Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Name: Velvet Static
Genre: Alt-rock / dream-punk / glitter-grunge
Vibe: a mix between charlie xcx, Paramore, Wolf Alice and Arctic Monkeys.
Base City: Los Angeles — dingy venues, rooftop parties, house shows that get shut down by cops.

They built a cult following on social media by posting unhinged behind-the-scenes clips: half of them fighting, half of them laughing, but always charming.

Members:

Pomni-- Lead singer/ lyricist

-the glitter-eyed hurricane at the center of it all
- vocals swing from delicate to feral in seconds
-lyrics read like diary entries that she didn't realize she posted
-famous for wearing sequins, smeared lipstick, and glitter eyeliner
-songwriting is therapy disguised as chaos
-turned away from her 9-5 one day and never looked back
-says she doesn't believe in love but keeps proving herself wrong
-her chemistry with Jax is the band’s worst-kept secret.

Jax-- lead guitar/backup vocals

-the cocky, emotionally repressed guitarist who plays like the world’s on fire
-always a little drunk or high
-flirts with anything and anyone
-succeeds at the most insane guitar riffs
-his stage presence is extremely teasing and magnetic
-never looks at pomni directly onstage- only through the smoke

Zooble- bassist

-the sarcastic glue holding the band together
-always the emergency ride home
-doesn't stop jax and pomni's fighting because it is amazing song fuel
-secretely takes candid photos of the group that end up as album covers

Ragatha- drummer
-sunshine wrapped in glitter combat boots
-loves chaos but hates conflict- tries to referee jax and pomni every day
-loudest and most contagious laugh of the group
-very overwhelmed by the sudden fame

 

Gangle- keyboard/synths
-introverted but genius
-absolutely lives for late-night jam sessions
-keeps quiet, but sometimes drops the most emotionally devastating lyrics
-runs the bands secret finsta and posts blurry after-party photos with captions like "we survived another one lol"

Discography (so far):

EP: cheap thrills
1.) velvet static
2.) all i wanted (cover)
3.) confessional
4.) addicted to your touch
5.) stupid

Album: We Were Never Sober
- a mix of party anthems and heartbreak slow-burns
- sounds like falling in love in a mosh pit and regretting it later
-critics called it "chaotically transcendent"

Aesthetic and branding:
colors: magenta, electric-blue, silver
visuals: vhs static, fairy lights, lipstick stained microphones
logo: an old school tv with a cracked screen and a heart drawn on the static
stage look: mismatched glam-- pomni wearing sequins, jax's ripped denim, neon nail polish, sweat, and glitter

band dynamics:

Pomni & Jax: flirty fights, long glances, post-show chaos. The fans ship them. The band pretends not to notice.

Zooble: the tired older sibling energy. Keeps their equipment working and their secrets buried.

Ragatha & Gangle: the chaos-control duo; handle logistics while the others self-destruct.

Tour Life: parties, hangovers, last-minute soundchecks, motel floors, too much eyeliner, not enough sleep.

Chapter Text

The first show back felt like walking into a memory she wasn’t ready to relive.

The venue was packed and smelling like sweat, smoke, and cheap beer. The low hum of anticipation was vibrating through the floorboards. The crowd chanted their name.

Pomni stood center stage, microphone cold against her palm. Her heart was beating out of rhythm with the bass.

She could feel him before she saw him– Jax. Somewhere in the fog, tuning his guitar with the same infuriating nonchalance. The lights hit the stage, blinding and too bright.

And then, there he was. Their eyes met.

It was instant. Like something had split open and poured everything they had been avoiding straight into the spotlight.

Jax smirked– barely– and Pomni’s stomach twisted. He looked the same, and somehow worse: eyeliner smudged, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, fingers playing like the strings might burn him if he stopped.

She sang harder than she meant to, voice sharp with adrenaline and defiance. He played louder, matching her, pushing her, daring her. Every single note was another argument. By the time the chorus hit, the whole crowd could feel it– the tension that wasn’t in the song but lived between them anyway.

Pomni laughed into the mic, breathless, a sound half joy and half warning. Jax grinned back, the reckless little curve of his mouth that said ‘yeah, we’re doing this again, aren’t we?’

And she didn’t stop her.

The last chord of the song hit– feedback screaming through the monitors, the crowd roaring back twice as loud. Pomni’s pulse was sprinting, her lungs aching, and glitter was sticking to the sweat on her skin.

She blinked against the lights, pushing her hair out of her face and catching her breath into the mic.

“Holy shit,” she laughed, voice hoarse but alive. “You guys are… wow. Okay.” The crowd screamed louder. Someone threw their drink in the air, and she could hear someone else shouting her name.

Pomni grinned, that wild performer’s grin that only came out when she remembered what this used to feel like—before everything went wrong. “Thanks for showing up tonight,” she said, letting the words settle for half a beat. “It’s been… a while.”

The audience cheered again, but Jax’s low guitar hum behind her felt like a dare. She turned just enough to glance over her shoulder, eyes catching his.
He was leaning against his amp, sweat-slick and smiling in that lazy, dangerous way—like he knew exactly what she was trying not to say.

Pomni cleared her throat, forcing her voice to stay light. “Uh, for those of you who are new—” she gestured toward the band, one hand still wrapped around the mic, “that’s Zooble on bass,” Zooble waved lazily as they played a small bass line.

“...the lovely Ragatha on drums,” Ragatha beamed as she began a quick, but impressive drum line.

“...and Gangle on synths!” Gangle waved nervously, plucking out a few chaotic chords on her keyboard.

The crowd whooped and whistled, the band throwing mock bows, but Pomni could already feel it building—the unspoken pause before the last name. Her fingers tightened on the mic. “And…” she started, eyes darting back to him despite herself. He was already watching her, waiting. Pomni’s smile twitched—half challenge, half surrender. “And on guitar… Jax.”

The cheers rose like fire. Jax lifted his pick between two fingers, gave a lazy salute, and didn’t look away. Pomni could feel the heat crawl up her neck. She tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, he’s still around,” she said into the mic, voice just this side of teasing. The crowd ate it up. Jax’s smirk deepened.

The next song started before she could breathe again—his riff cutting through the noise like an open wound, raw and loud and impossibly familiar.

Pomni sang into it, because what else could she do?

Halfway through the next song, it hit her—the déjà vu, the burn in her throat, the way his guitar slid against her voice like friction instead of harmony.

And then—
The lights blurred, the sound warped, and she was somewhere else entirely.

 

________________________________________________________

It had been raining that night. Not the soft, movie kind—real, ugly rain, the kind that soaked through leather jackets and made everything smell like cigarettes and asphalt. Their show had just ended. The crowd had been wild; the fight started before they’d even made it offstage.

Pomni slammed the dressing-room door so hard a poster fell. “You cut me off. Again.”

Jax laughed, sharp and humorless. “Because you were off-key, princess. I saved your ass.”

“You what?” She spun, still glitter-smeared and vibrating with adrenaline. “You think you’re the reason people even listen to us?”

He shrugged, bottle in hand, that smug half-grin already bleeding into something meaner. “I think they come for the music, not your little therapy sessions.”

The silence after that was thick and hot. Pomni grabbed the nearest beer off the counter and threw it—not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make him flinch. Foam exploded across the tile, dripping between them.

“Fuck you,” she said. Her voice cracked, too full of things she didn’t want to mean.

“Already did,” he shot back, too fast, too cruel.

“You’re such a fucking dick!” She yelled, “Do you even love me?”

He froze, and his voice wavered. “Of course I do.”

That should’ve been the end. It wasn’t.

“Then fucking show it,” Pomni said, slamming her fists down on the dressing room table.

Suddenly, they were shouting over each other, words tumbling and slurring into something unrecognizable—hurt dressed as anger, love dressed as noise.

She told him he was a coward. He told her she loved the drama. She told him to move out of her apartment. He laughed and said he’d rather sleep onstage than beside her.

And then, because they were who they were, she kissed him. Hard. Tears on her face, rain on his jacket, both of them shaking. He grabbed onto her waist and pushed her right into the wall, kissing her harder.

The next morning, he was gone—no note, no text, just a pick left on the nightstand and an empty bottle beside it.

_____________________________________

Back onstage, present day, Pomni blinked the memory away, throat tight.

Jax was still playing, head tilted back, lost in the sound. He hadn’t even looked at her, but somehow, it felt like he knew exactly where her mind had gone. The lights snapped her back.

