"Cindy! Yeah I was looking forward to going out with her." Steve huffed, eyes narrowing on the road.

"Steve, you couldn't even remember her name, so stop complaining. This should be a fun night." Nancy called from the back.

"Oh yeah, sure. It'll be lots of fun letting my ears bleed listening to his loud ass music, can't wait."

Robin glanced at Nancy through the rearview mirror. Unlike Steve, they had been to a few smaller gigs. They knew the kind of music Eddie's band opted to play, and more importantly, they knew what a certain band member looked and sounded like.

Robin sighed happily, "I can't wait for you to eat your words, Harrington."

A dry laugh left his mouth, "Yeah sure. Y'know what, if I eat my words I owe you whatever you want Buckley."

Robin's eyes lit up, "You mean it?"

"Swear on it."

"Alright..." She thought for a moment before smiling smugly, "You'll have to be mine and Vicki's date chauffeur for... a month."

He barked out a laugh, "Deal. But be prepared to have to beg Nance or Jonathan to take you on dates, cause it's not gonna be me."

Nancy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Steve was in for a rude awakening.

The air in the bar was thick and hot with the smell of sweat and liquor. A small makeshift stage sat pushed up against the wall. A smoky haze drifted through the bar, drawing Steve's attention to a group of college kids smoking in the corner.

Steve scanned the bar for Eddie, eyes narrowed slightly. Robin materialized beside him with a glass of beer. "Here you go, Dingus."

"Thanks." Steve took a long drink, sighing happily into the cup.

Robin's nose crinkled slightly, "I don't know how you drink that stuff. Why do you torture yourself with penny water?"

Steve began to answer when an arm wrapped around his neck. "Cause Harrington here likes to think he's a big tough boy." Eddie smirked slightly, leaning close to Steve.

"This is the thanks I get for showing up to support you? The two of you ganging up on me for my drink preferences?" Steve frowned hard.

"Don't worry, you'll be rewarded soon enough." Eddie gave Robin a quick wink before peeling away from Steve.

Steve eyed the two of them. "So, when do you play?"

"In like 30 minutes. Which is why I'm out here. Just grabbing drinks for the band and then we're setting up." Eddie nodded to the bar top, where the bartender was busy concocting a couple mixed drinks.

"I just need to ask, how loud is it gonna be on a scale from 1 to 10?" Steve nursed his drink, eyes cast on the floor.

Eddie snickered to himself, "Loud, but I've got a feeling you won't mind. Thanks for coming, means a lot. I'll see you guys after the set." Eddie clapped a hard hand on Steve's shoulder before disappearing into the growing sea of people.

Steve noticed more people filing into the bar, some of them wearing the makeshift shirts Ed's had made for his band. "I didn't realize they had a fan base."

"Well, Steven, if you had bothered to show up to some of their shows you would know why." Nancy came up beside him.

Steve groaned. "Why are you guys speaking in fucking riddles!?" He brought a hand over his face.

Jonathan smiled to himself, enjoying the show before him. "Just relax Steve."

Eddie carefully pushed open the door to the breakroom, a heavy smile on his lips. "I come bearing gifts!"

The group let out a string of cheers and whoops. Everyone reached out for the respective drinks, eyes shining brightly. You smiled brightly, "Thanks, Van Halen."

Eddie plopped beside you with a large smile. "Oh don't thank me yet, Heart."

"Fuck, what are you up to, Munson?" Your eyes narrowed in on him.

"Nothing that concerns you yet, just focus on our set." He shot you a wink.

You let out a small sigh, carefully sipping your drink. "You're gonna be the death of me."

Eddie smiled to himself, it was going to be a great fucking night.

"Come on! He's about to start!" Robin grabbed Steve's arms hard, yanking him through the gathering crowd.

Steve slightly dug his heels in the floor to no avail, "Do we have to be right up front? I'm not looking forward to having my ears bleeding."

"God do you have to be so whiny!? Just shut up and let's cheer on Eddie."

"I'm not whiny! Just forgive me if I'm not entirely thrilled about having to drive everyone out here. It's not that I don't think it's gonna be a good show, I'm sure Eddie's great. But you know that his type of music isn't my...." He trailed off, his eyes locking onto the stage. The lights dimmed slightly, the band making their way onto the stage. The drummer slid onto his little stool, scooting up towards the kit. Another guy set himself up at a long keyboard. Eddie of course slung on his electric guitar. But then there was you.

