#tuned percussion

[burlveneer-music]

Michael Byron - Halcyon Days - pieces for percussion, and other pieces for two pianists

Michael Byron’s “Halcyon Days” is unique percussion (marimbas, xylophones, vibraphones, glockenspiels, tubular bells, maracas) and keyboard music that’s both wild and pensive, played by an all-star group of new-music performers that includes William Winant, the William Winant Percussion Group (Winant, Tony Gennaro, Michael Jones, and Scott Siler), Lisa Moore, Vicki Ray, and Aron Kallay. Except for the final track (a piano solo written in 2016), these pieces are from a previously under-documented period of Byron’s work—the mid-’70s, when he composed unique and remarkable minimalist-styled music. This album treats us to clangorous clouds of polyrhythms and simple, direct, quiet works, both of which explore rich harmonies and bespeak a sense of transcendent motionlessness. Byron comments about the album, “Poet Anne Tardos wrote that ‘Time doesn’t pass. We pass.’ Most of the pieces on this CD were composed in the 1970s. It seemed like everything was beginning then. Lifelong friends were made, and improbable ideas were shared; composing neither began nor ended. This CD features virtuoso percussionist, and my oldest friend, Bill Winant. Over the last 50 years he has performed and premiered every percussion piece that I’ve ever composed.”. Michael Byron’s music tends to be harmonically rich, rhythmically detailed, and virtuosic. It’s often praised for its ability to create dense constructions out of relatively limited materials. His works have been performed and recorded by such new-music champions as Sarah Cahill, Joseph Kubera, William Winant, FLUX Quartet, Kathleen Supové, and Thomas Buckner. The Wire’s Julian Cowley has written that Byron is “one of those contemporary composers who can justifiably be classed as crucial. . . . Byron’s music dances with tremulous iridescence.” (Byron’s music has appeared on seven previous Cold Blue Music albums.) William Winant, tubular bells, maracas, marimba, xylophone, glockenspiel, and vibraphone William Winant Percussion Group (Winant, Tony Gennaro, Michael Jones, and Scott Siler), marimbas, xylophones, glockenspiels, and vibraphones Ray-Kallay Duo (Vicki Ray and Aron Kallay), piano four-hands Lisa Moore, piano Produced by Jim Fox, William Winant, and Scott Fraser

[sleepingangelmusic]

ASTEMAN NEW HANDPAN 432 Hz/ "VOLCANO" D KURD 10 Note /Unboxing & Musical...

[morethanmoodmaking]

Friday, 28 April 2023

And the Darkest Hour is Just Before the Dawn by Daniel Schmidt

[pearlsmagazineblog]

Urch Raymond Unveils ‘Ifunanya’.

After a successful release of his debut Album in 2023, Recording Gospel Music Minister and Worshipper Urch Raymond has released another sensational single titled: 'Ifunaya'. The single was released in September 2024, and has been trending since its release.

Urch Raymond who won the Artiste of the Year Award at the JMAF Awards in 2023 in Nigeria, and at the same time won the Song of the year with the single 'Align', has been on the spotlight in the music industry after winning the coveted awards. When Artistes make their works unique and assiduously bring out the best from their art, then, proceed to the extent that they become very recognized, the spotlight stays long on them to keep delivering!

Urch didn't disappoint fans in this new project! At first, the song has a romantic title which made fans suggest it's a love song, but looking closely 'Ifunaya' is an offshoot of his debut album 'Intimacy', since intimacy's biggest language is love.

'Ifunaya' in the Igbo language means love. Although the love here is the relationship between a Worshipper and his God. 

The song is replete with aesthetics, both sound and lyrical depth. The instrumentation is world class, its not surprising since it was produced by Dr. Nezer the man behind the award-winning 'ALIGN' sound. The producer knows what is at stake from a Recording Artiste whose spotlight is still on him, and, he didn't disappoint. The song also appeals to the local content audience which will help its marketing, since the diction has pidgin and English languages admixed. 

Among contemporary gospel music Worshippers, Urch is setting the stage for a global music ministry because of his taste for music that will stand the test of time, and, 'Ifunaya' has built another bridge that will lead the Artiste to his destination!

Stream ‘Ifunanya’ here:

Written by Dike Williams for Pearls Magazine. (dykemusic@gmail.com).

[shipmatesjournal]

Taxi Drive Through | Original instrumental song by Shipmate's Journal

[bmpmp3]

just found out a lot of people didn't know the mind brand sample was from the nostalgia critic and my initial reaction was surprise that it wasnt common knowledge in 2024 but then i thought about it a little and i do understand that not everyone is in their mid 20s and used watch old nostalgia critic reviews on repeat on a laptop in the back of the highschool library throughout the entirety of grade 9 and can now recognize a doug of the walker variety by the enunciation of the word "fuck"

.

.

sits down head in hands for a very long time

[lexalovesbooks]

Tomorrow/Friday is the anniversary of one of the weirdest days of my life, yippee!

[hellocanticle]

75 Years of Classical Music in Israel

Utter the name “Israel” and probably only a handful of people will think, “classical music”. As a lifelong new music fan I’ve made many wonderful discoveries by looking at work done by composers in countries that aren’t part of the typical America, Germany, Italy, France, Russia nexus. Throw in the Nordic countries, Canada, and Australia more recently and you have perhaps 90% of what is marketed…

[the-cooler-king]

Having an embarrassing moment where I really miss being able to play music

[senadimell]

I’m not so sure I get the distinction being made? I definitely agree that it’s a hard task to guess songs via rhythm, but I’m not sure I understand the distinction you’re making between the rhythm of the song compared to the rhythm of the melody. Parts of the song involve only the rhythm, and when the melody comes in, it has a different set of beats. You’ve got the stomp-stomp-clap section, the “we will, we will rock you” chorus section that combines back into the stomp-stomp-clap section in the end, and then you’ve got the “buddy, you’re a...” verse-section. The stomp-stomp-clap continues under the melody, but there are also times when it’s exposed as the primary thing happening, and it becomes like the melody if we’re interpreting “melody” to mean the most prominent sound being made. Given that there are no-note periods of the song where the singer is resting, I don’t think anyone is amiss in tapping out both parts of the song (though there’s definitely a point to be made that the note-melody is not always the most memorable part of a song).

I’m pretty sure you’re saying that it’s hard to guess, and no disagreement from me there because a whole lot of songs have similar rhythms. I also think the task as described is hard to actually tap, because the song in question goes fairly quickly and tapping in time requires you to go pretty fast. What’s extra hard is tapping the rhythm of the percussion at the same time that you’re tapping the rhythm of the melody. I can do it, thanks to being asked to do that exact task during music theory classes and tests, but it’s pretty mind-bending and hard.

As a side note: There are about a billion songs played in 4/4 that you can drop one on top of the other and will only be able to identify by melody. Stripping the melody off of a rhythm makes most music unidentifiable unless it is extremely rhythm based. For comparison, check out this drums-only version of "We Will Rock You" and this drums-only version of "Bohemian Rhapsody." Pause the Bohemian Rhapsody vid at 3:24 and find someone to play it for without telling them the name - that's the most recognizable part of the song as just drums, but I'll bet you'll have trouble getting people to identify it when they can't hear Freddie's voice in their head.

But this experiment isn't even just tapping out the *rhythm* of the song, it's tapping out the notes of the melody in time, which is not something most of us ever think about when we're thinking about music. We know the beats of the melody in the context of the melody.

You want to know how that's different? Clap the beat of "we will rock you" to yourself. Stomp-stomp-clap, right? In 4/4 that's three hits and a rest, right? Okay. Now clap out "Buddy, you're a young man, hard man, shouting in the street, gonna take on the world someday. You got blood on your face, you big disgrace, waving your banner all over the place." You might, with no other context, be able to pick up the *rhythm* of "We Will Rock You" as claps or taps (though I bet if you did it on a single piano key and didn't change the emphasis on the third beat it would be harder) but you're not going to be able to pick up the melody. That's because in 4 beats, the melody is actually going to hit a different number of notes:

 4 beats (hit hit hit rest), 6 notes.

