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[center][color=EB38E5]___________________________________[/color]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/gskakPF.jpeg[/img]
[color=EB38E5]♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪[/color]
[sub][color=gray]​𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑[/color]
[color=silver]Townspeople[/color][/sub]

[color=EB38E5]♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪[/color]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/0RWlOpq.jpeg[/img]

[color=EB38E5]♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪[/color]
[sub][color=gray]​𝙻𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗​​​​​[/color]
[color=silver][sub]Fairgrounds​​[/sub][/color][/sub]

[color=EB38E5]♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪[/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/q9RCsBq.jpeg[/img]
[color=EB38E5]___________________________________[/color][/center]
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[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/iNP0meH.png[/img]
[color=EB38E5]♪ 〰〰〰〰🎧〰〰〰〰 ♪[/color][/center]
[indent][sup][color=silver]
The fairgrounds looked different after seventy-two hours in the dark.

Not changed, exactly. Just brighter.

Maybe it was because everyone had spent three days crowding around generators and open doors, listening to rumors spread faster than facts. Maybe it was because the whole town had collectively remembered what silence sounded like once the hum of electricity disappeared. Whatever the reason, the Fourth of July festival felt louder this year. More alive.

Rowan killed the engine and sat for a moment before getting out.

The distant sound of live music drifted across the evening air, blending with laughter, carnival rides, and the occasional squeal from somebody making poor decisions on a mechanical bull. The smell hit him next, funnel cakes, barbecue smoke, fried food, livestock, and summer heat baked into old dirt.

Home.

His drumsticks rested on the passenger seat.

For a second, his eyes lingered on them.

The session in Boone had been over a week ago now.

The power eventually came back. Life moved on. Pines Holler found its footing again like it always did.

But Rowan hadn't stopped thinking about that day.

About the band room. About how good it had felt to sit behind a real kit and let everything else disappear. About Liam.

That was the part he kept circling back to. Not intentionally. Just... Inevitably.

Blonde hair catching afternoon sunlight outside the music building. Green eyes that somehow always looked amused, even when he wasn't smiling. The easy way he'd held doors open and made space beside him like Rowan belonged there.

Like it wasn't strange that a guy from a dying mountain town kept showing up whenever he could find an excuse.

‘You ever think about transferring?’

The question still lived rent-free somewhere in the back of his mind.

Rowan snorted softly to himself as he climbed out of the truck.

Transfer. With what money? To do what? Leave Callie behind? Leave Pines Holler? The questions always fell apart before they reached an answer.

Still...

The possibility lingered. A dangerous thing, possibility. He grabbed his stick bag from the passenger seat and slung it over his shoulder.

The crowd thickened the closer he got to the stage area. Kids darted between adults carrying sparklers. Tourists wandered around looking simultaneously fascinated and confused. Someone was already drunk enough to be yelling about rodeo rules.

Business as usual.

A small grin tugged at Rowan's mouth.

Mountain Static's set wasn't for a little while yet. Another local act was currently finishing up onstage, their music carrying across the fairgrounds while volunteers hurried around behind the scenes trying to keep everything running on schedule.

Rowan slowed near the back of the stage, taking in the scene. The banners, the lights, the crowd. The familiar nerves settling into his stomach.

No matter how many times he performed, that feeling never really left.

And honestly?

He hoped it never would.

Because the moment he sat behind a drum kit and the nerves disappeared entirely is everything he lives for, the second where everything clicks into place and he truly belongs.

Music was still the one thing that made everything else quiet.

The expectations, memories, the questions he couldn't answer, all of it.

For thirty minutes on a stage in the middle of Pines Holler, none of those things mattered.

Only the next beat.

Only the next song.

Only the people listening.

Rowan adjusted the strap on his stick bag and took a slow breath, letting the sounds of the fair wash over him.

Somewhere beyond the crowd, fireworks waited for nightfall.

Somewhere beyond the mountains, Boone waited too.

And somewhere in between those two places stood Rowan Shaw, trying to figure out which version of his future was calling his name louder.
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