I watched him move into the next song, watched the way his body knew exactly what to do without thinking, watched the way he looked completely at home up there despite everything I didn't know about his life. And I realized with a clarity that felt like falling that I had no idea what I was going to say to him when this was over.
I'd spent years imagining what it would be like to find Soren again. Years building up the moment in my head, trying to prepare myself for every possible outcome. But none of those versions had come close to the reality of seeing him alive under stage lights, tattooed and sweating and playing like his life depended on it.
The set continued and I didn't move. Didn't leave. Didn't look away. I just stood there near the back of the room with my drink going warm in my hand, completely captivated by the man on the stage who'd once been my best friend and was now a stranger I still somehow knew by heart.
The music was loud enough to rattle my ribs, and the crowd was pressing closer to the stage, bodies moving in rhythm to the bass line that vibrated through the floor. But I stayed where I was, rooted to the spot, watching Soren throw himself into every song like it was the only thing that mattered.
He hit the cymbals hard enough that the sound cut through everything else, and his hair fell into his eyes as he leaned into the next beat. There was something almost violent about the way he played, something that looked like controlled chaos, and I couldn't stop watching the way his muscles moved under the tattoos, the way his hands gripped the sticks, the way his whole body became part of the rhythm.
Between songs, he looked out at the crowd and grinned again, and for just a second his eyes swept over the section where I was standing. My breath caught in my throat, but his gaze keptmoving, not landing on me, not recognizing me, just scanning the faces in the dark.
He didn't know I was here. Didn't know I'd spent the last day spiraling about whether this was the right move, didn't know I'd stood in Coach and Jace's living room having a wardrobe crisis because I didn't know how to dress for seeing your ghost again. He was just up there playing, living his life, completely unaware that I'd been searching for him for years and had finally found him.
The thought should have made me feel better, should have given me some sense of control over the situation. But instead it just made me feel more lost. Because what was I supposed to do after this? Walk up to him and say hi like we were old friends who'd just lost touch? Demand answers for why he'd left? Pretend I hadn't spent over a decade trying to figure out what I'd done wrong?
The set moved into what felt like the final song, something slower and heavier that made the crowd sway instead of jump. Soren's playing shifted with it, still intense but more measured, and I watched the way his shoulders moved with each hit, the way his face went from focused to almost peaceful for brief seconds between fills.
This was him now. This was what he'd become. A drummer in a band I'd been listening to without knowing, living in the same city as me, playing shows in venues I could have walked past a hundred times. He'd been here the whole time, just out of reach, and I'd never known.
The song ended and the crowd erupted, screaming and clapping and calling for an encore. Soren stood up from behind the kit, breathing hard, and raised his sticks in acknowledgment. The stage lights caught the sweat on his skin and the ink on his arms, and he looked wrecked and beautiful and absolutely nothing like the boy I'd known at eighteen.
The band took their bows and started walking offstage, and I knew I had maybe ten minutes before they came back out or disappeared into a dressing room or left through a back exit I didn't know about. Ten minutes to decide what I was going to do, whether I was going to approach him or walk away or just keep standing here like an idiot until someone kicked me out.
But I couldn't move. Couldn't make my legs work, couldn't make my brain form a coherent plan. I just stood there with my now-warm ginger ale and watched the empty stage where Soren had been seconds ago.
I'd found him. And I had absolutely no idea what to do next.
CHAPTER FIVE
neon and nerves
SOREN
The dressing room was chaos in the best possible way, all of us still riding the high of a set that had landed exactly right. June was sprawled across the couch with her bass propped against her knee, scrolling through her phone with one hand and drinking water with the other. Luca was pacing back and forth near the mirror, re-enacting some moment from the third song where he'd apparently looked like a god, and I was leaning against the wall trying to catch my breath while my heart rate slowly came down from the stratosphere.
“Did you see that girl in the front row?” Luca was grinning like an idiot, gesturing wildly with his hands. “She was losing her mind during the bridge. I made eye contact and I swear she almost passed out.”
“You make eye contact with everyone,” June said without looking up from her phone. “You're like a golden retriever with a guitar. It doesn't count as special.”
“It counts when they look at me like that.” Luca threw himself onto the couch next to her, nearly knocking her water out of her hand. “I'm telling you, June, I have a gift.”
“You have an ego.” She elbowed him in the ribs but she was smiling. “Soren, tell him he's insufferable.”
“You're insufferable,” I said automatically, still trying to steady my breathing. My arms were sore in that good way that meant I'd hit everything hard enough, and my shirt was soaked through with sweat. I peeled it off and grabbed a clean one from my bag, pulling it on while Luca continued his dramatic reenactment of his greatest stage moments.
“See, even Soren agrees with me.” Luca pointed at me like I'd just confirmed something profound. “The people love me.”
“The people tolerate you,” June corrected. “There's a difference.”
I laughed and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler in the corner, draining half of it in one go. The set had been great. The crowd had been into it from the first song, the energy had been electric, and for forty minutes I'd been able to lose myself completely in the rhythm and the noise. That was what I loved about drumming. It was the only time my brain shut up long enough for me to just exist in the moment, without needing to think.
“That fill during 'Ghost Signal' was insane.” Luca was looking at me now, grin still plastered across his face. “I almost missed my cue because I was too busy being impressed.”
“Thanks.” I sat down on the arm of the couch. “You were actually locked in tonight. The solo on the last track was filthy.”
Luca pointed at me like I'd just said something profound. “See? He gets it. June, why can't you be more like Soren?”
“Because I have standards,” June said, finally setting her phone down and looking at both of us with that expression that said she was about to say something real and we needed to payattention. “We all played well. Good crowd, good energy, no major screw-ups. Let's not ruin it by getting too drunk before the second set.”
