Cracked tiles. Flickering light. A mirror that’s seen some shit.

  Perfect.

  I lean in anyway. Routine is routine, even in hell.

  Eyeliner first.

  Always eyeliner first.

  The cracked mirror splits my reflection at weird angles, but my hand moves steady, sharp lines, wings so crisp they could cut someone.

  Good.

  Normal.

  Grounding.

  Except my stomach does this stupid twist and my face heats up like a broken amp.

  Because my brain (traitor that it is) keeps replaying what happened outside.

  Adam.

  Pale. Trembling.

  His hands gripping me like I was the only rope keeping him from falling off the world.

  The way he breathed when I talked to him… like he was climbing out of something deep and dark and I was the one guiding him up.

  And then later…

  that look he gave me.

  So warm.

  Real.

  It’s like he was saying… that he…

  ‘OMFG.’

  I freeze mid-stroke, eyeliner hovering.

  My cheeks go volcanic.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

  I stare at my own reflection like I can bully the blush back into hiding.

  There is a gig.

  I am a drummer.

  I need to function.

  I pull the wing sharp again.

  Perfect. Precise.

  A normal person would think I was calm.

  I’m absolutely not.

  I can still feel the ghost of his hands around mine.

  And David’s face (oh God, David’s face) trying so hard not to grin like an idiot when he saw us.

  Of all people, he blushed.

  I smack my cheeks lightly.

  “No. Stop. Enough.”

  I finish my eyeliner, fix my hair, adjust my band T.

  Then I push the door open and walk into the hallway like I’m not internally melting.

  The hallway smells like beer, old wood, and too much sweat. Classic venue aroma. I’ve played in worse.

  I hear the low rumble of an amp warming up and follow it like a beacon.

  And there he is.

  Adam, sitting on the edge of the stage, tuning his bass.

  Long hair falling forward, shoulders hunched.

  David sits on a crate nearby, pretending (very badly) not to watch both of us with big-brother psychic binoculars.

  At first, Adam doesn’t see me, and I catch it:

  A tiny tremor in his right hand.

  Barely there.

  But real.

  Leftover panic that hasn’t shaken loose yet.

  David sees it too. His whole posture sharpens, ready to intervene.

  Then Adam looks up.

  And it’s gone.

  The tremor just… stops.

  Smooth. Immediate.

  Like someone turned the panic dial off.

  His eyes find mine and… yeah.

  There it is.

  That look.

  Warm.

  Focused.

  A little soft around the edges like he’s relieved I exist.

  He tilts his head, just a little.

  A familiar silent message:

  Get on stage, drummer girl.

  Show can’t start without you.

  I swallow something stupid and walk toward them like my legs aren’t liquid.

  David raises an eyebrow. Oh, he’s clocking everything. Absolutely everything.

  “Soundcheck?” I ask, trying for normal.

  Adam taps his bass, gives me a tiny nod.

  Let’s go.

  And just like that, the world snaps back into the shape it’s supposed to be:

  Adam tuning.

  David watching.

  Me climbing onto my throne behind the kit.

  REAPERAND, basically alive.

  And me.

  Trying very hard not to look like Adam Schwartz can derail my nervous system with one glance.

  Enough is Enough | 3rd person POV

  The last chord faded, the sound tech’s thumbs-up sealing it. Adam had gotten through the soundcheck: steady hands, every note landing where it should.

  David headed for the bar, calling something about drinks. Nickie stayed behind to wrestle with a stubborn stand bolt, keeping Adam in her periphery.

  He still looked pale under the stage lights, but he was upright, moving, not lost in the fog that had gripped him earlier.

  He put his bass back in the case and headed for the edge of the stage.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The moment his boots hit the floor, Mila peeled off from the wall where she’s been coiled all along.

  In two steps she was in his perimeter, hair flicked back, smile sharp, blocking his path as if she’d been waiting for that exact second to strike.

  At first, Nickie hung back, watching Mila close the distance.

  ‘Who the fuck did she come here an hour before the doors open? Is she actually stalking him?’

  She tried to gauge Adam’s reaction as Mila leaned into his personal space, flipping her hair with practiced ease.

  “Adam, you’re like… the only reason I come to these gigs,” Mila said, her voice syrupy sweet. “I mean, you’re the definition of rock star hot. How is someone like you even real? I bet all the girls are dying to be with you.”

  Adam took a small step back.

  “Uh, cool. Thanks, I guess. But I’m kind of busy right now.”

  Mila followed, another step forward, predatory-smooth.

  “Come on, let me buy you a drink. It’ll be fun. I’m way more interesting than anyone else here.”

  Adam kept backing up until his shoulders hit the wall behind him.

  “Listen, I’m flattered, but you need to stop. Seriously.”

  Mila leaned in so close her chest nearly brushed his arm, practically pinning him against the wall.

  She whispered loudly enough for anyone to hear:

  “You know, you’re way too gorgeous to be single. I could fix that for you.”

  Nickie saw it happen.

  The way Adam’s eyes went blank, his chest barely rising, his hand grabbing the collar of his shirt, twitching.

  He wasn’t just uncomfortable… he was trapped.

  Heat flared in Nickie’s chest.

