Nico

The final chord trembled in the air, a delicate vibration that lingered too long, reluctant to fade. Nico’s fingers remained suspended just above the strings, still poised as if the music might resume on its own. For a breathless second, he couldn’t tell if it was over, or if he just didn’t want it to be. He stayed frozen, holding the space like a glass sculpture.

Then, slowly, came the sound.

A single clap, then another. A ripple of hands, growing louder. A few whistles cut through the noise. Someone in the back shouted: “Damn, kid!”, and just like that, something in Nico’s chest gave way. The tension that had gripped him since the moment he stepped onstage unraveled, loosening in a rush that nearly left him dizzy.

They were clapping. For him.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shoulders sinking, and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. His heart was still hammering, and every inch of his skin felt electric, as though he were still inside the songs. His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since midway through the second verse, but it didn’t matter. He’d done it. Every chord, every song, every stumbling moment. No walking off, no excuses. He had stood his ground and played the entire set through.

Adjusting the mic stand more out of reflex than purpose, Nico half-turned to step down, ready to disappear into the crowd, when a flicker of movement caught his eye.

There, at the bar. A man. Not clapping, not even moving. Just sitting with a stillness that somehow stood out more than the noise around him. He was blond and sharply dressed, his tailored shirt and polished shoes far too clean for a place like The Rookery.

And he was watching Nico.

A strange heat crept up Nico’s neck when their eyes met. The man was a stranger, clearly. Not from school, and probably not even from the neighborhood. He was handsome, but that wasn’t what made Nico’s face burn. It was the way he looked at him. Shamelessly, with an expression that was unreadable and slightly unsettling. He didn’t look like he was enjoying the show. It felt more like he was observing Nico. 

Nico looked away first.

The next performer was already setting up, plugging in cables and tuning strings. Nico gave a nod, half acknowledgment, half apology, and stepped off the stage. The guitar slung across his back, suddenly feeling heavier than before.

The crowd blurred around him as he made his way toward the bar. Now that the adrenaline had begun to wear off, the fatigue hit all at once, rolling through his limbs with the slow weight of come-down. His shoulders ached, his fingertips were sore. But his mind was still buzzing, replaying every moment of the set on a loop.

“Water, please,” he murmured as he reached the bar, unsure if the words even made it out clearly.

The bartender slid a glass toward him, droplets of condensation tracing lines down the sides. Nico took it and drank half in one breath, the cold hitting his chest like a reset button. He let out another slow exhale and leaned against the counter, the weight of everything catching up to him at once.

In his head, the songs were still playing. The second one had felt the best, like something had cracked open inside him and the words had poured out with a kind of clarity he didn’t expect. But the other songs? He couldn’t stop the mental reel. The rushed tempo at the start. The buzzing low E string. That one lyric he’d blanked on and masked with a hum. Did they notice? Could they tell? 

Nico reached for his glass again, and as he lifted it to his lips, his eyes drifted to the right, drawn by instinct more than intention.

The man was still there, still watching him.

When their eyes met a second time, Nico felt his stomach flip with a nervous energy he couldn’t explain. The space between them felt sharper now, as if it had narrowed somehow. The man’s gaze wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t warm either. More like... focused. Direct, as if he were weighing something in his mind. He didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered that Nico had caught him staring again.

Then, from the edge of Nico’s vision, a woman appeared. She was striking, tall, with dark waves of hair and a velvet-red dress that shimmered like liquid in the low light. She touched the man’s shoulder casually. The man turned to her immediately, smiling, his attention sliding away from Nico as though it had never been there at all. 

A date, clearly. 

Just like that, the moment shattered.

Nico blinked and looked away, the cold rim of the glass pressing against his lower lip as he took another sip. His cheeks felt warm again, but this time it wasn’t from adrenaline. It was embarrassment. He told himself it didn’t mean anything, that whatever looks had passed between them were just a weird blip. Nothing worth holding on to.

He finished the water and set the glass down gently, watching the beads of moisture gather at its base. Around him, the sounds of the bar grew again. Laughter, the murmur of the next song beginning on stage.

Whatever that moment had been, it was gone now.

But the set… That had been real. That had belonged to him. And as Nico stared down at the glass in his hands, one thing pulsed quietly through the noise:

He was meant for this.