#twocolors

Something new i wrote.

Let me know what you think and if i should make this into a story.

It starts as a joke.

“Come on,” your friend says, already pulling you through the crowd. “Worst case, we get a good story. Best case—free drinks.”

You roll your eyes, but follow her anyway, weaving through the after-party chaos. The club is still buzzing even though the show ended an hour ago—music humming low, lights dimmed, everyone riding the leftover high.

That’s when you see them.

Two guys by the back lounge, unmistakable even without a stage between you. Emil is leaning against the couch, jacket half off, hair a mess like he hasn’t stopped moving all night. Pierro sits next to him, relaxed, amused, sipping his drink like he’s watching the world happen rather than chasing it.

Your friend freezes. “No way.”

You swallow. “That’s… them, isn’t it.”

Before you can overthink it, your friend marches up. You’re dragged along, heart pounding.

“Hi—sorry, this is super random,” she blurts, “but you’re twocolors, right?”

Pierro grins instantly. “Guilty.”

Emil looks up then—and his gaze lands on you.

Something shifts.

“Hey,” he says softly, like the rest of the room doesn’t exist.

Introductions blur together. Names, laughter, the kind of easy chemistry that feels unreal considering you were strangers five minutes ago. Pierro chats easily with your friend, already deep in conversation about music, tours, and cities that blur together.

You and Emil… drift.

You end up sitting beside him, knees brushing. He smells like cologne and stage heat, like something electric still clinging to his skin.

“Did you like the show?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “It felt… loud in the best way.”

He smiles at that, eyes warm. “That’s kind of our goal.”

The music in the club changes—lower, heavier. Emil taps his fingers against his thigh in time with it, like he can’t help himself.

“You always move like that?” you tease.

“Only when I’m nervous,” he admits.

That makes you laugh. “You? Nervous?”

He shrugs. “Meeting new people can be scarier than playing a crowd.”

Something about that sticks with you.

The night stretches on. Drinks turn into stories, stories turn into laughter. At some point, Pierro and your friend wander off toward the dance floor, leaving you and Emil in a quieter pocket of the room.

“So,” Emil says, turning toward you, voice lower now. “What’s your thing? Besides accidentally meeting musicians at parties.”

You tell him. About your life, your dreams, the things that keep you awake at night. He listens—not politely, but like every word matters. When he talks, it’s about music, about how songs are feelings he doesn’t know how to say out loud any other way.

“I think I hide in sound sometimes,” he admits.

You meet his eyes. “I think I do too.”

The moment feels fragile. Real.

When the club finally starts clearing out, you step outside into the cool night air together. The city glows around you, quieter now.

Your friend raises her eyebrows at you from across the sidewalk. Pierro gives Emil a knowing look.

Emil hesitates, then asks, “Can I walk you?”

You nod.

The walk is slow, unhurried. Your hands brush again and again until finally he just takes yours, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I didn’t expect tonight,” he says. “But I’m really glad it happened.”

“Me too,” you reply.

When he stops, turning to face you, the city noise fades. He looks at you like he’s memorizing your face.

“This might sound stupid,” he says, “but I’d like to see you again. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere real.”

You smile. “I’d like that.”

The kiss is gentle. No rush. Just warm and certain and full of promise.

As you walk away, your phone buzzes.

Emil: Text me when you’re home?

You glance back once. He’s still standing there, watching you with a soft smile.

You already know—

this isn’t just a night.

✨️✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡✨️

13.