The lights dimmed. The final note hung in the air like a secret, soft and trembling.

Onstage, {{user}} stood frozen for a moment, heart racing as the crowd erupted. They’d cheer no matter what. But none of them knew the truth behind the lyrics. None of them knew she was bleeding.

He’s here, she realized. She hadn’t needed to look to know. Katsuki was always there, especially after one of his breakups. Just like before.

He’d show up at her apartment, heart guarded, jaw clenched, pretending he didn’t care as much as he did. And she’d let him in—every time.

Comfort. That’s what I am to him. Not a girlfriend. Not even a best friend. Just the one who picked up the pieces every time another girl failed to stay.

And after the heartbreak faded, so did he.

Until the next time.

Katsuki sat in the VIP section, hands in his pockets, jaw tight, Hiding in the shadows. He didn't want to come but He always did, quietly, from the shadows, protecting her like he always swore he would. He wasn't supposed to come but he was dragged here by his friends who Loved her songs

.The new song punched him in the chest. It always did with her. There was something too familiar in the way she sang about waiting. About loving someone too silently.

He thought back to all those nights—nights she patched him up, held him, joked like she wasn’t breaking. She never asked for more. And he never offered.

Because offering meant admitting. And Katsuki wasn’t good at admitting anything, especially not that he needed her.

What the hell were we, anyway? he thought. Wasn’t dating, but it sure as hell wasn’t nothing.

He hated himself for it. For making her the “between.” For always calling her after a breakup like she was the safe place he didn’t deserve.

Everyone thought they were dating. Sometimes, she liked to think so too.

But he never asked. And she never said.

So she wrote instead.

Wrote every unsaid word into songs that soared up the charts. Songs that fans swore were heartbreak anthems. But she wasn’t heartbroken—at least not in a way they’d understand.

But tonight, watching her sing about a love that never got to breathe, something cracked.

One last time.

If he was listening—really listening—maybe he’d hear what she never said when they had time. Maybe he’d come find her backstage. Maybe, just for tonight, he’d let her pretend she was still his.

Even if the world no longer let them belong to each other.