The roar from the crowd hadn't faded yet when David stepped back to the mic, sweat glistening on his forehead under the harsh white lights. The last chords of Boulevard of Broken Dreams still hung in the air, echoing through the desert night like a confession everyone had shared.
The crowd at Coachella was roaring . A sea of faces, hands, and waving lighters. The new band—Gravity Dreams, had just pulled off something no one expected.
And David stood there, breathing hard, heart hammering in sync with the echoing drums, sweat glistening under the yellow spotlight.
He gave a small nod to Tommy on drums, who grinned and twirled a stick like he was born for the stage. Emily adjusted her bass strap, still catching her breath, while Avril bounced lightly on her heels, guitar gleaming, eyes sparkling like she couldn't wait for the next round.
David stepped forward, resting one hand on the mic stand.
"Alright, California," he said, his voice rough and low, still riding that wave of adrenaline. "You liked that one? Good. Let's see if you can handle this next one."
The crowd howled.
"This one's called Thanks for the Memories," he said, his grin sharp, "and I hope you've got some left by the time we're done. And… yeah, it's about those nights you can't forget , even if you try."
A ripple of laughter and cheers rolled through the crowd. Someone near the front yelled, "Let's go, Gravity Dreams!" Another voice screamed, "We love you, David!"
David smirked. "You might not after this one," he joked, strumming a teasing chord.
Then he turned back to the band, mouthed a count, and the song kicked off hard.
Tommy came in with tight, syncopated drums, a quick, modern beat that hit like caffeine straight to the veins. Emily followed with a deep bassline, pulsing under the rhythm like a heartbeat. Then Avril's rhythm guitar slashed in with that sharp pop-punk shimmer, bringing it all together.
David's lead guitar riff cut through the noise like a spark — melodic, fast, deliberate. And then he stepped up to the mic, his voice raspy yet smooth, carried by the adrenaline of the crowd.
"I'm gonna make you bend and break—
(It sent you to me without wings...)
Say a prayer, but let the good times roll,
In case God doesn't show!"
The crowd erupted, clapping and shouting the rhythm even though they'd never heard the song before. That infectious hook caught instantly. A group of girls up front started bouncing in sync, while a guy near the rail punched the air to the beat, yelling, "Hell yeah!"
David grinned mid-verse, watching them move. It worked — the song had life.
"And I want these words to make things right,
But it's the wrongs that make the words come to life..."
Avril joined in on harmony, her voice bright and sharp — a perfect counterpoint to David's grit. The blend caught the crowd by surprise; even the sound engineers looked impressed, nodding in rhythm.
David's voice rose again, carrying the chorus like a wave. Avril joined him.
"One night and one more time,
Thanks for the memories,
Even though they weren't so great,
He/She tastes like you, only better!"
The crowd lost it. They didn't know the words, but they didn't need to — they felt them. The rhythm had that relentless, pulsing energy of youth and regret all tangled together. People started jumping in unison, hands raised high, the desert night turning electric.
Tommy pounded the drums harder, grinning like a madman; Emily's bass drove deeper, shaking the floor; Avril threw her whole body into the rhythm, her hair whipping with every chord.
David's expression was somewhere between joy and intensity — like he was chasing something invisible and finally catching it.
He pointed the mic toward the audience, shouting, "Sing it with me!"
Half the crowd didn't know the lyrics, but they shouted anyway, echoing the rhythm, clapping in perfect time. The hook caught them like wildfire.
"One night, yeah, one more time!
Thanks for the memories,
Thanks for the memories!"
He/She tastes like you, only sweeter!"
Two guys near the front started a small mosh pit, shoving and spinning, laughing with wild energy. A girl climbed onto her boyfriend's shoulders, waving her arms in the air.
Somewhere off to the left, someone hurled a plastic cup — it arced high, spilling beer mid-air, caught in the stage lights before landing somewhere behind the barrier.
Scarlett, watching from the side of the stage, was laughing, clapping, completely swept up. She couldn't take her eyes off David — the way he owned the stage, his voice raw but magnetic, his movements confident yet effortless. This wasn't the struggling dreamer she'd met weeks ago; this was someone born for the spotlight.
