𝙄𝙍𝙄𝙎

Rehearsal

The basement studio was buzzing with cables, amps, and nervous anticipation. Dave stood near the drum kit, adjusting a cymbal. Barrett sat upstairs working on a mix, leaving the band to feel things out on their own. Iris tuned her guitar by ear, fingers instinctively finding old shapes on the fretboard.

Then came a knock on the door, followed by footsteps on the stairs.

Nate Mendel arrived first, a little awkward but friendly, bass case slung over one shoulder, his brown hair slightly disheveled like he hadn't realized how quickly the week passed. William Goldsmith followed behind, quiet but observant, a pair of drumsticks sticking out of his jacket pocket like pens.

"You must be Iris," Nate said, offering a hand as he stepped down into the space.

"I am," she smiled, shaking his hand warmly. "Big fan of your playing, by the way."

Nate blinked, visibly surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," she said, gesturing to the stack of demo tapes on the table nearby. "Heard the Sunny Day stuff. You've got a weirdly melodic touch for a punk bassist. I love it."

Nate grinned sheepishly. "Thanks... that actually means a lot."

William nodded in greeting as Dave stepped up and pulled both guys into quick hugs.

"Glad you made it," Dave said. "We figured we'd start with Alone + Easy Target. You guys cool with that?"

They all nodded, and Iris grabbed her guitar again as Nate plugged in. William took a seat behind the backup kit Barrett had set up for him.

Dave counted them in.

The first time they played it through, it was messy—but charged. The second time, everything clicked.

Iris's guitar carved out the melody in sharp lines, Nate's bass locking in behind her like they'd played together for years. William found the pulse instinctively, and Dave's vocals rang out raw and full of energy.

By the end, they were breathless and smiling.

"That felt solid" Nate commented.

"Really good," Iris agreed, strumming idly, still catching her breath. "I could get used to this."

They played two more songs—Big Me and This Is a Call—and though the latter was still rough around the edges, the potential was obvious.

After they wrapped, everyone gathered near the mixing table with bottles of water and sweat-dampened shirts.

"So," Nate said, wiping his brow with a sleeve, "what's the plan? Are we just jamming? Or is this real?"

Dave shrugged a little, leaning back against the wall. "I don't know about touring. Not yet. But... maybe we find a small venue, see how it feels."

"Have you thought about Re-Bar?" Iris asked. "Barrett has connections there."

"Or the Crocodile," Nate added. "It's small, but people actually listen."

"There's also The Off Ramp," William said. "Kind of scummy, but the sound's not bad."

Dave rubbed his jaw, clearly taking it in. "I'm open to any of it. Just... feels weird planning a show. Like I'm pretending this is a real thing."

"It is a real thing," Iris said, giving him a nudge. "You heard us today."

Dave smiled faintly, looking at each of them. He'd expected this project to stay private. Something small. Safe. But the room was starting to feel like the real beginning of something.

Something alive.

That night, after everyone had left and the amps were powered down, Dave sat on the basement couch, towel slung around his neck, half-finished beer in hand. Iris was beside him, jotting some notes into a small spiral-bound notebook she'd dug out of her bag.

"You still journaling everything I say like a scientist studying a wild animal?" he teased lightly, leaning over to peek at the page.

Iris rolled her eyes, snapping the notebook closed with a smirk. "No. Just writing down which songs we actually got through and which ones need work. Organization, Grohl. Look it up."

Dave chuckled. "Nerd."

She smiled proudly. "Thank you."

*

Dave was tuning his guitar at the far end of the room when Iris came in, phone still in hand and looking energized. Her cheeks were slightly flushed with cold, hair wind-swept from the walk over.

"You look like you just ran here," Dave said, setting his guitar aside.

"Not quite, but I did just get off the phone with someone from The Crocodile," she said, eyes bright. "They're interested."

His brows lifted. "Really?"

"And so's Re-Bar," she added, walking over to him. "And there's one in Ballard that's willing to book us for a short set next month. I've got tentative dates for all of them. I figured we could talk through which sounds best."

Dave blinked, caught slightly off-guard. "Damn, Iris. You're like a manager and a guitarist."

She shrugged, feigning modesty. "I get things done."

He laughed, but the sound faded a little as he ran a hand through his hair. "You really think people will want to see us? Like... actually come to a show?"

Her face softened, and she stepped closer, her voice quiet but firm. "Yes. I do."

Dave looked at her, still hesitant.

"You're not giving yourself enough credit," she continued. "People love those tapes. But more than that—this band actually works. It's good. You're good. And I think people are ready to hear what comes next."

He was quiet for a moment, her words lingering. Then finally, he nodded, a small, sincere smile forming on his lips.

"Okay," he said. "Let's do it. Let's book something."

Iris smiled back, triumphant. "Hell yeah we will."

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A/N

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