𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎

PART ONE: Origin

JANUARY, 1994

There was something so different about the studio now.

A feeling of change, yet things were left unaltered. Like the feeling of stepping out the door and realizing you've forgotten something; but not quite recalling what it could be.

'You Know You're Right' bled out of the studio like a wound that wouldn't close, echoing off the walls. The chorus rang like a punch to the chest, desperate, furious, and dark in a way the band felt uncharted towards.

Kurt's voice cracked somewhere in the second take. Not from technical strain, but from something else. Something Dave couldn't name.

He'd felt it before. He'd felt it in the way Kurt sat hunched over his guitar between takes like his bones ached from simply existing. In the way his eyes didn't meet theirs anymore. In the quiet moments, the ones that came between laughter and silence, as if part of his soul rendered vacant.

Dave laid down the last snare hit and let the sticks fall into his lap. He looked around for a hint of approval, the silence was getting to his self esteem.

But no one moved.

The distortion hummed like a ghost. The air was thick with tension, heavier than smoke, heavier than grief. Like the whole room was holding its breath for something they couldn't stop and didn't want to name.

Kurt stepped back from the mic, muttering, "We can do another later."

Krist rubbed his face, exhaling slow. "Sounded brutal, man."

Kurt didn't reply.

Dave set his sticks down and stood, stretching out his arms as if he could shake the weight off. "Coffee?"

No answer.

Dave blinked, 'Tough crowd', he thought.

Knock knock knock.

They all froze.

The knock wasn't loud, but it cut through the studio like a razor. Clean. Unexpected. Out of place in the middle of a session that already felt like a funeral with instruments.

Dave raised a brow. "Anyone expecting someone?"

Krist shrugged. "No one knows we're even here today."

Dave grunted and walked toward the hallway, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. When he opened the door, he blinked.

She didn't look like she belonged to this city.

Dark curls tumbled around her face, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. She had a guitar case strapped across her back, scuffed and well-traveled.

"Hi," she said, smiling with a kind of amused calm, like she wasn't the one showing up unannounced to a Nirvana recording session. "You must be Dave."

He stared. "Uh. Yeah. You?"

But before she could answer, a loud crash of movement came from behind him.

"Iris?" Krist's voice cracked, halfway between disbelief and joy.

Dave turned as Krist appeared in the hallway, mouth slightly open like he'd seen a ghost.

"Holy fucking shit!," he said, barreling forward and pulling her into a hug that nearly knocked her off balance. "Iris, it's been a million fucking years, man."

"Since senior year," Iris said, laughing as she hugged him back. "You got taller."

Krist grinned. "You got cooler."