One of stage crew was beside her, swaying a bit to the music, shouting over the sound, "He's a natural!"
Scarlett smiled proudly, whispering, "Of course he is."
Onstage, David pushed into the bridge, the guitar roaring beneath him. The tone went darker, the lights shifting red and white in sync with the tempo.
"They say I only think in the form of crunching numbers—
In hotel rooms, collecting page six lovers..."
Avril joined him again, this time singing a line solo, her youthful voice cutting clear through the crowd. David turned and played off her energy, grinning mid-riff, clearly enjoying the surprise of how good they sounded together.
"Get me out of my mind
and get you out of those clothes,
I'm a liner away from getting you into the mood!"
The audience screamed the last line, laughter and shouts mixing with the thundering sound. Avril grinned as David threw her a look, half-teasing, half-proud. Tommy punctuated the beat with a crash of cymbals, and Emily leaned in on the bassline, locking everything together.
By now, the crowd was wild. A few girls in crop tops were on shoulders, shaking their hair and screaming the lyrics. A couple of bras landed on the stage — one pink, one black. David didn't even flinch; he just laughed mid-verse, kicked one aside with his boot, and kept singing.
The lights strobed faster now, reds and golds flashing across the faces of the crowd. A sea of hands waved, people jumping to the rhythm, spilling out into one another.
The final chorus hit like a tidal wave. Lights exploded across the stage—blue, gold, and white—each flash synced to the beat. The crowd's cheering became part of the rhythm itself.
"One night and one more time!
Thanks for the memories,
Even though they weren't so sweet!
He/She tastes like you, only Sweeter...
One night, yeah, one more time!
Thanks for the memories, thanks for the memories!
He/She tastes like you, only Sweeter..."
Tommy went wild on the drums for the bridge, a rolling fill that shook the stage. David stepped back, letting the instruments carry the energy, guitar screaming in harmony with the bass.
Avril moved across the stage, hyping up the crowd — pointing, clapping, shouting, "Let's go!"
They roared back in waves.
David's voice cracked a little on the final chorus, but it didn't matter — it made it real. That raw, unpolished edge turned it from performance into experience.
He stepped back, letting Avril take the final riff — her guitar solo bright, aggressive, but melodic — the kind of sound that sticks in your mind. The crowd cheered her on, amazed by the young blonde shredding on stage beside him.
As the last note hung in the air, Tommy ended with a powerful snare-crash that echoed across the festival ground. The sound faded into the night, leaving behind a stunned silence — and then, like a wave breaking, the audience roared back to life.
People were shouting, whistling, clapping, stomping their feet — it was chaos, beautiful chaos.
David stepped forward again, catching his breath. "Alright," he said into the mic, voice still shaking from adrenaline, "if you liked that one, remember the name : Gravity Dreams. We're just getting started."
The lights dimmed again, but the applause didn't stop. Even the security guards were grinning.
Scarlett, still standing backstage, whispered to herself, "He's doing it. He's really doing it."
When the final note hit — one long, reverberating chord that filled the desert air — David let it hang for a moment, letting the sound wash over the crowd. He dropped his head, breathing hard, the guitar strap biting into his shoulder.
Then he looked up.
The crowd was still screaming.
He didn't have to say a word. He just smiled. That quiet, satisfied grin that said we did it.
Tommy threw his sticks into the crowd. Avril blew a kiss. Emily flicked a pick toward a fan in the front row who looked like she might faint.
David leaned into the mic one last time, his voice rough from singing.
"California," he said, "you're insane. And we love you for it."
The crowd roared louder.
He turned to his bandmates — all of them panting, laughing, riding that post-adrenaline high — and clapped each of them on the shoulder. "Perfect," he mouthed. (Homelander memes please :3)
And as David looked back at the sea of faces, arms, lights, and chaos — he realized something he hadn't felt in years.
This wasn't just a show.
It was the start of something real.
*****
The crowd was still roaring, chanting "Gra-vi-ty Dreams! Gra-vi-ty Dreams!" long after the last chord of Thanks for the Memories faded.
The lights dimmed again, but this time the crowd didn't quiet down — if anything, the noise rose. It was a low, electric hum of anticipation that seemed to crawl across the stage and wrap around the band. David could feel it vibrating in his chest. The sweat was still drying on his skin, but his pulse hadn't slowed; adrenaline was a drug he wasn't ready to come down from.
