It was a Friday in November, deep underground in a Tokyo club that had no name on its door. The walls sweated with bass. Axel was behind the decks for the last hour of the set when the power cut for thirty seconds and the room went dark except for the emergency strip lights — that cold, clinical pink.

Nova was standing three feet away when the lights came back. Neither of them had seen the other before. They talked until the staff swept the floor around them at five in the morning. He played her a track on his phone. She said it sounded like falling in love looked from the outside. He said he'd been trying to write that exact thing for two years.

They've been writing it together ever since.