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The practice room always smelled faintly of old wood and coffee, a memory from the old café that it used to be. A warm, hot amber glow filtered through the cracks of the dusted windows and transparent curtains, cutting golden rectangles across the scuffed floor, soundproof foam, in dull, uneven shades of gray and black, swallowing the walls of the room like teeth.
Mizi sat hunched over her synthesizer, riddled with colorful stickers of cartoons and jellyfish, her long, flowy pink hair sliding into a beautiful cornflower blue at the tips, like dusk creeping across a pretty bubblegum sky, swaying as she tilted her head in thought. A thin, candy strand stuck to her lip gloss, and she blew it away with a gentle huff.
Till leaned against the wall the opposite from her, his battered, red electric guitar he named Freddy, with white bandages and some stickers glued to it resting on his thigh. He was fiddling with his tongue piercing—something he did when nervous or annoyed. Right now, it was definitely both .
“Ivan’s late again ,” he muttered, adjusting the black and damaged straps of his guitar, which he had thought of replacing before, but time always got his ass before he could. “Always late.”
“Yeah, but it gives us time to work on the duet part!” Mizi beamed, her black, round glasses slipping a little down her pink nose. “C’mon, Grumpy. Don’t waste this blessing .”
“I’m not grumpy ,” he grumbled, his fingers tightening on his red, which faded to an inky black pick.
“You always say that when you’re being grumpy .” The pink-haired girl giggled, pushing a curl behind her ear, the strand catching onto her a few ear piercings for a second.
He didn’t answer right away, just exhaling through his nose like a car’s exhaust pipe groaning, flicking the metal ball on his tongue into his palate. Instead, he turned his attention to something else.
Mizi had worn her glasses tonight—thick-rimmed, round, and sliding every few seconds down her small, button nose when she leaned over her electric piano, which forced her to push them back up with a tired groan.
"Okay," she said, tapping a few keys to test the sound, peering at the yellowed notepad, scribbled with black and white notes which were settled securely on the music desk. “Second verse lead-in?”
Till nodded but his fingers didn't move. “Yeah. I figured we’d—uh—build that soft lead-in and...” He paused. “You’re wearing your glasses.”
Mizi looked up, then giggled—brightly and round like the beautiful tweeting of birds in the morning, which made something buzz low and embarrassing in Till’s chest, painting his cheeks a slight lipstick-pink color. “What, you don’t like nerdy girls?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t not say it.”
He tugged at the hem of his black hoodie. Suddenly, the air felt very hot for some reason. “You just... look different in them.”
She raised a light, perfectly thin pink brow, leaning away from her keyboard until she could look at him up and down with a suspicious look. “Different good or different bad?”
Till’s throat bobbed. He swallowed before mumbling. “...Different good.”
Mizi’s grin curved like a crescent moon and her yellow eyes crinkled at the gray-haired man’s answer. She leaned back until her waist was closer to her keyboard and thin, dolly fingers ready to play, a doppy grin sculpting her features. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not taking them off. My contacts were killing me. Felt like I was blinking sand!”
Mizi taped a note, which made a sweet, soft sound like spun sugar, then looked at him, lashes fluttering over her glasses, and grinned. “You ready, Rockstar?”
Till’s cheeks got even redder, if that was even possible . At this point, he looked like a fully ripe cherry, sweat pearling down the soft and juicy skin like clear water. “ Don't calling me that.”
The older girl chuckled, the tip of her finger and tail sliding lightly on the notes teasingly, “Why? You don’t like it?”
Till groaned. “It’s embarrassing .”
Mizi paused, one of her eyebrows cocked before she started giggling even harder, practically holding her stomach. “Till. You're in a band. You're literally the definition of embarrassing .” She slowly got back her composure and winked at him, making the silver-haired one look away, teal eyes glued to the oh so interesting wall, full of old posters from some of their past gigs.
She leaned closer across the keyboard, chin propped in her palm, cotton-candy-colored strands falling down her cheeks and shoulders like dancing leaves. “ Soooo ... you gonna sing that bridge for me again, or do I have to beg?”
Till hissed, rolling his eyes but a fond, soft smile curled his lips. “You’re impossible.”
After a few more soft giggles and raspy groans from the two, they started playing the verse. The room slowly filled with sound—the air around them swelled and pulsated. Till’s voice, raspy and textured like velvet worn thin, curled around the lyrics. Mizi harmonized softly with her voice, airy and light like bread dough as well as the notes of her synthesizer partaking in, twirling around like wind. The contrast between the two was evident, especially with none of the other members there to join in, but it made the sound even more unique and beautiful.