For a moment, Pomni couldn’t tell if the ringing in her ears was from the crowd or her heartbeat. The stage was a blur of smoke and color—blue lights stuttering across faces, Jax’s guitar howling through the speakers like a warning she couldn’t ignore.

Her mic was slick in her hand. Her throat hurt. But her mouth still found the next line, half-sung, half-snarled.

The crowd didn’t notice anything had changed.

Jax did.

He turned toward her mid-chorus, fingers dragging along the strings, eyes sharp even through the haze. He played that same riff he used to when they were together, the one that wasn’t written into the song but had always been for her. Every time he played it on stage, it meant that he cared. The only times he didn’t play it, they were fighting.

It was messy, too fast, too emotional—and god, it sounded perfect. She moved closer to him without meaning to, voice rising over his guitar. He stepped forward, sweat running down his neck, mouth close enough that she could feel the vibration of his words when he leaned in and shouted the harmony right next to her mic.

Pomni laughed, breathless and furious, shoving his shoulder just enough to make the crowd think it was playful. It wasn’t.

By the final chorus, the whole room was moving with them—arms up, voices loud, bodies pressed against the stage. Pomni let herself get lost in it.

Then the song ended.

Jax’s last note stretched and died in feedback.

The two of them stood too close in the aftermath—gasping, grinning, daring the other to speak first.

Pomni raised the mic again, voice shaking, adrenaline dripping from every syllable. “Yeah,” she breathed, almost laughing, “we’re back.”

The crowd went feral. Jax’s grin widened. And somewhere inside the noise, she realized she didn’t know if she was saying it to them—or to him.

______________________________________

The afterparty wasn’t so much a celebration as it was a collision.

Someone’s apartment—someone they barely knew—was already sweating from the number of bodies inside. The air was thick with cheap perfume, burnt incense, and too many conversations happening at once. Red Solo cups littered every surface. A synth-pop remix of their own song was blasting from a Bluetooth speaker that kept cutting out.

Pomni stood in the kitchen doorway, still wearing her stage makeup, eyeliner cracked at the corners. A warm buzz ran under her skin—the leftover adrenaline, the vodka she hadn’t meant to drink, the way people kept coming up to her saying you killed it tonight.

Jax was across the room, sitting on a counter like he owned it, guitar still slung over one shoulder because, of course, he hadn’t taken it off. There was a girl beside him, laughing too loudly, fingers tracing the neck of his instrument. Pomni told herself she didn’t care. She smiled, said thanks for coming out, to a group of fans who had somehow found their way inside, but her eyes kept drifting back.

Someone pressed another drink into her hand. She took it.

When the music changed to something slower—something that shouldn’t have felt like them at all—Jax looked up. Their gazes met again, across the crowd, through the haze of cigarette smoke and flashing lights. He didn’t move. Neither did she. But the noise in the room bent around them anyway.

Ragatha shoved a cup at her, yelling over the beat, “You’re staring again.”

Pomni rolled her eyes, threw back the drink, and laughed, too sharply to sound casual. “I’m not.”

“Sure you’re not,” Ragatha said, already dancing away.

A bottle tipped somewhere, someone yelled, “Velvet Static, baby!” and the whole room cheered like they were still onstage. Jax grinned, raised his glass, and Pomni couldn’t help but do the same—mock toast, bitter smile.

When he finally pushed through the crowd toward her, she felt the room tilt just slightly.

“Hell of a show,” he said, voice low, almost drowned by the music.

“Yeah,” she answered, pretending her pulse hadn’t just doubled. “Try not to ruin the next one.”

He smirked, leaning in close enough that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “You make that sound like a challenge.”

Pomni laughed—quick, reckless. “Maybe it is.”

The bass dropped again, someone turned the lights down even lower, and the night kept spinning.

The music pulsed through the walls, vibrating the soles of her boots. Jax leaned against the counter beside her like nothing was wrong. The crowd around them blurred—faces she didn’t know, laughter she didn’t care about. Pomni tried to ignore how close he was. Tried and failed.

“You still play like you’re trying to prove something,” she said finally, shouting over the music.

He turned, grin crooked. “And you still sing like you’re trying to forget something.”

Her laugh was quick, bitter. “Guess neither of us learned a thing.”

Someone bumped into her shoulder, spilling beer down her arm. Jax reached out automatically, fingers brushing her skin as he steadied her cup before it hit the floor. The touch was nothing—barely a second—and somehow everything.

She stepped back. “Don’t.”

He tilted his head, eyes dark and playful. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever this is.” Her voice came out sharper than she meant, breath catching somewhere between anger and wanting.

He chuckled, low. “It’s just a drink, Pomni.”

“It’s never just a drink with you,” she shot back.

That made him smile wider, slower, the way he used to when he was about to say something he shouldn’t. “You like it.”

Her pulse stuttered. She hated that he was right. The song changed again, louder now, bass shaking the floor. Someone yelled her name from across the room. She didn’t answer.

Jax’s gaze moved down to her lips.

“You’re drunk,” she said, half to herself.

He smirked. “So are you.” And he wasn’t wrong. Everything felt too bright, too slow, too alive.

Pomni reached for another drink just to have something to do with her hands. He took it from her before she could, setting it on the counter, his fingers still wrapped around the cup when her hand brushed his.

“Careful,” he said.

“Why?”

“Because you’ll start thinking this means something.”

She laughed again, “Oh, don’t worry, I know that it never means anything.”

And there it was—the quiet between them. The one that used to be filled with music, or laughter, or skin. Then someone turned on a strobe light, and the crowd surged, and they were both pulled apart by movement and noise. Pomni blinked through the chaos, trying to find him again— but Jax was already across the room, guitar slung back over his shoulder, laughing with someone else.

Her stomach twisted, half from the alcohol, half from whatever he still managed to make her feel.

So she did what she always did—tilted her head back, downed someone else’s abandoned drink, and pretended it didn’t bother her.

But it did. God, it did.

The party thinned as the night stretched on. Music still pulsed, but the crowd melted into the floor– half asleep, half making out, and half gone. The floor was sticky, and the music was slower.

Pomni pushed through everyone until she found an open window near the kitchen. The frame was cracked, the paint was peeling, and a soft breeze was sneaking through. Without thinking, she climbed out.

The roof was quiet, a mess of old beer cans and cigarette butts; city lights flickered below. She sat down, legs crossed, the cool air cutting through the heat of the night. For the first time in hours, she could breathe.
Behind her, the window creaked. “Didn’t peg you for an escape artist,” Jax said, voice rough, amused.

She didn’t turn. “Didn’t peg you for someone who follows.”

He climbed out anyway, steadying himself against the ledge with one hand and a half-empty bottle in the other. The bottle clinked softly as he sat beside her, close enough that she could smell the smoke on his jacket.

Neither of them spoke for a while. The city buzzed beneath them—sirens, laughter, a car door slamming somewhere far away.

Pomni took the bottle from his hand and drank. “This is terrible.”

He smirked. “That’s because it’s mine.” They passed it back and forth until there was nothing left.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was worse. Dangerous.

“Good show tonight,” he said finally.

She huffed a laugh. “You mean despite you trying to drown me out?”

“Hey, that’s our brand.”

Pomni smiled despite herself. The streetlights painted gold across his cheekbones, catching in his hair. He looked older somehow, or maybe just more tired.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she murmured.

“Like what?”

“Like we didn’t already ruin this once.”

He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the dark sky. “We didn’t ruin it. We just… played it too loud.”

Her heart twisted at that. She wanted to tell him to shut up. She wanted to tell him he was right. Instead, she said, “You remember the last time we were on a roof?”

He chuckled. “Barely. I think you threw my shoe off of it.”

“You deserved it.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I probably did.”

The wind caught her hair, brushing it against his arm. Neither of them moved away.

They sat there—tipsy, half-numb, pretending not to remember what it felt like to be in love.

And for a few quiet minutes, it almost worked. Pomni let her head fall back, eyes tracing the blur of clouds above them. She felt dizzy, the alcohol blurring her judgement.

Jax shifted beside her, knees drawn up, fingers tapping an invisible rhythm on the roof. “You should probably go home before you freeze up here.”

She laughed softly. “You offering a ride?”

He hesitated. “You wouldn’t take it.”

“Maybe I would.”

They both knew she wouldn’t. The quiet stretched, the faint echo of a song still playing inside the apartment. It wasn’t theirs, but it sounded close enough.

Pomni pushed herself up, brushing glitter from her palms. “Guess I’ll see you at rehearsal.”

