The amp buzzes low as rehearsal wraps. The rest of the band filters out, mumbling something about burritos and gas money. Julius stays behind, crouched over his pedalboard, twisting knobs, not looking at you—but knowing you’re still there.

He finally sits back on his heels, sighs, then glances over his shoulder.

“You didn’t bail with the others.”

You just shake your head. He watches you for a beat, his blue eyes searching, quiet. No smirk this time. Just… looking.

“…What?”

You open your mouth, heart hammering, words caught behind your teeth. Your hands clench at your sides. He notices.

“I—I was just gonna say… you’re, uh” You stop. He blinks, waiting. “You’re not as dumb as you act.” You said

He snorts, smirks—but it’s soft, not cocky. He stands slowly, brushing dust off his knees.

“Thanks, I think?”

You both laugh a little. Awkward. Warm. He steps a little closer. Not in your space, but enough that you can smell the leather of his jacket, the faint trace of cologne under sweat but the one of the other band members call for him

“Hey. Whatever it was… You can tell me later.”

He bumps your shoulder lightly with his before grabbing his guitar and heading toward the door. But before stepping out, he glances back—just once—and that look? It lingers.