static chords-; @rowanbe - Tumblr Blog

he watches her, and it’s like trying to hold water in his hands—everything she’s feeling, everything she isn’t saying, spilling out in the spaces between her words. the smile she gives him feels like a flicker of something familiar and distant at the same time. he catches it, holds onto it like he’s afraid it’ll slip away if he looks too long.

“thanks,” he says, voice soft, uneven around the edges. his fingers fidget with the strap of his keyboard case, something to ground him. “means a lot. that you think so.”

her joke makes him huff a breath that could almost be a laugh, but it’s too quiet, too weighed down. “cheap drinks. right. yeah.” like either of them are really here for that.

and then she asks it—the question that knocks the wind out of him more than seeing her did. his breath catches, and for a second he looks at her like he wants to say everything at once. but he doesn’t. he never does.

“i didn’t… not want you to stay.” it’s the truth, small and uncertain, but honest. “i was just surprised. that’s all. it’s good to see you.”

he shifts his weight, glances toward the stage like maybe if he looks away the knot in his chest will loosen. but he finds his way back to her eyes, gentler now, steadier.

“you can stay as long as you want.”

borabe

she'd be lying to herself if she said she didn't perk up slightly at the way rowan responses, she couldn't even try to hide the her eyes widen in surprise. honestly, she was completely expecting him to never want to see her again, and she couldn't really blame him if he did. she was the one who was avoiding him, after all.

bora stares at him for one, two seconds longer before looking back down at the floor with the hint of a small smile on her face. she still feels awkward about the whole situation, but there's a relief that's obvious in her body language now in the way her body finally relaxes, no more anxious tapping and searching around the rest of the room to hide from his eyes.

he doesn't mind that she's here, at least.

she rocks back and forth on her heels for a moment before glancing over in the direction of the exit, biting her lip in thought for a second. "do you like... want to get out of here...?"

she pauses, realizing the way her words could be taken in a different context before immediately speaking again and shaking her head at her own thoughts "i mean, to talk outside or something! it's like, really loud in here! probably not the best place to talk about feelings and all, haha...!" phew. good save, bora.

rowanbe

he’s not sure what he thought she was going to say- maybe that this was a mistake, maybe that she’d only come to see someone else, maybe that she hadn’t realized he’d be performing tonight until it was too late to back out, but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. wasn’t her looking at him like that, wasn’t the visible drop of tension from her shoulders or the way her eyes briefly flicker up and meet his again. he doesn’t even realize how tightly he’s holding the handle of his keyboard case until his knuckles ache, until she smiles, small and awkward but real, and his grip finally loosens.

he doesn’t know what she expected either. maybe that he’d turn away. maybe that he still resented her for how things ended. maybe that he wouldn’t want her here at all. maybe he shouldn’t want her here. but he does- of course he does.

she rocks on her heels and glances toward the exit and for a second rowan thinks she’s about to leave again, and his heart sinks even though he already told himself he wouldn’t make her stay. wouldn’t try to stop her.

but then

“do you like… want to get out of here…?”

it catches him off guard—his eyebrows lift, like he’s not sure he heard her right. and before he can even process it she’s already backpedaling, tripping over her own words in a rush to clarify and oh god, it’s so her it almost makes his chest hurt.

he lets out a breath, not quite a laugh, but something close. quiet, like he’s still trying to wrap his head around this whole thing. her, standing here. the way her words tumble over themselves. how they both keep dodging the weight in the room like it isn’t already pulling them in.

“i know what you meant,” he murmurs, voice gentler now, just for her.

he adjusts the strap of his keyboard and gives the room a quick glance—like maybe he’s checking for some last second excuse to stay, or to run—but then he’s already shifting toward the exit, not far, not rushing. just enough to make it clear he’s saying yeah. “i think there’s a bench outside, if no one’s claimed it.”

borabe

standing directly in front of rowan was hard enough already, and that's without bora making even the slightest hint of eye contact with him at the moment. she wasn't a runner—she didn't run from her problems, she faced them head-on! she can't even remember making a beeline to him, the moment felt like just a blur, but maybe that's what led her to come to him.

but hearing his voice, speaking right to her, after all this time?

she so desperately wanted to leave. her feet and stubborn mind wouldn't let her, but the urgent feeling was buried deep in her bones.

