Page 49
“The first couple songs were good. People were listening, but it still felt like we were trying to win them over. Then we hit one of our faster songs, and something changed. People started moving. Not just the front rows. Whole sections.”
His voice changes as he tells it. Not louder. Just more focused.
“They didn’t know the words?”
“Most of them didn’t. That was the crazy part. By the last chorus, they’d picked up enough of it to shout parts back anyway. Thousands of people singing sounds more than actual lyrics, but somehow it still worked.”
I can picture it despite never seeing Hollow North live. Zander under stadium lights with a guitar strapped across him, looking out at a crowd so big it stops being individual faces.
“What did that feel like?”
He looks toward the ceiling for a second. “Like we belonged there.”
The answer is so simple I almost miss how much is underneath it.
He goes on before I can say anything.
“We’d spent years playing places where the stage was barely big enough for four people. Bars where half the room was talking over us. Clubs where we loaded our own gear through the same door the crowd was using. Then suddenly we’re in Prague, and forty thousand people are making noise because of something we wrote in a rehearsal room back home.”
He smiles, but there’s nothing casual about it now.
“That was the first time I thought maybe this wasn’t just something we were getting away with.”
I sit with that while I finish the last pass through the shading. This is the version of Zander I keep catching glimpses of, the one who talks about music without performing for anybody, how a crowd sounded in a country where most of them didn’t speak the same language, and cared enough about one moment in Amsterdam to put it permanently on his skin.
It’s harder to reduce him to the loud neighbor with too many women at his door when he talks like this, and I’m not sure I like how much that complicates things.
I set the machine down and wipe his shoulder clean one final time. “We’re done for today. Next session will just be some touch-up.”
Zander looks over. “Already?”
“You’ve been here almost three hours.”
“That explains why my arm hurts like hell.”
I hold up the mirror so he can see the progress. The design now wraps farther over the shoulder, with the darker shading tying into the lower section and the finer lines around the waveform giving the center more structure.
He studies it for a while. “You’ve done an amazing job. I’m blown away.”
“Good. I was hoping you’d be happy with it.”
His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “You sound relieved.”
“I’m putting something permanent on your body. I’d prefer you didn’t hate it.”
“I think you knew I wouldn’t.”
“Maybe. It’s still nice to hear.”
His smile comes back, easy and familiar, and I lower the mirror before I give too much thought to why his opinion matters quite this much.
I clean and cover the tattoo, then go through the aftercare reminders while he pulls his shirt back on carefully.
At the front desk, we schedule the next session.
Zander takes the appointment card from me and slips it into his wallet. “So, just to confirm, Hollow North is officially better than expected?”
I sigh. “Go home.”
