Page 9 of Rhythm and Rapture (Behind the Lens #5)

Chapter Six

The three of us stare at the screen in complete silence for approximately ten seconds. Then Ash starts laughing—the kind of relieved, slightly hysterical laughter that means he's about to do something either brilliant or catastrophic.

"She responded," Felix says, as if stating the obvious will somehow make it more real. "She actually responded."

"And she called us lurkers," I add, feeling oddly called out. "With a smirk emoji."

"Wait," Felix says suddenly. "How does she even know we're really Fractured Theory? Anyone could claim to be us."

"Shit, you're right," I mutter. "We need to?—"

My phone buzzes again.

The Hidden Chemist: Also, I’m going to need some proof that you're actually who you say you are. For all I know, you're three creeps in a basement pretending to be musicians. Video response required.

"She's smart," Felix observes unnecessarily.

"Video response," Ash is already setting up his phone. "Perfect. We can?—"

"Not you," I interrupt. "You'll say something about her fishnet stockings and ruin everything."

"I would never!" He pauses. "Okay, I might. But come on, she owns really nice fishnets."

"I'll do it," I say, taking the phone. But then I freeze. What do you say to someone who just called you out for lurking in their streams?

"Just be yourself," Felix suggests, reading my hesitation. "The guy who writes lyrics at 3 AM because the words won't leave you alone."

"The guy who quoted her own fears back to her," Ash adds, surprisingly serious.

I nod, hit record, and try not to think too hard about it.

"So, apparently we're lurkers now," I start, and I can hear Ash snickering off-camera. "Though I prefer 'dedicated academic observers.' We've been watching your streams for months, not gonna lie about that. But it's not... it's not what you think."

I run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit. "That night you talked about being scared to fall apart? About knowing all the theory but being afraid to experience it? You were quoting our lyrics, but it felt like you were reading our minds. Or maybe we were reading yours when we wrote it."

"Tell her about the collaboration!" Ash whisper-shouts.

I flip the camera to show him and Felix. "That's Ash being subtle. And Felix pretending he's not invested when he's already mentally composing bass lines inspired by chemical formulas."

Felix flips me off, but he's smiling.

I turn the camera back. "As for the collaboration - we're serious. Music, chemistry, whatever creates the right reaction. We're..." I pause, looking for the right words. "We're interested in more than just the performance. We want to know the person who can make molecular bonds sound like poetry."

"And who has excellent taste in lab coats," Ash yells.

"I'm ending this before he embarrasses us further," I say quickly, but I'm grinning. "Ball's in your court, S."

I send it before I can overthink it.

"Was that too much?" I ask.

"It was perfect," Felix says. "Honest without being creepy. Interested without being pushy."

"Plus you showed your 3 AM songwriter hair," Ash adds. "Chicks dig the tortured artist look."

Her response comes two minutes later—another video.

The camera is clearly propped on her dashboard, California highway visible through the windshield. She's not showing her face directly—the angle captures just her mask and below, like she's being careful about recording while driving.

"Dedicated academic observers," she laughs, and the sound does something to my chest. "I'll allow it. Though I have to ask - months? Either I'm more interesting than I thought, or you three have very specific tastes in entertainment."

A car passes and she checks her mirror before continuing. "Sorry for the mobile setup. Three-hour drive to handle some work stuff. And before you worry - yes, I'm being safe. Mostly stopped traffic on the 101, which is basically a parking lot at this point."

She adjusts the phone slightly. "The lyrics thing... that wasn't planned. Sometimes the truth just slips out when you're not expecting it. Like now, admitting that I've maybe listened to your music on repeat while grading papers. For the rhythm, obviously."

The video cuts off there, but almost immediately an audio message follows. Her voice fills the room—warm honey with an edge of academic authority that shouldn't be as attractive as it is.

The Hidden Chemist: [Audio message] I admit, your ability to make existential dread sound downright poetic is very conducive to marking undergraduate attempts at understanding molecular pathology with limitless red ink. Quite a talent.

"She listens to our music," Ash breathes. "While grading. That's the hottest thing I've ever heard."

"Shut up," Felix and I say in unison, but we're all leaning toward the phone like her voice has its own gravitational pull.

Ash snatches the phone, adds his account to the thread and sends an audio message:

Ash: Okay, so you grade papers to our music.

That's established. But here's the real question - which song?

Because if you're failing students to 'Broken Compass,' that's just cruel.

That's our saddest song. At least give them false hope with 'Neon Dreams' before you crush their molecular pathology aspirations.

The Hidden Chemist: [Audio message] "Bold of you to assume I'm that merciful.

Actually, it's usually 'Frequency.' Something about the baseline helps me maintain consistent grading standards.

Though I'll admit, last week I accidentally gave someone bonus points during Roman's bridge solo.

The emotion was too much. Had to go back and fix it.

Her voice carries this mix of confession and amusement that makes my chest tight. Felix grabs his own phone to respond, having taken the liberty of adding himself already.

Felix: [Audio message] You gave someone bonus points because of Roman's vocals?

That's... actually the best review we've ever gotten.

Music critics just say things like 'haunting' and 'visceral.

' You, on the other hand, are increasing grade point averages.

I'm sure that's unethical, but since it's our music, we'll keep it our little secret.

The Hidden Chemist: [Audio message] What can I say? Your music has measurable effects on cognitive function. I could probably write a paper on it. 'The Impact of Alternative Rock on Academic Evaluation Standards: A Case Study.' Though the peer review might be complicated.

Then she laughs—not the polite, controlled laugh from her streams, but something real and unguarded. It's low and genuinely delighted, like she's surprised herself with her own joke. The sound wraps around us, and I watch both my bandmates' expressions shift from amused to something more intense.

We sit in stunned silence, that laugh echoing in the sudden quiet of our apartment.

"Okay," Ash says after a long pause. "We're definitely in trouble."

"The best kind of trouble," I agree, already working out our next response.