"... yeah... i did." she wills herself to finally take a glance up at him, giving him a weary smile in return for just a moment, before almost immediately looking away. "um, you did really good by the way! voice is as good as ever..."

she's not even sure what she wanted to do by speaking to him; it's not like she had anything prepared to say. she had plenty of half-drafted, unsent speeches hiding in the lines of her notes app, but all of those words fail her now that she's actually seeing him again.

she lets out an awkward half-chuckle, half-hum at rowan's response, her body relaxing just enough to let her hide her hands in her skirt's pockets; nevermind the way her converse starts tapping against the floor instead. "welllll, the performances are good, and the drinks are cheap, so... kinda hard place to forget, i guess!" she's not sure which one of them she's trying to fool more by acting nonchalant right now.

though it was whispered, the last thing rowan says to her makes all the energy seep from her body. even her awkward smile fades, and she finally glances up from the floor to look directly at him.

"... you said i can be here but... did you want me to stay?"

she caught the way he looked at her when their eyes met. as much as bora was afraid to see him again, she had relegated herself to whatever would happen when they ran into each other finally. even if she had wanted to sneak out through his set, he already saw her. there wasn't much of a point in trying to leave now.

rowanbe

he watches her, and it’s like trying to hold water in his hands—everything she’s feeling, everything she isn’t saying, spilling out in the spaces between her words. the smile she gives him feels like a flicker of something familiar and distant at the same time. he catches it, holds onto it like he’s afraid it’ll slip away if he looks too long.

“thanks,” he says, voice soft, uneven around the edges. his fingers fidget with the strap of his keyboard case, something to ground him. “means a lot. that you think so.”

her joke makes him huff a breath that could almost be a laugh, but it’s too quiet, too weighed down. “cheap drinks. right. yeah.” like either of them are really here for that.

and then she asks it—the question that knocks the wind out of him more than seeing her did. his breath catches, and for a second he looks at her like he wants to say everything at once. but he doesn’t. he never does.

“i didn’t… not want you to stay.” it’s the truth, small and uncertain, but honest. “i was just surprised. that’s all. it’s good to see you.”

he shifts his weight, glances toward the stage like maybe if he looks away the knot in his chest will loosen. but he finds his way back to her eyes, gentler now, steadier.

“you can stay as long as you want.”

borabe

what do i call you? (@rowanbe)

since starting to put her all into becoming an idol, bora has treated herself to going out to music gigs in smaller, intimate venues after working a weekend shift at la ciel. sometimes you don't always want to be the person on stage in front of everyone, sometimes you'd rather be someone in the audience listening! (surely she doesn't just think that because of her own slight stage fright.)

she sat down at the bar excitedly, nestled off in it's own corner of the room, leaving plenty of space for people to stand or dance as they enjoyed the performances on stage at the front. as another part of her treat to herself, she waved over the bartender to ask for some soju. the night was going great.

at least, it was until she heard the name of the next performer be announced.

mid-sip of her drink, bora couldn't help but accidentally choke on her drink for a second before managing to calm herself. when she swung her head to look at the stage, it felt like time had slowed down.

it really was him.

bora kept her eyes on him the entire performance. she's not sure what she wanted; rowan to look at her? to see her in the audience? did she want him to return the favor she'd given him all this time and ignore her even if he did?

one thing was certain, the way her heart hurt hearing the way his voice sounded. gentle. sweet. familiar. it brought back memories of missed calls and texts and avoiding places she knew he'd be.

she knew that despite her trying to hide from rowan, they'd end up at the same place again sometime and she'd have to acknowledge how silly she feels; feeling so awkward about telling someone she cares about that she was far too busy for a relationship then, that she would instead try to avoid him on purpose.

somehow, she ended up in front of him moments after that performance, eyes looking everywhere but at him while tapping at her thigh anxiously. "... um.. hey!" what does she even say? "i wasn't expecting you to be here, haha..." she has to ignore the feeling to cover her face as her face feels warm from embarrassment; of course he'd be here, he told her about this place.

rowanbe

his fingers were still shaking a little when he stepped down. they always did, even after the smaller sets—but this time it wasn’t just nerves. it was the sudden snap of recognition halfway through the song, the way his eyes had drifted over the crowd and landed on a face he hadn’t expected to see again.

she was there. bora. at the bar, half-shadowed, drink in hand, watching him like she didn’t know whether to stay or disappear.

he hadn’t let himself look again. kept his gaze fixed just above the lights, afraid that if he did, he’d lose the lyrics. afraid of what he’d see if she wasn’t still there.

so when she ends up in front of him, shifting nervously, tapping at her thigh and looking everywhere but his eyes, he doesn’t know what to say either. doesn’t know how to explain that it felt like the wind got knocked out of him the second he realized she was in the room. doesn’t know how to ask if this is just coincidence or something closer to apology.

instead, he offers her a small, crooked smile and says—softly, “you came.”

it’s not an accusation. just a truth.