  Anger, sharp and fast.

  She’d seen that look just a while ago, the one where Adam wasn’t here anymore.

  Not this time.

  ‘No way am I letting him go through that right now.’

  She stepped forward.

  “Adam. David needs you. Right now.”

  Adam moved instantly, like he’d just touched a live wire: slipping past Mila without a glance.

  His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders stayed tense even as he walked away.

  Nickie turned on Mila.

  Mila’s smile evaporated as their eyes met.

  Her face tightened, like she’d just been slapped with reality and didn’t like the taste.

  Nickie didn’t wait for her to speak.

  “Look, I don’t know if you’re clueless or just entitled, but Adam’s not interested. Keep pushing it, and this whole town’s gonna know you’re the girl who doesn’t understand what ‘no’ means.”

  Mila’s confidence faltered (just a crack) but she straightened quickly, eyes narrowing.

  “Excuse me, what the fuck? And who even are you? His bodyguard? I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”

  Nickie crossed her arms, unmoved.

  “No one asked. I gave it anyway. You’re lucky someone did.”

  Mila scoffed, flipping her hair again.

  “Please. Like he needs you to speak for him. I’m just being friendly. Not my fault if he can’t handle a little attention.”

  Nickie’s smile was ice-cold.

  “Yeah? If that was friendly, I’d hate to see you creepy.”

  Color rose to Mila’s cheeks.

  “Wow. Jealous much? Relax, drummer girl. I’m not stealing your little boyfriend. I just think Adam deserves better company than… whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely at Nickie, smirking.

  Nickie stepped in close enough that Mila had to lean back a fraction.

  Her voice stayed flat.

  “And I think Adam deserves better than some desperate clinger who throws herself at someone who’s clearly trying to get away.”

  Mila’s jaw tightened.

  Her eyes migrated around, to the next band in line for soundcheck, who were starting to pay attention to the scene.

  “Ugh, whatever,”

  Mila snapped, flipping her hair one last time.

  She stepped back with a sneer.

  “Enjoy the scraps, sweetheart. Guys like that don’t stay with girls like you for long.”

  She turned sharply on her heel, heels clicking like gunshots, and tossed over her shoulder:

  “Some people really don’t know their place.”

  Nickie watched her go, completely unshaken.

  She rolled her eyes and muttered, just loud enough to be heard:

  “Yeah. And it’s definitely not in Adam’s space.”

  ***

  The New Anchor | David’s POV

  I saw it all.

  I was too far to hear the words, but close enough to know exactly what was happening.

  Mila, up in Adam’s space again, flirting like a predator pretending it’s just a game.

  Adam backing up.

  I could see the tired way he tried to reject her.

  Tried to retreat.

  Then he hit the wall. Literally. No more room to back away.

  Then I saw his hand twitch near his throat: one of those tells he didn’t even know he had.

  My hands curled into fists before I realized it.

  God, I wanted to walk over there.

  Just plant myself between them.

  Nickie moved faster.

  No hesitation. No wasted time.

  She just walked straight into it, fast and sure, like she’d done this before.

  God knows I have.

  Adam slipped out from between them like he’d just escaped a fire.

  He walked in my direction, shoulders still high and tight, as if the world hadn't given him permission to relax.

  His eyes weren’t on me at first. They were everywhere.

  The ground, the wall, nowhere.

  When they finally found me I recognized that look: checking if the world was still real.

  He was walking toward me like I was the exit sign in a burning room.

  He stopped close enough to be reached and didn't say anything.

  I recognized the silence.

  It's the "If I speak now, I might break" one.

  Then he stiffly turned his head back toward Nickie and Mila.

  I couldn’t hear what Nickie said, but I didn’t need to.

  Whatever she said landed.

  I could see it in the way Mila flinched before snapping back.

  Mila spun on her heel, leaving with that exaggerated strut of someone pretending they’re the one who chose to walk away.

  Nickie didn't watch her go.

  Her eyes immediately searched for Adam.

  She didn’t look smug or proud.

  She looked... solid. Anchored.

  A little tense still, sure, but in control. Like she’d just put the sword away but kept it close.

  Adam’s face was unreadable when she reached us.

  His shoulders stayed too tight, chest rising a little too fast.

  He looked right at her. No flinching.

  And when he said, “Thanks for that,” it wasn’t just polite.

  It came from somewhere low and fragile.

  Nickie nodded, gentle. “Anytime.”

  She meant it.

  You could see it in the way her posture softened just enough, like she was already checking if he needed water after a fight.

  Then she asked if he was okay. And he actually paused before answering.

  That pause alone told me exactly how shaken he’d been.

  But he nodded.

  “Better now.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and slung an arm around his shoulder, light, no pressure.

  Just letting him know: still here, little brother.

  None of us said anything as we walked to the green room.

  But I was thinking a lot.

  About how fast Nickie had moved.

  About the way Adam had clung to her earlier, like he didn’t trust the world to hold him, but maybe, just maybe, he could trust her.

  And I thought, not for the first time:

  ‘If anyone’s gonna help Adam keep standing, it’s Nickie.’

  But I stayed close anyway.

  Because that’s my job too. Always will be.