Chapter 24 - Darius #2
When I walk into the kitchen, Nash is raiding the fridge while Blake sits perched on the counter, lazily munching on a piece of toast that definitely isn’t his.
“Dude, you have to stop drinking straight from the carton,” Blake gripes, pointing accusingly with his toast. “It’s like you’re trying to give us all your germs.”
Nash shrugs, milk carton still in hand. “I’m building your immune system. You’re welcome.”
I pan the camera toward Raina just as she hands me a steaming mug, trying not to laugh. I take it with a smile of my own. “Pretty sure that’s not how science works.”
“It’s called team bonding,” Nash fires back, flashing a grin that’s far too pleased with itself.
“Yeah,” Blake says through a mouthful of toast, “bonding through biohazard.”
I chuckle behind the camera, zooming in as Blake throws a mock glare and Nash strikes a ridiculous pose with the milk carton like it’s a trophy. Their laughter fills the kitchen, light and unfiltered. These are the moments I want the world to see.
Unpolished.
Real.
Ours.
As their joking fades into easy conversation, I grab my coffee and lean against the counter, letting the warmth seep through the mug into my hands.
I angle my phone down just long enough to get a steady transition shot, then pocket it as I head toward the studio door.
The laughter fades behind me, replaced by the faint creak of the wood floors.
Reaching the control room, I find Keaton’s already on the other side of the glass, methodically arranging his drumsticks by size.
I quietly start filming again, catching the way his brow furrows in concentration, his calm precision anchoring the energy of the entire house.
Every motion is deliberate, steady. It’s not glamorous, but that’s exactly what makes it powerful.
I pause on the last step, watching him through the lens, admiring the patience I’ve never quite mastered.
I step back and lower the camera, letting his serenity settle into my bones.
There’s something grounding about Keaton’s rituals.
It’s a reminder that we each have our way of coping and creating amidst the noise.
It’s moments like this, I think, that fans never get to see: the quiet devotion that fuels the storm.
Not wanting to disturb him, I turn to retrace my steps.
As I pass the large windows lining the hallway, I catch sight of Tristan outside, nestled in the garden with his guitar.
His fingers dance across the strings, coaxing a haunting melody that drifts through the open window in the next room.
I grab my phone again, moving closer to the door to frame the shot.
The sunlight catches the curve of his instrument, the movement of his hands, the way he closes his eyes like he’s translating his soul into sound.
I can’t resist capturing it: the serenity, the focus, the unspoken poetry of a man lost in his music.
Before stepping outside, I pan the lens back toward the kitchen.
Blake and Nash are still mid-banter, their laughter wrapping around them like a comfortable blanket.
Then I shift focus again, Raina’s now in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the floor and sorting through old vinyl records.
My heart stirs at the sight. It’s so her—that quiet curiosity, that reverence for the past.
I move closer, recording quietly as her fingers trace the worn edges of an album. “What are you doing?” I ask, the curiosity slipping out before I can stop myself. Raina looks up, a spark of surprise widening her eyes, and my heart jostles at how easily she can evoke feelings in me.
“Rediscovering some old favorites,” she replies, her voice soft, almost reverent.
It sends a shiver down my spine, threading warmth and nostalgia through me as she holds up a classic album cover, the colors sun-bleached but still vibrant in their memory.
“I feel like there’s something here that could inspire us, you know? ”
I move closer, drawn in by the way her delicate fingers brush over the vinyl.
“You’re hoping for a musical epiphany, huh?
” I tease, leaning against the door frame, folding my arms and holding the camera just right as I survey her with a playful smile.
“Not that I doubt your instincts, but we might need more than a good groove to capture what’s in here.
” I tap my chest lightly and watch as she flicks her gaze to the spot, a fleeting smile of playful defiance dancing on her lips.
“I’m serious! This music has layers, stories…
” she trails off, eyes momentarily lost in thought as she seems to reach back in time.
She reaches for a new album and holds it up for me to see.
“I remember blasting this on repeat while dreaming about what my life would look like one day. Who knew it would be this messy?”
“But beautiful,” I counter, smiling. “Every note, every memory. Someone will hold up your album someday and say the exact same thing. Your music will help them survive what they think is messy because you’ve shown them strength and resilience through your lyrics.”
Her expression softens, and I catch it on camera—the flicker of emotion, the determination settling behind her eyes. These are the shots I love most: the ones that speak without words.
These videos I take aren’t simply about the music, I’m capturing our story.
Later that night, the glow of my laptop lights my face as I sift through the footage. The room is quiet but charged, perfect for editing short reels, little snippets of our lives. Each clip reveals a snapshot of who we are: messy, alive, real.
The clips flicker on my screen, each moment revealing a snapshot of our lives, and what I hope is a story of love and family when pieced together. My heart swells, remembering the joy and resilience that bloom in each frame.
I hit play, the sounds washing over me, and the colors bring life to the moments we’ve shared. My fingers glide over the keyboard as I cut between clips, my mind whirling with possibilities. There’s power in these snapshots—the joy, the vulnerability, the laughter—and I want to capture it all.
The first video takes shape, each cut syncing to the beat of our music.
