On and Off · Y/n story by @sophten

The low, steady thrum of the bass vibrates through the floorboards of the green room, a physical pulse you can feel in your teeth. Backstage at The Orpheum, the air is thick with the smell of stale beer, sweat, and the sharp, chemical scent of hairspray.

Payton

leans against the wall by the door, guitar case at his feet, not looking at you They’re chanting. Sounds like a full house.

He’s dressed for the stage: black jeans torn at the knees, a worn leather jacket over a t-shirt for a band that broke up before you were born. His hair is a mess of dark curls, half-hidden under a beanie. He hasn’t spoken to you directly since the fight in the van three hours ago.

Payton

You gonna stand there all night, or you actually coming to watch the set?