Jax’s mouth twitched. “Okay, see ya.”

She started toward the window, boots scraping against the tarpaper. At the frame, she paused, half turned back. He was watching her—elbows on his knees, cigarette glowing between two fingers, expression unreadable.

For a second, it almost looked like regret. Or maybe just the hangover before it happened.

“Night, Jax,” she said.

He lifted the cigarette in a lazy salute. “Night, superstar.”

Pomni climbed back inside, closing the window behind her. The music hit her again, muffled but heavy, and the smell of warm beer clung to her sleeves. She found her jacket, her keys, and her balance.

Down on the street, the city lights flickered like static. She could still feel him in her chest. He was impossible to forget.

And as she walked home alone, she told herself it didn’t mean anything.

Just another night.

Just another song.

But she kept looking over her shoulder anyway.

Chapter Text

Rehearsal was supposed to start at noon. It was two-thirty when Pomni stumbled in, coffee in one hand, sunglasses hiding half her face, glitter still clinging to her jaw.

The practice space smelled like sweat, old amps, and stale takeout. Cables tangled like vines across the floor. Zooble was sitting cross-legged by the mixer, scrolling through something on their phone. Ragatha was asleep on the couch, a drumstick dangling from her hand. Gangle was tapping listlessly at the keyboard, looping the same synth note over and over until it sounded like a distant alarm.

And Jax was already there, of course. Guitar slung low, hoodie half-zipped, cigarette hanging from his lips, though they weren’t supposed to smoke inside. He didn’t look up when she came in, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he’d been waiting.

“Morning, sunshine,” Zooble said dryly. “You’re only two and a half hours late. New record.”

Pomni yawned. “I was networking.”

“Is that what we’re calling drinking out of someone else’s Solo cup now?” Zooble muttered.

She grinned, dropping her back, and perched on the amp. “Don’t be jealous. You’re always invited, you just choose not to come.”

Ragatha groaned from the couch without opening her eyes. “No one wants to go to your glitter and coke cult, Pomni.”

Pomni kicked lightly at her boot. “Your loss.”

Jax finally flicked his ash into an empty soda can and looked up. “You look like hell.”

Pomni smiled sweetly. “Thanks, I worked hard on it.”

He strummed a lazy chord, the sound sharp and too loud. “Maybe try working on showing up before sunset next time.”

“Maybe try writing something that isn’t just you showing off,” she shot back, voice light.

Zooble sighed. “Here we go.”

Gangle hit a key just to interrupt the incoming argument. The synth blipped pathetically and died—followed immediately by a loud pop from the amp. Smoke hissed out from behind the speaker.

“Oh, great,” Ragatha said, sitting up. “Did we just blow another one?”

Jax groaned, crouching down to check the cables. “Not my fault this time.”

“Yeah, sure,” Zooble said. “It’s never your fault when things catch fire.”

Pomni sipped her coffee, still perched on the amp like it was her throne. “That’s what makes him interesting.”

Jax shot her a look over his shoulder. It was half glare, half something else entirely. The kind of look that said, Don’t start this here.

She didn’t. Not yet.

Instead, she leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes, and started humming—soft at first, then louder, letting her voice fill the room while Jax’s hands moved instinctively to find the chords beneath it.

It wasn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t even good. But it was them. And as the others joined in, groggy and uncoordinated, the sound came together in a way that shouldn’t have worked.

By the end of the song, Pomni opened her eyes. Jax was watching her again, expression unreadable.

“See?” she said quietly. “Worth the wait.”

He didn’t answer. Just kept playing.

By the time the amps stopped hissing and the room settled into something like focus, the door opened again—sharp knock, then a voice that didn’t belong to any of them.

“Velvet Static, my favorite disasters.”

Their manager, Dee, breezed in, clipboard in one hand, phone in the other, and sunglasses still on indoors. Behind her trailed two guys from the label– young and sharp. “We’ve got about thirty minutes,” Dee said, glancing over her glasses. “Tour dates, merch, maybe some press if we can keep you out of jail long enough.”

Zooble muttered, “That’s optimistic.”

Pomni grinned. “Come on, we’ve been so well-behaved lately.”

“You set off a smoke alarm last week,” Dee said flatly.

“Creative atmosphere.”

The two guys laughed, a little too loudly. Pomni laughed back, leaning against an amp, crossing one boot over the other like the room was hers. And maybe it was. She lit up when people were watching—effortless, charming, that soft chaos that made everyone want to orbit closer.

Jax tightened a string, pretending not to watch. He told himself he didn’t care, that he was just killing time while Dee went on about logistics and budgets and possible festival slots. But his fingers kept stilling on the fretboard every time one of the label guys said something that made her laugh.

She tilted her head back when she laughed—always had. Her hand would brush someone’s arm, eyes shining like she meant every word she said. It wasn’t fake. It was worse than fake—it was real.

“Jax,” Dee snapped suddenly. “You awake or just brooding for atmosphere?”

He blinked. “What?”

“Do you agree to this festival slot or not?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Whatever Pomni wants.”

Pomni looked over at him then, just for a second. Her smile flickered, small and knowing, before she turned back to the others. One of the label guys laughed again. Jax felt his jaw tighten. He picked up his guitar, plucking out a low, off-key note that sliced right through their conversation. Everyone jumped. Dee glared.

“Subtle,” Zooble muttered.

Pomni shot him a look across the room—half irritation, half challenge. “You trying to drown us out again, Jax?”

He met her stare head-on. “Maybe.”

The air buzzed between them, silent but loud enough for everyone to feel it.

Dee sighed. “Christ, I’m gonna start charging you two for therapy.”

Pomni’s smile didn’t break, but her eyes did.

Jax went back to tuning his guitar, pretending the sound didn’t shake in his hands.

By the time Dee finished talking, everyone looked half-dead. Ragatha was packing up her sticks, Zooble was muttering about soundcheck times, and Gangle had already disappeared with a muttered “see you tomorrow.”

The suits gathered their papers and energy drinks, still buzzing like they’d actually accomplished something. Dee gave them her usual “don’t do anything I’ll have to explain later” speech and vanished with her clipboard, leaving behind the faint smell of expensive perfume and exhaustion.

The two label guys lingered.

One of them—clean smile, messy hair, the kind of guy who looked like he played in a band once but gave it up for a marketing job, drifted toward Pomni. “You were incredible up there last night,” he said, and Jax didn’t even have to look to know which tone it was.

Pomni laughed lightly, that sweet, practiced sound that somehow wasn’t fake at all. “Thanks. I try.”

“You got an Instagram? Or, like, a number for press stuff?”

“I do for you.” She smiled, pretending not to see Jax tense behind her.

“I also play guitar,” the guy blurted, “on the side.” He got nervous suddenly when he saw Jax’s head jerk up. “Maybe sometime we could jam out together?”

Pomni smiled wider, pretending like it wasn’t slightly corny. “I’d love that.” She nodded.

She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket, fingers brushing the guy’s as she handed it to him to type his in. He said something low; she laughed again, and her hand touched his arm just briefly. Intimate in the way that always drove Jax crazy.

When she got her phone back, she tucked it into her pocket with a grin. “Don’t blow up my notifications, alright?”

The guy smiled back, promised nothing, and walked out with the others. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving silence that was too heavy for an empty room.

Pomni turned toward her mic stand, fiddling with a cable that didn’t need fixing.

Jax was still sitting on the edge of the amp, guitar in his lap, pretending to check a tuning peg that was already perfect.

Neither of them spoke. The hum of the broken amp filled the space between them, low and persistent.

Pomni finally sighed, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Guess we’re done here.”

Jax nodded once, still not looking at her. “Guess so.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder, walked past him toward the door. For a moment, she paused beside him—close enough that he could smell her perfume, faint and warm.

“Are you going out tonight?” She asked softly.

“Yeah.” He grumbled.

“See you then.” She said with a smile.

He didn’t answer until she was halfway out the door. “Yeah. See you.”

The door closed behind her with a soft click. Jax exhaled, head falling back against the wall, eyes tracing the ceiling as if it might tell him what the hell he was still doing here. Somewhere down the hall, he could hear her laughter fade into someone else’s. It made his chest ache in that old, familiar way—like the sound was a song he used to know by heart but couldn’t play anymore.

__________________________________________

 

The party was bigger than anything Pomni had planned for—a warehouse turned club, lights flashing like a camera shutter that wouldn’t stop. The air smelled like sweat, beer, and perfume layered too thick. Pomni had dragged Ragatha there with the promise of “networking,” which apparently meant dancing until the floor trembled.

