Between Strings and Sparks

Chapter 3 - "Static, Heat and Something Dangerous"

The dressing room seemed emptier when Jack left, but the air still carried his smell - warm wood, woody perfume, a touch of sweet post-show sweat that reminded you of the kiss every time you took a deep breath.

You adjusted the festival bracelet on your wrist, your thumb passing through the fabric as if it could keep you anchored. His heart was beating too fast. It wasn't just adrenaline. It was something different... deeper.

The noise of footsteps in the corridor increased. Voices. Laughter.

But none of them was him.

Until, finally...

The door opened so fast that it hit the wall.

Jack came in panting, messy hair, his hands still dirty with metallic dust from the ropes.

"I finished everything in record time," he said, laughing. "The guys thought I was in a hurry to go to sleep."

He closed the door behind him - slowly, this time - and when he turned around... his gaze almost made you lose your breath.

"But the only thing I want is you."

He came to you in slow steps, as if he was holding back. As if every inch mattered.

"I was afraid you left," he admitted, stopping so close that his arm brushed his.

"Like... real fear."

"I promised I'd stay."

Jack smiled, that small smile that only appeared when he was being too honest.

"That means more than you can imagine."

He raised his hand and intertwined his fingers in his - with force, as if he knew that the connection was fragile and precious.

"Come," he said. "I want to show you something."

You followed. He pulled you down the narrow corridor, passed by speakers, instrument cases and old posters. Until I get to a side door, half rusty.

"Few people know this exists," he murmured, pushing the door.

On the other side there was a kind of technical terrace - overlooking the festival parking lot and the open sky, where the lights still fluttered in the air like golden dust.

The wind blowed hard, lifting his hair. Jack watched you as if he was watching the whole scene turn into music.

"I always come here after the shows," he said, supporting his guitar on the railing.

"But today I wanted to come with you."

The heart tightened.

"Why?"

Jack approached slowly, almost shyly - so different from the stage.

He touched his face with a warm, calloused, soft hand.

"Because you make me feel... real," he admitted.

"And no one does that to me."

You smiled, holding his wrist.

"I feel that too."

He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as if his answer had taken a weight off his chest.

Jack took the other hand to his waist, slowly, without haste.

"Can I...?"

You nodded.

He leaned his forehead against yours, his lips a few millimeters away - no hurry, no hunger, just intention.

The kiss came slow, deep, full of a kind of affection that made the world seem smaller, softer.

His hands went up his back, his fingers touching the back of his neck with delicacy that did not match his chaos on stage.

"You have no idea," he murmured against his mouth,

"How much I wanted this."

You smiled, touching your forehead to his.

"And now that you got it?"

Jack opened a crooked, sweet, almost passionate smile.

"Now I want the rest."

He pulled you closer, the wind messing you both up, the sky illuminated by distant lights, the sound of the festival disappearing behind the door.

And on that hidden terrace, with Jack's guitar leaning against the railing and his heart beating as fast as yours, it was clear that it was not just chemistry.

It was the kind of beginning that could change everything.