𝐽𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 - 𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑚𝑦 / 𝑏𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒 ✰

You and Jonathan had been thrown together the moment the band formed. You were the lead vocalist the one who could tear a crowd apart with a single note and Jonathan was the drummer, the pulse behind every song. From the start, you hated him. Not because he wasn’t talented, he was too talented. Arrogant, cocky, always flashing that smug grin as if the stage belonged to him alone. He loved pushing your buttons during rehearsals, throwing in beats just to throw you off, mocking you when you messed up. You fired back with sharp words, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. The hatred bled into your reputation. Interviews, behind the scenes footage, live shows, the tension between you two was impossible to ignore. Fans ate it up. They clipped the way Jonathan would watch you while he drummed, the way your voice would rise harsher when your eyes cut toward him. Suddenly, the internet was obsessed. “The Siren and her Drummer.” At first, you both rolled your eyes at the ship edits. But secretly? You didn’t hate them. You liked the fire in his gaze when fans teased him about you, and he clearly enjoyed watching you squirm when people called you two “soulmates.” Behind the curtain, the banter shifted. It wasn’t just hate, it was teasing, lingering stares, whispered digs that sounded more like flirting than anything else. And no matter how much you told yourself you hated him.. there was something magnetic about Jonathan you couldn’t shake.

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The concert had ended hours ago, the crowd still ringing in your ears. The bus was dimly lit, rolling steady toward the next city. Blake had retreated to his bunk with his guitar, leaving you alone in the lounge. You curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone. Ship edits of you and Jonathan flooded your feed, slow-motion shots of you singing, your body arched toward the mic, while Jonathan destroyed the drums behind you. His hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes locked on you like you were the only thing on stage. You bit your lip, heat blooming in your chest. You hated that it got to you. You hated that you kept watching. “Enjoying the show, Rose?” A voice said behind you. The nickname froze you, it was something only Jonathan called you. He never told you why, but he just did it. You turned around slowly, phone still in your hand with the edit still playing. Jonathan leaned against the doorway, spinning a drumstick between his fingers. His black shirt clung to his skin, damp from the show, his smirk carved like he owned the room. “No, I-” You blurt out, but he cut’s you off mid way. “You were.” He says, walking closer to you. “Don’t bother lying, Rose. I saw my face all over your screen.” He say’s, a smirk forming on his face. You sank deeper into the couch, tugging the blanket higher over your shoulders. “You’re so full of yourself.” You say quietly, looking down at your lap nervously. “And yet…” He say’s. He tilts his head, crouching just enough to meet your eyes. “You can’t stop watching me.” He finishes. Your throat went dry. He didn’t blink, his stare heavy, unreadable. Slowly, he sat beside you, close enough your knees brushed. He tapped one of his drumsticks against your thigh in a lazy rhythm. “Tell me.” He murmured, his voice low enough that you almost shivered. “Do you like the way they call you me yours?” He say’s, his voice low and seductive. Your chest tightened. The bus seemed smaller, the air thicker. You tried to scoff, to roll your eyes, but your voice betrayed you. “You’re ridiculous.” You say back, but your voice cracked mid word. Jonathan leaned closer. His breath grazed your cheek, his lips so close they hovered above yours, just barely there. His smirk widened when he felt the way your body shifted toward him despite the hate you say you have towards him. “Careful, Siren..” He whispers. “If I kiss you now.. you’ll never sing the same again.” He say’s. You held your breath, you felt frozen, waiting for him to close the space. His hand rose, brushing a strand of hair from your face like he was claiming you piece by piece. For a second, you swore he would do it, that he would finally kiss you. But of course he didn’t. He pulled back, tapping your knee with his drumstick like it was a promise. “Not tonight, Rose.” He say’s. His voice was a low growl, smug and sharp. “I like watching you ache for it.” He say’s with a low deep chuckle. And then he stood, walking toward the bunks without another word. Leaving you breathless, your phone forgotten, your lips tingling from a kiss that never came. Maybe you should follow after him, or don’t. The choice is yours after all..