Pt. 1
Nico Sanchez

As the soft round of applause began—nothing explosive, but steady and genuine enough to make Nico’s pulse jump—the final chord vibrated through his fingertips. He wasn’t as nervous this time. Today, he felt something closer to satisfaction, maybe even pride. He stood still for a beat, letting the note settle into the room, savoring the moment before it slipped away. The low hum of the crowd and the fading tension melted into one quiet wave that washed over him.

Not bad for a weeknight set. He gave a small smile as he stepped off the platform. His neck prickled, but it was the kind of warmth he welcomed. It had only been a week since he’d last played at The Rookery. He hadn’t expected to be asked back so soon, but Frank had clapped him on the shoulder after that first set and invited him to return. He had half-suspected it was a polite gesture Frank gave every new performer, but then the message came through confirming the date.

So here he was again, his second real gig in a real venue. This time, he’d ditched most of the sad ballads. Still his own songs, but more upbeat, more crowd-friendly. A little less bleeding heart, a little more put-together.

As he made his way toward the bar, already cataloging his performance, tempo slips, mic levels, the one note that landed thin, he caught sight of someone who made everything else grind to a halt.

The man from last time.

Same seat, same effortless posture, maybe even the same drink. He instantly remembered the way their eyes had met last time, a brief moment where everything had felt just a little charged. That flicker of something passing between them, like the heat of recognition, or maybe something else. That was, until she had appeared.

Stunning. Impeccably styled. She’d approached him with effortless grace and in an instant, whatever fragile thread had existed between Nico and the man snapped. 

Nico couldn’t quite figure out why it bothered him so much, why the sight of them together left a vague, unsettled feeling in his chest. Maybe it was how easily they fit, how familiar they seemed. Or maybe it was just that Nico wasn’t sure if he had misread the moment he thought he’d shared with the man, if he’d built something in his head that was never there. 

The truth was, he hadn’t felt a real connection with anyone, so he wasn’t sure what it was supposed to look like. Like everyone else, he wanted closeness. He wanted to be understood, to have someone see him beyond the surface and like him for… well, for him. Still, he didn’t know how that kind of thing was supposed to show itself or how it would feel when it finally happened. 

This time, the man sat alone. The soft glow of the lamp sharpened the cut of his features, and his tall frame was draped in a sleek black coat. One hand cradled a lowball glass with fingers that looked too elegant for this place. He looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine ad for luxury watches or cologne or something equally unattainable. And his eyes, even from across the room, were intense and unnerving in their quiet focus when they locked with Nico’s. Just like last time. 

Nico stood frozen for a moment longer than he realized. His heart stuttered. His feet nearly did, too. He tore his gaze away, fast, turning toward the opposite end of the bar like he suddenly had somewhere urgent to be. His movements felt clumsy as he took a seat, too aware of himself. Like being under a spotlight again, but not the good kind.