Steve couldn't take his eyes off you, the way you gently lifted the strap of your bass guitar over your head, letting it rest against your hips. The way the lights hit you from the back, casting a shadow down the front of your body. The shout of the crowd faded behind him the longer he stared up at you. You carefully pushed your hair behind your shoulders, carefully fiddling with the heads of the bass.

Steve had never seen someone so devastatingly beautiful before. He was captured by the way you looked hard and soft at the same time.

Eddie stepped into your space by the microphone. "We've got a special performance for you today. Y'see I just recently found out little Miss Bass guitar right here has the voice of a siren. So naturally, I'm making her sing. Might be the only time you're graced with her beautiful vocals, so drink it up." He shot a wink at Steve before turning to you. "Let'em hear you, Heart." He grabbed the microphone one more time speaking into it as you swatted him away. "By the way I call her Heart cause she sounds just like Ann Wilson."

You shoved him back over to his spot. "Ignore his drunk ass. Alright, speaking of Heart, I thought it would only be fitting to sing one of their songs. So, uh people in the front, protect your ears." You glanced down, your eyes locking onto Steves. He looked star struck. You bit your lip, sending him a quick wink before nodding over at Eddie. The kick of the drums filled the small bar, Eddie carefully plucking at the strings of his guitar.

"Quite some time, I been sittin out. Didn't take no chances, I was a prisoner of doubt."

Your voice carried straight into Steve's ears, his heart fluttering against his chest. You worked the bass in your hand, standing close to the microphone stand. Your lips brushed against the mic, eyes casting down at Steve again. He couldn't help but imagine the feel of your lips brushing against his.

"Comin straight on for you, you made my mind. Now I'm stronger, now I'm comin through, straight on. Straight on for you."

Steve felt all previous annoyance evaporate in his body, replaced with warm longing. He couldn't take his eyes off you, the way your hips moved slightly, or the way the lights hit your chest just right. He swallowed hard, head dizzy.

The song came to an end much faster than Steve had wanted. If he was being honest he could have spent the whole night listening to your voice and the bass drift into his ears. But instead the music faded out and cheers pulled him from his daydreams. You smiled, giving an awkward bow before switching spots with Eddie.

The rest of the set was a blur, the music didn't seem so loud when he was looking at you. In fact the only thing he could really hear while his eyes were trained on you, was the loud thumping of his heart.

Before he knew it, the set was over and you were disappearing into the break room with the rest of the band. When you had officially faded from his sight, he looked over at Robin. She was already looking at him, a knowing smirk on her face.

He blinked, "You- did you see- who was that?"

She smiled and slung an arm around his shoulder, leading him to the bar. "Careful there Romeo, you get anymore lovesick and you won't be able to properly drive Vick and I to that nice restaurant downtown."

He stared at her, "Robin I'll drive you anywhere you want if you tell me who that was. Do you know her? Have you seen her before?"

She laughed, "I know her, kinda. I've talked to her a few times, y'know at Eddie's other gigs."

"Why wasn't I there!?" He pouted.

"Cause, dingus, you didn't want to 'waste your date nights.'" She mocked him.

"Well you should've slapped me! Dragged me here! Robin, you're supposed to be my wingman!"

"I don't know her well enough to set you up, Steven!" She shoved him slightly.

"Where's Eddie??" He looked around wildly.

Robin laughed to herself, "Calm down. If you're this wild when she pops up you'll scare her away."

Eddie waded through the crowd, smirking at the sight of a love sick Steve. Steve grabbed him by his jacket. "Eddie, please you've gotta introduce me to that girl in your band."

"Wow, no 'great job Eddie, you shredded up there Ed's, what a great set!' Nope you just jump straight to my girl." He laughed at the devastated look on Steve's face.

"Y-your girl?" He whimpered out slightly.

"Yup, love of my life." He grinned more.

"O-oh." He deflated slightly.

"God, Harrington. Get a grip. I'm fucking with you. You have a terrible poker face." Eddie doubled over in laughter.

"Damn it, Munson that wasn't-" He stopped short as his eyes locked onto your figure sneaking up behind Eddie with a sly smile.

You pounced like a cat, jumping on his back. "What's got you rolling on the floor with laughter, Van Halen?" You smiled brightly.