Pomni wanted noise, wanted to drown the rehearsal from earlier and the way Jax’s silence had followed her home. Glitter caught the light every time she moved, and someone handed her a drink she didn’t bother asking the name of.

Pomni spun beside Ragatha, shouting over the music, “Now this is how you fix a bad day!”

Ragatha laughed, breathless. “You mean ruin tomorrow?”

“Whatever!”

Halfway through another song, the crowd parted for a moment, and there he was. Jax.

Leaning against the far wall, sleeves rolled up, beer in one hand. He looked like trouble on purpose—hair messy, eyes sharp even through the haze of lights. She froze only long enough for Ragatha to notice. “Oh no,” Ragatha groaned. “Not him.”

Pomni forced a smile, turning back toward the bar. “Coincidence.”

Ragatha snorted. “Sure.”

When Pomni turned again, Jax was gone from the wall. The crowd swallowed him.

Ragatha grabbed Pomni’s hand and pulled her in. “Come on, superstar! We’re not here to mope.”

“I’m not moping,” Pomni shouted back, though her voice disappeared in the music. “I’m observing.”

“Uh-huh. Observe while dancing.”

Ragatha was already gone—lost in the wave of moving bodies. Pomni let herself be pulled forward anyway, swallowed by the rhythm.

The band’s show adrenaline hadn’t worn off. It buzzed beneath her skin, humming in time with the beat. She raised her drink to her lips and downed it fast, the taste sharp enough to make her grin.

Someone she didn’t know spun her around, and for a few seconds, it was easy—just color and noise and motion. She could feel her heartbeat syncing with the bass, her breath mixing with laughter, her whole body vibrating with the relief of not thinking.

Lights strobed; a confetti cannon went off somewhere, raining bits of gold foil onto the crowd. People cheered like it was the second coming of noise.

Pomni tilted her head back, letting the glitter fall into her hair. Ragatha returned with two more drinks balanced dangerously in her hands. “You’re glowing,” she shouted.

“Ugh, I love you!” Pomni yelled back, taking one.

They danced until they were sweating, until the crowd pressed closer, until the world narrowed into flashes—the smell of perfume, the sting of smoke, the taste of something sugary on her tongue.

When the song changed, a remix of one of Velvet Static’s older tracks slipped in, and the room lost its mind. Pomni froze for half a second, listening to her own voice bouncing back from the speakers—distorted, pitched up, twisted into something unfamiliar.

Ragatha laughed, spinning beside her. “Hey, they love you! You’re, like, famous!”

Pomni shook her head but smiled, swaying with the beat. “Famous and unpaid!”

The crowd screamed the lyrics back at her, voices blurring into one massive echo. It was ridiculous, loud, and perfect.

She tossed her empty cup into the air and grabbed Ragatha’s hand, pulling her toward the bar. “We need refills!”

They pushed through the crowd, brushing against sequined jackets, sticky arms, and spilled drinks. The bar was chaos—plastic cups stacked high, lights reflecting off bottles like tiny stars.

Ragatha ordered something that came in a glowing glass. Pomni leaned on the counter, head buzzing, laughing at nothing. Someone took a photo of them with a disposable camera. She didn’t know who. She didn’t care.

For the first time in weeks, she felt almost light.

Somewhere behind her, a familiar riff slipped through the speakers—someone had queued up one of Jax’s guitar solos, the raw, unmistakable sound cutting through the remix.

Pomni’s heart jumped before she could stop it.
She turned toward the crowd, scanning faces through the blur of light and movement.

Pomni felt a hand brush hers, just some stranger trying to move past, but it made her shiver anyway.

Ragatha leaned in, mouth near her ear. “We should find somewhere to sit before you pass out.”

“Yeah,” Pomni shouted, but she was laughing too hard to mean it.

They made their way toward the edge of the floor, past a haze of bodies, strobe lights cutting their faces into flashes of movement. Someone offered Pomni a drink; she took it just to hold something cold.

She leaned against the wall for a moment, watching the crowd breathe and move like a single thing. She loved this part: the noise, the anonymity, the freedom to burn out for a while.

It was only a few seconds of peace before Ragatha decided they were all done with their break and pulled her back into the crowd.

Pomni threw her head back and laughed, hair sticking to her neck. The sound came out of her raw and real, surprising even her. She hadn’t laughed like that in weeks. Ragatha screamed something in approval, grabbed her hand, and spun her until the world blurred. Pomni didn’t even notice when the next song switched—just the crash of drums, the familiar edge of a guitar riff she could have recognized anywhere.
Her breath caught.

It wasn’t their song, not exactly—someone had remixed one of Jax’s solos into a DJ set. The melody cut through the air like smoke through glass. Her stomach twisted before she could help it.

“Uh oh,” Ragatha said, half-laughing. “I know that face.”

Pomni waved her off, but her smile was tight. “Don’t start.”

“Don’t have to,” Ragatha said, leaning in close. “Found him again.”

Pomni turned slowly, like the floor might fall if she moved too fast. The crowd was thick, flashing lights distorting everyone’s faces into flashes of color and sweat—but then she saw him again.

He wasn’t watching her at first. But when he did, when his eyes found hers through the haze of bodies and light, everything else went silent.

Ragatha followed her gaze, groaned. “Oh no. Nope. We are not doing this again.”

Pomni laughed a little too fast, shaking her head. “We’re not. He’s just—here.”

“‘Just here,’” Ragatha mocked. “That’s what you said before you two almost got banned from The Bluebird for making out behind the merch table.”

“That was months ago,” Pomni said, pretending to study the lights on the ceiling.

Ragatha raised an eyebrow. “So what? You got an expiration date on bad ideas?”

Pomni smirked, pushing her cup into Ragatha’s hand. “You worry too much.”

“I don’t worry enough,” Ragatha muttered, already being pulled back into the crowd.

Left alone, Pomni stood at the edge of the dance floor, the music thudding in her chest. The lights shifted again—red, blue, gold—and she swore she could feel him somewhere behind her, like the static in the air changed when he moved.

She told herself she wouldn’t look again. And of course, she did.

He was still watching. And he smiled like he knew she would. Pomni didn’t move at first. She stood at the edge of it all, pulse matching the bass, eyes locked on the same dark corner where Jax was still leaning—casual, composed, like he wasn’t the reason her hands suddenly felt unsteady.

Then someone bumped into her shoulder, spilling half a drink down her arm. She hissed out a curse, grabbed a napkin from the bar, and laughed it off to nobody in particular. When she looked back toward the wall, he was gone.

Her heart stuttered. Stupid. It didn’t matter. She turned back to the dance floor, the lights, the laughter. Ragatha was somewhere in the mess, hands in the air, shouting lyrics she didn’t know. Pomni tried to follow, let the music swallow her whole.

And then—there he was again.

Jax was in the middle of the crowd now, moving with it, head tilted slightly, beer still in hand, a lazy smile playing on his mouth. He didn’t dance, not really. He just existed in the noise like it belonged to him.

Every time the lights strobed, she caught a flash—his profile, the edge of his jaw, the gleam of sweat on his collarbone.

Someone grabbed her hand—Ragatha again, laughing, shouting something about shots—but Pomni couldn’t focus on anything except how close he suddenly was.

It didn’t happen all at once. The crowd moved, shifted, spun. She turned and brushed past strangers. And then, through all of it, Jax’s hand brushed hers.

She looked up. He was right there now, just a few feet away, the lights flickering across his face. His grin was gone, replaced with something quieter. Neither of them said a word. They didn’t have to. The crowd screamed, the DJ shouted something over the mic, but all she heard was the sound of her own heartbeat, syncing up with the bass.

Ragatha was gone again.

Pomni swallowed hard; the taste of cheap vodka stuck on her tongue. She wanted to move. To walk away. But her feet stayed planted.

Jax tipped his bottle toward her in a silent toast, expression unreadable. The lights cut out for half a second—total darkness—and when they came back on, he was closer.

Pomni smiled, small, almost defiant. Then she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

The music swelled, lights flashing gold, and even though she didn’t look back, she could feel it—he was following.

Pomni pushed through the party until the crowd thinned near the back hallway, the one lit only by a dying EXIT sign. The sound of the party dulled to a muffled heartbeat behind the door.

She leaned against the wall, head tipped back, eyes closed. The cement was cool against her spine. She could still feel the bass vibrating through it, pulsing in her chest.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket—she ignored it. Ragatha was probably texting from the bar or the dance floor. Pomni took a deep breath, the kind that burned a little, and told herself she wasn’t hiding. Just catching air.