Tommy twirled his drumsticks, his grin wide and boyish. Emily was tuning her bass, plucking quick notes that rumbled like a heartbeat through the speakers.
Avril leaned against her mic stand, flipping her hair out of her face and catching David's eye. She mouthed, let's make this one hurt.
David stepped forward, raising his hand, and the stage lights flared soft gold. The roar mellowed into a unified chant, the name of their band echoing from the front rows all the way to the desert edges.
He turned back to the mic, his voice still rough but steady.
"You guys still alive out there?"
The crowd erupted, a thousand voices screaming back in a storm of cheers.
David laughed, running a hand through his messy hair. "Good, because we've got one more before we break the world record for collective dehydration."
The audience howled. Someone near the front yelled, "We love you, David!" Another voice shouted, "Marry me!"
He shot a grin in their direction. "You'll have to talk to my manager about that," he said, pointing offstage where Scarlett stood, laughing and shaking her head.
Then he turned to his bandmates, gave a subtle nod — and the stage lights dimmed to a moody red glow.
"Alright," David said into the mic, his tone softer now. "This one's a little different. It's called Mr. Brightside. It's rather personal, although that feels like a distant memory." He smiled softly.
The crowd hushed for a split second — that prelude before chaos.
Then the guitar riff hit. Sharp. Clean. Instant.
Avril's fingers danced across the fretboard, nailing the opening line with surgical precision. The sound cut through the night like electricity; that perfect, infectious rhythm that made heads start to bob before the first lyric even landed.
Tommy kicked in with a snare-driven beat, crisp and controlled. Emily's bass rolled underneath it all, heavy and hypnotic. The crowd recognized the groove immediately, even though they'd never heard the song before. It was that kind of melody, irresistible.
David gripped the mic stand, his voice low and charged with that desperate emotion that defined the song.
"Coming out of my cage,
And I've been doing just fine,
Gotta, gotta be down,
Because I want it all…"
The lights flared white, slicing through the haze.
Fans screamed. The mosh pit surged again. A wave of people jumped in rhythm, shouting the lyrics as they picked them up on the fly.
David's voice climbed, rougher now, pulling from his gut — not just singing, but living every word.
"It started out with a kiss,
How did it end up like this?
It was only a kiss, it was only a kiss…"
Emily's bass thrummed deep, heartbeat steady and thick. Tommy's drumming was pure precision — his arms a blur, sweat flying from his hair with each crash of the cymbals. Avril stepped in beside David, their voices overlapping perfectly on the harmonies.
Scarlett stood by the edge of the stage, hands clasped, eyes fixed on him. She could feel it — that raw mix of tension and melancholy in the lyrics. It wasn't just a performance; it was a confession disguised as a song.
"Now I'm falling asleep,
And she's calling a cab,
While he's having a smoke,
And she's taking a drag…"
The crowd was singing along now — word for word, as if they'd known the song forever.
The lights shifted again — flashing white, red, blue — chasing the rhythm. People on shoulders, hands in the air, cameras flashing like lightning bolts. A group of girls near the front threw their bras on stage again, laughing uncontrollably. One hit Tommy's cymbal and stayed there, hanging like a trophy.
Tommy noticed, pointed at it with his drumstick mid-song, and shouted, "Souvenir!" between beats. The crowd lost it.
David grinned mid-verse but didn't miss a note. His voice cracked slightly with the force — not weakness, but passion.
"Now they're goin' to bed
and my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head,
but she's touching his
[Pre-Chorus]
Chest now
He takes off her dress now
Let me go-oh
And I just can't look, it's killing me
And taking control "
People screamed. A couple of fans near the front clutched each other's shoulders, shouting along even though they didn't know the words yet. Someone started crowd-surfing, legs kicking wildly as hands pushed them toward the barrier. The security guards barely managed to keep order as more fans tried to climb onto shoulders.
As the music climbed, the lights brightened — bright enough to reveal the full sea of people. Tens of thousands, arms raised, faces lit up with every color. From the stage, it looked like an ocean in motion. The music built up before the chorus hit them.
