Page 12 of Rhythm and Rapture

The notification chimes, drawing our attention to my laptop screen.

She appears on camera, and I feel that familiar kick in my chest—half attraction, half something deeper that I'm not quite ready to examine.

Tonight she looks different. Her hair is messier than usual, her cheeks flushed, her smile carrying a wine-warmed looseness that makes her seem more approachable somehow.

"Good evening, my curious little molecules," she begins, and I can hear the slight rasp in her voice that suggests she's been talking—or laughing—before the stream started. "Welcome back to The Hidden Chemist, where we explore the intersection of rigorous scientific methodology and... less rigorous methodologies."

She reaches for what is clearly a wine glass just outside the camera frame, and Ash nearly falls off the couch. "Is she drinking on stream? That's so fucking hot."

"Everything is hot to you when you're chemically enhanced," Felix points out, but he's leaning closer to the screen.

"Tonight, instead of thermodynamics, we're discussing the neurochemistry of human attraction," The Chemist continues, taking a deliberate sip of wine. "Specifically, the molecular mechanisms behind what we colloquially term 'sexual chemistry.' But before we dive into the dopamine pathways..." She pauses, looking directly into the camera with an expression that seems almost vulnerable. "I have a confession to make."

The chat explodes, but I barely notice the stream of messages flying by. I'm too focused on the way The Chemist’s usual confident demeanor has shifted into something rawer, more uncertain.

"I'm twenty-two years old," she says, her voice carrying a slight tremor that makes me want to reach through the screen and tell her she's safe. "I can explain the physiological processesof human sexual response in excruciating academic detail. I understand the neurochemical cascades, the cardiovascular changes, the hormonal fluctuations. But I've never actually experienced most of what I describe with another person."

Felix makes a sound like he's been punched in the solar plexus.

"My friend asked me recently if I wanted to explore," She continues, gaining confidence as she speaks. "To find someone and actually experience these reactions instead of just analyzing them from a theoretical standpoint. And honestly? The idea terrifies me. Not the physical mechanics—I understand those perfectly. But the emotional variables, the loss of experimental control, the vulnerability required for authentic intimacy... those don't follow predictable models."

I find myself leaning forward, completely absorbed. This isn't performance—this is confession, and it's beautiful and terrifying and more intimate than anything I've ever seen on camera. The mask can't hide the vulnerability in her voice, the slight tremor that makes me want to reach through the screen and tell her she's safe, that her anonymity doesn't make her any less worthy of genuine connection.

"There's this song that's been stuck in my head," she says, setting down her wine glass and looking thoughtful. "Something about how many people know the technical aspects of things but never learn to truly appreciate what they're creating."

She pauses, her voice dropping to something rawer, more vulnerable. "'Study all the parts, memorize the rules, build your life around a theory but you're too afraid to start... so what good is knowing all the calculations if we're scared to fall apart?'"

Her voice catches slightly on the last line. "I think that might apply to more than just the original context."

My breath stops. Those are our lyrics. Our fucking lyrics from "Theory and Practice," the song I wrote at 3 AM when I couldn'tsleep, couldn't eat, couldn't do anything but think about how I'd studied music theory for years but forgotten what it felt like to actually create something that mattered.

"We should message her," Ash says suddenly, his voice unusually serious.

Felix immediately shakes his head. "Absolutely not. That's crossing every possible line. We're her biggest contributors, but sliding into her DMs? That's creepy fan behavior."

"Is it though?" I ask, already running through chord progressions in my head, hearing melodies that could capture what she just said. "She just said she's curious about exploring with someone who might actually appreciate the complexity of what she's offering. Maybe she'd be interested in talking to people who see her as more than just entertainment."

"You want to what, volunteer as her sexual education committee?" Felix asks, but there's curiosity beneath the skepticism.

"I want to offer to be her friend," I say simply. "Someone who sees her as more than a fantasy."

Ash is already pulling out his phone. "Fuck it. Life's too short to wonder 'what if.' Besides, what's the worst that could happen? She says no and we go back to being anonymous admirers?"

"She could expose us publicly, ruin our reputation, make us look like predators who can't maintain appropriate boundaries with content creators," Felix points out.

"Or," I say, watching The Hidden Chemist continue her stream with that new vulnerability shining through her usual academic confidence, "she could say yes. And maybe we all find out what it means to live beyond our own broken realities."

Ash is already on his phone, fingers flying across the screen. I can see him typing, deleting, typing again, trying to find the right words. Something genuine rather than predatory.

Because despite Felix's concerns, despite the potential complications, despite every rational reason to maintain our distance, we all feel it—this woman gets our fucking music. She's just quoted our lyrics back to us while explaining why she's terrified to live her own life.

How do you ignore that? How do I ignore that?

We finish watching the stream in silence. I keep thinking about the way her voice broke on "scared to fall apart." Felix is already pulling up her previous streams, trying to figure out if she's mentioned our band before. And Ash? Ash is staring at his phone like it might spontaneously combust from the weight of what we've just done.

It might. Whether that's a good or bad thing, I have no idea.

Chapter Five

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