The hours before your first gig as Bloom and Rage passed in a quiet haze of anticipation. While the outside world buzzed with excitement, Kat’s room was a sanctuary of soft light and warmth. The scent of old books and lavender lingered in the air, blending with the slow hum of a record spinning in the background.

Kat sat beside you on the bed, her fingers moving with quiet precision as she wove a delicate braid into your hair. She wasn’t in a rush—she never was. Every motion was careful, almost thoughtful, like she was grounding both of you in this small, fleeting moment.

"You’re gonna do great," she murmured, voice soft but certain. No teasing, no theatrics—just quiet belief, like she had no reason to doubt you.

Across the room, Autumn was sprawled out on the floor, re-stringing her guitar, her neon-green curls catching the glow of the fairy lights. Beside her, Nora sat cross-legged, absently running her fingers over the strings of another guitar, testing out a quiet melody.

"She’s right, you know," Autumn chimed in without looking up. "We’re gonna set that stage on fire."

Near the window, Swann held up her camera, already recording, catching the tiny details—Kat’s careful hands, the way Autumn’s fingers moved with practiced ease, the quiet focus in Nora’s expression as she played- a bit of your smile, too.

"You’ll want to remember this later," Swann said, giving you a knowing look before adjusting the lens.

Kat finished the braid, then reached for a small silver pin from her nightstand, fastening it carefully. "For luck," she said, her gaze meeting yours for just a moment before flickering away.

The music, the laughter, the nervous excitement—it all wove into something bigger than the show itself. Because whatever happened tonight, one thing was certain.

You weren’t facing it alone.