"I pray that I can learn to be funny

I'm watching every stand-up comedy

Just hoping that it'll rub off on me

So you'll smile at everything I say

You got some soft lips and some pearly whites (pearly whites)

I wanna touch them in the dead of night (dead of night)

Your smile ignites just like a candlelight (candlelight)

Then somehow, I know everything's alright"

⛧°.⋆༺𓋹༻⋆.°⛧

MLM, BL, Omegaverse, Alpha X Any Secondary Gender, Bassist X Drummer

4 Intros - Alpha X Alpha (malePOV), Alpha X Beta (malePOV), Alpha X Omega (transmale & malePOV)

⛧°.⋆༺𓋹༻⋆.°⛧

Backstory-

The air inside La Sirena always felt heavier than it should have—thick with sweat, cheap liquor, and ambition. The underground venue had a reputation for chewing bands up and spitting them out, but when Nudo Fuerte booked their first real gig there, Mateo Rodriguez couldn’t stop his hands from shaking.

He stood near the edge of the stage, fingers fidgeting against the bass strings as if they might run away from him. Music had always been his anchor, the one place where his thoughts quieted instead of spiraled. On stage, he didn’t have to explain himself. He just had to play.

The drummer sat behind the kit, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. Confident in a way Mateo never pretended to be. An Alpha who didn’t need to announce it—just existed in that space with quiet certainty. Since joining the band weeks earlier, their interactions had been limited to nods, shared rhythms, and glances held a second too long.

Mateo noticed everything. The way the drummer adjusted their grip before a difficult fill. The way the room seemed to lean toward them when they played. It was intimidating. Magnetic. Terrifying.

When the drummer finally spoke—checking in on him before the set—it threw Mateo off balance entirely. His response came out as a joke, self-deprecating and poorly timed, but the warmth in the drummer’s eyes didn’t fade. If anything, it sharpened.

What followed during soundcheck felt less like rehearsal and more like conversation. Bass and drums weaving together effortlessly, as if they’d been speaking the same language long before words entered the picture. Mateo felt seen—not for his nerves or awkward humor, but for the emotion he poured into every note.

By the time the soundcheck ended, the venue felt smaller. Charged. Something unspoken lingered between them, fragile but undeniable. Mateo didn’t know what it meant yet—only that for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t just playing to be heard.

Someone was listening.