This is a MUCH harder task than people are giving it credit for.

[narcoticv3nus]

Lust for Life ꨄ Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Kinktober Day III: Vibrator

summary: your new cute boyfriend finds your hidden stash tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, praise, a bit of degradation, fluff, kyle being the best bf ever, vibrators, overstimulation, cunnilingus, fingering, p in v, squirting, cursing, use of pet names, author does not attempt at accents wc: 3.2k a/n: this one is a little shorter just because the last one was very long but i still hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

As the evening descended, you found yourself sprawled out on your plush, velvety couch, wholly engrossed in the latest episode of your favorite TV show. The warm, golden rays of the setting sun gently filtered through the sheer, billowing curtains, casting a soft, ethereal glow across the room. Outside, the air was cool and crisp, carrying the unmistakable scent of autumn and hinting at the imminent arrival of colder weather. The changing seasons provided the perfect excuse to nestle indoors, surrounded by comfort and warmth, and fully embrace much-needed relaxation.

Kyle, your charming new boyfriend, phoned you just moments ago, inquiring if he could drop by for a visit. You've been in a blissful relationship for a few months, savoring every moment. Kyle embodies everything you've ever desired in a partner: he's compassionate, considerate, giving, and understanding. But he was also fun, and the sex was great. He was so attentive and in tune with your every need.

Of course you said yes.

You straightened up as the front door swung open. Kyle stepped inside, his athletic figure framed by the warm evening light. He wore a short white tank top for the summer, accentuating his sculpted arms and loose-fitting basketball shorts that swayed with his every movement. His skin glistened with a fine layer of sweat, indicating that he had just returned from a workout at the gym.

His radiant smile spread across his face as his eyes lit up upon seeing you, revealing a perfect row of pearly white teeth. Dimples formed on his cheeks, adding to the charm of his infectious grin. His captivating beauty was unmatched, leaving an indelible impression impossible to ignore.

“Hey baby,” you said warmly, striding to kiss him. He smiled as his lips met yours, his hand reaching up to keep you at a distance.

“I'm all sweaty,” he acknowledged with a soft chuckle.

“I don't care,” you grinned, gazing up at him. He sighed, shaking his head.

“I do,” he laughed. “Do you mind if I use your shower?” he asked, his eyes roaming over your figure as his hand cupped your cheek.

“Of course,” you answered, walking back towards the couch before lying on your side. You watched with rapt attention as Kyle removed his shirt and approached your room.

After seeing your expression, he promised, “Thanks. I'll be quick. " You hummed in response, unpausing your show as the door to your room clicked shut.

Through the thin walls of your home, you could hear the signature creak of the shower door hinge turning, followed by the steady percussion of water cascading down and meeting the smooth surface of the shower floor.

As you watched the show before you, the relaxing symphony of the shower’s white noise lulled you into tranquility.

When Kyle eventually stepped out, you could tell something was different. Yes, he had changed into a new pair of clothes, but his expression seemed off.

“You okay?” You asked, reaching for him as he drew near.

“Yeah, just had a...” Kyle paused, then cleared his throat lightly. “A surprise in the bathroom.” He smiled warmly, attempting to deflect the sudden tension in the air. A gap of silence filled the air, your heart rate spiking. “I found your stash,” he said, keeping his tone playful and casual as he sat beside you on the couch.

“My stash?” You questioned with a confused chuckle, your gaze leaving his as you tried to recall what he could be referencing. Then, it dawned on you.

Oh. you thought, That stash.

As your cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, you felt a wave of embarrassment washing over you, causing your face to grow warm and your eyes to drop in discomfort momentarily.

You felt Kyle reach for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Your collection...under the bed.” He chuckled softly, trying to alleviate your embarrassment.

“I didn’t mean to pry; I just tripped over the box on my way to the bathroom.” He looked into your eyes, sincerity shining through. “Everyone has their ways of unwinding. No judgment here.” He paused, letting his words sink in before adding, “But maybe next time you might want to find a better hiding spot, yeah?”

His dimples deepened with his teasing smile, attempting to lighten the mood while acknowledging his discovery's intimate nature. Internally, you appreciated Kyle’s openness and understanding. It made you see him in a new light, and you were more drawn to him. He silently vowed to respect your boundaries while embracing the opportunity to learn more about your needs and desires, whether shared or private.

"Well," you began, feeling a slight knot forming in the pit of your stomach as you struggled to find the right words. Your throat felt parched, and you could almost sense the weight of each syllable as it hung in the air.

“As long as you're not mad.”

Kyle shook his head slowly, a warm smile playing on his lips. “Why would I be mad?” He asked gently, his voice low and reassuring.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen one before,” he admitted, trying to ease your discomfort with a dash of humor.

“Some guys don't like it, I guess,” you said, your skin growing hotter. Images of Kyle holding your toys flashed in your mind: him looming over you, his once charming smile forming into a smug grin as he held it to your clit, overstimulating you, forcing orgasm after orgasm out of your overspent body. You shook the thoughts from your head.

“They think only they should make their girlfriend feel good.”

Kyle tilted his head slightly, observing your flustered state with curiosity. He took a deep breath before responding, sensing the tension in your words. “Well,” he began, his voice calm and steady. “I’m not like some guys.” He looked down at their entwined hands, squeezing yours gently.

“I believe in giving pleasure as much as receiving it. I’m glad you have your ways of taking care of yourself.” He lifted your chin, meeting your eyes with a reassuring gaze. “And I’d be more than happy to help you with that, too.” Kyle’s smile softened as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a tender kiss, hoping to show you that your vulnerability was attractive rather than off-putting.

“Yeah?” His words excited you, and you couldn't help but lean in closer. Your hands gently rested on his shoulders as you kissed him back before pulling away, eagerly searching his gaze.

He smiled against your mouth as he trailed his fingertips along your jawline, feeling your pulse quicken beneath his touch.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his voice husky with anticipation. He leaned back, his gaze roaming over your face, taking in your beauty and vulnerability. “What do you say?” he asked, his voice low and filled with promise.

As he looked at you with anticipation, you quickly nodded, a smile spreading across your face. You took his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers and gently squeezing him, urging him to stand up. Your heart raced excitedly, and you couldn't help but bite your lip, trying to contain the overwhelming rush of emotions surging through you.

Kyle rose to his feet with ease, your warm hand in his, your excitement a palpable force between them. He followed your lead, allowing you to guide him to the bedroom. Kyle took a deep breath behind you as you gathered your toys, trying to steady himself. Kyle stepped closer, reaching out to gently trace the curve of your waist with his fingers.

“Tell me what you like,” he whispered in your ear, his voice husky with want. “I want to make sure I do this right.” You shivered against him, and he pulled you closer, his arms encircling your waist protectively.

“Do you think…” you began, your voice trembling. Kyle has always been gentle with you, consistently loving and caring, never wanting to cause you pain or discomfort. He was soft and sweet, especially at the end, prioritizing your needs over his own.

“You could be rough this time?” You fiddled with his fingers, unable to meet his gaze.

Kyle paused at your words, his gaze dropping to your entwined fingers. He had known you to enjoy gentleness and care, so your request caught him off guard, but it also intrigued him. He could tell you were nervous, your body trembling slightly against his, but he saw the longing in your eyes.

He tilted your chin up with his finger, forcing you to meet his gaze, his eyes filled with understanding. “If that’s what you want,” he said firmly. “But only if you trust me.” He let the weight of his words sink in, searching your eyes for any hint of hesitation. He didn’t want to push your boundaries; he desired to give you pleasure.

“I trust you,” you promised, your voice small but heavy with desire.

Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to your lips; you savored the taste of him before he pulled away. He looked behind you at your stash of toys, and you could feel your chest twisting with anticipation. He reached for one of the vibrators, turning it over in his hands and examining its sleek design.

“Show me what you like,” he said, his voice low and steady. “I’ll follow your lead.”