For a second, Till looked away from his thick, metallic guitar strings to look at the pink-haired girl, his breath almost stopping and his soul leaving his body at the sight he was met with. Mizi was watching him. Not the chords, or her scrambled notepad, or her keys, or even his strings! Him . Green-ish teal like clear ocean on soft, bright yellow met and molded together.
He immediately huffed, looking away too fast, missing a chord and swearing under his breath. “Shit—sorry. Start again.”
“Someone’s distracted,” Mizi sang-songed like a chanting bird, smirking. She didn’t stop playing, fingers fluid as raindrops, following her music sheet as easily as air was to breathe.
Till licked his lips, tongue piercing glinting under the shallow, warm light. “Maybe if someone didn’t stare at me the whole time.”
Mizi raised an eyebrow, her cherry-tinted lips quirking into a smirk. “Huh? Why wouldn’t I stare? You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“Wh—” He choked, the tip of his ear going visibly red, almost dropping his guitar in the process if it wasn’t for the straps clinging on for dear life to his shoulders.
Without warning, Ivan stepped in through the door as unbothered as one could be, long, woody drumsticks lazily tapping against his shoulder. His dark, inky eyes, splattered with red and white scanned the room like he was calculating a hard math problem before understanding the solution; his mouth opened in an ‘O’ form.
“Did I miss the part where you two made out or...? We can leave and try again if it’s a bad time.” The raven giggled, still standing Infront of the door, drumstick rhythmically hitting his shoulder, snaggletooth visible as he smiled.
Till choked violently on his own spit, slapping his chest as he coughed with his ears so red they were almost glowing . For a second, he’d thought of smashing his guitar on Ivan’s head and watch the fucker suffer from blunt force trauma, but figured that would be a waste of his perfect and beautiful Freddy. Freddy was too perfect, too beautiful. Unlike Ivan . “What the hell?! Shut the fuck up!”
Ivan shrugged, and with a shit-eating grin stretching his features, ruffled Till’s silver hair like you would to calm down a dog that was barking too loud, messing up his already messy, looking like he had just rolled out of bed, unbrushed curls even further. “Glad to see you missed me.” he drawled, voice as thick and sweet as honey, that is if honey tasted like rot.
Mizi just giggled, clearly unbothered. She hopped off her stool with a light bounce and skipped toward her best friend, punching him playfully in the shoulder and his black jacket. “You’re late, loser,” she said with a grin, tilting her head. “What’s the excuse this time?”
“You know how it is” he said coolly, shrugging. “Hyuna and Sua are behind me, coffee run. You know how Sua gets if she doesn't have her stupid matcha... seriously, how do people even drink that shit? It tastes like grass.” Ivan emphasized his point by rolling his eyes to the moon, crossing his arms on his chest.
While the black-pink hair duo was still chatting, now about the delicious, natural and earthy flavor of matcha, Till was still mentally rebooting. Mizi's compliment was circling his brain like a mosquito. Cute. She called me cute.
Till muttered something under his breath as a new, pretty pink wave of color drowned his cheeks and warmed up his nape.
Ivan brushed past him on his way to his drums, his breath brushing Till’s ear as he leaned in close enough to be punched.
“Cute when you’re mad, huh?”
Till’s green eye twitched like a man ready to commit murder. “I swear to god , Ivan—”
“Relax.” Ivan tossed him a wink. “Just happy you finally figured out you have a crush.”
“Go die.” he hissed, voice clogged like he was choking on the sylabbles
“Love you too.”
“I’m going to throw something at you,” Till hissed through his fingers.
“You’d miss.” Ivan gave a smug little smirk.
With a casual stretch, the taller man made his way toward the corner where his drum kit waited like a loyal pet. He rolled his shoulders and began setting up for practice.
As if right on cue, Hyuna and Sua burst inside a second later.
“Guess who brought gifts!” Hyuna shouted, the door banged on the wall as she strutted in with not one, but two overloaded drink trays stacked with cups. Her messy pigtail bounced as she moved, caramel-colored strands pooling down her shoulders and sides of her chest.
Sua was trailing behind quietly, jet-black bangs sticking to her forehead due to the heat outside, cradling her green drink in the little plastic cup in her hands. When she noticed the pink-haired girl, she gave her a shy smile, which the keyboardist returned with a cheerful wave.
“Hi,” she said shyly, waving at the group — but mostly Mizi, really.
Mizi’s mouth went wide, and she practically hopped over like a bunny to the black-haired girl. “Hi, baby!” Mizi cooed, wrapping Sua in a soft, gentle hug. “Your hair looks so soft today! What did you do to it? Tell me your secrets!”
The purple-eyed girl froze for a few seconds before leaning into the touch, smiling kindly. “New conditioner, coconut something” Sua giggled softly, cheeks tinting red in embarrassment, slightly nuzzling into Mizi’s collar before leaning back to look at Till and Ivan already on their instruments, raising a thick eyebrow. “You started without us?”
