Adrian's holding the phone up just a little higher for that flattering angle, smirking behind the lens like he knows exactly what he's doing.
"Alright, everyone look dramatic—or gorgeous. Or both," he says with a wink.
Mia nudges him. "Just take the photo, dork."
Sienna throws up her heart fingers with a wink, totally unbothered.Dante sighs but shifts slightly to stand closer to Roxanne, who crosses her arms tighter, refusing to even glance at Elliot.And Elliot?
Sitting dead center, guitar in hand, eyes full of quiet ache… looking like a heartbreak song personified.
Click.
Adrian lowers the phone, grinning to himself.
"Perfect. Might be our next album cover," he mutters—only half-joking.
But inside… he hopes it captures something more.Something real.Something still holding together—even if just barely.
---
The final chord echoed through the venue, long after the crowd had erupted into applause.
Elliot dropped his guitar pick into his jacket pocket, hands trembling slightly. Not from nerves—he hadn't felt nerves in months—but from the weight that always hit once the lights dimmed. The stage had become a shelter, but as soon as the final note faded, so did the illusion.
The others filed off around him. Dante slapped Adrian's shoulder, muttering something about the lighting crew. Mia grinned as she waved to fans near the side curtain. Even Sienna, ever the chaos in heels, blew a kiss before disappearing backstage.
And then there was her.
Roxanne.
She didn't spare Elliot a glance as she passed him—just a sharp turn of the head, golden eyes fixed ahead, jaw tight. Her hair was tied back tonight, exposing the slight curve of her neck. He used to kiss that spot when they were alone.
Now, she wouldn't even breathe in his direction.
Elliot followed slowly, each step heavier than the last. The thrum of the crowd still buzzed behind them, a contrast to the silence swallowing the greenroom hallway.
When he reached the mirror-lined backstage area, Roxanne was already peeling off her in-ear monitors, talking quietly with Dante near the drinks table. Elliot caught a glimpse of her laugh—small, tired, but real.
It hurt.
He reached for a water bottle, fumbling with the cap. His fingers were still shaking.
"You good?" Adrian's voice, calm and casual, floated in beside him. He leaned against the wall, one brow raised, effortlessly handsome and always aware of everything. "You looked like you were about to collapse out there."
Elliot gave a weak smile. "Just tired."
Adrian didn't press. He never did. But his eyes lingered a beat too long—he knew.
Everyone knew.
The band hadn't been the same since the mistake.
---
Two months ago.After a show.Too much tequila. Too many people.
Elliot had felt distant from Roxanne for weeks. Their fights had turned cold—silent treatments instead of shouting matches. That night, a stranger with eyeliner and secrets had leaned into him, laughing at some half-slurred joke.
And Elliot... hadn't pulled away.Just one kiss.But Roxanne saw.And she didn't say a word.She just left.
---
Roxanne grabbed her jacket now, looping it over her arm, ready to leave first—as always. Elliot stepped toward her instinctively, like muscle memory.
"Rox…"
She paused.
Didn't turn.
Just stood there, frozen, like a statue of herself.
He swallowed. "I didn't mean for it to happen. You know that, right?"
Silence.
Then, she spoke, voice low. "You didn't stop it either."
That landed harder than any yell could have.
He wanted to say more—to beg, to explain, to rewind time. But her heels clicked as she walked off, past the dressing room door, out into the night.
Elliot didn't chase her.
He just sat down on the edge of the couch and stared at the wall of old gig posters, his reflection warped in the framed glass.
Music played in his head, but it was all in minor key now.