Yesterday, 05:48 PM
A week had vanished beneath the relentless surge of creation, the kind of demanding work that didn't just drain you, but hollowed you out and filled the space with something better. Ezvin had poured himself into every track of Cadence’s album, bending the sound, searching for the perfect texture in the silence between the notes. The exhaustion was a welcome weight, but come Friday, he felt the sharp tug of the real world. He needed a weekend to breathe.
Cadence was an electric mirror of his own weariness and zeal. The problem was the studio floor was public ground, a place where eyes were currency. Those stolen, sidelong glances they exchanged might be noticed. He kept his attention glued to the meters, his concentration a necessary lie. He didn't want the band to scent the sweet trace of a secret.
He wouldn't push a second date, but if their paths simply collided, naturally and without consequence, that would be an entirely different. So he waited. In a moment of innocent distraction, he casually checked the production schedule, finding the sliver of information he needed.
Saturday morning, the city's noise still muted by the early hour, Ezvin found himself entering Artskaf, the baristas machine his chosen target, shaking out his scarf as he entered, unbuttoning the wool coat, and sweeping a glance around with a simple swipe of hair.
Cadence was an electric mirror of his own weariness and zeal. The problem was the studio floor was public ground, a place where eyes were currency. Those stolen, sidelong glances they exchanged might be noticed. He kept his attention glued to the meters, his concentration a necessary lie. He didn't want the band to scent the sweet trace of a secret.
He wouldn't push a second date, but if their paths simply collided, naturally and without consequence, that would be an entirely different. So he waited. In a moment of innocent distraction, he casually checked the production schedule, finding the sliver of information he needed.
Saturday morning, the city's noise still muted by the early hour, Ezvin found himself entering Artskaf, the baristas machine his chosen target, shaking out his scarf as he entered, unbuttoning the wool coat, and sweeping a glance around with a simple swipe of hair.