𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎

Hit So Hard

"So," Iris said, her voice soft but with a certain quiet confidence. She picked up the menu and scanned it, though she seemed more interested in the conversation than in the food. "I know you're a drummer, but do you play anything else? Guitar, bass? Or do you just stick to the skins?"

Dave smirked, leaning back in his seat. "I started on guitar. I was in this band, and the drummer sucked total ass- so I suggested we switched instruments. After that, the sticks never really left my hands."

Iris raised her eyebrows, clearly intrigued, as she began to laugh. "Damn, asshole." she joked. "Did you just tell him you were taking his place, or...?"

Dave laughed, "I mean, yeah, basically." he shrugged. "If you had heard him, you would've done the same thing." he said, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. The two began to laugh.

"But really, once I started hitting things, it was like I found my calling. I'm still figuring out the whole 'subtlety' thing, but I think that's what makes it fun. It's loud, raw—it gets in your chest."

"I get that," Iris said with a smile, leaning back against the booth. "I started on guitar, too. But recently, I've been trying my hand at drums. There's something about it that feels... more immediate. Like you're in the music."

Dave nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! Drums have this power. You feel them, right? It's like the heartbeat of the band. You can't have the rest without the drums."

She watched him as he spoke, noticing how his eyes seemed to light up when he talked about music. His passion wasn't brash or overbearing—it was more like a quiet fire that burned through everything. She liked that.

"I'm not great at it yet," she admitted, twirling her straw around in her milkshake. "But it's fun to experiment. I think sometimes, it's more about feeling the rhythm than worrying about getting it perfect. You know?"

Dave grinned, tapping his fingers on the table. "That's exactly how it starts. In Scream it was all about chaos. We didn't worry about perfection—we worried about keeping up with each other and making the crowd feel something. I think that's where real energy comes from. You can practice all you want, but until you're on stage, in the mess of it all, you don't know what you're capable of."

Iris couldn't help but laugh at the image of young Dave, probably with his hair wild and his intensity dialed up to eleven. "Sounds like it was pure mayhem. I love it."

"Mayhem is the best part," Dave said with a chuckle. "We were broke, tired, and didn't have a plan other than to get on stage and play like it was the last time we'd ever get the chance. And it wasn't always pretty, but damn, we were alive."

They fell into an easy rhythm of back-and-forth stories—sharing the absurdity of their early band days, embarrassing moments on stage, and the raw, unpolished chaos of their musical beginnings. Iris was beginning to see that this side of Dave was the real deal—he wasn't just the drummer for Nirvana-to-be, or some rock star. He was someone who had lived through the grind, who had put in the hard work before the recognition, and still carried that sense of authenticity with him. It was hard not to respect that.

Meanwhile, Dave was noticing something about Iris, too. She wasn't like the people he usually found himself surrounded by. She wasn't starstruck, or pretending to be someone she wasn't. She was smart, quick-witted, and genuinely passionate about music. And when she talked about her experience with drums, there was a spark in her eyes—a quiet confidence that made him think she could go as far as she wanted with it.

"I like that you play both," he said, looking at her with a newfound respect. "Guitar and drums. Not many people have the nerve to try both, let alone get good at it."

Iris shrugged, her smile small but proud. "I don't know about 'good,' but it keeps me busy. It's just what I do. Music's always been the thing that makes sense. The rest of life? Not so much."

"Yeah, I get that," Dave said, his voice softening slightly. "I think that's what I've always loved about music, too. It's the one thing that's never let me down. Everything else—well, it just kind of comes and goes. But music? It's always there."

There was a quiet pause as they both processed that, and for a moment, the noise of the diner faded into the background. They were sitting in that space of shared understanding, something simple but deep between them.

As the night wore on, they moved seamlessly from talking about music to talking about other things—how they both felt about the city, their experiences of Seattle, the kind of people they admired, the places they'd love to visit. And through it all, they learned more about each other without trying to. Their connection was easy, natural, as though they had known each other far longer than just one night.

The meal came to an end, and Dave, without even thinking about it, grabbed the check first. "I got it," he said, sliding a bill across the table before Iris could protest.

"Next time, I'm buying," Iris said, standing up and shrugging into her jacket. "That's a promise."

"Alright," Dave said, a playful smirk on his lips. "But you better hold me to it."

They walked outside into the cold, the damp air wrapping around them as they crossed the street toward the curb.

"So..." Dave began, looking over at her, voice a little hesitant but sincere. "I had a really good time tonight. Would you, uh, want to do this again sometime?"

Iris smiled, catching his gaze for a moment, letting the question hang in the air. She liked the way he asked, like it mattered but he wasn't forcing it. She had no doubt that he could easily ask someone else out, but there was something about him tonight—something real, something grounded. She couldn't help but feel drawn to it.

"Yeah," she said after a beat, her smile widening just slightly. "I'd like that."

There was a long, quiet moment between them, and then Dave, looking a little shy despite his usual somewhat social personality, asked, "Could I... could I get your number?"

Iris laughed softly at his sudden awkwardness; cutest thing ever. "Of course," she said. From her bag, she pulled a pen and a crumpled napkin, quickly scribbling her number across the paper and handing it to him with a teasing smile. "Don't lose it. It's the only copy I've got."

Dave took it gently, his fingers brushing hers in the process. "I won't," he promised with a smile, his voice quieter now.

She waved at him, her eyes lingering on his for a moment. "Goodnight, Dave."

"Goodnight, Iris," he replied, watching her walk up to her door, the light from the streetlamp casting shadows on her as she disappeared inside.

Dave stood there for a moment, the Seattle night feeling a little less lonely, the weight of the napkin in his pocket a little more significant than he'd expected. With a final smile, he turned and walked back to his truck, the sound of her laugh still echoing in his mind.

"Hell yeah," he muttered to himself, his heart a little lighter than it had been before.

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A/N

I'm actually proud of this chapter, it's cute.

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