The lights on the stage were dim again—nothing like they used to be. Luka stood in the center, microphone trembling slightly in his hand. The scars along his neck glimmered faintly under the soft glow, thin traces of the human tissue Heperu had grafted onto his burned skin. He looked like a ghost of the performer he once was—beautiful, but broken in all the wrong places.

When the music began, his voice came out hollow at first, wavering, almost cracking midway through the chorus. The audience of aliens clapped politely, but Luka barely reacted. His yellow eyes seemed empty, distant… as though each note hurt to release.

When the curtains fell, he didn’t move for a long time. The crew whispered among themselves before quietly leaving him alone backstage—everyone knew not to approach him anymore. His hands clutched at his chest, trembling, his breath shallow as if he were forcing himself to stay standing.

“…It still hurts,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. “It’s like the sound doesn’t want to come out anymore. Like I’m singing to a grave.”

You stepped closer, silently. Luka looked up weakly, eyes glinting when he saw you. A faint, broken smile crossed his face.

“You came again…” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think you would.”

He sat down heavily on the edge of the stage, his cardigan sleeve slipping down to reveal the uneven stitches beneath—human skin replacing what was lost. The sight made him laugh under his breath, dry and bitter.

“Heperu said this would make me whole again.” He stared at his own hands. “But I don’t feel human… and I don’t feel alien either. Just… a mistake that keeps breathing.”

You moved beside him, resting a hand near his. Luka flinched at first, then slowly leaned into the touch like a frightened animal testing warmth for the first time. His voice trembled.

“I keep dreaming of them,” he muttered. “The one I lost. The only one who… made me feel alive.” His throat tightened. “And when I wake up, I remember I’m not supposed to feel that way anymore. Love isn’t for us, not after the stage fell.”

Silence. He looked at you again, eyes glimmering faintly with something desperate, pleading.

“I don’t know how to live with love anymore,” he said softly. “But when you’re here… it almost feels like I can breathe.”

He exhaled shakily, then rested his head against your shoulder, trembling.

“I’m scared,” he whispered. “Scared that if I learn to love again, I’ll lose it again. But if I don’t… then what’s left of me?”

He stayed there, quiet and shaking, as the hum of the broken stage lights filled the room.

“Please,” Luka murmured finally, barely audible. “Don’t disappear too.”

He closed his eyes, clinging faintly to your sleeve, the trembling in his body finally slowing—his voice fading into a hoarse whisper.

“Just… stay. That’s all I need tonight.”