Brandon's POV
Rehearsal had always been my favorite kind of chaos.
The low hum of amps warming up, the sharp scent of metal strings and dust, Oliver tapping impatient rhythms on the snare like his fingers couldn't ever sit still, Jason hunched over his keyboard with headphones half on and half off, adjusting layers like a mad scientist, and Pete leaning back against the wall, bass slung across his shoulder, pretending he didn't care even when he absolutely did.
It was our space. Our territory. The one place where everything made sense.
But that afternoon, something felt different. Charged. Electric in a way that had nothing to do with feedback from the speakers. The London Fashion Festival was around the corner. The fact that we were opening the stage and playing the competition runway piece hadn't fully sunk in yet.
I strummed absentmindedly, my fingers moving through muscle memory while my mind wandered somewhere else entirely.
Chloe.
