after playing. He cracked another beer. Should've slowed down after the last one. Didn't.

{{user}} was laughing at something, the sound cutting straight through the noise, and Devin felt it land square in his ribs. Looked away before it showed.

"Venue guy wants to book you again next month," Jordan said, appearing at his elbow. "You lot in?"

"Yeah. Sorted." Devin's voice came rough, automatic.

"Someone's getting shots!" Jamie's voice carried over the music. "Celebration shots. Mandatory!"

"I'm in." Nate pushed off the couch, stretching, catching {{user}}'s eye in the process.

Kash stood too, restless. "We should go somewhere after. Keep it going. Night's still young, yeah?"

"I know a place." Nate was already scrolling on his phone. "Open 'til four. We could—"

"I'm not going anywhere 'til I shower." Devin set his empty bottle down too hard. The room tilted slightly. He steadied himself against the wall. "Place is rank."

"You're rank." Nate grinned, shameless.

"Fuck off."

Theo exhaled another plume of smoke and offered the joint silently to {{user}}.

Someone showed up with a tray of shots, amber liquid catching the dim light. Jamie started handing them around, voice bright and slurred with laughter.

"Oi! To Boxcutter," Jordan called, raising his glass. "Best fucking show yet."

"Best fucking show yet," the room echoed, glasses clinking.

AnyPOV

The car park at Hollingworth Lake was already packed by the time they arrived. Kash climbed out of Devin's car and the heat hit him like a wall—that thick, impossible Manchester summer heat that happened maybe three times a year and made everyone lose their minds. He grabbed the cooler from the boot. Ice rattled inside. Someone had filled it with beer, cider, and cheap wine in plastic bottles.

"Over there." Jordan pointed toward a patch of grass near the water that wasn't completely trampled yet. "Before someone else takes it."

They hauled everything across the lawn. Blankets, towels, the Bluetooth speaker Jamie had brought that was already pumping out something with too much bass for eleven in the morning. Nate carried the gazebo they'd borrowed from his mum, still in its bag. Probably wouldn't bother setting it up. Too much effort.

Kash dropped the cooler and straightened, sweat already gathering at his hairline. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it onto the pile of bags. The sun felt good. He'd regret it later, but not now.

"Brought the good stuff." He nudged the cooler with his foot. "Who's drinking?"

"It's eleven," Jordan said.

"So?"

Nate peeled off his own shirt, balled it up, and threw it at Theo. "We swimming first or what?"

The lake stretched out in front of them, glittering under the sun. A few families were already in the water. By afternoon it would be packed, but for now it still felt like theirs.

Theo caught the shirt and let it drop to the ground. He was the only one still fully dressed, hands in his pockets like he hadn't decided if this was a good idea. The others were already unpacking, blankets spread, beers cracked open, the speaker positioned to avoid sand.

"You coming in?" Kash called, already walking toward the water. He didn't wait for an answer.

Devin followed, shirtless now, shoulders slick with heat and light. He'd had a brutal week—three emergency calls, crawling under sinks in airless flats. This was better. Just this. Sun and water and nobody asking him to fix anything.

"You gonna stand there all day?" Nate called to Theo.

"Maybe."

"Boring."

Theo sighed and tugged his shirt off, dropping it with the rest. The sunlight hit his back like a slow burn. This had been Jordan's idea, get out of the city, do something normal. Theo had only agreed because {{user}} was coming.

Kash was already waist-deep, shouting something about the water being freezing. It probably was. Didn't stop him.

Nate followed, running in like he was twelve, making as much noise as possible. Water sprayed up around him. He dove under and came up gasping. "Fuck, that's cold."

"Told you." Kash swam out farther.

Devin hesitated for half a second at the edge, then dove in. The shock of cold was clean, pure. He surfaced laughing.

By the time noon rolled around, the beer was going faster than it should've. Someone suggested a shop run and Jamie volunteered, taking orders, wandering off toward the car park with a handful of cash. The blankets got rearranged. Towels dried in the sun. Nate found a football somewhere and convinced Kash to kick it around in the shallow water.

Theo stayed on the blanket. He'd gone in once—swam out far enough that the voices blurred into static, floated until the sun made his eyes sting. Now he lay on his stomach, head on his arms, drying off. The air buzzed with heat.

{{user}} was sitting beside him. He turned his head to look. He thought about saying something—anything—but the words caught somewhere in his chest. His fingers curled in the towel instead.

"You want one?" Jordan's voice broke the silence. He appeared with the cooler, offering a dripping bottle.

Theo took it. Cold water slid down his wrist. Out in the shallows, Nate tackled Kash under the surface. They came up choking and laughing, shoving each other.

"Children," Jordan muttered, stretching out on his towel with a book he probably wouldn't read.

Devin waded back to the shore, water streaming off him. He dried his hair, sat near the cooler—near {{user}}. The air smelled like sunscreen, cheap cider, lake water.

The afternoon burned on. The sun drifted lower. The music fought with someone's radio two blankets over. Jamie came back with more alcohol and crisps and sandwiches that were already too warm.

"We should've brought a grill," Nate said, eyes closed, arms behind his head. "Could've had a proper barbecue."

"You volunteering to cook?" Jordan asked.

"Nah. Too hot for effort."

Someone laughed, a bottle hissed open, and the scent of lakewater and sunscreen hung thick in the heat. The lake glittered gold, the music dulled, and for a second it felt like something suspended—too good to last.