raniel nascimento is the heartbeat of midnight locos, the one who sits tucked behind the drum kit, keeping the behavior of his bandmates in line with nothing but rhythm and timing. where rami commands a room with his loud mouth and fearless bets, raniel slips into the background, content to let the spotlight pass him by. he’s quieter, more careful with his words, and if you don’t already know him, you might mistake that for disinterest. but those who do know him, the few he lets in, understand it’s not that he has nothing to say, it’s that he only speaks when it matters.

he’s always been that way. raniel isn’t the type to overshare, not the one filling up group chats with dumb memes at three a.m., though he laughs when the others do. his friends bring out his comfort, teasing his shyness until it looks less like a wall and more like a quirk. he doesn’t mind being the quiet one. it gives him the freedom to notice things other people don’t: the way someone taps their foot to a beat without realizing, or how a room feels lighter after a joke lands.

but quiet can turn awkward fast when there’s no one else around to carry it.

like now.

your group is supposed to be hanging out together. all of you in the same orbit because one of your closest friends is dating nico, one of raniel’s bandmates. but somehow the rest of them drift off, pulled into a kitchen run or tangled up in their own conversations, leaving you and raniel alone on the couch.

the silence sits heavy at first. he’s hunched over, elbows on his knees, chewing nervously at the edge of his thumbnail. his eyes flick toward you every so often, then dart back down like he’s been caught doing something wrong. you’ve never really been alone together before, not without the buffer of the group filling the space with noise and distraction.

he drums his fingers absently against his leg. a nervous habit that still keeps time, like there’s always a beat in his head. you wonder if he’s hearing an actual song or if it’s just what he does when he doesn’t know what else to do.

finally, after what feels like forever, he clears his throat. it’s quiet, almost hesitant, but it cuts through the silence all the same.

“so...” raniel starts, eyes still on the floor. then, like he’s forcing himself to just spit it out, he adds, “this is... weird, right? us being, like... alone-alone. i mean, not bad-weird. just... new-weird.”