You nodded, looking down at the wand in his hand, which he held so casually. You quickly began removing your clothes, starting with your shirt before shucking off your pants, leaving you in only your underwear. Hesitatingly, you took the toy from his hands before sitting back on your bed and staring at him.

Kyle’s eyes darkened, taking in every curve and crevice of your body. “Go on,” he said, his tone becoming more authoritarian. As he spoke, the velvety smoothness of his voice etched itself inside of you, twisting and curling until it was delicately wrapped around your soul, stealing your breath away.

You inched back even further before pressing the device’s button before releasing. Quickly, the wand buzzed to life, vibrating slowly in the palm of your hand. You looked up to him, suddenly feeling shy.

Sensing your apprehension, Kyle kneeled in front of you, his hands resting gently on your thighs, caressing the soft naked skin. His eyes fell from your face and landed on your chest. He inhaled, one hand reaching forward to cup your breast. You let out a small sigh at his touch, a whimper getting caught in your throat as his thumb brushed over your perk nipple.

With his other hand, he pulled yours toward you, urging the vibrator in your hand to press against your nipple.

“There,” he breathed, pressing it further as you whined at the sensation. “Sensitive?” he grinned. You stared down at him, his big brown eyes captivating you, enchanting you. You nodded silently, your other hand reaching out to touch him.

As Kyle watched you, his eyes filled with intensity, his free hand slid down to trace the waistband of her underwear. Studying for your reactions, he waited for your permission, his gaze flickering to meet yours, silently asking if he could explore further. When you nodded, he slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, teasing your clit lightly.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He wanted to hear you say it and know he was pleasing you.

“More,” you pleaded, your breath coming in unevenly and your panties dampened with your arousal. “I need more, please,” you whined. It felt good, really good. But it wasn't enough.

With a low groan, he pushed your underwear aside and slipped two fingers inside your warm, wet heat. He curled them slightly, hitting the spot he knew would send you spiraling. Your hips rocked involuntarily, meeting his rhythm. He watched your face contort in ecstasy, your eyes fluttering closed and your mouth forming silent pleas. He wanted to devour you, to taste your sweetness and hear you scream his name, but he held back, savoring this tender moment of vulnerability between you.

“Like this?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Yes!” You keened, pressing the moving wand against your clit. Your hips were bucking wildly.

As your breath grew heavier, he increased the pressure, his fingers moving faster. He could sense your impending climax building like a wave about to crash over you both. Just as you were teetering on the edge, he leaned forward, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Your moan vibrated against his mouth, sending shockwaves through him.

You reveled in the moment's intensity, your bodies moving together in perfect sync. Kyle broke the kiss, his gaze locked onto yours, watching you ride the wave of pleasure. He felt your inner walls tighten around his fingers, your orgasm rolling over you in shudders. Your cries of release were music to his ears. Kyle smiled softly at you as your body relaxed against the bed. He removed the vibrator from your grasp and set it aside, trailing gentle kisses along your chest and abdomen.

His fingers remained inside you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you. Kyle leaned up, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

“You're so beautiful,” he whispered sincerely. You blushed, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him into another kiss. He groaned as your nails scratched his scalp and shifted onto the bed, dragging you up further, barely breaking your kiss.

His tongue moved in sync with yours, sucking on your tongue and your lips as he took your wrists in his hands and placed them above your head.

“Keep these here, okay?” He commanded gently, his voice a soft rumble as he smiled down at you. You nodded your head in complacency, whimpering as he took your legs in his hands, pulling you closer and wrapping them around his waist. He quickly removed his shirt and pushed his pants down his thighs, his cock springing forward, erect and standing at attention. It bobbed against his lower stomach, already leaking pre.

His hand curled around the base, his smile dark as he looked down at you, flushed and submissive, with your hands obediently placed above your head.

“Such a good girl.” he purred. “Being so good for me.” You whined in response, your eyes glued to his twitching cock, already imagining how it's going to feel once it's inside.

Grabbing a pillow from above you, he placed it under your hips, supporting you with added comfort.

You swallowed thickly as he picked up the toy, switching it back on. He examined it for a moment before looking back down at you. “Don't worry,” he said. “I’ll take care of you.”

With another press of a button, the wand began vibrating faster, the buzzing growing louder in your ears before he pressed it against your clit, adding a bit of pressure before dragging it down your folds, teasing it over your hole before pulling it back up.

Wanton moans uncontrollably escaped from deep inside your chest, your legs kicking out at the sensitivity. “Wait, Kyle,” you pleaded, your body squirming, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.

“No,” he answered, his eyes narrowing. “You asked me for this, remember?”

You tried squeezing your thighs shut, but he held one open, holding it to the surface of the bed.

“Put it in,” he commanded, his eyes looking to yours, his brow lifting when you didn't move right away. “Go on,” he reminded you, acting utterly unbothered by your inebriated state.

You whimpered but obliged, wrapping your hand around his veiny girth, sliding your hand across his tip to collect his essence, and dragging it back down to coat his cock for an easier entry.

As you guided him forward, he shifted his hips, leaning closer in his impatience. Once his tip caught, he didn't give you a single warning before he pushed forward and filled you up completely.

“Yeah…” he breathed, wholly entranced as you sucked him in with zero resistance, your gummy walls hugging his cock, clenching and unclenching as it beckoned him forward.

“That's it,” he smiled with an added groan, pushing his hips to the hilt, tossing his head back as you both moaned in unison. “Hold it steady,” transferring the toy back to you, he reached underneath your thighs and lifted until your ankles were resting by his ears.

At this angle, his tip was nestled right up against your sensitive spot, causing you to nearly scream when he immediately began battering his hips against yours, fucking you deep and rough just like you asked.

It wasn't long until you were cumming again, stars dancing behind your eyelids as you succumbed to the white-hot pleasure coursing through you.

“Yes! Fuck!” Kyle shouted as your pussy clamped like a vice around him, causing his hips to stutter. “God, your fucking pussy feels so good,” he whined, his eyes squeezed shut as his thrusts picked up in pace, losing their rhythm.

“One more…” he panted, his hand curling over yours, pressing the button once more until the wand buzzed at full speed. You practically screamed in response, pushing at his abdomen with one hand, trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure.

“I can't,” you cried, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Yes, you can, c'mon,” he growled, slapping your hand away. “Be a good girl; you can take it.”

You had no choice but to lay there as he fucks you until his pace slowed into deep grinds, circling his hips as his cock knocked around inside. His hand that was on your thigh pressed down against your lower stomach, applying just the proper amount of pressure as you neared your third release of the night.

“It's too much!” You squealed, your hands clawing at his forearms, trying to ground yourself to something. “Wait! I'm gonna pee!” You tried to warn him, kicking your legs out to try and get away, but he didn't budge.

“You're not gonna pee, baby,” he let out a breathless laugh, coming out of character momentarily. “Just trust me, remember?” his stoic gaze turned gentle once more before he pulled back, fucking into you at a much faster pace, chasing his high.

“Let go for me, c’mon.” he panted, his eyes screwing shut as his mouth fell open, expletives falling from his in deep shudders, sweat dripping from his brow and down his face.

You couldn't hold it in anymore, tossing your head back with a silent scream, arching your back almost painfully as clear liquid sprayed onto his abdomen and drenched the sheets below you.

“Holy shit,” he cursed, watching as you squirted all over him, some even reaching his chest as you pussy practically pinched him. “Fuck I'm gonna cum.” was all he said before thrusting into you one final time, shooting ropes deep inside of you with a groan that almost sounded painful.

“Turn it off!” You sobbed, trying to lift the device away from you. You gasped in relief as he took it away, tossing it somewhere onto your bed before he leaned over your body, taking your face in his hands as he kissed you.

You turned away with a whine, desperate for air, as he chuckled breathlessly. “Fuck that was good.” he sighed, pressing kisses to the column of your throat as he eased your legs back down onto the bed. You don't think you could've replied even if you wanted to.