"Jealousy, turning saints into the sea,
Swimming through sick lullabies,
Choking on your alibis…"
The music built like a wave — the whole stage pulsing with it. Avril leaned into her mic, hair sticking to her face, harmonizing perfectly on every line. Emily locked eyes with Tommy as they hit the build, the kind of wordless communication that only bands with real chemistry had.
David stepped back from the mic for a second, letting the audience take the chorus.
"But it's just the price I pay,
Destiny is calling me
Open up my eager eyes
Cause I'm Mr. Brightside…"
The entire crowd, thousands strong, screamed the lyrics. It wasn't even a song anymore. It was an anthem for heartbreak.
David looked out at them — all those faces glowing under the lights, screaming, crying, laughing — and he felt something inside him settle. This was what it was all for. Every sleepless night, every rejection, every empty gig in some half-dead bar — it all led to this.
The lights dimmed slightly for the bridge. Emily's bass and Tommy's drums dropped to a heartbeat rhythm, slow and pounding.
Avril's harmony slipped in behind David's voice, soft but cutting, echoing that sense of disbelief. The lights flickered in time with the drumbeat — blue, red, gold — painting the crowd in pulsing color.
David gripped the mic stand, eyes shut, and sang like he was bleeding the story out of himself. Every word came out raw, tinged with heartbreak and a little bit of anger. The audience felt it — that aching mix of jealousy and loss that hit too close to home for too many.
A girl in a denim jacket near the front row had tears running down her cheeks. Behind her, a guy with spiked hair was shouting the lyrics back like he was exorcising something. A couple in the middle row were swaying, arms wrapped around each other, caught in the emotion of it all.
The band built the sound layer by layer. Emily's bass hit deeper. Tommy's drumming turned sharp and rapid, his sticks blurring under the lights. Avril's voice wove around David's, lifting the melody higher, making the emotion soar.
David moved closer to the mic, voice dropping to almost a whisper.
"I never… I never…"
The crowd echoed.
"I never…"
It grew louder. Now the whole audience was chanting it.
"I never…"
Then, BOOM!
The lights blasted open, full force. Guitars screamed. The final chorus hit like an earthquake.
"Jealousy, turning saints into the sea!
Swimming through sick lullabies,
Choking on your alibis…"
The stage lights exploded in rhythm — white, gold, and red. Pyro effects shot flames up from the edge of the stage, heat washing over the front rows. Fans went insane.
People were crying, screaming, some even on their knees, arms thrown up like a gospel revival. The mosh pit turned into a full wave , people jumping shoulder to shoulder.
"But it's just the price I pay,
Destiny is calling me,
Open up my eager eyes,
'Cause I'm Mr. Brightside!"
David shouted the last line with everything he had left, voice cracking gloriously into the night sky. Fireworks blasted above the stage, white and gold sparks raining down as the lights flared blindingly bright.
Then there was silence.
Just the echo of the guitar fading out.
The crowd lost it completely. People were crying, laughing, kissing. Some just stood there, stunned, as the final chord rang out — a long, ringing note that echoed across the desert night and faded into the sound of screaming fans.
David stood at the center, chest heaving, head tilted back. He let the moment breathe. Then he slowly brought the mic to his lips again.
"Coachella…" His voice was soft now, almost tender. "You've just witnessed something brand new. Remember this night, because we sure as hell will."
The roar that followed nearly drowned out his words.
He turned, exchanged one look with his band — sweaty, exhausted, exhilarated — and smiled.
Tommy threw his sticks again. Avril bowed dramatically. Emily blew a kiss toward the audience.
The crowd screamed back — thousands of fists punching the air.
Avril looked at him as the lights dimmed. She whispered, "You just changed everything."
David turned, smiled, and said, breathless, "No… we did."
The band stood there proudly, drenched in sweat, half-laughing, hearts hammering — as the lights faded to black and the crowd kept chanting their name into the desert night:
"Gra-vi-ty Dreams! Gra-vi-ty Dreams! Gra-vi-ty Dreams!"
And as the lights faded, and the chant carried into the desert night, he realized that this was more than fame, more than success. This was immortality — the kind that only existed in the memory of a perfect song sung by thousands of strangers under the open sky.