"Wait, wait, wait—you're saying I messed up the beat?"
"Duh, yeah!"
"No way! It was Ronan! I was totally sticking to the original rhythm…"
"…Nope, not even close. Ronan was on fire tonight—pitch, tone, rhythm, everything was spot-on from start to finish. No slip-ups. Don't try to dodge the blame!"
"Come on! My ears don't lie—Ronan totally jumped the beat, okay?"
"Trust me, you're the one who goofed."
"Are you sure it wasn't your bass that was off? Then you just pinned it on me to save face? You were shaking during that last song!"
"Me? Shaking? Ha! That's the funniest thing I've heard all year. Do you even know who I am? I'm the tech wizard of this band, alright?"
"Tech wizard? Sure, and I'm the hottest guy in the universe! Cliff! Cliff! Back me up here—Maxim's throwing shade at me!"
"Oh, you're just yelling for Cliff because you know you're in the wrong. Why not ask Ronan, huh?"
Chatter, chaos, giggles.
The band was in full-on squabble mode, faces red as they hashed out the night's performance. They lugged their gear around while bantering—loud, lively, and all over the place.
The bar crowd had loved it, which meant the gig was a hit. It'd been ages since they'd gotten such a pumped-up response, and their spirits were soaring. But still, they had to cool off and take a hard look at the show—what went wrong, how to dodge those slip-ups next time. It's part of the gig.
Except… tonight, all you could hear was Maxim and Ollie going at it. Those two alone had the energy of a hundred buzzing flies.
Ronan, still a bit wiped from not fully shaking off his fever, felt the post-hype exhaustion creeping in. So he just listened quietly, a faint smile stuck on his face. Watching Maxim and Ollie bicker was like seeing a cat and dog duke it out—pure entertainment.
And Cliff?
Cliff was still lost in his own head.
Those thirty minutes on stage were a fleeting escape. For that short burst, they forgot their struggles and just soaked in the simple joy of performing. But once the spotlight faded, reality crashed back in.
Tonight's show won cheers and applause—great. But now what? What's next? How do they keep this going?
Back to the real world.
The bubbly high slowly settled, the grins and spark in their eyes fading bit by bit. Still, when Ollie called out, Cliff plastered on a smile, shoving his worries aside. At least tonight's for celebrating—tomorrow's for stressing about the future.
"I'm with Maxim on this one, Ollie. You know you're the king of screw-ups in this band. Tonight was no different," Cliff chimed in with his take.
"And who's the runner-up for most mistakes?" Maxim cut in before Ollie could fire back, leaving Cliff stunned—clearly a jab aimed his way.
Ronan, watching from the sidelines, was loving it, all grins and giggles. All he needed was some popcorn and a beer to complete the show.
"Hey!"
As Cliff stepped forward, a figure popped out from around the corner, beaming with a big hello. The sudden move caught everyone off guard—especially Ronan, who froze like a deer in headlights. Instinct kicked in, and he didn't budge.
From past experience, he knew moving forward or back during a scare could just make things messier. Staying put was the safest bet to keep chaos at bay. It didn't eliminate the risk entirely, but it was the least disruptive option.
Meanwhile, Maxim jumped a mile, stumbling back and crashing right into Ollie—who didn't even flinch. Poor Ollie's foot took the hit, though, and he yelped, hopping back two big steps, nearly smacking into Ronan trailing behind.
"Sorry, sorry, sorry!" Ollie spun around to apologize, spotting Ronan's blank stare. Worry flickered in his eyes, but then Ronan snapped out of it, waving it off like "I'm fine." That spooked look cracked Ollie up, and he let out a big, goofy laugh.
"HAHAHA!"
His booming cackle hit like a shockwave, rattling eardrums. Maxim whipped around with a "what the heck" face, Cliff and the mystery intruder turning too. All eyes landed on Ollie, wondering what was so hilarious back there.
Total chaos for a hot second.
Ronan was the first to pull it together, clocking the whole scene from his spot. He piped up, "Uh, who's this?"
That snapped the band out of it, and they all shifted focus to the guy up front.
Duncan Turner, now the center of attention, looked a little sheepish. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cause a scene."
He hadn't expected his little "ambush" to stir up such a ruckus. Back in high school or college, he'd never pulled stuff like this. Now, middle-aged and impulsive, he'd just barged in without a clue how to play it cool.
"I… I just wanted to say, tonight's show was amazing. Like, really amazing." Duncan didn't even notice how limited his vocab was, repeating himself like a broken record. But his excitement burst out anyway, loud and clear.
"Whoa, thanks!" Ronan's eyes crinkled into a big smile. "That means a lot. It's the first time someone's been this hyped about our set…" He paused, catching himself—first time for him, maybe not the band. "It's been a while since we felt this kind of love. We were almost ready to give up."
Ollie nodded like a bobblehead. "Yeah, thanks for digging our show!"
Such a simple, heartfelt line sent Duncan's mood skyrocketing again. "You guys should believe in yourselves—we loved it. Can't wait to catch more of your gigs. I'm serious." He started waving his hands around, practically dancing, emphasizing every word.
"I mean, I've seen tons of shows—some with big-deal musicians—but ones that actually light up the crowd like this? Rare. You should be proud of tonight. I really hope you make it to bigger stages."
Just a few words, but you could feel Duncan's genuine hype pouring out.
Cliff, standing right in front of him, cracked a smile too. "Thanks."
Then a clear, bright voice cut through the night from behind, full of energy: "We'll keep pushing—to hit those bigger stages!"
Following the sound, you'd lock eyes with Ronan—steady, shining, and grinning wide, that smile blooming right from his soul.
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