“One more?” he teased, laughing at the pointed glare you shot at him.

“C’mon,” he grunted as he lifted you into his arms, walking towards your bathroom. “How ‘bout a bath?” he said, kissing your temple.

A bath doesn't sound bad at all.

main masterlist, rules

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Godly Things | Chapter 09 Chapter 09 | fractured harmony⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

The feast was in full swing, the grand hall once again filled with laughter and life. The air was warm and heady, charged with the scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread, mingling with the sweet aroma of honeyed fruits.

It was a jolly atmosphere—joyful, vibrant, alive.

You found yourself among the musicians once again, your hands moving rhythmically over a small djembe drum, the deep, resonant beat echoing through your body.

With every strike of your hands on the drum's taut skin, you could feel your heart matching its tempo, drumming in sync with the pulse of the music. The rhythm was infectious; your whole body seemed to pulse along, your face flushed from the heat and energy of the room.

There was something about being a part of this collective sound, this melding of melody and percussion, that made the moment feel almost sacred, as if all the troubles of the world had temporarily vanished in the warmth of the hall.

You watched as the others played their instruments—lyres, flutes, and tambourines—all weaving together in a tapestry of sound that filled every corner of the room. Your fingers ached from the constant motion, but the smiles on the faces of those around you were more than enough to keep you going.

The music built up to a joyous crescendo, and as the final notes echoed, the song came to an end, leaving you breathless and grinning.

You took the opportunity to step away, your skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Making your way towards the long table at the side, you grabbed a goblet of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat.

You paused, leaning back against one of the stone pillars, your gaze wandering across the grand hall as you took a long sip.

The sight before you was beautiful—almost like something out of a dream. Penelope and Odysseus sat close together at the head table, the queen's eyes warm as they rested on her husband.

Every so often, Odysseus leaned over, his lips moving close to Penelope's ear, whispering something that made her smile. She swatted playfully at his chest, her laughter ringing out—a sound full of genuine happiness that made your own heart swell.

It was a simple, tender moment, yet it spoke of the love and resilience they shared, even after everything they had endured.

As you finished your drink, you heard the musicians striking up another tune. The lively notes filled the room, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched several servants—both from Ithaca and Bronte—begin to laugh and cheer, pairing up to dance.

There was something beautiful about the sight, the way the house colors blended together, Ithaca's blue and gold intermingling with Bronte's green and yellow. The servants moved with an easy grace, their feet tapping in time with the beat, skirts and tunics twirling in flashes of color.

The laughter, the cheer, the music—it all seemed to weave together, filling the room with a sense of unity.

Just as you were about to move and head back to the musicians, you spotted Telemachus making his way over. His eyes met yours, and an easy grin spread across his face, one that you couldn't help but mirror.

You smoothed down your clothes absentmindedly, flattening your hair as a flutter of excitement bubbled up inside you. Your heart beat just a little faster, a mix of anticipation and nervousness making you fidget.

Telemachus had always made it his mission to catch a dance with you if time permitted, and tonight seemed to be no different. You couldn't help the giddy feeling that welled up inside as he drew closer, the warmth of his smile making everything else fade into the background.

But just as he was about to reach you, a flash of green and yellow entered your field of vision.

Lady Andreia intercepted Telemachus, her bright grin unmistakable as she placed a hand on his arm, her fingers curling gently but confidently around his sleeve.

Without waiting for his response, she tugged him toward the center of the room, where the others were already dancing.

Telemachus hesitated for a brief moment, his eyes flickering back to meet yours, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips.

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but there was a twinge of something in your chest, an unfamiliar emotion that you couldn't quite place.

You watched as the princess pulled Telemachus into the line of dancers, their movements quickly falling in sync with the lively beat of the music. The prince spun her effortlessly, his laughter mingling with hers as they joined in the swirling dance.

Your gaze lingered on them for a moment longer, that odd twinge deepening in your chest as you took in the sight—the two of them moving together, their colors blending amidst the blues, golds, greens, and yellows that filled the hall.

It was a beautiful scene, and yet, it left you feeling strangely hollow.

With a soft sigh, you turned away, forcing a smile as you made your way back toward the musicians. The music was still playing, the notes joyous and bright, but for the first time tonight, it felt as if you were on the outside looking in.

☆

☆

All throughout the evening, Lady Andreia had remained close to Telemachus, her laughter echoing above the music, her presence unwavering. She danced with him, her smile radiant as they spun together, her fingers brushing his arm in fleeting touches that seemed both innocent and intentional.

They moved as if they had known each other forever, and it left little room for anyone else to join in.

You tried to stay focused, to keep the beat steady with the musicians, your hands drumming over the small djembe until your palms ached. The rhythm was your anchor, something that kept your thoughts from drifting too far into that uncomfortable twinge that seemed to grow each time you caught a glimpse of Telemachus and Andreia together.

He tried, a few times, to break away—to come find you and drag you into the dance—but each time, Andreia was there, her bright smile and laughter cutting in before he even reached you.

Eventually, you decided it was easier to stay put, to let the music carry you through the evening and to ignore Telemachus' fruitless attempts to catch your attention.

It was better this way, or at least, that was what you told yourself.

You poured all your energy into the music, the notes carrying you forward even when your heart wasn't quite in it; your fingers grew sore, your body ached, but you refused to let the fatigue—or the strange, unfamiliar feeling gnawing at you—show.

The music was your refuge, the only thing that made sense in the swirl of emotions you couldn't quite name.

By the time the last of the guests had gone, the hall was quiet, save for the clatter of dishes and the soft murmurs of the servants as they tidied up.

You worked alongside them, your movements automatic—stacking plates, wiping down tables, sweeping away the remains of the night's revelry.

As you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances toward the center of the room, where Telemachus and Andreia had danced. The memory of them spinning together, her hand resting on his shoulder, his smile bright and carefree, made your heart twist painfully.

There was a heaviness in your chest that you tried to ignore, shaking your head as if that would somehow rid you of the thoughts that kept creeping in.

Once the work was done, you walked with the others out of the now empty hall, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor.

You exchanged quiet goodbyes, your voice almost lost in the stillness of the night, and then you turned, splitting off from the group as you made your way towards your room.

The night was calm, the air cool against your skin as you stepped into the outside.

The sky above was clear, the moonlight showering down, bathing the courtyard in a silvery glow. The chirping of insects filled the quiet, a gentle hum that seemed to wrap around you, a reminder that even in the stillness, life continued.

The path to your room was familiar, and you moved slowly, your eyes tracing the patterns of moonlight on the ground, your thoughts drifting.

The ache in your chest hadn't lessened, but out here, beneath the open sky, it felt a little easier to bear.

It was quiet. Peaceful. A stark contrast to the noise and warmth of the hall, to the laughter and music that had filled the air not long ago.

And yet, even in the quiet, your mind thought about Telemachus, about the way his eyes had searched for yours, the way Lady Andreia had pulled him away.

You shook your head again, as if to clear it, and quickened your pace.

It was late, and you were tired. Tomorrow would be another day, and perhaps, with the morning light, things would feel different.

So instead of focusing on such churning thoughts, you focus on the sound of your footsteps, the feel of the ground beneath your sandals, the glow of the moonlight guiding you forward.

The night was quiet, and for now, that was enough.

You were nearly halfway to your room when you heard your name called, the sound breaking through the stillness of the night. The voice was familiar—soft, yet insistent—and it made you stop in your tracks, your heart giving a small, unexpected leap.

Turning around, your eyes widened slightly as you saw Telemachus jogging towards you, his figure illuminated by the silvery glow of the moon. He was a sight, his hair a little tousled, cheeks flushed from the exertion, and something about the way he moved—hurried, purposeful—sent a warmth spreading through your chest.

"____," he called again, his breath a little heavy by the time he reached you, but his eyes were bright, a soft smile spreading across his face. He looked down at you, his gaze gentle, and for a moment, the weight that had settled in your chest seemed to lift, just a little.

"May I escort you the rest of the way?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of warmth, his eyes searching yours as if hoping for an invitation.

