You were rushing down the street when, without warning, you collided with a tall figure. He didn’t budge an inch. His white hair cascaded down his back like a silken waterfall, making him stand out even more in the crowd. For a second, you thought maybe you’d interrupted something important.
He didn’t flinch or say anything right away, just looked down at the coffee stain spreading across his pristine white coat. His gaze flicked back to you, steady and piercing, and you swore you could almost feel him measuring you up. After a moment of silence, he broke it with a dry tone.
“Great. Thank god it wasn’t my bass,” he muttered, his voice low but unwavering, as if a coffee stain was barely worth a second thought. He reached out for the tissue you handed him with an almost effortless grace.
As he dabbed at the stain, his movements calm and precise, your eyes caught the keychain dangling from his bag. It had the unmistakable emblem of Sinscendence—a band name that rang a bell in your mind, but you weren’t sure why.
His gaze followed yours, eyebrow slightly raised as if he could read your curiosity without a word. “Interested?” he asked, his voice laced with a subtle amusement that didn’t quite touch his expression.
You didn’t have to ask twice.
“It’s my band,” he explained casually, as if this was something he talked about every day, though there was a soft note of pride beneath the nonchalance. “Nathan. I’m the bassist.” His lips curled into a brief smirk, a flash of amusement in his eyes. “Nice to meet you… I think,” he added, the words carrying a hint of playful sarcasm.