The door creaked open behind her.

She didn’t need to turn to know. The air shifted; it always did when he walked in.

“Hey,” Jax said, his voice hoarse from shouting over music, or maybe from drinking. Probably both.

Pomni opened one eye, “Did you follow me? Creep.”

He laughed quietly, closing the door behind him. The hallway was narrow enough that his shoulder brushed the wall opposite hers. He didn’t come closer—he didn’t have to. The air between them was already thin.

“You always run off when people start paying attention,” he said.

“I run off when the room feels like it’s spinning.”

“Same thing.”

Pomni smiled faintly, crossing her arms. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He tilted his head. “And yet.”

The silence that followed was louder than the music bleeding through the wall. She could hear her pulse.

Jax shoved his hands into his pockets, looking down, then back up at her. “Good set at rehearsal today,” he said finally.

She laughed once and checked the time. “Yesterday, now.”

“Whatever.”

She nodded. “You barely looked at me.”

“Was trying to be professional.”

Pomni’s smile tightened. “We’ve never been good at that.”

He didn’t answer. Just stood there, watching her like he was waiting for her to tell him to leave, or maybe waiting for her not to. Her throat felt dry. The hallway smelled like rain through the open window, the kind of smell that reminded her of a hundred nights just like this—too late, too close, too much.

For a second, it felt like the world was holding its breath.

Then someone from inside opened the door again, laughter spilling into the hallway, the noise of the party returning in a rush. Pomni stepped sideways to let them pass, brushing against Jax’s arm as she did.

It wasn’t intentional. But it wasn’t an accident, either.

Jax’s hand brushed the wall beside her, just barely missing her shoulder. He wasn’t touching her, but it felt like he was.

“Why do we always do this?” she asked quietly.

He smiled. “Because we’re bad at quitting.”

Pomni glanced toward the end of the hallway, where a cracked bathroom door hung slightly open, the flicker of fluorescent light spilling through. A couple stumbled out, laughing, and disappeared back into the noise of the party.

Her pulse jumped. Jax followed her gaze.

Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to.

He reached for the handle first. She hesitated for half a breath, then followed, the door swinging shut behind them. The music dulled to a heartbeat through the tiles, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead.

For a second, she almost laughed—half disbelief, half exhaustion. Then Jax leaned against the door, eyes meeting hers.

“Pomni—” he started, but she shook her head.

“Don’t.”

And that was the end of it. Words stopped mattering. She moved towards him and kissed him wildly. His hands flung to the back of her head, and he kissed back like the world was ending.

She gently moaned into the kiss at the feeling of his hands on her. The sound drove him wild, and she could tell because his hands moved to grip her waist. They stumbled to the other side of the stall.

Jax’s tongue slipped into Pomni’s mouth, and Pomni let it happen. The kiss was sloppy and desperate, Jax’s hips slightly bucking forward. It had been months since they had even touched. He needed her. That moment was when he realized that he always had.

His hands moved to undo his belt buckle. Pomni reached down to help him. She threw his belt off and began to pull down his jeans, leaving him in his grey underwear.

He pulled away from the kiss and looked down at her. Her eyes were glowing, looking up at him with desperation. Now in the light, he noticed the glitter in her eyes and in her hair. Her lipstick was smudged from their kiss, and her face was red from the heat and being flustered.

“You are so fucking hot.” He muttered. He grabbed her waist again and moved them around. He pushed the toilet lid down and sat on it, dragging her to straddle him on his lap. “Keep kissing me.”

She listened, holding onto his shoulders as they kissed. He held onto both of her thighs, keeping her steady on his lap.

But very subtly, she moved her hips forward, brushing against his growing erection.

“Fuck,” he whined out, pulling away from their kiss and digging his face into her shoulder.

“You like that?” She asked, her voice a whisper. In just three words, she completely flipped the dynamic. He was hers immediately.

He gripped her thighs harder, his painted nails digging into her. She just kept slowly thrusting her hips forward. To hide his moans, he bit into her neck. But he was still whimpering.

She loved it. She sat up, leaving just enough room to see the precum building up in his underwear. “What do you want?” She asked slowly, smirking at him.

“Shit,” Jax breathed, relaxing slightly. “Are you seriously going to make me say it?”

“You know I will.” She tilted her head, smiling wider.

“Please don’t make me beg.” He said with a whine, trying to pull her hips back down onto his erection.

“Fine,” Pomni said, getting off of him for a moment. Just to pull a hair tie off of her wrist. “Just because I can’t wait any longer.”

Jax took deep breaths, watching her tie her hair into a low ponytail. Once she was done, she looked at him for just a second too long. Jax wanted to take the power back.

He stood up with her and grabbed her shoulders. Before she could say anything, he shoved her onto her knees.

“Jax, what the fuck-” Pomni gasped, suddenly face-to-face with his bulge.

“What?” Jax laughed. “Did you really think you were in control?” He asked, his right hand dug into her hair, pushing her face forward. “Come on, you know what to do."

Pomni gulped, looking up into his eyes as she reached forward to pull his underwear down.

Somewhere in the haze, Pomni’s phone started buzzing. At first, she ignored it, breath still uneven, she was so close to being able to see his dick again. To taste it. The vibration didn’t stop.

“Pomni!” Ragatha’s voice crackled through the phone, loud even over the music. “Please tell me you didn’t leave without me!” Pomni froze. Jax, still in front of her, bit back a quiet laugh.

“Shit,” Pomni muttered, fumbling for the phone in her jacket pocket. “One sec—”

“Where are you?” Ragatha demanded. “People are literally doing coke out here, it’s a disaster, and I can’t find you!”

Pomni straightened up, trying to steady her voice. “Uh—bathroom. I’ll be right out.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Bathroom? You sound weird. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Pomni said a little too fast. “Just—give me five.”

“Five minutes or five hours?” Ragatha sighed. “Fine. I’m by the bar. Don’t vanish again.” The call ended with a click.

Pomni lowered the phone slowly, then caught sight of herself in the cracked mirror above the sink as she stepped out of the stall. Her hair was a wreck, lipstick smudged, eyes glassy from too many drinks and too many bad choices. And there—on the curve of her neck—was a fresh, unmistakable mark. “Oh, great,” she muttered, tugging her hair forward.

Jax appeared in the reflection behind her, straightening his jacket, eyes tracing the same spot she was trying to hide. A ghost of a smirk pulled at his mouth. “Souvenir,” he said quietly.

She shot him a look through the mirror. “You’re not funny.”

He shrugged. “Didn’t say I was.”

Pomni grabbed her phone and turned toward the door. “This never happened.”

“Right,” he said, still leaning against the wall, voice low. “Just like the last time, it never happened.”

She didn’t answer. She just pushed the door open, letting the roar of the party swallow her again. The lights hit her face as she stepped back into the chaos—red, gold, dizzying. Ragatha spotted her instantly from across the room and waved, holding up two new drinks.

Pomni smiled like nothing was wrong, like her heart wasn’t still pounding in her throat. She took her hair down so it fell just barely over the bruise. Almost enough to hide it.

Almost.

_________________________________________________

Rehearsal the next morning was worse than any hangover Pomni had survived in her life. The practice room’s fluorescent lights felt violent. Her head throbbed with every hit Ragatha tested on the drums.

She’d rolled in ten minutes up, sunglasses on, hair up, and iced coffee in hand. She had almost made it through the doorway unnoticed– until Zooble’s eyes went wide.

“Uh… Pomni,” they said, drawing the word out, “you’ve got… something on your neck.”

Pomni froze mid-sip. “What?”

“Something purple. And very… mouth-shaped.”

Ragatha spun around from her drum kit, eyes narrowing. “Oh my god.”

Pomni groaned. “Can we not?”

But it was too late—Ragatha was already cackling, smacking her sticks together. “You said you were just getting air last night! Not—what, getting souvenirs?”

Then Jax walked in. Late, as usual. Hair messy, sunglasses pushed up on his head, carrying a coffee he hadn’t paid for. “Morning, band,” he said casually. “Who died?”

Ragatha grinned like she’d just been handed a new instrument. “Nobody yet—but we’re this close. Look at Pomni.”

Jax’s gaze flicked toward her, slow and deliberate. The corners of his mouth twitched. “Nice.”

Pomni glared.

Ragatha nearly dropped her drumsticks from laughing. Gangle was trying (and failing) to pretend she didn’t notice.

