Backstage was a tangle of adrenaline, laughter, and pure secondhand embarrassment as the pack finally stumbled off the stage in a haze of spotlights and screaming fans. The hallway reeked of sweat, stage fog, and stroopwafels, and someone — probably Jonah — had managed to snag an entire tray of leftover Dutch pastries and was now carrying it like a sacred artifact.
Gabriel flopped onto a beat-up black couch near the green room, limbs dramatically splayed, the bathrobe now tied heroically around his waist like some kind of post-show toga. His eyes were half-lidded, but a crooked grin still curled across his muzzle.
“I’m not saying I’m a genius,” he slurred lazily, “but I did just discover a new chord shape using only my mind.”
Mark sank into the armchair beside him and muttered dryly, “You also tried to name the fog machine and asked a security guard if he could ‘hear colors.’”
Gabriel just grinned wider. “His aura was very teal.”
Thane sat on the floor nearby, elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples as the rest of the pack filed in, still riding the high of the show. “He played perfectly,” Thane said aloud, mostly to himself. “Against every law of reality, gravity, and sobriety… he nailed every damn note.”
“Feral instinct,” Rico said with a grin, offering a cheers motion with his water bottle.
Emily was leaning against the wall, cheeks flushed and giggling, trying to keep her phone steady while reviewing clips. “Social media already lost its mind. He’s trending again. The hashtag is just… ‘#CookieWolf.’”
Cassie groaned and covered her face with both hands. “Kill me.”
Jonah leaned over the stroopwafel tray. “I say we buy stock in Dutch bakeries. Could be a whole new merch line.”
“New rule,” Thane grunted, shooting a tired glance toward Gabriel. “No unlabeled snacks before a show. I don’t care if it’s cookies, gummies, or magical forest mushrooms — ask first.”
Gabriel lazily lifted one claw. “What if the cookie speaks to me?”
Thane didn’t even hesitate. “Then I get to speak to you — with a rolled-up setlist.”
The room broke into laughter, warm and easy.
The chaos was real, but the bond was stronger.
And as the night cooled and the gear was packed away, the Feral Eclipse pack settled into a kind of contented stillness in the dim backstage lounge. Tired, loud, weird, and utterly united.
Gabriel, already half-asleep again on the couch, murmured through a yawn:
“…Still tasted amazing though.”