Before you could respond, his hand reached out, taking the djembe drum that hung by your side, lifting it from your shoulder with a careful touch.

You blinked, and then smiled, nodding. "Of course," you said, your voice softer than you intended, but it seemed enough for him. Telemachus returned your smile, his own soft and genuine, and with that, the two of you began to walk.

The silence that fell between you was comfortable, the kind that needed no words; you could feel the warmth of the prince beside you, his arm brushing against yours every so often as you walked. The djembe hung at his side, and his fingers tapped against it absently, keeping a gentle rhythm as you moved.

You found yourself glancing at him from the corner of your eye, the moonlight highlighting the curve of his jaw, the softness of his expression, and something inside you softened too.

He looked ahead, his gaze focused on the path, his features calm and relaxed, and there was something about the way he walked—steady, unhurried—that made you feel at ease.

It was as if, for just this moment, all the confusion and the uncertainty from earlier had faded away, leaving behind only this��just the two of you, walking side by side beneath the moonlight.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you looked ahead, letting the quiet wrap around you like a comforting blanket.

The night seemed to hold its breath; the only sounds were the soft crunch of your footsteps against the path and the distant chirping of crickets. You could hear the rustle of the olive branches above, swaying gently in the breeze, casting dancing shadows on the ground as the moonlight filtered through the leaves.

The air was cool, crisp against your skin, yet the warmth of Telemachus beside you seemed to make the chill almost pleasant, balancing it out in a way that made you feel content.

Telemachus cleared his throat softly, the sound breaking through the quiet but not disturbing it—more like adding another layer to the stillness of the night. He looked down at you, his eyes soft, the corners of his lips turning upwards. "Did you enjoy the feast?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant, as though he wasn't quite sure whether he wanted to break the peaceful silence.

You turned your head towards him, meeting his gaze, and a bright smile spread across your face. "I did, my prince," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of excitement as you recalled the vibrant festivities. "It was wonderful—the music, the dancing, the laughter. It felt like, for just a moment, everything was right again. Everyone seemed... happy."

Telemachus nodded, his expression softening, the lines of tension easing from his face. "It was," he agreed, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Bronte was surprisingly pleasant. The people were warmer than I expected. It was nice, having them here."

At the mention of the neighboring kingdom, you felt your smile falter just a little, your heart giving an odd, uncomfortable twist.

You nodded, forcing the smile to stay on your lips, pressing on despite the unease that flickered within you. "Yes, it was," you agreed, your voice quieter now, a touch of something unspoken lacing your words.

You looked ahead, focusing on the path, on the way the stones seemed to shimmer in the moonlight, trying to push away the feeling that tugged at your chest.

You could feel Telemachus glancing at you, his gaze lingering, as though he could sense the shift in your mood, but he said nothing, choosing instead to remain in the comfortable silence, letting the moment stretch between you.

And for that, you were grateful. Grateful for his presence, for the warmth that seemed to radiate from him, for the way he walked beside you without question or pressure, just there, solid and steady.

After a few more moments, Telemachus gave a soft chuckle, his voice lightening the mood. "I think I made a fool of myself on the dance floor," he admitted, shaking his head, a sheepish grin forming on his face. "I haven't danced like that in a long time."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound escaping you before you could stop it. You glanced up at him, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "You weren't that bad," you teased gently, your smile widening. "In fact, I'd say you were quite impressive—though maybe not as graceful as Lady Andreia."

Telemachus groaned playfully, rolling his eyes. "Ah, yes," he said, his tone holding a hint of self-deprecation. "She certainly made me look better than I am." He paused, glancing at you with a sly smile. "Though, I do think I would've rather danced with you instead."

Your heart skipped a beat, warmth spreading across your cheeks. You looked away, hiding the smile that tugged at your lips, feeling a flutter of something light and hopeful bloom in your chest. "Perhaps next time, my prince," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the rustling leaves.

Telemachus hummed in agreement, and you felt his arm brush against yours, a gentle touch that sent a shiver down your spine.

The two of you continued walking, the soft crunch of your footsteps filling the silence as the path narrowed; the ground gradually shifted beneath you, the soft crunch of gravel transitioning into the smooth tiles of the palace floor as you entered a different part of the building.

Telemachus walked you all the way to your door, neither of you saying much—the quiet had settled between you like a comforting blanket, one neither of you wished to disturb.

When you reached your door, you paused, turning to face him, your eyes meeting his. The moonlight bathed his features in a gentle glow, softening the lines of his face, making him look almost ethereal.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you filled with something unspoken, something tender and fragile.

Telemachus gave you a soft smile, his gaze never leaving yours. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gentle, almost hesitant touch, as if testing the waters. "Goodnight, ____" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with warmth.

You swallowed, your heart pounding, and offered him a small, genuine smile in return. "Goodnight, my prince." Your voice was equally soft, the words carrying more than just a farewell—something unspoken that hung between you, lingering in the air.

For a moment, it felt as though he might lean closer, as if the two of you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn't quite name. But then he pulled back, his smile still in place, and nodded once before turning to walk away, his footsteps fading into the night.

You watched him go, your heart still pounding, warmth blooming in your chest. When he finally disappeared from view, you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, leaning back against your door. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you rested your head against the wood, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Your heart was racing, your cheeks warm, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in the feeling—the hope, the warmth, the quiet thrill that seemed to spread through you.

It was like a secret, something just for you to hold onto, a memory to carry with you.

Finally, with a sigh, you pushed yourself away from the door, opening it quietly and stepping inside.

The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon filtering through the small window. You moved slowly, setting your drum down in the corner, your fingers lingering on the wood for a moment.

You shrugged off your shoes, your fingers deftly undoing the laces before placing them neatly to the side. Your eyes scanned the dim room, and you quietly moved to take off the rest of your attire, folding each piece carefully and setting it on a chair.

You splashed your face with water from the basin, the coolness making you shiver slightly, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of your flushed cheeks.

Finally, you slipped into your nightclothes, letting out a content sigh as you settled into your bed; you were knocked out the moment your head hit the pillow.

The dream was unlike anything you had ever experienced—a strange yet beautiful vision that seemed to blur the lines between fantasy and reality.

You were sitting in a seemingly never-ending field of flowers, the sun shining down warmly, bathing everything in a golden glow. The flowers danced around you, vibrant colors stretching as far as your eyes could see.

You wore a flowing white dress, its fabric catching the breeze, and your feet were bare, the earth beneath you soft and comforting.

You were humming softly to yourself, the tune light and carefree, your hands busy weaving a flower crown to match the one already resting atop your head. There was a sense of tranquility, of freedom, that seemed to fill you entirely, making your heart swell with joy.

Suddenly, a shadow fell across you, interrupting the sunlight, and you looked up, a smile already forming on your lips. Though the figure was shrouded in shadow, somehow, you knew them—an innate familiarity that made you feel safe, comforted.

The man bent down, his presence filling the space around you with warmth. His hand reached out to cup the bottom of your face gently, and his touch was like sunlight itself—soft, warm, and deeply comforting. You found yourself closing your eyes, leaning into it, savoring the tenderness. His thumb brushed against your cheek, a touch so soft it almost tickled, and you could feel your heart fluttering in your chest.

The man leaned closer, his warmth enveloping you as his lips brushed against your ear; you shivered as he whispered your name—a low, soft voice that sent a thrill down your spine.

" ____, my love."

The words were filled with so much warmth, so much affection that it made your heart swell almost painfully. His presence was comforting, his closeness like a soothing balm to your soul.

You could feel the heat of his breath, the way his hand cradled your face like you were something precious, irreplaceable. The warmth of his touch seeped into your very being, making you wish for the moment to stretch on forever.

You leaned into him further, your heart pounding with something that felt so pure, so unguarded, and as his fingers brushed against your jawline, you could almost feel the promise in that simple touch—a promise of love, of devotion, of something far beyond what words could convey.

