Page 62 of Hymns of the Broken

I keep my lens trained on Jasper, the way the lights catch in his hair, the unreadable smile on his lips as he listens—bored. Every time I risk a glance over the camera, he’s already looking at me. Watching like I’m the only thing worth his attention.

It’s distracting as hell.

I duck behind a light stand, trying to focus. Micah catches my eye, tilts his head as if to say,‘You okay?’I nod, forcing myself to concentrate on getting the shot—the way Ash’s laugh fills the tent, how Jace runs a hand through his hair, Silas leaning forward just as the next question lands.

Jasper answers something about the band’s “bad boy” image with a crooked smile. “We’re not as wild as everyone says,” he lies, deadpan, and the reporters all laugh, scribbling notes. Under the table, his hand drums on his knee, fingers restless.

He looks over again, and this time his gaze lingers, dark and hungry, a private promise. My cheeks burn. I snap a photo, nearly drop the camera, and force myself to move on. If anyone’s watching me, I’m just working—just here for the candids.

The interviews drone on, but I only half-listen. Every few minutes, Jasper finds me with his eyes, and it feels like a secret only we share—one no amount of noise or questions can break.

When the last flash pops and the publicist signals “time’s up,” the band is on their feet, running hands through hair, talking trash like nothing happened. I catch Jasper’s eye one more time before I slip outside to breathe, heart thundering.

I didn’t come here to be seen. But somehow, he sees me anyway.

I’m packing up my camera when Ash flings an arm over my shoulders.

“You survived,” he grins, shaking me just enough to make my camera bag bounce. “Which means you earned lunch. And you’re not allowed to say no.”

Jace is already halfway to the door, sunglasses on, phone out. “If we don’t feed Ash, he’ll start eating the roadies.”

Silas snorts. “Like they’d notice. Half of them look like they haven’t seen food since the tour started.”

Micah shrugs, quiet but amused. “There’s a diner a few blocks over.”

Jasper’s hand lands low on my back, steady and possessive. “Let’s go, Trouble. You need to eat. And I need not answer any more dumb questions for at least an hour.”

We file out into the sunlight, the heat a slap after the air-conditioned press tent. Ash leads the way like he owns the street, waving at a couple of fans who linger near the venue gates. The city smells like hot pavement and cigarettes, but somehow it feels new with all of them around me—loud, messy, alive.

The diner is loud, half-empty, and smells like grease and coffee. The waitress barely glances up as we slide into a booth in the back—Jace and Ash on one side, Silas and Micah squeezed in the middle, Jasper and I pressed together at the end. My leg bumps his under the table. He doesn’t move away.

Menus are passed around, mostly ignored. Ash orders half the menu. Jace tries to charm the waitress; she rolls her eyes and asks if he’s going to tip better than last time. Silas drums on the table with a fork until Micah snatches it, saying something about drawing attention to us.

I snap a few candid shots—Jace making faces, Ash arguing over pancakes or lunch, Silas drumming with his fingertips now, unimpressed. Jasper watches me, the hint of a smirk curling his lips every time I lower my camera.

Food comes fast. I pick at my fries, half-listening to the banter, feeling like maybe I fit here. Jasper nudges my plate closer, steals one of my fries, and leans in, voice low.

“You did well today,” he says, eyes on mine. “Didn’t let them see how much you hate this shit.”

I shrug, lips twitching. “I’m good at hiding.”

He leans even closer, mouth brushing my ear so only I can hear. “Just don’t hide from me.”

My face goes hot. Ash waggles his eyebrows across the table, but nobody says anything—just another moment swallowed by the noise of a band that doesn’t know how to be quiet.

***

The diner’s noise fades as we spill out into the sun, blinking and stretching like we’ve all just survived something bigger than lunch. Ash is still bragging about his pancakes. Jace is still flirting with the waitress through the glass. I’m double-checking my camera bag, quietly relieved to have made it through the morning mostly unscathed.

And then chaos finds us.

A high, breathless shriek cuts through the haze. I glance up just in time to see a trio of girls racing across the street—phones already out, eyeliner smudged, nerves buzzing in the air. They stop right in front of Jasper, tripping over each other in their rush.

“Oh my God, it’s really them—Jasper! Jasper!”

More show up, and then they’re everywhere at once, shoving their phones in his face, trying to get closer, maybe for a selfie, maybe to touch. Jace slides between them with a smooth “Hey, we’re just here for food, yeah?” but it’s like he’s invisible.

Ash flexes for one girl’s camera, putting on a show. Silas goes still, eyes flat and unreadable. Micah tries to disappear behind me, muttering, “Every single time.”