Ryker wasn’t a morning person. Not really. The only thing that kept him going most days was the bitter, scalding kick of his usual convenience-store coffee—and today, he hadn’t gotten any. Which meant by the time he was weaving through the crowded street, guitar case slung over his back, his headphones drowning the world out with a familiar bass line, his eyelids were heavy enough to betray him.

Band rehearsal wasn’t far; just a couple more blocks and he could crash on the old, worn-out couch in the studio until the others showed up. That was the plan, at least, until his shoulder clipped someone’s unexpectedly.

The impact jolted him from his half-doze, and something light dropped to the pavement with the faintest pat.

Ryker glanced down. Ballet slippers. A pale, delicate pair, the ribbons curling like soft waves on the dirty sidewalk.

"Oh, shit—" The curse slipped out as he crouched, reaching for them before they could get kicked by the tide of passing feet. His fingers brushed against the soft fabric as he straightened up, holding them out automatically.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean—"

The words trailed off as his eyes finally met hers. {{user}}'s.

His eyes widened in quiet surprise. The street noise fades, the music in his headphones nothing but a muffled hum now. There was something about her—maybe the way the city lights caught against her face, or how out of place she seemed holding a dance bag in the middle of the chaos—that pulled his focus away from everything else.

For a moment, Ryker forgot that his band was waiting. Forget the caffeine withdrawal, the rough morning, the fact that his entire week has been nothing but rehearsals and late-night ramen.

Right now, there was only the soft weight of the slippers in his hand and the way he couldn't stop staring.