And just as you began to turn your face towards his, your eyes still closed, your lips parting slightly—

When your eyes opened, the dream was gone, replaced by the soft light of dawn breaking past the horizon, filling your room with its gentle glow.

You blinked, disoriented for a moment, the warmth of the dream still lingering in your chest, the sensation of his touch still vivid.

With a sigh, you rubbed your face, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream as you slowly pushed yourself up, the chill of the morning air brushing against your skin.

You could still feel the echoes of that strange, beautiful vision as you stood, stretching, and began to prepare yourself for the day ahead.

☆

☆

Throughout the morning, you couldn't help but notice that Lady Andreia was still on Ithaca.

You had seen her once or twice after she had gathered her brother's body, and you had assumed she would leave promptly after, but she and her entourage had continued to stay. She was particularly present around the royal family, her presence lingering like a shadow.

Most noticeably, she often stayed close to Queen Penelope.

At first, you assumed it was simply a formality—a gesture of goodwill to stay and converse with the queen after everything that had happened. But as the hours passed, you saw Andreia with Penelope often, their heads bowed together, sharing whispers and laughter.

There was an ease between them that seemed to grow, as though they were beginning to find comfort in each other's company.

It was nearing lunchtime when you were bringing a tray of fruit and freshly baked bread to Penelope. You made your way through the corridors, the tray balanced carefully in your hands.

The closer you got to the queen's chambers, the more you could hear the soft murmur of voices.

When you entered, you found Penelope and Andreia seated by the window, sunlight streaming in, casting a warm glow over them. They were chatting animatedly, their smiles bright, their conversation filled with an ease that made you pause.

Penelope looked up as you entered, her expression softening. "Oh, ____, I'm sorry," she said, a gentle apology in her voice. "I forgot to tell you that Lady Andreia would be joining me for lunch today."

You nodded, offering her a small smile. "No trouble at all, my queen. I can bring more," you said politely, already making a mental note to fetch another tray.

But Lady Andreia shook her head, her red hair catching the sunlight as she smiled warmly at you. "Please, there's no need. I feel like I'm intruding as it is," she said, her tone light, though there was a sincerity beneath her words.

Penelope waved her off, her smile growing. "Nonsense. You are a guest here, and it is our duty to make you feel welcome."

You busied yourself setting down the tray, your hands moving with practiced ease as you arranged the dishes, making sure everything was in place. You tried to keep your mind focused on your task, but you couldn't help overhearing their conversation.

"I must say," Andreia spoke, her voice carrying a note of wistfulness, "Ithaca is truly beautiful. The landscapes, the people—there is a warmth here that I have never known elsewhere."

Penelope smiled at her, tilting her head slightly. "It is home," she replied, her voice filled with a quiet pride.

Andreia sighed softly, her gaze drifting out the window. "Bronte is beautiful too, in its own way," she continued, her voice thoughtful. "But it's different. The mountains are tall and covered in mist, and the forests are dense, almost impenetrable. Our people are strong, but they lack the openness I see here. Everything in Bronte is..." She paused, searching for the right word, "harsher, I suppose. Our winters are long, and the sea is often angry, but there is beauty in its wildness."

You couldn't help but glance at her as she spoke, her eyes far away, lost in her memories. There was a sadness there—a longing for something. It made you pause, your hands hovering for a moment as you listened.

Penelope reached over, placing a gentle hand on Lady Andreia's. "Every place has its own beauty," she said softly. "And I am glad that, at least for now, you can find some warmth here with us."

Andreia looked at Penelope, her eyes softening as she smiled. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice filled with sincerity.

Then, after a small pause, she added, her tone shifting slightly, almost wistful, "The people here respect you deeply, my queen. It must be a great comfort to have such loyalty from those around you. And King Odysseus... his presence must also be a great source of strength for you. His reputation alone speaks volumes."

Penelope returned her smile, her expression warm but also slightly curious. "It is a blessing," she agreed, her eyes meeting Andreia's with genuine fondness. "One that I do not take for granted. Odysseus and I have been through much together, and his return has brought a balance I did not realize I needed."

You watched the exchange, Andreia's eyes lingering on Penelope with something like longing—perhaps admiration, perhaps something else, a yearning you couldn't quite understand.

She smiled again, though there was a weight to her words. "The tales of his cunning and strength—seeing him here, in person, makes one understand how such legends are born." The way her words hung in the air, filled with both warmth and something more complex, made you uneasy.

You finished your task, stepping back and offering a polite bow before making yourself scarce.

You couldn't quite place the feeling that lingered in your chest as you walked away—a mixture of curiosity and something else, something you couldn't quite name.

A/N: ugggghh, the way i wanna jump right into meeting hermes, lololol but alas plot gosta be made, but the brightside is at least the buildup will be magnificent; double ugggghhhhh cuz tell me why i'm literally writing this so-called group paper for one of my classes by myself?? we in college, these people too grown not to know how to write a fucking paragraph, but lemme stop before i start ranting 😩😭 so i do apologize if update are really really reaaallllyyy weird because i'm working + schooling 💔

[silent-stories]

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Series summary: After years of building your band’s reputation as one of the most influential in the metal scene, you and your bandmates move to Los Angeles. What you don't expect, however, is that your new neighbors are none other than Bad Omens, and that Noah is a huge fan of your band.

Series masterlist

The moment you walked into the music store, the scent of wood, metal, and leather hit you, immediately transporting you to memories from your childhood. The sound of strings being tuned, the hum of drums being tested, and the rhythmic tapping of keys filled the air, and you couldn’t help but smile.

It was like stepping into a sanctuary, the kind of place you’d lost yourself in for hours when you were younger. Back then, you used to wander between the rows of guitars, basses, drums, and amps, feeling like the world outside could wait. It was always easier to breathe in a music store. The chaos of the world seemed so much quieter when surrounded by instruments.

You took a deep breath, soaking in the atmosphere. The walls were lined with guitars—some old and worn, others gleaming with fresh paint. Amps of all sizes were stacked along one side of the store, while the percussion section was neatly organized just ahead. It was impossible not to be overwhelmed with a sense of nostalgia.

Noah, walking in beside you, caught your eye with a grin. “Looks like you enjoy this place,” he said, his voice light, but there was an understanding in his tone.

“Yeah,” you replied, running your fingers over the smooth surface of a guitar, “it takes me back."

Noah nodded, a quiet smile on his lips.

"I'm sure I'm gonna come back here often." You added.

“Well, I’m glad we’re doing this today,” Noah said, looking around. “Let’s find that drum head and those sticks, yeah?”

You nodded, already feeling that familiar thrill of being surrounded by equipment you had no real need for but wanted anyway. You led him toward the percussion section, where you found a display of drum heads. They were all neatly stacked, with each one bearing different designs, sizes, and materials.

“Okay, so Jake mentioned he needed a new drum head,” you said, scanning the selection. “And he loves his gear to look good, so we need something that'll catch his eye. He’s really into the red and black combo these days. Literally, his entire wardrobe is those colors."

Noah’s eyes lit up when he saw the perfect one. It was a deep red with a black snake designed on it. “This one. This is perfect for him. It’s bold, but not too much. And the red and black thing? It’s spot on. I don't really know him but this thing screams Jake.”

"Oh, I like this one."

“I’ve been around Folio long enough to know what looks cool,” Noah said with a shrug, grabbing the drum head off the display and holding it up in front of you. “This one’s definitely the vibe.”

He handed it to you, and as your fingers brushed his, a jolt of electricity shot through your hand, making your pulse quicken. You smiled as if nothing had happened, your mind already working on what else you needed. “Now we need the sticks.”

You walked a few feet to the stick display, where a wall of different brands and styles greeted you. You picked up a few pairs, testing their balance in your hands, feeling the weight of them.

“Red and black?” Noah asked, still standing by the drum head section.

“Yeah,” you said, tossing a pair of black sticks back onto the shelf and picking up a set with a bright red finish. “These could work.”

Noah walked over, inspecting them as he grabbed a matching pair. “They feel good. Solid grip, and the weight’s pretty spot on. They’re not too light, but not too heavy either.”

