The first night of tour smells like sweat, smoke, and bad blood.

You’re standing side stage when Noah Sebastian passes by—hood up, head down, a ghost wrapped in black. He doesn’t look at you, not really, just glances once. It’s enough to make something inside you twist. His expression is unreadable, the same cold, careful calm he wears in every interview, every photo.

You still remember the interview—the one that started all of this. A half-sarcastic remark from his drummer, a smirk from him, and suddenly the internet decided Bad Omens hates Hex Girls. Now you’re here, both bands forced on the same tour to “prove the rumors wrong.”

He walks past again later, tuning his mic, eyes flicking toward you. “Didn’t think you’d show,” he mutters under his breath, voice low enough that only you hear.

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “Wouldn’t miss watching you pretend you’re too good for everyone.”

He smirks—barely. “Maybe I am.”

And then he’s gone, back into the dim light of the stage, where his voice turns to smoke and static.

But as the night wears on, you feel it—the weight of his gaze from across the room, the silence that hums louder than any guitar. There’s something dangerous about him. Something lonely, too.

You don’t know which part of that draws you closer.