Pomni sank onto the amp, sipping her coffee in defiance. “You’re all children.”

Jax leaned against the wall across from her, tuning his guitar like he hadn’t just set the room on fire with one look. “Could’ve fooled me,” he said, voice low.

She threw him a glare sharp enough to cut, but he didn’t flinch—just raised an eyebrow, a smirk flickering at the edge of his mouth.

“Don’t you have something better to do than—whatever this is?” she asked.

“Not really,” he said. “This is kind of my thing.”

Zooble looked between them, deadpan. “You two ever get tired of turning practice into foreplay?”

Pomni choked on her coffee. Ragatha howled. Jax just shrugged. “Can’t help it if the music’s got tension.”

Pomni shot him another look, but he was already strumming idly—half tune, half tease. She hated that it worked.

Ragatha, still grinning, said, “So, what is the song of the day? Or are we just watching you two make eye contact for three hours?”

Pomni straightened, flipping open her notebook. “We’re working. I wrote something new.”

“About last night?” Jax asked, grinning without looking up.

Her pen froze mid-line. “You wish.”

“Maybe I do.” The room went quiet, that dangerous kind of quiet where even the amps seemed to hum differently.

Ragatha broke it with a cough. “Cool. Awesome. Love this vibe. Totally not awkward at all.”

Pomni didn’t look at Jax again for the rest of rehearsal—but she could feel him looking at her. Every chord he played seemed a little too loud, every lyric she sang a little too pointed.

Chapter Text

The studio felt too big when it was just the two of them.
Rain hammered against the windows, the sound bleeding through the walls like static. The rest of the band had bailed—Ragatha texting something about food poisoning, Zooble claiming their car wouldn’t start, Gangle disappearing mid-morning with a polite “good luck.”

Pomni was pretty sure it wasn’t a coincidence.

She sat on the stool in the booth, notebook open across her knee, pen tapping against the page. Jax was on the other side of the glass, tuning his guitar for the fourth time, jaw tight.

“You ready?” she asked through the mic.

He didn’t look up. “I’ve been ready.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He strummed a few chords, loud and deliberate, the sound filling the empty room. “You’re welcome to play if you think you can do it better.”

Pomni rolled her eyes, pressing the talk button on the console. “I don’t need to play better. I just need you to follow the tempo.”

He looked up then, expression sharp. “Maybe if you didn’t change the rhythm every thirty seconds, I could.” The tension hit like feedback.

Pomni stood, pulling off her headphones. “Okay, if you’re gonna sulk, we can just—”

“I’m not sulking,” he cut in, voice low. “I’m trying to record a song you keep rewriting every five minutes.”

“Because it’s not working,” she snapped. “Because you keep turning every verse into a guitar solo.”

“It’s called music, Pomni. Try listening to it sometime.”

Her pen hit the floor. “You are impossible. Just because teenage girls thirst after you, it doesn’t mean you’re the only reason we’re popular.”

Jax exhaled, setting his guitar down. “I think we’d have fewer meltdowns if you remembered you’re not on stage right now.”

Pomni stepped into the control room, crossing her arms. “You love it when I have meltdowns. You feed off them.”

He smirked—slow, infuriating. “Can’t help it if you sound good when you’re angry.”

“Don’t do that,” she warned.

“Do what?”

“That—thing where you pretend it’s just banter when you’re losing an argument.”

“I’m not losing.”

“You’re always losing.” The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It buzzed. The air felt charged, heavy with everything they weren’t saying. Pomni took a breath. “Let’s just… start over.”

Jax nodded, reaching for his guitar again. “Fine.”

She slid her headphones back on, flipping her mic on. “You follow my tempo this time.”

He grinned, “Wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise.”

The track rolled. The first verse was fine. The second was amazing. The bridge—chaos again. Pomni raised her voice mid-line, trying to stay on beat, and Jax matched her, his riff climbing louder and louder until it drowned her out completely. She stopped singing. He didn’t notice until the end of the phrase.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, yanking her headphones off.

Jax looked up. “What?”

“You just—keep doing it.”

“I’m playing, Pomni.”

“You’re showing off.”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them. “Maybe I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t keep writing songs about me.”

She froze. “They’re not about you.”

He tilted his head, smiling without humor. “Sure, they’re not.”

The clock on the wall ticked too loudly. Rain smeared the glass. Pomni’s throat tightened. “You’re impossible.”

“You love that about me.”

“Not today.”

He laughed quietly. “You say that every day.”

Pomni glared, but her voice softened against her will. “Then maybe I need to start meaning it.”

Jax leaned back, fingers still resting on the guitar strings, eyes glinting under the studio light. “Maybe you do,” he said.

The storm outside had gotten worse—thunder cracking somewhere over the city, flashes of light cutting through the blinds. The studio lights flickered once, twice, and then steadied, humming faintly.

Pomni leaned back against the mixing board, arms crossed, heartbeat refusing to calm down. The air between her and Jax was thick.

He was still sitting on the edge of the amp, guitar across his lap, fingers ghosting over the strings. His voice had gone quiet, the fight mostly burned out of him, but the charge lingered.

“Want to try it again?” she asked, voice low.

He met her eyes through the glass. “You sure you can handle another take?”

She rolled hers. “You mess up one more bridge, and I’m kicking you out.”

He grinned at that, slow and dangerous, and stood. “You’ll miss me in five minutes.”

She didn’t respond, just pushed her hair back and slipped into the recording booth with him, shutting the heavy door behind her. It was smaller inside. Quieter. The world outside felt distant—just the soft hum of the amps and the faint click of rain against the window. The soundproofing swallowed everything else.

Pomni adjusted the mic stand, refusing to look directly at him. “Don’t play too loud this time.”

“Don’t sing like you’re trying to drown me out,” he said.

“I wouldn’t have to if you—”

“—weren’t better than you?”

Her head snapped up, glare sharp enough to cut. “You wish you were better than me.”

He smirked, stepping closer. “Maybe I just like watching you prove me wrong.”

“Jax,” she warned.

“What?” He was smiling, but his voice was softer now, teasing slipping into something else. “You always act like you hate me when we’re working. But you only ever sound this alive when you’re pissed off.”

She took a slow breath, fingers tightening around the mic. “Maybe that’s because you make everything impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, gaze flicking to her mouth, then back up again. “I get that a lot.”

The silence that followed felt heavy enough to touch. The mic between them picked up the faint sound of their breathing—her inhale, his exhale, the subtle rasp of guitar strings against his thumb.

Outside, lightning flashed. The glass caught it for half a second, outlining them both in white. Pomni didn’t step back. Neither did he.

The way he looked at her now wasn’t smug—it was something closer to nostalgia, or hunger, or maybe both.

“You should stop looking at me like that,” she said quietly. “Like you’re about to do something stupid.”

He tilted his head. “Would you stop me?” Jax’s hand hovered near hers on the mic stand. Not touching. Just close enough to feel the heat.

Pomni exhaled, stepping back first. “Start from the bridge,” she said, voice barely steady.

Jax blinked once, like he’d forgotten what they were even doing. Then he nodded slowly, picking up his guitar again. “Yeah,” he said, softer now. “From the bridge.”

She hit record. The red light blinked.

They stood across from each other in the small booth, sharing a single wavelength that neither of them dared to name. The storm outside pressed against the glass, but in here, it was only them—breathing, waiting, watching.

Pomni adjusted the mic, steadying herself. “Ready?” she murmured.

Jax nodded once, eyes already on her. “Always.”

The track rolled.

The opening chords fell into place—his fingers steady now, softer, deliberate. She came in two beats later, voice threading between the notes like silk through wire. It wasn’t polished or perfect; it was alive. Every time she sang a line, he answered it on guitar. Every time his chord shifted, her tone changed to meet it. They didn’t speak, didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact. The song built itself around that tension, feeding off the pulse that passed between them.

By the chorus, Pomni’s voice cracked—just slightly, beautifully—and Jax’s riff followed like instinct, covering it, echoing it. Something inside the music clicked then, a rawness that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t safe. It was the kind of sound that only existed once.

Pomni’s throat ached with the effort of holding her composure. She could feel every word she sang like it had been pulled straight from her bloodstream. And through it all, Jax didn’t look away.

He played like a confession, like every note was saying something he never could.

When his solo hit, it wasn’t flashy like it usually was. It was quiet—aching. One note stretched just a breath too long, trembling, honest in a way that made her chest tighten.

It gave him away.