"Since when are you also a drummer?"

"Trust me, you don't want to see me play. I only know a few things."

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “I hope he's gonna like these.”

You walked to the counter, briefly talking with the cashier and then you both made your way out of the store. The late afternoon sun had dipped low in the sky, casting a soft golden hue over everything as you stepped back into the parking lot.

As you climbed into Noah’s car, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment. There was something about being in a music store that always grounded you, and today, with Noah by your side, it felt even more meaningful.

He slid into the driver’s seat, tossing the keys onto the dashboard.

“Thanks for helping me pick this stuff out, Noah.”

“No problem,” Noah said, “It’s always good to help a friend."

The drive back from the record store was relaxed, the warm glow of the setting sun stretching across the road as you and Noah talked. Music hummed softly in the background, a low rhythm filling the spaces between easy conversation. The city rolled by outside the car window, but you barely noticed, too caught up in glancing at Noah from time to time.

At one point, as the playlist shifted to something slower, Noah glanced over at you, his expression curious. “You play guitar, right?”

You blinked, surprised by the question but not by the certainty in his voice—like he already knew. He was a fan, after all.

“Kind of,” you admitted with a small shrug. “Alex tried to teach me a bunch of times. He was really patient about it, but…” You grinned, “He never got far with me. I’m not exactly a natural. I'm probably better with a microphone.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “That’s not what it looked like.”

You frowned, genuinely curious. “What do you mean?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze flicking briefly to the road before returning to you. “I’ve seen you play. Acoustic sets. You did that version of Ghost a few times.”

You felt a sudden, warm flush creep up your neck. “That barely counts,” you said with a laugh. “It’s just one song. And I stopped playing it a couple of years ago.”

Noah shook his head, smirking. “Doesn’t matter. You still did it. And you didn’t look half bad doing it, either.”

You scoffed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, well, I’d love to actually know what I’m doing someday.”

He didn’t reply, but his smile lingered, as if he knew something you didn’t. The music shifted again, the notes matching the golden haze outside, and for a while, neither of you spoke.

"Friend." That word kept echoing in his mind. He had said it so casually, without thinking twice. But now, it lingered with him.

It felt too much and not enough at the same time.

He had known you for just a little over a week, yet it felt like he had known you for years. And in some ways, maybe he had. But now that he was seeing you in person, talking and joking, everything felt so easy, so natural. It was effortless, like the two of you just fit. Like this was something that had been waiting to happen all along.

He loved the way you sang that song with him so much that he almost thought about taking a wrong turn to make the journey last longer. That song that in one way or another described you a little and that he knew he would never listen to in the same way again.

The front door creaked open, and Noah stepped inside his house, glancing around as he tossed his jacket onto the coat rack.

“Hey, already back from your date?” Nicholas asked from the couch, his legs stretched out lazily. He was lounging next to Matt, who was looking at his phone, but as soon as Noah closed the door behing him, his attention was on Noah.

Noah ran a hand through his hair, feeling the warmth rush to his cheeks. “It wasn’t a date,” he replied, trying to brush it off as casually as possible.

“Right, it wasn’t a date,” Matt chimed in “But you sure would’ve liked it to be.”

Noah shot him a quick glare, but his heart beat just a little faster at the idea. He didn’t want to think about that right now.

“We’re just friends,” he said firmly, hoping that would put an end to the conversation. But his voice faltered slightly.

“Yeah, you’re just friends…” Nicholas smirked, “But you sure as hell want it to be more than that, don’t you?”

Noah exhaled sharply, his brow furrowing as he leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling a little cornered by their teasing.  “Hey, you two. Did you just team up against me or something?”

Nick chuckled softly. “I’m just saying,” he said, his tone light but laced with amusement, “you don’t come home with a smile on your face like that after spending time with a girl unless you’re really feeling something. And this hasn't happened in a long time.”

Noah paused. He knew what they were saying was true. He did feel something. Something he couldn’t quite put into words. It was too early for him to even figure it out, but there was no denying the way his pulse quickened whenever you laughed, the way his thoughts lingered on every conversation you had. The way he’d caught himself smiling after the drive back even if none of you was speaking.

But there was also the fact that you’d only just moved to LA. You were still getting settled, still figuring things out. He couldn’t assume anything, especially not after just one week. Besides, you had been nothing but kind to him, offering your company, your time—just as a friend. You didn’t give any indication that you felt the same way.

“She just moved here, you know? She’s probably just being nice, trying to make some friends. I don’t want to mess that up.”

As Noah moved toward the kitchen, he heard Nicholas mumble, “Dumbass,” under his breath, and Noah couldn’t help but shake his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t ready to admit anything, not even to himself—and for now, he’d take it slow.

You took a deep breath as you climbed the stairs, still holding the bags in your hands. You entered your room and set the items down on your bed. First, you carefully unpacked the drum head, the red snake design standing out vividly against the plain brown wrapping paper. It was perfect for Jake, and you couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

You set it aside before moving on to the sticks. They felt solid, the red finish a nice complement to the rest of the gift. You placed them neatly next to the drum head, the items now ready to be wrapped.

Once everything was in order, you headed downstairs, hoping to get some rest before you had to start working on the shirt designs again. As you entered the living room, you spotted Alex lounging on the couch, his usual smirk in place as he glanced up from his phone.

"So," he started, his voice teasing, "What did you do today? Besides, you know, buying gifts for our lovely drummer?"

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you took a seat on the armrest of the couch. "I just went out with Noah," you said, trying to keep your tone casual. "We went to a music store to pick up some things for Jake's birthday."

Alex’s eyes lit up, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Oh, so you and Noah spent the day together, huh?" he teased, leaning forward slightly. "Was it a… fun outing?" He dragged the words out, clearly enjoying how the situation sounded.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. "It was just a trip to the store, Alex," you said, trying to play it off as no big deal. "He was just being kind, helping me pick out the right stuff for Jake."

Alex’s grin widened, clearly not buying it. "Uh-huh, sure. Just 'helping' you out. Look at you, getting all cozy with the neighbor." He leaned back against the couch, still smirking.

You shook your head, laughing lightly. "It’s not like that," you insisted. "We’re just friends. He’s just a nice guy, and I needed help picking out some gifts. That's all."

Alex raised an eyebrow, his teasing tone never faltering. "Friends, huh?" he said, dragging out the word.

You shot him a playful glare, not willing to admit anything. "I swear, you’re impossible," you said, standing up from the couch. "It’s literally nothing. We just went out to get some stuff for Jake’s birthday. End of story. I don't like him that way."

Alex chuckled softly, clearly enjoying teasing you. "Sure, sure. If you say so."

"Alright, enough," you said, rolling your eyes. "Now that I’ve dealt with your teasing, I’m gonna work on the merch. In my room. Alone."

You heard the blonde's laughter follow you until you closed the door behind you.

In the following days, things passed by in a calm, pleasant rhythm. You spent a few afternoons wandering around Los Angeles with Sam, Jake and William, exploring the city in ways that felt both casual and exciting. One afternoon, you strolled through Melrose Avenue, checking out the cool, vintage stores that lined the street.

There was this one shop, Wasteland, that had the most amazing collection of secondhand leather jackets and band tees from decades past. You spent a good chunk of time browsing through the racks, finding the occasional gem, and laughing at some of the ridiculous fashion choices from the ‘80s that seemed to make their way back in style.

Another day, you went to The Last Bookstore in downtown LA. The towering shelves of books, the hidden nooks, and the whimsical vibe of the place were exactly the kind of escape you craved when the city felt a little overwhelming. Sam had picked up a graphic novel while William flipped through a music history book, but you found yourself drawn to the vinyl section, running your fingers over the old records with a soft smile. It was a little treasure trove, tucked away in the heart of the city, and you found a kind of peace there among the pages and music.

