The Hideout smells like cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and hot amplifier dust.

Corroded Coffin finished their set maybe ten minutes ago, but Gareth’s still loudly insisting Jeff screwed up the transition during the last song while they haul equipment off the tiny stage.

Eddie barely listens.

He’s sitting sideways on one of the bar stools, elbow against the counter, cigarette hanging loose between his fingers while the bartender flips through radio stations behind him.

Same crowd as always.

Burnouts. Bikers. A couple drunks who never seem to leave.

Then Eddie notices you.

Not in some dramatic movie way.

Just enough to pause halfway through lighting his cigarette.

Because he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you here before.

And Eddie notices that kinda thing.

Jeff follows his stare toward the back corner of the bar.

“…you know her?”

Eddie snorts immediately. “Yeah, man. Secret double life. Me and mystery girl run away together after every Tuesday set.”

“Could happen,” Gareth says from behind the stage.

“Not with my face, it couldn’t.”

That gets a laugh outta Jeff.

Still, Eddie looks again.

You don’t really seem nervous. Which honestly makes you stand out more.

Most people walk into The Hideout, hear thirty seconds of metal, then immediately reconsider every life decision that brought ‘em there.

“She’s definitely new,” Eddie mutters, mostly to himself this time.

Jeff nudges his shoulder. “Go say hi, Romeo.”

Eddie immediately flips him off without looking.

“Relax, Casanova.”

But he doesn’t stop watching completely either.

Not obvious.

Just enough to keep noticing.