Pomni’s voice faltered on the next line—not enough to ruin the take, but enough to break the illusion. He noticed. His gaze softened, the smallest hint of apology flickering across his face.

She shook her head once, barely. Almost as if telling him: ‘You know that’s not good enough.’ She kept singing.

He followed her lead, letting the final chords fade into silence. The rejection rang through the room.

The red light went out. The room was still.

Pomni was the first to breathe. It came out shaky. “That—”

“—was good,” Jax finished quietly.

“No,” she said, shaking her head, trying to smile. “That was—really good.”

He set the guitar down carefully, stepping closer, his voice rough. “That’s because you finally stopped trying to fight me.”

“Or maybe you finally started listening.”

He huffed a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”

Pomni reached for the door handle, but Jax’s hand brushed hers first. Neither of them pulled away right away. Then, before the silence could turn into something else, she slipped past him.

“Save that take,” she said, voice barely audible.

Jax watched her leave, fingers still resting on the strings. The faint echo of that one trembling note hung in the air behind her—unfinished, unforgotten. And he knew she’d heard it too.

 

_______________________________________

 

By nightfall, the storm had passed, but the city still glowed with leftover rain. Pomni wasn’t done buzzing from the recording session; the adrenaline hadn’t burned out, just shifted into something reckless.

So when one of the rival bands—the Glassmouths—texted her an invite to a dive bar downtown, she didn’t think twice. She needed a drink. Or ten.

The bar was small and loud, filled with the usual mix of half-drunk musicians, chain-smokers, and people who talked about art but never made any. The kind of place that smelled like cheap whiskey. Pomni fit right in.

She’d changed into a short red dress that glittered faintly under the bar lights, hair down, eyeliner smudged on purpose. Ragatha had begged off, claiming exhaustion, which was fine. Pomni didn’t want anyone who’d try to stop her.

She slid into the corner booth with a few members of the band. “Do you guys always pick places like… this?”

Callum, the lead singer, grinned from across the table. “It’s cheaper if it’s a health hazard.”

“Ah, I see.” She winced a little bit, trying not to get icked out.

If Jax was taking her out to a bar, he’d make sure it was the nicest place in town and–

She was snapped out of it by Callum handing her a drink. “Here. On me. For one of the world's future rock stars.”

Pomni smiled politely. “Well, thank you.” She took the drink and clinked her glass against his. The drink burned all the way down, and she didn’t even flinch.

The rest of the band—Eddie, Sam, and a drummer whose name she didn’t catch—took turns trying to outtalk one another. Eddie was bragging about a label rep they’d met last week; Sam was sketching tour posters on napkins; the drummer kept slipping her fries from his plate like it was a covert mission.

Pomni let them orbit her, basking in the attention like stage lights. She didn’t have to work for it—she never did. The more she laughed, the more they leaned in. The more she leaned back, the more they tried to fill the space.

“You guys really think you’re gonna outsell Velvet Static?” she teased, crossing one leg over the other.

Callum smirked. “If we had your face on our merch, maybe.”

Eddie groaned. “Don’t start flirting with the competition, man.”

“I can flirt with whoever I want,” Pomni said, voice light, eyes glinting.

“Can you, though?” Eddie teased, raising a brow.

“Try me.” That got a cheer. Someone ordered another round. The jukebox coughed into a new song—something bass-heavy and slow, the kind that made the lights feel closer.

By the third drink, Pomni’s lipstick had faded just enough to look deliberate. She laughed at a bad joke, threw her head back, and touched someone’s arm as she reached for the salt. Every small gesture was effortless.

When Callum leaned closer, whispering something she didn’t catch over the music, she smiled like she understood anyway.

“Careful,” she said, her voice lilting. “Flirt too much and I’ll start writing songs about you.”

“I’d risk it,” he said.

She grinned. “You shouldn’t.” The table erupted in another wave of laughter. She wasn’t sure what they were laughing at, but it didn’t matter. The warmth of it filled the cracks in her chest.

For the first time all week, she wasn’t thinking about the studio. About that note that had given him away. Until she felt it—eyes on her. Jax was here.

The realization slid under her skin like a spark. She pretended not to notice, taking another sip of her drink, leaning in closer to the band. “So tell me,” she said, “which one of you actually writes your lyrics, and which one just gave up the moment you realized AI existed?”

Eddie laughed. “That’s cold, Static.”

“Truthful,” she corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Callum nudged her knee under the table. “You should write one for us, then. Give us a real hit.”

She raised a brow. “And let you take the credit? I’m chaotic, not stupid.”

The bartender dropped off another tray of drinks, and for a while, it was easy again. Laughter, noise, neon bleeding into the edges of her vision.

But the moment was cut short when she caught sight of movement by the bar mirror—Jax’s reflection, head tilted slightly, watching her with that half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

He hadn’t come over. Not yet. He was letting her see him first.

Pomni clinked glasses with the drummer just to give her hands something to do.

“To Pomni!” Callum shouted, voice echoing. They drank. Pomni smiled. Her pulse wouldn’t slow down.

The conversation rolled on—stories of late-night gigs, trashed hotel rooms, stage malfunctions—but underneath it all was that weight, that pull. Every time she looked up, Jax was still there, pretending to talk to the bartender, pretending not to listen.

She tilted her chin, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. Fine. If he wanted to watch, she’d give him something to watch.

“Play truth or dare?” she asked suddenly, slamming her drink down on the table.

Eddie whooped. “Hell yes.”

Callum leaned in. “You first, Pomni.”

“Truth,” she said.

Eddie grinned. “Who’s the most annoying musician you’ve ever worked with?”

She didn’t even hesitate. “Easy. Jax.”

The table burst out laughing. “Harsh!” Sam said. “What’d he do?”

“Breathe too loud,” she replied. “And exist.”

“Sounds like a toxic work environment,” Callum teased.

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, eyes flicking toward the bar again. “But I’m thriving.”

The Glassmouths laughed again, raising their glasses in her direction. Behind them, Jax smirked—barely—and took a slow drink from his bottle. Pomni didn’t look away this time. Her smile lingered, a little too bright, a little too sharp.

And for the rest of the night, she kept laughing, kept teasing, kept playing her part.
Every time one of them leaned close, she let them. Every time one of them brushed her hand, she didn’t pull away. But in the mirror behind the bar, she caught his reflection again—Jax, watching, waiting, the hint of a storm still in his eyes.

She told herself she didn’t care. She told herself she was winning. And she told herself she didn’t notice when he finally started walking toward her.

The first thing Pomni noticed was how the laughter at the table got quieter— not all at once, just enough to shift the rhythm. It was that instinctive hush that fell whenever Jax walked into a room.

He didn’t barrel in or call attention to himself; he just arrived, the air bending slightly around him. Leather jacket, hair pushed back by one hand, beer bottle in the other. He looked like he’d been here for hours, like he belonged, which somehow made it worse. “Wow,” he said, stopping beside the booth, voice smooth as smoke. “Didn’t know we were having band diplomacy tonight.”

Callum blinked. “We invited her.”

Jax’s smile was a threat. “That’s great. But we do have a pretty early rehearsal tomorrow.”

Pomni exhaled slowly, lips curling into something between amusement and warning. “Jax.”

“Pomni.” He leaned a little on the edge of the table, just enough to close the space between them. “Didn’t know you were into community service.”

“Networking,” Pomni said the word she said a thousand times. The word became an excuse every time she did something, or someone, she shouldn’t have.

He tilted his head. “That's what they’re calling flirting now?”

She gave him a sharp, practiced smile. “Only when it works.”

The Glassmouths shifted in their seats, half entertained, half uncomfortable. Eddie looked at Callum like ‘Should we…leave?’ But Callum only smirked, tapping the rim of his glass.

Jax’s hand landed on the back of Pomni’s chair, casual in theory, but she could feel the weight of it— territorial. He leaned close enough for his words to skim her ear.

“Didn’t take you for the type to trade up for second place.”

Pomni turned her head slowly, eyes narrowing. “Careful. You’re one compliment away from sounding jealous.”

“Jealous?” He let out a quiet laugh. “No. Just observant.”

“Sure,” she said, sweetly venomous. “Observant of what exactly?”

“That you only flirt when you’re trying to prove something.”

Her pulse jumped—half from the bite in his tone, half from how close he still was. The table around them had gone quiet again. Callum cleared his throat. “Uh, we were just about to grab another round—”

“Good idea,” Pomni interrupted quickly, standing up. “I’ll help.”