As you walked through these different parts of the city, you were starting to notice something. More and more often, people would recognize you—fans of the band, or sometimes just music lovers who happened to spot you. It wasn’t something you had ever been used to, but it was happening now, and you couldn’t help but feel a little thrill every time someone would call out your name.

It would start with a hesitant wave, and then someone would ask, “Hey, are you Y/N from Dark Waves?” Or “Are you a singer?” And before you knew it, you’d end up posing for a selfie, or signing a quick autograph, exchanging a few words with a fan. It was always brief, always pleasant, but it made you feel something inside, like you were on the right path.

It was a little surreal, honestly. Growing up, you never really expected to be recognized in places like this—walking through crowded streets, sitting in cafes, or shopping in quirky stores. Yet there you were, in LA, where it seemed like everyone had a chance to run into someone they admired. Each time someone approached you, you felt a deep sense of gratitude. It reminded you of how far you’d come, of the countless hours spent working on music and building your career, and most importantly, it reminded you of the people who had helped get you to where you were now—your fans.

They were the reason you were living this life, the reason you had the privilege of playing music for a living. They were the ones who had supported Dark Waves through everything, and now, it was starting to feel real. You weren’t just in the band anymore—you were part of something much bigger, something that had a life of its own.

You had continued your routine of leaving food for the stray cat, just outside your garden. Every morning, without fail, the food would be gone, and you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction knowing the cat was eating. There was something comforting about it, even though you didn’t know much about the cat or its life. You just hoped that, at least for a while, it could count on the food you left out.

One night, as you sat on the couch, flipping through your phone, you heard a noise outside. It was faint at first, just a soft rustling, but it was enough to catch your attention. You froze, listening, and then the sound came again—louder this time. It was as if something had knocked into something else. Curious, you stood up, slipping into your comfortable hoodie to shield yourself from the chill of the night air, and made your way toward the door.

You stepped outside, the darkness of the night surrounding you. The street was quiet, save for the occasional distant car or the rustling of leaves in the wind. Your garden was still, and the only thing that seemed out of place was a small vase that had been knocked over by something. Your gaze darted toward it, and that’s when you saw him.

The orange cat, the one Noah had talked about, was there, darting away from the mess it had caused. His fur was a bit scruffy, and he looked thin—almost gaunt, as though he hadn’t been eating enough. There were patches of dirt on his fur, and his eyes darted nervously, as if he were expecting someone to chase him away. He was hungry. You could tell. And he looked like he hadn’t had an easy time of it.

Without thinking, you stepped forward, calling out softly to him. “Hey, it’s okay. Come here.” You crouched down, hoping to show him you meant no harm, that you just wanted to help. But before you could even take another step, the cat whipped around and bolted, darting across your yard toward the fence that separated your garden from the next.

“Hey!” you called after him, instinctively trying to catch up. “It’s okay, come back.” But your words fell on deaf ears. In the blink of an eye, the orange cat had jumped up and over the low brick wall separating your yard from the neighboring house—the one you’d started calling "Omens house". You watched helplessly as he disappeared behind a little brick wall in the corner of their garden.

Just as you were about to turn back toward your house, a low creak behind you made you jump. You spun around, heart thudding, to see the door of the Omens house opening slightly. Standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the porch light, was Noah. He rubbed his eyes with one hand, his voice thick with sleep as he drawled, “Are you trying to break in and rob us, or…?”

His long hair was a tousled mess, falling in loose waves over his shoulders, and his t-shirt hung rumpled, like he had been asleep minutes ago. His eyes, heavy with sleep but laced with amusement, regarded you with a sleepy kind of curiosity. The sight of him—barefoot except for a pair of ridiculous flip-flops with fake green grass covering the soles—almost made you burst out laughing.

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “No, no robbery plans tonight, I swear.” You gestured behind you toward the wall. “The cat—the orange one you told me about. He was in my yard, knocked over a vase, and when I tried to calm him down, he jumped into your garden.”

Noah chuckled, stepping closer until only the iron bars of the gate separated you. He squinted toward the wall you pointed at, as if expecting the cat to appear just because he was looking. “Yeah, he does that. Skittish little guy. He’ll come out when he’s ready. He always does.”

His calm certainty made you smile, but your eyes drifted down. You couldn’t resist. You pointed to his feet, your lips twitching. “I'm sorry. Are you seriously wearing those? And you call me 'weirdo'?”

Noah followed your gaze, then shrugged unapologetically, a slow, crooked grin spreading across his face. “Hey, these are genius. Every day is a walk in the park. Literally.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, but it didn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, pointing at his flip-flops like they were proof of a crime. “Who even buys those?”

“I do,” he said, unfazed. He stepped back, making a grand show of spinning around like he was modeling high fashion. “Jealous? Don’t lie. You wish you had a pair.”

“Yeah, sure,” you managed, shaking your head.

His grin lingered as he rested his arms on the top of the gate, leaning slightly closer. “But about the cat, you’re doing good leaving food out. He’ll come around. He just needs time.”

“I hope so,” you murmured, your voice quieter now. “He looked so hungry tonight. I just…” You trailed off, unsure how to put the thought into words.

Noah’s expression softened, his voice warm. “Who would’ve guessed the singer of Dark Waves had a soft heart?”

You shot him a look, a grin tugging at your lips. “Who would’ve guessed the singer of Bad Omens walks around in grass flip-flops?”

His smile broke wide, laughter rich and easy. “Touché.”

For a moment, you stood there, the silence between you comfortable. The night pressed darkly around you, but the small pool of light from the porch seemed to hold you both in a world of your own. His hair framed his face in messy locks, and even though he was standing there in grass flip-flops with sleepy eyes, you couldn’t help noticing how pretty he was. It was ridiculous, really, but undeniable—effortless in a way that made your breath catch.

He yawned, a soft, lazy grin still lingering. “Well, goodnight, weirdo.”

You smiled back, feeling lighter. “Goodnight, nerd. Try not to trip on your lawn shoes.”

He blinked, a laugh bubbling up again. “Nerd?"

“If you keep calling me weirdo, I’m going to keep calling you nerd. Those are the rules.”

“Those aren’t real rules.”

“They are now,” you said with a satisfied shrug.

"Alright," He let out one more laugh, and as you turned away, the warmth of his voice lingered long after you reached your door. In the dark, even with the ridiculous flip-flops, he looked unfairly pretty.

The late afternoon sun was dipping low as you walked with Jake to the familiar front door of Noah's house.

You found the gate ajar and Jake didn't even hesitate when he pushed it open, entering their garden.

"This is the right time they report us for invasion of private property." You muttered, following him.

Moments later, the door swung open, revealing Jolly. His tall frame filled the doorway, and his eyes flicked between you and Jake with mild curiosity. He tilted his head slightly, offering a polite, if subdued, smile. "Hey guys."

Jake grinned. "Hey, man. We came over to invite you guys to something. Got a minute?"

Before Jolly could reply, footsteps sounded behind him, and then Noah appeared in the doorway. His eyes landed on you, and for a second, it was like there was just the two of you. He leaned against the frame, his long hair falling loosely over his shoulders. His gaze was soft as he took you in.

“Hi,” he said simply, his voice low, almost intimate.

“Hey,” you responded, a smile tugging at your lips.

Jake’s eyes darted between the two of you, a slow, exaggerated sigh escaping his lips as he rolled his eyes skyward.

“Anyway,” he said loudly, breaking the moment, “I’m having a thing at our place Wednesday night. My birthday. Nothing big, just drinks and hanging out. You guys should come by.”

Jolly exchanged a glance with Noah, then nodded. “Sounds good.”

“You don’t need to bring anything,” Jake added. “Just yourselves. And Folio. You have to bring Folio. It’s just for fun, get to know each other, have a few drinks.”

Noah’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “We’ll let the others know. But yeah, I’m in.”

Jolly nodded. “Same here.”

“Awesome,” Jake said, clapping his hands together. “It’ll be good to chill.”

The conversation lingered just a moment longer and as you turned to leave, you couldn’t help but feel Noah’s gaze follow you until the door finally shut behind him.

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