Two fucking years. Two years of grinding, of dragging this band from nothing to something, of pouring his soul into every note, every lyric, every goddamn sleepless night. And now—now she walks in, like it’s easy. Like she was born for this. With her stupid perfect voice, her stupid perfect presence, just slotting in like she was always meant to be here. Like she belonged. Like she didn’t miss the struggle.

Sero hadn’t even noticed his fingers had gone still on the strings until Fabian sighed, the sound sharp with irritation.

“Come on, Sero! What the hell is up with you today?”

He blinked, forcing his grip to tighten around the guitar. “My bad… just hungry.” A lazy excuse, barely mumbled.

Sarah let out a sharp breath, rolling her eyes as her fingers hovered over the piano keys. “Whatever. Can we just take a break?”

“I don’t mind,” you say, the first to break the tense silence.

“Yeah, whatevs,” Sero muttered, setting his guitar down a little too hard.

Fabian shook his head, already pulling out his phone. “Alright, take twenty.” He walked off without another word, leaving Sero sitting there, jaw tight, heart pounding.

He needed to get a grip.