With a heavy heart, I select a clip where she’s mouthing lyrics to a melody.
My finger hovers over the keyboard, and ultimately I decide to cut it.
The realization settles in: I want to preserve the magic without putting her recovery on display for the world to dissect.
It feels essential to maintain a balance between sharing our story and honoring her journey.
As the final clips come together, I begin crafting captions, pouring energy into each line as I set the stage for what’s to come: “Something brewing at Survival Records” and “The Storm is gathering...” Each phrase brims with intrigue, allowing me to hint at the excitement building without revealing everything about Raina’s path.
I inhale deeply, the anticipation buzzing beneath my skin. The world will see the truth of who we are and what Survival Records is all about. When I finally click ‘upload’ for the first reel, a sense of exhilaration washes over me, and all too quickly the first notification pings loudly.
Comments flood in almost immediately: “IS THIS A NEW ALBUM???” and “Raina looks amazing!” I scroll through the excited chatter, my heart racing as I dive deeper into the sea of enthusiasm that surrounds us.
“I knew Raina would be back! She’s a survivor!!”
The comment makes me smile. I knew her fans would support her no matter what, but it’s nice to be proven right. Raina needs to see this.
Or maybe not…
The next comment that comes in says, “When do we hear her voice???” A frown tugs at my lips and a twinge of protectiveness sharpens within me, a mix of pride for Raina’s journey and the sudden weight of the world’s expectations bearing down on her.
“Keep scrolling, don’t let it get to you,” I mutter under my breath, determined not to let anything taint the moment we’ve worked so hard to create. And I’m probably simply being sensitive, the fan is most likely excited to hear the lyrics is all.
Within minutes, people are using the track in their own reels. Reaction videos, edits, hashtags. It’s a storm. Raina might not be ready to sing yet, but with every beat we create, we’re carving a future that honors her journey.
The mountain air is crisp this morning, although I think that every day when we gather around the breakfast table on the terrace.
The scent of sizzling eggs and crisp bacon wafts toward me from the flat-top grill, and I breathe in the blend of normalcy and anticipation that’s become our mountain retreat.
Nash leans back in his chair, jiggling his leg excitedly. “You better believe I’ve been refreshing our socials like a hawk,” he says with a grin, excitement radiating from him.
“Did you see the comments pouring in?” I interject, my pocket buzzing as I mention it.
“It’s insane. Our teasers are blowing up.
” I pull out my phone, holding it up for them to see, and the screen lights up with notifications.
I can see why Raina never monitored her socials herself, but that’s all changed now.
Gill and I work together to make sure we present Raina’s image the way we want the fans to see her.
Her old manager, Alyssa, is a far-off memory, not even worth a second thought.
“Holy shit,” Blake mutters, leaning closer to peek at the counts. “I knew it would explode, but these numbers are off the charts.”
“The comments are everything. People are seriously getting hyped,” I say, scrolling through the barrage of enthusiastic reactions.
Nash whoops in delight, tossing his hands up. “This is what I’m talking about! Raina deserves all the love! My baby is going viral!”
“At least it’s for all the right reasons this time, but let’s make sure we’re prepared for what comes next,” Blake cautions, his brow furrowing slightly.
“It’s exciting, but Raina is still healing.
I don’t want the pressure to crush her. And we know that asshole is simply waiting for the next time he can try to cut her down. ”
I nod, feeling the weight of his concern resonate through the air. “We need to keep showing them the true Raina while maintaining her privacy at the same time,” I reply, glancing at Blake. “It’s a tightrope to balance.”
“You’ve done a good job with it so far,” Tristan murmurs, knowing all too well the struggle. “Maybe we should ask her to approve our videos going forward. I don’t want to slip up and share something she doesn’t want the world to know.”
His suggestion makes sense, especially with his working to earn her forgiveness.
Before we can discuss it further, the door creaks open, and Raina steps out, the sunlight illuminating her as she joins us at the table. There’s a soft vulnerability in her demeanor as she takes a seat next to me.
“What’s going on?” she asks, tilting her head as if sensing the excitement swirling around us.
“We’re just discussing how much the world loves you,” Nash replies with a playful wink. “They can’t get enough of you, and neither can we.”
Her lips twitch into a smile, but I catch a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.
She picks up my phone, scrolling through the comments with a blend of curiosity and caution.
“Over a million views?!” Her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open.
“Wow, I didn’t expect this level of attention,” she murmurs as emotion wells within her.
“This is only the beginning,” I assure her, leaning in closer. “You’ve got the world on the edge of its seat, Raina. They believe in you just as much as we do.”
She watches the latest video through twice before turning to me.
“Thank you for not trying to hide my recovery like it’s some kind of secret or something shameful.
I want others to know that it’s okay to struggle sometimes.
” She leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek.
The warmth of it spreads through me until it reaches my toes.
This woman lights me up like none other.
“See this one here?” I point out a comment that reads, Can’t wait to hear her voice! “You’re already showing them,” I add, feeling my heart swell with pride.
“It won’t be too much longer before I can get in the recording studio,” she replies, conviction creeping into her voice. “Though I still want to wait to show the world until our first performance together.”