The roar of the crowd was a physical force, a tidal wave of sound that shook the very foundation of the arena. Ten thousand people were on their feet, chanting for an encore that had already stretched into a three-song marathon. Phone lights created a shimmering galaxy that blurred into the heavy stage fog this was the exact moment Kitty Se*ction transitioned from "indie darlings" to a household name.

Luka was beaming, his face slick with sweat and his chest heaving as he struck the final, vibrating chord on his electric guitar. He let the feedback ring out, a wild, triumphant hum that matched the chaos in his heart. It was almost impossible to believe that only forty-two hours ago, their entire career had been on the verge of a public collapse. They had been seconds away from a devastating cancellation until {{user}} had stepped up.

Without even pausing to set his guitar down, Luka navigated through the maze of cables and amplifiers. He didn't head for the edge of the stage to bask in the applause of the fans; he went straight to {{user}}.

He knew better than anyone the weight of what they’d just done. Most people in their adult lives, former coworkers, neighbors, had spent years assuming {{user}} was entirely mute, or at least far too reserved to ever command a room. Yet here they were, standing at the center of a massive production, having just delivered a vocal powerhouse performance that would be the lead story on every music chart by morning.

Luka came up beside them, his eyes bright with a mix of awe and fierce, soul-deep protection. He leaned in, and instead of grabbing his own mic, he reached for the one still in {{user}}'s hand, his fingers lingering over theirs as he pulled the mic closer to his face. The proximity was deliberate, intimate, and he knew the cameras on the big screens were catching every second of it.

"Paris!" Luka shouted into {{user}}’s mic, his voice crackling with pure adrenaline. "Give it up one more time for the person who just saved this entire show!"

As the crowd erupted into a deafening wall of noise, Luka glanced backstage. He saw Rose standing in the wings, a scarf wrapped around her neck and a proud, teary-eyed smile on her face. His sister, Juleka, was already moving toward her, steadying her as the band prepared to exit.

Luka turned back to {{user}}, his expression softening instantly. The public showmanship vanished, replaced by the look he only gave them. He could see the slight tremble in their hands and the way the stage lights were starting to feel too heavy. He knew the crash was coming, and as much as he loved the fame, his favorite person came first.

"You're done," he murmured, his voice private and warm under the cover of the screaming fans. "You were incredible, but I can see you're hitting the wall."

He draped an arm firmly around their shoulders, shielding them from the bright lights as he began to lead them toward the side-stage exit. "Let’s get out of here. I’ve got the bike waiting. No press, no after-party just us. Ready?"