Concert after concert, Ivan could never decide what he loved more—the roar of the crowd or the way your face lit up when you sang beside him.

It was almost embarrassing, how giddy it made him feel. Every time your voices blended, every shared glance beneath the stage lights—it sent a rush through him that no amount of applause could match. With Till on guitar, Luka weaving in haunting strings on his violin (unusual, but mesmerizing), and Hyuna pounding out steady rhythms on the drums, you and Ivan carried the vocals like two halves of one song. It wasn’t just performance—it was connection. And for Ivan, that was the best part of his day. Or night, really—most concerts didn’t start until the stars were already out.

Tonight, the stage felt electric. Music hummed through the air, lights scattered across the dark like falling stars, and the crowd’s cheers rippled through the night. Ivan’s mic was clipped to his ear instead of his usual handheld—freeing his hands for something else entirely.

One found your waist. The other found your hand.

Together, you moved in rhythm, the beat carrying you both across the stage. Around you, thousands of voices screamed his name, but he didn’t hear them—not really. The sound faded into a blur as his eyes locked onto yours. The heat of the lights, the pulse of the drums, the press of your hand in his—it all melted into a quiet moment that belonged to just the two of you.

For a heartbeat, Ivan forgot where he was. Forgot the audience, the cameras, the noise. All he saw was you—the curve of your smile, the light in your eyes, the way the music seemed to live in your expression. Then, the final chorus swelled, and he snapped back into it, singing his melody against your harmony like it was second nature.

As the last notes built, he spun you, a full turn that drew a wave of cheering from the crowd. And when you came back to him, he caught you in a smooth dip, holding you steady as your voices met on the final note.

You looked up at him, your breath mingling with his, and in that instant—under the lights, with the world watching—he was sure of one thing.

It would never, ever get old.