Page 8 of Rhythm and Rapture (Behind the Lens #5)

Chapter Five

TWO HOURS LATER

"Delete that," I say for the fifteenth time, watching Ash hunt-and-peck his way through another draft message. "You sound like you're applying for a job as her personal chemistry tutor."

"Well, what would you write?" he demands, gesturing wildly with his phone. "Hi, we're the band whose lyrics you quoted while talking about being scared of intimacy. Want to grab coffee and discuss our collective emotional damage?"

Roman snorts from his position on the floor, surrounded by crumpled paper and three different notebooks.

"At least that's honest. Better than my attempts.

" He holds up a page covered in crossed-out lines.

"I've been trying to write this like song lyrics for two hours.

Everything sounds either too desperate or too casual. "

I lean over to read his latest attempt: "Your stream tonight resonated with us on a level that transcends typical performer-audience dynamics..."

"Jesus Christ, Roman. Are you writing her a message or submitting a thesis to the Journal of Parasocial Relationships?"

"Fuck you. You try writing to someone whose intelligence intimidates you."

Ash waves his phone triumphantly. "Okay, what about: 'Hey, loved your stream tonight. We're musicians and would love to collaborate on some educational content. Hit us up if you're interested.'"

Roman and I exchange a look.

"That's..." I pause, trying to find a diplomatic way to say it. "Vague to the point of meaninglessness. Collaborate how? Educational content about what? She's supposed to psychically divine that we're not just another group of musicians trying to get in her pants?"

"Well, what's your brilliant idea then, Mr. Precision?"

I've actually been drafting something in my head for the past hour, but saying it out loud feels like admitting defeat. "Something simple. Professional but personal. Acknowledging what she shared without making it weird."

"Such as?"

I take Ash's phone before I can second-guess myself and type:

Caught your last stream. Your explanation of chemical bonding was fascinating. We'd love to discuss a potential collaboration. -Roman Cross, Fractured Theory

"There. Professional interest, acknowledges her expertise, leaves the door open without being presumptuous."

Roman studies the message. "It's good. Clean. But maybe too clean? What if she thinks we're just another business proposition?"

"Better than sounding like stalkers," I point out.

"But what if—" Ash starts.

"We're overthinking this," I interrupt, hovering my thumb over the send button. "It's either going to work or it's not. But sitting here writing and rewriting the same message for three hours isn't going to change the fundamental question of whether she wants to hear from us."

Roman nods slowly. "Send it."

"Are you sure? Because once I hit send, there's no taking it back. We'll officially be the guys who slid into The Hidden Chemist's DMs."

"Send it," Ash agrees. "Before we lose our nerve."

I hit send before anyone of us can think about it anymore.

The message disappears into the digital void, and we all stare at the screen like it might immediately ping back with a response.

"You know," Ash says thoughtfully, "Roman's original idea about just saying we wanted to get to know the person behind the mask and wanted to talk was actually pretty good. Poetic, even."

Roman's eyes snap up, dark and menacing, his arms flexing as he visibly holds himself back from possibly throttling Ash. "I'm sorry, what? You spent TWO HOURS telling me that was 'too simple' and 'not specific enough' and making me rewrite everything seventeen different ways!"

"Yeah, but now that I think about it?—"

"NOW that you think about it?" Roman's voice climbs an octave. "Ash, I swear to God, if you made us overthink this into oblivion for no reason?—"

"Well," I say, looking at the sent message, "it's a little late for buyer's remorse now."

"That's it," Roman declares, standing up and scattering his notebooks. "Next time we're doing this, I'm writing the message, sending it immediately, and then throwing all our phones in the ocean."

"Next time?" Ash grins. "Planning on sliding into more DMs, Romeo?"

"Shut up, Ash."

"At least we'll know in a few hours whether we're geniuses or complete idiots," I point out.

"Why not both?" Ash asks cheerfully, and Roman throws a drumstick at his head.

FOURTEEN HOURS LATER

I wake up and the reality crashes back all at once, making my stomach drop.

We messaged The Hidden Chemist. Actually messaged her.

Felix signed my actual name to it—Roman Cross, Fractured Theory—like we're some kind of legitimate business proposition instead of three guys who just spent two hours losing their minds over a DM.

"Fuck," I mutter, grabbing my phone and immediately checking for responses. Nothing. Just our message from last night, sitting there in digital purgatory like a confession waiting for absolution.

From the living room comes the sound of aggressive coffee preparation and what might be Ash having an existential crisis.

"It's been fourteen hours," Ash announces as I emerge from my bedroom. "Fourteen hours since we sent that message, and nothing. Radio silence. Complete digital void."

"Maybe she's busy," Felix offers from the kitchen, though his own phone is conspicuously placed face-up on the counter where he can monitor it for notifications.

"You know, living her life, doing actual important things that don't involve checking messages from random musicians who found her through adult entertainment platforms."

"We're not random," Ash protests. "We're indie darlings with major labels sniffing around. Legitimate streaming numbers, sold-out venues, at least three songs that don't completely suck. That has to count for something, right?"

"Read the message again," Felix demands, abandoning all pretense of being the responsible adult. "Maybe we came across as creepy. Maybe the 'collaboration' angle sounded like a pickup line. Maybe?—"

"Maybe you need to stop spiraling," I interrupt, but I'm already pulling up our sent messages.

"'Caught your last stream. Your explanation of chemical bonding was fascinating.

We'd love to discuss a potential collaboration.

Roman Cross, Fractured Theory.' That's professional. Respectful. Non-threatening."

"It's also vague as fuck," Ash points out. "What kind of collaboration? Musical? Educational? Sexual? She's supposed to psychically divine our intentions from that?"

"Felix wrote that," I say, throwing him under the bus. "He said it was 'clean and professional.'"

"I was trying to avoid sounding like creepy fans!" Felix defends. "Do I have to remind you that you couldn't write anything without deleting it entirely? And Ash wanted to lead with 'Hey, loved your stream tonight' like some horny teenager."

"We achieved 'drug lord looking for a chemist,'" Ash counters, grinning.

Felix's face goes pale. "Fuck. Did we sound like we're offering her a job in our drug cartel?"

The truth is, none of us expected the vulnerability in her voice to hit us so hard.

When she talked about wanting to explore with someone who appreciated complexity, the connection felt so obvious, so right, that Ash started typing before any of us could think through the implications.

Then after that failed, I typed the best thing I could think of.

"She probably gets hundreds of messages," I say, trying to convince myself as much as my bandmates. "From fans, from other performers, from people who want to collaborate. We're just... background noise."

My phone buzzes in my hand and we all freeze, our attention snapping to the device that either holds everything or nothing at all.

How can this woman, this stranger, have such power over me? Over us? But maybe that's the thing. She doesn't feel like a stranger. No, it feels as if I've known her my entire life and that's equally as terrifying as the possible rejection that may or may not be in my messages at this moment.

Portraying an outward calm that I absolutely don't feel, I look at the notification: The Hidden Chemist has sent you a message.

"Holy shit," I whisper.

"What?" Felix and Ash demand simultaneously, both attempting to take the phone from my hands, but I snatch it away and open the message.

The Hidden Chemist: Bold of you to assume I'd collaborate with musicians who've been lurking in my streams But, I admit, your timing is interesting. I was just having a conversation about expanding my definition of acceptable variables in ongoing experiments. So, for the sake of curiosity, I’m listening.

What kind of collaboration did you have in mind? -S