Steve gulped audibly. Eddie slid you off his back with a devious smile. "Oh! Well, if you must know, Harrington here is quite the funny man. I've mentioned Steve before, right?" He looked over at you.

Your eyes drifted over towards Steve, a graceful smile lighting up your face and setting his heart on fire. "Yeah, you've mentioned him a couple times."

"All good things, I hope." He squeaked out.

You smiled more. "Nope, terrible awful things. All bad."

His face drained of all color. "Wait- what? No- what did he say? Cause it's definitely exaggerated-"

You paused slightly, eyeing him in slight amusement. "I'm kidding." You smiled.

Steve scratched the back of his neck nervously, "Oh- yeah no I totally knew that. Totally. But really what has he said?" He looked at you nervously.

"Just that you're a really sweet guy and you know how to treat a girl right... at least now you do." You teased slightly.

Eddie and Robin had magically disappeared, now watching the show from across the bar.

"Oh that's good! Yeah that's really good! Yeah- yeah I definitely know how to treat a girl." He tried adding some confidence to his voice.

"Oh yeah? And how would you treat me?" You stepped closer, backing him up against the bartop.

Steve's mouth ran dry, eyes wide as he watched you smile up at him. "I'd uh- take you out somewhere nice. And I would pick you up of course! And uh- hold your hand- if you let me of course." He swallowed as your hand slipped into his. "Wow- you have really soft hands. Did I say that outloud?"

You giggled, and nodded. "You did. Is there anything else you think might be soft?" You prompted him.

Steve let out a ragged breath, his eyes flickering towards your lips. "I can definitely think of one thing."

You smiled bright, finally stepping out of his space. "Come on, Harrington. Maybe I'll let you find out if you dance with me." You tugged him out to the middle of the bar.

Steve smiled, his heart finally settling into his chest as you tugged him. You grabbed his hands, twisting and turning with him. Steve twirled you around, admiring the way your hair fanned out in the air. You spared a quick glance over at Eddie and Robin who were smiling like idiots.

"Look at them! They totally set this whole thing up!" You shouted over the music.

Steve looked over for a second. "Remind me to thank them!" He shouted back.

Your head tipped back in laughter. "Oh so you're real confident, huh?"

He shrugged, finally gaining some confidence and pulling you closer. "I dunno, looks like you're enjoying my company as much as I'm enjoying yours."

You blushed slightly, staring up at him with a gleam in your eye. "You're not sooo bad."

"Glad to know the feeling’s mutual, Heart." He shot you a wink that made your heart stutter.

Robin smiled, "Finally!"

Eddie, clinked his glass with hers. "Look, little Stevies all grown up and making real moves."

"How did you know they would like each other?"

He shrugged, "I dunno, something in my soul just told me it would work."

You and Steve were wrapped in each other's world the whole night, drifting from the bar to the floor to now standing just outside the bar. You carefully pulled a cigarette from your back pocket, placing it carefully between your lips. Steve pulled out a lighter, carefully lighting the end of it for you. You took a short inhale before directing the smoke out the side of your mouth, handing him the cigarette. He took a small puff, letting it dangle in his fingers.

"Look at us, already sharing a cigarette." You nudged him slightly.

"So I guess marriage comes next then?" He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, plucking the cig from his mouth. "I'll think about it if you're a good kisser."

"Well then I might as well get the ring."

You smiled wide, "Confident are we?"

Steve's hand slowly moved to your waist, his touch warm against your skin. "You wanna test it out?"

You gazed up at him, stepping closer. Your arms carefully wrapped around his neck, making sure the flame stayed far away from his beautiful locks. "I did promise a kiss if you dance with me."

Your face inched closer. "And we did a lot of dancing." Steve continued, his nose brushing against yours.

"Well then I guess I owe ya." You smiled before letting your lips meet his. His hand on your waist shifted to the small of your back, pulling you closer. Your head tilted, the kiss growing deeper. His lips moved feverishly against yours, knocking the air out of your lungs. It didn't matter that both your breaths smelled like smoke, if anything it added to the desire swirling in your stomach. His tongue swiped gently across your bottom lip, requesting access to your mouth. You let him in, lips parting enough for his tongue to meet yours. His other hand came up to cup the side of your face, holding you close to him. You let out a small hum of delight as his tongue rolled with yours. You slowly pulled away, pulling at his bottom lip with your teeth before smoothing over the spot with your lips.