Mizi stuck her tongue out, turning her head to the guitarist, arms still draped over Sua’s shoulders before curling into the black-haired girl’s soft, slightly coconut-y scented hair again. “Kind of,” Mizi said. “Till needed a warm-up. He was being moody .”
“ Brooding ,” Ivan chimed in from behind the drums, a shit-eating grin on his lips and snaggletooth pressed against his bottom lip.
“I’d guess, Melodramatic ,” added Hyuna, setting the two trays full of drinks on the small, coffee table in the middle of the room.
“Go to hell, all of you,” Till muttered, teal eyes and flushed face hidden behind a curtain of messy, silver curls, but his voice lacked any real heat or bite.
He watched Mizi go back to chat with Sua again, leaning in to whisper something that made the other girl frown into her matcha and make her cheeks go red like a cherry, before she whispered something back that made the bubblegum-colored haired girl’s cheeks flush, yellow eyes darting to Till for a second.
But of course—
“Ughh” Ivan muttered, warily eyeing the bright green drink in Sua’s hand, nestled between white and light-colored lavender, Sanrio-themed nails. “You have the worst taste in drink, ever, Sua.”
Sua turned her head with painful slowness like a haunted doll coming to life, amethyst-colored eyes narrowing like a cat ready to pounce.
“…Is that so,” she said flatly, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want some? I could pour it directly on your face. ”
Ivan snorted, leaning back in his seat. “I just don’t get it. It tastes like someone blended a patch of grass and called it a beverage!”
“And you have the taste buds of a sewer rat; you don’t have much room to speak.” Sua snapped.
Mizi and Hyuna both howled , the brunette almost choking on her latte.
Ivan looked like he might bark something insulting back—maybe reckless—but he froze. Because she was close. So close he could see the faint, almost invisible freckles underneath her eyes and the dept of purple in her eyes, the way her inky strands clung to her skin with the sweat and there was also this faint, sharp scent of green tea and strawberries clinging to her clothes which filled his nostrils.
“Say ‘grass’ one more time and I will slap you with this cup.”
The room went still. Ivan blinked, forcing a casual scoff as he leaned back, picking up his drumsticks and rolling his eyes.
“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, mouth twitching. “Keep your swamp juice.”
Sua, seemingly satisfied with that outcome, leaned away from the taller man headed over to her microphone.
Till still stood, back on the wall, watching the chaos unfold. Mizi’s earlier compliment— cute —was still stuck in his head like a damn song chorus. His hands were loose over the guitar now, his grip relaxed, body no longer coiled like a spring.
He wasn’t sure when it happened, or how it happened that his gaze had drifted—his focus for music, songwriting, had shifted to Mizi. To the way she lit up when she laughed, the easy way she took up space, the way she tilted her head and talked to someone like they were the only person in the room.
The pink-haired girl turned her head from the black-haired duo and looked at Till, catching him mid-thought. She caught his dazed, teal eyes and smiled—teeth, soft dimples showing near her cheeks, sweet and soft like a bursting star and Till felt his stomach flip and organs pull.
He cursed under his breath, eyes shaking nervously and biting on his bottom lip.
Fuck.
His hand twitched on his guitar, and he sighed, dragging a hand down his face as Freddy hung from his shoulders. He was doomed.
“Sooo, you gonna play with me again?” Mizi asked, already sat back at her stool, fingers up and ready in the air close to her keyboard.
He swallowed. Till’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips, his tongue piercing rubbing against the flesh, adjusting the strap of his guitar as he grabbed the red instrument, and gave a half-nod. The pick, tightly held between his fingers, trembled slightly above the guitar’s strings. “…Yeah,” he mumbled. “Just… try not to stare so much this time.”
“I make no promises,” she replied, giggling, the tips of her fingers over the keys.
Behind them, Hyuna murmured to Sua as they both sat on the practice room’s couch, slightly damaged and groaning whenever someone moved, a little bit of its stuffing pocking out from one of the armrests like fluffy bone, “He’s so obviously in love with her.”
The black-haired girl raised an eyebrow and sipped her straw, rolling her eyes. “She's got terrible taste.”
Hyuna smirked over her latte, leaning her back on the couch, making it whine like a duck. “So do you.”
Sua turned slowly to her, lowering her matcha’s straw from her mouth, purple eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hyuna just rolled her eyes and snickered, tucking a stray, brown strand behind her ear. “Nothin’...”
Till didn’t catch any of that. He was already tuning Freddy, fingers working out of muscle memory as the beat of their music bloomed into the air, vibrating their bodies and souls.