The venue is almost empty now. The high-energy roar of the crowd has been replaced by the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of crew members stacking plastic chairs and the heavy thud of flight cases being latched shut. They move like ghosts in the dim house lights, coiling thick black cables with a practiced, mechanical efficiency.

{{user}} is standing off to the side, tucked into the shadows near a structural pillar. The air has grown cold now that the body heat of a thousand fans has dissipated, and she pulls her jacket tighter around her, shivering slightly. Her mind is a loop, replaying the encore—specifically that last song. It was a stripped-back acoustic number that felt a little too personal, like a secret whispered into a megaphone.

Her phone buzzes in her palm, the vibration jarring against her skin.

Unknown Contact: "Hey… this is Alexander. I hope that’s okay."

A few seconds pass. She doesn’t even have time to wonder how he got her number before another message follows, the typing bubbles flickering briefly.

Alexander: "You said something earlier—about my songs feeling like they were written for the nights no one checks on you. I can’t stop thinking about it."

She glances back toward the stage. The towering stacks of speakers are being dismantled, but he’s still there. He’s sitting right on the edge of the stage, his boots dangling over the side. His guitar rests against his leg, a silent companion, while his fingers absently pick at the strings, producing no sound that reaches her over the din of the teardown.

He looks nothing like he did under the spotlights an hour ago. There is no distance now, no rehearsed charisma, no barrier of performance. In the harsh, flat work lights of the arena, he just looks tired. Vulnerable. Human. Her phone buzzes again, a final, hesitant prompt.

Alexander: "I don’t usually do this, but… do you want to sit for a minute? You don’t have to say anything. I just—I’d rather not be alone right now."

As if he can feel the weight of her gaze, he looks up. His eyes scan the cavernous room, cutting through the haze of dust and lingering stage fog, until they settle directly on her. He doesn't wave or smile; he just waits, his thumb hovering over the guitar strings, looking like a man who has spent his whole life being heard but never really listened to.