Steve's mind grew fuzzy with pleasure as you continued kissing down his neck. You gently placed the cigarette in his mouth, freeing your hand so it could trail down his chest. He took in the last huff of the cigarette before tossing it onto the ground. His hand pulled your face back to his, squeezing your chin enough to open your mouth. He slammed his lips back onto yours, passing the smoke into your mouth. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the sensation. You stepped even closer, fisting his shirt in your hands as your mouth worked with his. You laced a hand through his hair at the back of his neck, tugging gently and pulling a low groan from his throat.

Steve finally pulled back slightly. "Go out with me."

You smiled up at him, eyes glossy. "Done."

He smiled more, breathing heavy. "Come home with me."

You tried to hide the growing smile, "Didn't you come here with like three of your friends?"

"Yeah? Who did you come here with?"

"Ed's."

"Great, so I'll take you home, and Eddie will take them home." He spoke like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"I'll be in the car." You kissed his cheek, heading off to his famous beamer.

Steve looked like a kid on Christmas as he raced back into the bar, eyes searching wildly for his friends. He spotted them at a table and raced over.

Before he could even ask, Eddie spoke, "Yeah yeah, I'm taking them home. Now listen, Harrington. First: be good to her, I'm not losing my bass player because of a nice head of hair. Second: she wears a size 7 ring. And third: wrap it up. Like I said, I'm not losing my bass player, especially not to a mini Harrington."

Steve smiled wide, giving Eddie a surprisingly sweet hug. "You're set was great! I'll be at all the next ones too! You're the best, Eddie!!" He practically skipped out of the bar.

Robin stared at him, "Oh wow... he's-"

"Told you. I'm fucking Cupid, man." Eddie leaned back in his chair.

"You don't think she'll get weirded out by him?" Nancy raised a brow

Eddie barked out a laugh. "Who? Heart? No, she's fucking crazy too."

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Commissioned work by [ ].

The first time she had seen it in the festival brochure, she had stared for a full minute, waiting for the surname to betray her. Waiting for someone to have slipped and added “Wayne,” to tie her back to the city she had left behind.

The page stayed stubbornly correct.

New York did not care whose blood ran in her veins. It cared about what filled the seats and what people remembered when they went home.

A stage manager with a frazzled ponytail glanced at her clipboard, then at her. “You’re up in ten. Need anything?”

“Water would be great,” she managed.

“On it. You’re going to do fine, by the way. The quartet loves your piece. They’ve been talking it up all morning.”

The casual reassurance hit harder than it should have. In Gotham, praise always felt transactional, tangled with agendas she had never been invited to understand. Here, it was just information.

People liked her work. That was enough.She stepped out of the tent for air and was immediately nearly decapitated by a camera strap.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry.”

The voice came with a flurry of motion. A lanky guy in a faded festival volunteer shirt scrambled to catch his swinging DSLR before it collided with anything expensive or fragile.

He caught the camera, straightened, and froze when he realized how close they were standing.

“Hi,” he said, a little breathless. “Sorry. Again. Apparently I am a menace to both myself and innocent bystanders.”

She blinked, half startle and half amusement. “You’re fine. No harm done.”He pushed his glasses up his nose with the back of one wrist, fingers still curled protectively around the camera. Brown eyes, warm and sharply observant, flicked over her badge.

“You’re one of the composers,” he said. “Right. I saw your name on the schedule board. The piece with the ridiculous time signature that made the percussionist swear."

Her mouth fell open. “You were at rehearsal?”

“Guilty.” He winced. “I was shooting B-roll, I wasn’t spying. Promise. The swearing was extremely artistic, for the record.”

Laughter bubbled up in her chest, the tension in her shoulders loosening a notch. “He volunteered for that time signature.”

“Masochism is real in the percussion community,” the guy said solemnly. “I’m Peter, by the way.”

He stuck out a hand, then seemed to realize his palm was smudged with something unidentifiable from the last food truck he had passed. “Oh. Wow. Okay, maybe not that hand.”

“[ ],” she said, shifting her program to shake with the cleaner one he offered instead.

The handshake lingered a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Not in a creepy way, more like neither of them had decided yet who was going to pull back first.He noticed her program and gestured to it. “Nervous?”

“Yes,” she said, because there was no point lying.

“Good,” he replied.