“i didn’t… i didn’t think you’d still remember this place.” he lifts a hand, rubs at the back of his neck. “i mean—not that i wouldn’t want you here. you’re always welcome, just. surprised.”

there’s a pause. a beat. his voice drops a little lower, like he doesn’t really mean for it to carry.

“you stayed the whole time.”

#borabe #t.whatdoicallyou #sorry for bora sorry for rowan i'm sorry for both wth LOL #i love this #<3

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾AXIS Labels Community Talent Show — Rowan Lee ☾｡ﾟ⋆｡☁︎ﾟ｡⋆

#be:communitytalent2025 #if u think this is my excuse to use ANOTHER canva template #no it isn't #DSHJFDH #also the excuse to assault more people w/lino?#absolutely

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ Community Talent Show — Rowan Lee — Falling ☾｡ﾟ⋆｡☁︎ﾟ｡⋆

the air felt thick with anticipation, and rowan could feel it pressing against his chest, heavy and uncertain. he stood near the back of the gathering space, his gaze drifting from face to face, absorbing the quiet hum of conversation and the scattered bursts of polite applause. each performer seemed effortlessly prepared, their confidence clear in the easy way they claimed the small stage. watching them, rowan felt the quiet spark of his own courage beginning to waver again.

he’d gone back and forth for days, caught between the desperate urge to be heard and the quiet, persistent voice that told him he wasn’t ready, that his presence here was somehow a mistake. but somehow, when the signup sheet had finally reached him, he’d scrawled his name anyway—letters shaky and uncertain, but determinedly inked into reality. now, he stood rooted to the spot, heart racing in a rhythm he couldn’t quite settle.

“next up, rowan lee.”

his stomach lurched sharply, the words settling around him like an unexpected rainfall. rowan glanced briefly at the keyboard the event organizers had placed on stage—a polished, sturdy-looking instrument that had served the other performers perfectly well. yet something about its sleekness felt foreign, impersonal, disconnected from the quiet, late-night sincerity he hoped to convey.

#be:communitytalent2025 #solo*;#[ let's GOOOOO last minute snags LMAO #tbh this was too much of an ic event for rowan *not* to attend and i have such heavy muse for him anyway LMAO ]

INTRODUCING....

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: lee rowan ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: vocals-first, soft-spoken, figuring it out. [also known as hot mess softie with a honey voice]

it'same, nicole! back again with another muse... this... beautiful human being! as usual, if any connection or ideas jump out at you, you can find me in dms or on discord @ lqdoyeon! (blanket apology insert here for incoming dash spam because this muse is strong)

born and raised in sydney, australia, rowan dropped out of a promising music program back home after receiving a too-good-to-be-true offer to train in korea. it didn’t work out—turned out to be a scam (pls. we know he was a naive little bud)—but instead of going home, he stayed. now, he works a handful of jobs to keep his head above water—english tutor, demo vocalist (his favorite!), bar back—while auditioning whenever and wherever he can. he’s been rejected more times than he cares to count, but he’s still here. showing up. trying.

he sings like he’s confessing something he doesn’t know how to say otherwise, a little raw, a little cracked at the edges. can’t read sheet music, learns everything by ear, and has more voice memos than he knows what to do with. he lives in a too-small apartment with four other people and drinks iced americanos like they’re a cure for exhaustion. also: a serial auditioner with a color-coded spreadsheet tracking every audition he’s ever done (including how badly it went), owns a collection of rejection letters and thank-you emails like they’re weird trophies, and somehow manages to organize his chaos into a system that almost makes sense. almost.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

personality highlights: • can’t function without his daily iced americano, even in winter • writes lyrics in the margins of his planner, on bus tickets, and on napkins • sings while doing everything—cooking, cleaning, waiting for the bus • has a habit of losing pens and paperclips but somehow always finds them later • carries a tiny, beat-up notebook full of half-finished songs and scribbled thoughts • still doesn’t know how to properly fold fitted sheets (and blames his roommates) • once tried to color-code his wardrobe but gave up halfway through • knows exactly how long it takes to walk from his apartment to every popular audition venue in the city (down to the minute)

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: 　:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧

relationships & plot ideas: • his roommates — four chaotic souls sharing an apartment, a mess of work schedules and takeout containers, and probably too much found-family energy for a small space. • fellow audition circuit regulars — the familiar faces in long lines outside studios, the ones he sees every week and half-knows by name. • music scene connections — other demo vocalists, local cafe musicians, or maybe someone who’s offered him a late-night gig or a borrowed instrument. • english students or their families — the teens and young adults he tutors who might know him outside the music scene • past flames or almost-somethings — ambiguous connections who might still linger in his memory, whose names aren’t spoken but whose presence deeply felt.

#ooc*;