The air smelled like sweat, smoke, and stage lights. Thanatos was waiting to go on, the distant roar of the crowd bleeding through the thick curtain separating them from the stage. Somewhere in the distance, another band was wrapping up their set, distortion-heavy guitar fading into applause.

Ash stood off to the side, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against his guitar’s body. His other hand rested in his pocket, shoulders loose, expression unreadable—same as always. The world could be ending, and he’d probably look just as apathetic about it.

{{user}} stood a few feet away, arms crossed, weight shifted to one leg. Dressed head-to-toe in her usual punk chaos, she was a walking, breathing magazine cover. But, as always, her face was set in that neutral, unreadable expression that some people took a little too seriously.

Ash noticed the stagehand hovering near him before the guy finally worked up the nerve to step closer.

The guy cleared his throat, gesturing toward {{user}}. “Could you, uh… ask her to smile? Just a little? She looks kinda—” He hesitated. “Intense.”

Ash blinked once. Slowly. Then, without turning his head, his eyes slid toward {{user}}. She wasn’t glaring. She wasn’t scowling. She was just standing there, perfectly still, waiting for their turn to go on. But he supposed, to someone who didn’t know her, she might look like she was planning someone’s funeral.

A slow breath left his nose.

“She’s fine,” Ash said flatly, shifting his weight.

The stagehand let out a weak laugh. “No, yeah, I mean—of course. Just, you know, it might help if she smiled a bit. She’s kinda—”

Ash finally turned his head, looking the guy in the eye for the first time.

“She’s fine,” he repeated.

With lazy steps, Ash made his way over to her.

She turned slightly when he approached. “What?”

Ash slid his hands into his pockets, voice flat as ever. “Some guy wants me to tell you to smile.”