This is my alt-rock NA serialised story — the book my younger self needed, written by my older self who finally knows what to do with all the bruises.
New here? Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, and 17.
Or you can go to the chapter index.
Sadie
If I thought the lips tattoo was as filthy as it got, I was sorely mistaken.
It started with a riff at midnight.
DMs, late night:
Dev: [voice note] guitar riff, messy as hell.
Dev: needs something sharp over top. like your mouth.
Me: u literally tattooed it on yrself. so go off.
Dev: did that already 🍆💦
Me: try lyrics instead of harassment.
Dev: my harassment is lyrical.
Dev: anyway, consider this reference material. you’re doing the cover, right? 🎨🔥
I pulled a face at the screen, sent him a 🙄, and went back to shading the corner of a sketch like my heart wasn’t thumping out of time.
The next ping landed during class. Turps and cheap coffee, charcoal dust in the air. We were doing negative space. I was doing my best to care.
DMs, midday:
Dev: [pic: waistband, lips tattoo peeking raw, way too much body hair, bad bathroom lighting, thumb half in shot, socks visible in the corner]
Dev: healing nice 🔥
Me: 🤦♀️ ever heard of framing? or manscaping?
Dev: what? it’s art. you’re into art.
Me: that’s not art. that’s a cry for help.
Dev: …still want you to sign it tho. 😏
Dev: maybe use it for a limited-edition shirt?
My pencil slid and gouged a streak across the page. The girl next to me glanced over. I coughed like I meant it and smudged the line into something on purpose. My phone went face-down on the bench, screen pulsing against the wood like a small animal trying to escape.
Focus. Light. Shadow. Not the hair. Definitely not the hair.
DMs, random Tuesday (street noise, wind in my hair):
Dev: just wrote a line:
mouth like a match / set fire with a laugh
Me: too thirsty 🙄
Dev: you’d know 😉
Me: bold talk from a man who can’t hold a camera straight.
Dev: oi i’m a musician not david attenborough
A video dropped — 0:12, blurry as sin. Dev half in frame, shirt sliding off one shoulder, Connor yelling in the background.
“Stop flirting and finish the bridge, you menace.”
Mateo’s laugh followed, tinny through the mic. “Leave him, he’s in his feelings.”
Dev leaned close, breath warm against the mic: “Ignore them. Listen to this—”
The clip cut off. Black screen. End.
A new line pinged underneath:
Dev: i’ll send the rest when it’s good. or when i’m bored. whichever first 🔥
Dev: also moodboard. remember? you’ll need this for tour posters.
I watched it twice, maybe three times, then shoved the phone in my pocket and kept walking like my grin wasn’t about to split my face.
A week rolled by in pieces. Work. Late nights. The three a.m. silence that’s big enough to fall through.
FaceTime (3:07 a.m.):
I picked up to see him with messy hair, a grin, and the camera pointed at his ceiling for the first five seconds.
“Practice run,” he said. “Don’t roast me till the end.”
“Not promising anything.”
He played something soft that made my ribs feel like scaffolding. Halfway through, Simon yelled from another room, “Put a shirt on if you’re streaming, you gremlin,” and Dev lost it laughing, the riff unspooling into nothing.
“Genius,” I said dryly.
“Shut up.” He rubbed his eyes, still smiling. “Again.”
He did it again. It was better. I didn’t say that.
When the call ended I lay there in the dark with the guitar line still curling around the corners of my room, pretending it wasn’t.
Another class, another ping. The model held a pose that made my hand cramp. A light clicked. My phone buzzed.
The last message of the week arrived while I was standing in our kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, watching rain chase itself down the window.
DMs, late:
Dev: [pic: the tattoo one more time — healed enough to be dangerous; lips sitting pretty where skin disappears under fabric; better framing this time, only slightly]
Dev: final report.
I stared at it way too long before bolting out to the lounge. The others were mid-chaos: Gray sprawled on the rug, Jasper pacing with a coffee, Sam upside down off the couch.
“Look at this,” I hissed, shoving my phone at them.
Gray whooped. “Oh, that’s indecent.”
Jasper: “Tell him it looks infected.”
Sam: “No, tell him it looks hungry.”
They all collapsed laughing.
Me: congratulations on your permanent bad decision.
Jasper leaned over my shoulder. “Give it here.”
Before I could stop him, the absolute gremlin had typed something and hit send.
DMs:
Me (apparently): bet it’d look better in person.
My jaw dropped. “He’s going to think I wrote that!”
“Good,” Sam said, still upside down. “You’re welcome.”
The typing dots appeared instantly.
DMs:
Dev: you offering, Pike? 😏🔥
Dev: also whoever typed that—i owe u a drink.
My flatmates roared like it was the funniest thing in the world.
I wanted the carpet to swallow me whole.
Thank fuck he was on the other side of the world.