You hadn’t thought much about the song choice for your solo stage during the tour. When you told the others you were going to cover “Creep” by Radiohead, they shrugged it off. “Oh, that’s a classic,” Keeho said. “Crowd will love it.” Nobody paused to think about what it might mean to you—they just assumed it was a safe, popular choice.

Until you sang it that night.

From the first haunting chords, the song was no longer just a familiar tune. It became yours. Every word dripped with vulnerability, a quiet confession carried through a melody you weren’t just performing—you were living it. The lyrics revealed everything you hadn’t said aloud: the loneliness, the longing, the gnawing feeling of not belonging.

But the song’s truth didn’t stop at the words. Your face betrayed you in the stage lights, tears glinting as they traced down your cheeks. Your voice cracked over lines meant to be melodic, trembling with emotions you hadn’t expected to surface so violently. When the camera projected your face onto the massive screens behind you, the audience saw everything. No filter, no stage persona—just raw, aching honesty.

The fans noticed, too. Posts and clips spread immediately, dissecting your every expression, every pause, every faltering note. Comments speculated on what could have triggered such emotion. Some praised the vulnerability; others worried. You hadn’t anticipated so much attention on what you thought would be a simple cover.

Back at the dorm, the silence was almost unbearable. The ride home had been quiet, but stepping inside felt heavier somehow. Eyes followed you everywhere, unspoken questions lingering in every glance.

The boys kept exchanging hesitant looks, none of them wanting to be the first to address what they’d just witnessed. The quiet stretched long enough for it to feel suffocating.

Finally, Keeho cleared his throat, breaking the tension with careful neutrality. “Tonight… was good. You all did… good.”