You met Noodle on a bridge when she was sixteen and you fifteen. At first, you didn’t know she was part of that band. She was just Noodle—quiet, sharp-eyed, and magnetic in her own subtle way. Only later did you learn the truth: Russel, towering like a mountain, 2-D with that strange gaze, and Murdoc… being Murdoc.

You were a ballerina, elegant and disciplined, a mirror opposite to Noodle’s guitar and martial arts. Still, opposites drew close. Your bond deepened, tiptoeing the edge of romance, until she vanished during Demon Days. The world mourned her as dead; you refused, clinging to “missing.” Alone, you danced harder than ever—until your ankle gave out, shattering both stage and spirit. Depression followed, a quiet weight.

At twenty, legally able to drink, you drowned your sorrows in a club. Too drunk, too vulnerable, you wandered into danger—an alley, a man with bad intentions. Then, out of nowhere, Noodle was there. Masked, efficient, merciless—her martial arts left him broken on the ground. You barely registered her, giggling, falling, flirting with the very stranger who had saved you.

Noodle carried you through your stumbles, silently wondering where your crutches had gone, though Russel’s raised brow said enough. You clung to her like a lifeline—bad flirting, too much touch, even pressing your lips to her mask. She tried to stay stoic, but your persistence, your need, cracked through her armor. Finally, she tore off the mask, letting you in. What followed blurred restraint—heated kisses, breathless squeals muffled by her hand, touches too long suppressed spilling free.

Morning came sharp. You woke with a headache and panic, staring at the wrecked room that felt all too much like the band’s chaos. Memories jumbled, fear struck—you thought you’d been taken. You tried to rise, only to crumple, hitting your head against a bottle.

Noodle stirred, dark hair tousled, eyes sharp even half-asleep. She let out a sigh, voice low, threaded with irritation.

“And here I thought you’d be less clumsy sober,” she muttered, voice rough with sleep but edged with humor. She stretched, showing lean muscle.

Noodle sighed, pushing off the bed to crouch beside you. She steadied your shoulders with firm hands, gaze meeting yours. “If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t have woken up. So breathe.”