But when she tried to move past, Jax’s hand brushed her arm, stopping her. “Pomni—”

She looked down at his fingers, then up at him. “Don’t.”

He raised both hands in mock surrender, smirk tilting. “Relax. You look great, by the way.”

Her laugh was sharp. “That line works on the others, too?”

“Only the ones who don’t bite back.”

“Then you’re safe.”

She walked to the bar before he could answer, the crowd swallowing her up again. Every step she took felt like a dare. By the time she got to the counter, Callum had followed, grinning. “So, that guy—”

“Co-worker,” she said quickly, signaling the bartender. “Kind of.”

“Didn’t look that way.”

Pomni smiled, leaning on the counter. “That’s because he doesn’t know what ‘kind of’ means.”

The bartender slid her another drink. She clinked it lightly against Callum’s. “Cheers to that.”

Across the room, she could feel Jax watching her again—leaning against the booth, jaw set, pretending to listen to Eddie ramble about guitars. She met his gaze, lifted her glass in a mock toast, and took a slow sip without looking away.

Then she turned back to Callum, laughing at something he said, her hand brushing his arm as she did. She didn’t even know what the joke was. It didn’t matter. The whole thing felt like a song—offbeat, unsteady, messy as hell—but she liked the rhythm anyway. And somewhere across the bar, Jax’s smile vanished.
By the time the clock over the bar flickered past two, the crowd had thinned to stragglers and smoke. Half-empty glasses lined the counters, the air gone heavy with the quiet hum of whatever song the bartender hadn’t turned off yet.

Pomni was barefoot. Somewhere between dancing on the sticky floor and losing track of her heels, she’d given up trying to care. Her feet ached, her cheeks were warm, and the night had softened into that blurry calm where everything felt both too loud and too far away.

She had been dancing with The Glassmouths for a while, moving between them all with an almost practiced rhythm. She would move to Eddie, wrap her arms around him, and ask him about what their plans are for their next album. When he moved too close, she’d go over to Sam and crack a joke. Whenever he’d offer her another drink, she’d decline and end right back up with Callum.

She laughed at something Callum said, not because it was funny, but because she wanted to. The sound came out bright, slurred around the edges.

That’s when Jax appeared again. He’d shed the jacket, hair damp from the mist outside, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. The last remnants of his smirk had faded into something unreadable.

“Bar’s closing,” he said, voice low.

“Yeah?” Pomni spun slightly, swaying toward the table. “Guess you’ll finally get peace and quiet.”

He didn’t rise to it. Just gestured toward the door. “Come on. You’re drunk.”

“Wow, what an observation.”

Callum stood too, a little unsteady himself. “She’s fine, man. We’ll get her home.”

Jax’s jaw flexed. “I’ve got it.”

Pomni frowned. “You don’t got it. You just like pretending you do.”

“You’ll thank me tomorrow when you’re not wandering barefoot through downtown.”

She looked down at her feet. “Oh. Right. Forgot about that part.”

He sighed, the sound more fond than frustrated. “Come on.”

Callum gave a small shrug, clearly reading something in the air he didn’t want to challenge. “Night, Pomni.”

“Night,” she said, softer this time.

Jax waited until the door closed behind them before he said anything else. The street outside glistened under the lamplight, wet from the earlier rain. Puddles mirrored the neon from the bar’s sign, the whole world tinted pink and blue.

“Nice of you to play the hero,” she muttered.

“Wasn’t trying to.”

“Then what are you trying to do?”

He glanced at her, then down at her bare feet. “Make sure you don’t step on glass, apparently.”

She rolled her eyes, but she let him fall into step beside her anyway. The air was cool, brushing against her skin, sobering her just enough to feel the ache of the night settle in. For a while, neither spoke. Their footsteps echoed off the wet pavement, steady, uneven, steady again.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she said finally.

He looked over. “To the bar?”

“To follow me.”

“I didn’t follow you,” he said, but the grin that tugged at his mouth betrayed him. “Total coincidence.”

“Right. You just happened to show up where I was drinking, sit two tables away, and brood every time someone talked to me.”

“I don’t brood,” he said, crossing his arms.

She gave him a sideways look. “You absolutely brood.”

“Maybe I was just worried.”

Pomni stopped walking. “Worried?”

He met her eyes, hands shoved into his pockets. “You don’t exactly do moderation, Pom.”

She laughed softly, breath fogging in the chill. “Neither do you.”

He smiled faintly, like he couldn’t argue with that. “Guess that’s why tonight has been such a mess.”

They started walking again, slower now, her shoulder brushing his every few steps. The city felt half-asleep—storefronts dark, traffic lights blinking through empty intersections.

“You’re freezing,” he said.

“Your face is freezing.” She shot back, stumbling when she tried to look over at him.

Without thinking, Jax shrugged off his leather jacket and handed it to her. “Here. At least put this on your shoulders.”

Pomni hesitated, then took it, slipping it over her arms. It smelled like his cologne. It smelled like late nights in his bed– cuddling, laughing, and kissing. It made her chest tighten. “Thanks.”

He nodded, gaze still forward. “Anytime.”

They turned down her street, the puddles rippling under streetlights, the silence stretching comfortably for once. Pomni kicked at a bottlecap, watching it skitter ahead. “You’re not gonna make a thing out of this tomorrow, are you?”

Jax smirked, not looking at her. “You mean walking you home?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. “Depends. You planning on making a thing out of it?”

She smiled. “No promises.”

They made it maybe three blocks before Pomni started laughing. It wasn’t graceful—more like the kind of laugh that trips over itself, spilling out between hiccups and breathless swears. Her heels dangled from her hand, glittering faintly in the streetlight.

“God, this city smells like shit,” she said, still giggling.

Jax grinned. “It’s authentic. Like you.”

She gasped in mock offense, stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk. He caught her elbow before she could fall, and she swatted his arm. “You’re not funny.”

“Yeah, but you’re laughing,” he said.

“I’m drunk.”

“Still laughing.”

They stopped at a convenience store glowing lonely on the corner—one of those places that’s open at all hours but always feels slightly illegal to enter after midnight. The fluorescent lights buzzed as they stepped inside, the hum of the fridges filling the silence between their laughter.

Pomni beelined straight for the snack aisle. “You ever notice how every chip flavor sounds like a dare?”

“‘Extreme Heat Wave Nacho?’” Jax read off a bag. “That one’s a lawsuit.”

She laughed again, tossing it into his hands. “Perfect. You can die first.”

Jax rolled his eyes but followed her lead, grabbing a bottle of neon sports drink and a pack of candy. “Romantic dinner for two.”

“I’ve had worse dates.”

He froze for half a second, caught off guard by the way she said it—light, easy, but true. Then she smirked, leaning over the counter to grin at the sleepy cashier. “We’re not together,” she announced, too loudly. “He just follows me home.”

The cashier blinked, unimpressed. “Cool.”

They left the store still laughing, arms full of snacks and cheap soda. Outside, the rain had stopped completely, leaving the streets shiny and quiet. They sat on the curb under the flickering streetlight, ripping open chip bags with freezing fingers.

Pomni shoved a handful into her mouth and immediately coughed. “Oh my god, that’s disgusting—”

Jax laughed until he doubled over. “Told you!”

“Why’d you let me eat it?”

“Because you dared me to buy it.”

She glared half-heartedly. “You’re the worst.”

“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. “But you’d be bored without me.”

Her grin softened. For a moment, she forgot about the fight, the studio, the rest of the world. It was just them, sitting in the middle of the street with chip crumbs on their clothes and neon light flickering between them.

Pomni took a sip of his drink without asking. “You think the others would believe this if we told them?”

“Not a chance.”

“Good.” She leaned back on her hands, eyes closing. “Let’s keep it that way.”

Jax watched her quietly, the glow from the convenience store painting her in pale pink and blue. He wanted to say something—something real, something that would ruin the moment—but she opened one eye and looked at him first.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Just… you’ve got, uh, chip dust on your face.”

She laughed, brushing her cheek with her sleeve. “Smooth save.”

He smiled. “I try.”

They sat there until their fingers were sticky with sugar and the sky started to lighten just barely over the rooftops. When Pomni finally stood, she swayed a little, holding her heels like a trophy. “We should go before this turns into an existential crisis.”

“Too late,” Jax said. “I’m already thinking about taxes.”

She laughed again—soft this time—and started walking. He followed a step behind, their shadows long and uneven in the early dawn. Neither of them said it out loud, but the city felt quieter than usual, like it was holding its breath for them.