Falling Between the Notes (Nicholas Galitzine)

After the Fall (Sequel)

Update!! After the Fall is out now!! Go read it <3

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I can't stop thinking of this story, and I hate that I left it in the air like that, like, no real ending. So, I have decided that I will write a sequel!

I cannot promise that in this story Nick and Jade will get back together, given the circumstances in which their relationship ended. Like, please, let's not romanticise a toxic relationship.

Anyways, here is a sneak peak of the first chapter to what will be "After the Fall" . I hope you enjoy, and leave me your thoughts in the comments <3

Jade's POV

The music was low and hypnotic, bass humming through the marble floors of Benito's house like a second heartbeat. Outside, the ocean blurred into the night sky, moonlight slicing over the waves. Everything shimmered — the pool, the champagne, the glint in people's eyes as they whispered and laughed.

It was a celebration.

Our celebration.

The song had dropped just after midnight. "La Noche de Anoche." It was everywhere already — the kind of track that made people text their exes, or take strangers home, or dance until they forgot why they were crying in the first place. Sultry. Wounded. Honest.

We'd written it in pieces. Between tequila and soft sheets. Between fights and kisses. Between the version of me that was healing and the version of Benito that didn't know how to ask for more than the moment.

I sipped my drink slowly, the condensation clinging to my fingers. The air smelled like heat and cologne and saltwater. Miami in February.

And him.

He was across the room, wearing black. Always in black. Leaning against the doorway with that same lazy confidence, curls loose, chain glinting against his chest. Benito. My favorite bad decision.

He was talking to someone — some producer, maybe, or a label rep — but his eyes flicked to me like a reflex. Like gravity.

I looked away.

It's been months.

Months since Nick.

Months since that night.

I haven't heard from him. Not one text. Not one call. And maybe that's what I asked for. Maybe I should feel relieved. But I don't. Not entirely.

Benito and I?

We haven't defined a thing. We're not dating. Not officially. Not technically. But I know the shape of his hands better than I know my own. I know the weight of him above me, the sound he makes when he comes, the way he touches my face when he thinks I'm asleep.

We fly to each other — me to Miami, him to LA. Hotels, houses, back seats of SUVs with tinted windows. It's all very public, our relationship I mean, but we've never said it out loud.

Whatever this is, it's real enough to hurt if it ended, suddenly.

"Looking like that, and you're still acting like you don't see me?" Benito's voice slid in close to my ear, warm, amused.

I turned slowly, giving him a smirk. "You talk to all your co-writers like this?"

"Only the ones that make me lose sleep."

He stepped into my space like he always did, hand brushing my hip like it belonged there. And maybe it did. At least for now.

"You did good tonight," I said quietly. "The song... it's everywhere."

His eyes searched mine. "So are you."

The moment stretched. Hot. Breathless.

He looked like he wanted to say something else. Something serious. But instead, he leaned in and kissed the side of my neck, slow and teasing, like he knew exactly how to undo me.

I hated that it worked.

I hated how much I wanted him to keep going.

But I also hated not knowing if this was something real—or just two broken people finding comfort in each other's fire.

I pulled back, eyes meeting his. "Dance with me."

He didn't answer. Just reached for my hand and led me to the floor, right in the middle of everyone.

It wasn't a love song.

But tonight, it felt like one.

And I wasn't ready to ask what we were. Not yet.

Because the night was still burning.

And so were we.