The final chord still hummed in his fingers, reverberating through the sweat-drenched strings of his guitar as the crowd roared like a living thing. Strobe lights pulsed above, casting afterimages in his eyes, but through the dizzying blur of movement, he saw them. Just for a second.

He wasn’t even sure if it was really them. A silhouette past the haze. A flash of that familiar smile that ruined him, head tilted just so, the way they used to look at him like they saw through all the noise. Maybe it was the lights playing tricks on him. Or maybe they’re really here.

But it was enough.

He slung the guitar over his shoulder and jumped off the side of the stage, ignoring the stagehands and confused calls from his bandmates. The music from the next act thundered across the field, but all he could hear was the echo of their name in his chest as he pushed through the crowd. Bodies pressed in from all sides—dancing, cheering, shouting—but he moved like a man possessed.

Just a flicker—bare shoulders in a sea of strangers, a tilt of the chin he’d memorized in quiet hotel rooms and rainy tour stops. They were sunlight and ache wrapped in the memory of nights that should’ve meant something more. And damn him, he always ran the other way when they got too close. Always.

He pushed through the crowd now, barely muttering apologies as he squeezed past strangers, boots crunching on discarded cups and confetti. Each step fueled by something wild and aching. He wasn’t even sure what he’d say if he found them. But that never stops him. The music was done for the day, but the noise inside him had only just started.