She arched an eyebrow. “Good?”

“Nerves mean you care,” he said. “The day you walk onstage and feel nothing is the day you should worry.”

“You say that like you have experience.”

“I have a long and tragic history with science fairs,” he deadpanned. “Trust me, this is better. At least no one’s going to judge you on whether your hypothesis holds up.”

“I think some critics absolutely would,” she murmured, but the edge of panic had softened into something almost like anticipation.

Peter glanced toward the tent. “What’s your piece about? If that’s not a weird question.”

Most people either did not ask, or asked with the kind of distant curiosity that made honest answers feel like oversharing. For some reason, looking at him, she chose the truth anyway.

“Being ,” she said quietly. “Or… not. How rooms can be full of people and you can still feel like furniture."

His expression shifted, some quip aborted before it reached his mouth. “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I get that.”

He said it like someone who really did.

Before she could decide whether to follow that thread, the stage manager reappeared. “Two minutes.”

Peter stepped back, expression apologetic. “Right. Break a leg. Not literally. Please do not literally break anything. I cannot afford to be responsible for that.”

“Maybe don’t swing your camera at me then,” she said, surprising herself with the tease.His answering grin lit his whole face. “Deal. Afterward, if you want, I can send you some photos. Of, you know, your moment of triumph.”

“Assuming it is a triumph.”

“Oh, it will be,” he said, with a certainty that felt like a hand on her back. “I saw the rehearsal, remember? They’re lucky to play your stuff.”

He said it easily, as if the idea of anyone being lucky to touch her work were obvious rather than radical.

Onstage, under the hot lights, as the first notes of her piece rose and wove themselves into the open summer air, she caught sight of him at the edge of the crowd.

Camera forgotten at his side, he watched the musicians, then her, like this was the only set on the schedule that mattered.

When it was over, when the applause swelled and she bowed because the quartet physically tugged her onstage to take it, Peter whooped loud enough for her to pick his voice out of the noise.

She caught his eye.He mimed the exaggerated wipe of a tear from his cheek, then snapped a photo, framing her with the cheering audience behind.

Later, when the chaos of congratulations and business cards and scheduling talk thinned, he found her again near a taco truck.

“Told you,” he said, handing her a soda. “Triumph.”

She took it, cold condensation shocking against her hot palms. “You don’t even know me.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I know you wrote something that made a guy with a tattoo of a skull on his drum arm look like he was about to cry. That’s a start."

She laughed, full and startled.

They ended up talking for the rest of the evening.

At first it was the usual festival small talk. How long he had been doing photography. How she balanced commissions with survival jobs. The horror story of the time his lens had fallen three stories and miraculously survived, unlike his dignity.

Then, somewhere between the second food truck and the third bad pun, the conversation shifted.

He asked about her inspirations, and she found herself answering honestly. About loneliness and visibility and the way sound could carry feelings that otherwise had nowhere to go.

He listened.

Really listened.

Not with the polite half-attention of someone waiting for their turn to speak, but with a focus that made her feel, for once, like the main subject rather than background framing.

When she turned the question back on him, he hesitated, then shrugged.

“I take pictures because I spent a long time thinking I was only ever going to be in someone else’s story,” he said. “It’s weirdly empowering to frame things myself now. To decide what matters.”

“Who decided before?” she asked.

He gave her a crooked smile that did not reach his eyes. “Long story. Involves bugs. Not as fun as it sounds.”

She let it go, the easy way he had let her dodge earlier mentions of family.

They exchanged numbers when the festival lights began to dim.

“I’ll send you some of the shots,” he promised. “Unless you’re like, anti photographic evidence.”

“As long as they don’t end up on some ‘up and coming artists’ list that my father’s board members read,” she said lightly, then froze, realizing how much she had given away.

“Complicated family?” he asked.

“You have no idea,” she replied.

He did not pry.

“Okay,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. For the record, though, ‘complicated family’ is kind of my whole deal too. So. No judgment. Just… curiosity, if you ever feel like indulging it.”

Something in his tone, in the way he offered understanding without demand, cracked open a door inside her she had kept barred for years.

By the time she went to bed that night, phone buzzing with a text from an unknown number labelled “Peter (camera menace),” New York did not feel quite so impossibly big.

She had written music that filled a city block.

Someone had heard it and stayed.

A/N: Why couldn't he have been REAL!!?!

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