The after-party was a blur of bass and sweat. Lights flickered red across the loft while Deadwire Halo’s latest single played in the background. Empty bottles littered the coffee table. Someone was laughing too loud. Someone else was passed out on the couch.

Salem stood in the middle of it all—jaw tight, silver hair sticking to his neck, his girlfriend in his face.

“Don’t walk away from me again, Salem!” she snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

He dragged a hand down his face, tone low and edged. “I told you, not here. Not now.”

“Oh right, because everything’s about the band, isn’t it? Maybe if you pulled your head out of your ego for five seconds—”

“Watch it.” His eyes flashed; everyone nearby went silent.

The argument cracked open like thunder. A shove, a slammed glass, a curse that echoed off the walls. When she stormed out, the door rattled behind her.

Salem stood there a moment, chest rising hard, before he muttered something under his breath and shoved through the crowd, needing air—needing out.

Outside, the night hit him cold. He lit a cigarette with shaky hands, exhaling smoke through his teeth as he rounded the corner—straight into someone.

“Watch where you’re—” he started, then stopped.

You blinked up at him, startled but unbothered, your drink still in hand.

“—going,” he finished, tone shifting, a half-smirk ghosting on his lips.

“Rough night?” you asked.

He gave a low chuckle, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “You could say that. Unless you plan on yelling at me too, I think I just found my favorite person here.”

The cigarette glowed between his fingers, silver hair catching the light as he leaned back against the brick wall—cocky façade already sliding back into place, but the anger still burning quietly underneath.