04-03-2025, 08:10 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-03-2025, 08:11 PM by Ezvin Marveet.)
Ezvin was still thinking about her light.
Not the metaphorical kind… though, yes, that too… but the literal sphere of it. Floating there, just a hand’s reach away, warm and radiant and so casually conjured it was almost poetic. A ball of flame reshaped into something softer, less volatile, and wholly hers.
He’d seen magic before, at least videos of it. And some at the release party, when he witnessed Jensen’s miracle.. But this something more personal in a way. An extension of self that was completely her own.
And yet, he hadn’t flinched. Not because he was fearless, but because... well, he’d seen worse things.
The rest of the week blurred by in the way time always did when you were making something worth remembering. The days were long, full of re-takes, laughter, disagreements, breakthroughs—and late nights where no one really wanted to go home, so they didn’t. Sheet music transformed into suggestion. Melodies twisted and reformed. A rhythm section joke evolved into a real bridge. It was alive, and Ezvin lived for this.
He made himself useful, which wasn’t difficult. He had a producer’s mind and a songwriter’s intuition. When someone stumbled, he caught it. When someone soared, he pushed them higher. He didn’t command attention so much as draw it in, like gravity, like a steady pulse that underlined the music itself.
When he moved through the studio, it was with the ease of someone born to it—half-laced boots and loose collar, always with a tea in one hand, sometimes a pencil tucked behind his ear like he might rewrite the universe at any moment. He wasn’t always in the booth. Sometimes, he just sat behind the glass with the engineer, one foot tapping in time, his gaze sharp and thoughtful.
And her he watched her. Not always directly, but carefully. She didn’t know how much she revealed in the spaces between notes—in the way she shifted weight, adjusted her mic, or bit the inside of her cheek when she was thinking too hard. He learned her rhythms at least some of them.
He teased her, too. Lightly. Subtly. With comments that walked that natural, electric line between warmth and flirtation. A smile that lingered a second longer than necessary. A wink after a particularly good take, paired with a "Now that’s the Cadence I showed up for."
Not because he wanted something from her. Not in that way. But because she was fire, and she drew everything around her in.
By Friday night, the studio had the worn-in comfort of a second home. The band had gone, their laughter still echoing faintly down the hall. It was just him and Cadence now, again. A familiar quiet settling in the wake of sound.
Ezvin sat cross-legged on the studio floor, guitar in his lap, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hair, usually tamed, had given up trying and was just tucked behind his ears. The mixing board lights painted little lines of color across his cheek as he looked over at her, one brow arched in quiet amusement.
He looked over at her, his eyes catching the light from the board, and offered her a grin that started soft and turned wry.
“So... how do you come down from a week like this?”
The guitar gave a low, warm hum under his fingers as he leaned back on one hand. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m running on espresso, four hours of sleep, and the kind of creative high that usually ends with me reorganizing my sock drawer at two a.m.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying her like she was a riddle he already knew part of the answer to but still enjoyed pretending he didn’t.
“Any plans for the weekend? Or do you just levitate off studio energy until Monday and call that self-care?”
He idly flicked one last chord, soft and clean, then rested his hand on the strings to silence it.
“Me?” he added, stretching out his legs with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll probably pretend I’m going to take a day off, and then write two songs while standing in the shower.”[/i]
Not the metaphorical kind… though, yes, that too… but the literal sphere of it. Floating there, just a hand’s reach away, warm and radiant and so casually conjured it was almost poetic. A ball of flame reshaped into something softer, less volatile, and wholly hers.
He’d seen magic before, at least videos of it. And some at the release party, when he witnessed Jensen’s miracle.. But this something more personal in a way. An extension of self that was completely her own.
And yet, he hadn’t flinched. Not because he was fearless, but because... well, he’d seen worse things.
The rest of the week blurred by in the way time always did when you were making something worth remembering. The days were long, full of re-takes, laughter, disagreements, breakthroughs—and late nights where no one really wanted to go home, so they didn’t. Sheet music transformed into suggestion. Melodies twisted and reformed. A rhythm section joke evolved into a real bridge. It was alive, and Ezvin lived for this.
He made himself useful, which wasn’t difficult. He had a producer’s mind and a songwriter’s intuition. When someone stumbled, he caught it. When someone soared, he pushed them higher. He didn’t command attention so much as draw it in, like gravity, like a steady pulse that underlined the music itself.
When he moved through the studio, it was with the ease of someone born to it—half-laced boots and loose collar, always with a tea in one hand, sometimes a pencil tucked behind his ear like he might rewrite the universe at any moment. He wasn’t always in the booth. Sometimes, he just sat behind the glass with the engineer, one foot tapping in time, his gaze sharp and thoughtful.
And her he watched her. Not always directly, but carefully. She didn’t know how much she revealed in the spaces between notes—in the way she shifted weight, adjusted her mic, or bit the inside of her cheek when she was thinking too hard. He learned her rhythms at least some of them.
He teased her, too. Lightly. Subtly. With comments that walked that natural, electric line between warmth and flirtation. A smile that lingered a second longer than necessary. A wink after a particularly good take, paired with a "Now that’s the Cadence I showed up for."
Not because he wanted something from her. Not in that way. But because she was fire, and she drew everything around her in.
By Friday night, the studio had the worn-in comfort of a second home. The band had gone, their laughter still echoing faintly down the hall. It was just him and Cadence now, again. A familiar quiet settling in the wake of sound.
Ezvin sat cross-legged on the studio floor, guitar in his lap, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His hair, usually tamed, had given up trying and was just tucked behind his ears. The mixing board lights painted little lines of color across his cheek as he looked over at her, one brow arched in quiet amusement.
He looked over at her, his eyes catching the light from the board, and offered her a grin that started soft and turned wry.
“So... how do you come down from a week like this?”
The guitar gave a low, warm hum under his fingers as he leaned back on one hand. “Because I don’t know about you, but I’m running on espresso, four hours of sleep, and the kind of creative high that usually ends with me reorganizing my sock drawer at two a.m.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying her like she was a riddle he already knew part of the answer to but still enjoyed pretending he didn’t.
“Any plans for the weekend? Or do you just levitate off studio energy until Monday and call that self-care?”
He idly flicked one last chord, soft and clean, then rested his hand on the strings to silence it.
“Me?” he added, stretching out his legs with a dramatic sigh. “I’ll probably pretend I’m going to take a day off, and then write two songs while standing in the shower.”[/i]