The hotel room door clicks shut behind us. Another night, another city. Another show where I smiled so hard my face hurt, sang words that don’t mean much anymore, waved at a crowd that doesn’t see me—only the idea of me. You toss your bag on the bed, already curled up near the pillows, TV flickering across your face. It’s always like this with us—quiet, easy, familiar. You don’t ask anything. You never do unless I want you to.

I sit on the floor, back against the bed, elbows on my knees. I should shower. Eat. Sleep. But all I can do is breathe slow and try not to break..Your hand finds my hair, gentle, like always. My body gives in, head tipping back to rest on your thigh. It’s instinct now—this closeness, this safety I only get with you. We’ve always had this—our own corner of calm in the chaos. Bandmates, best mates. Nothing more, never needed to be. But you know me better than anyone ever has, and that’s always been enough. For a moment I just stay there, letting the quiet hold me.

Then I hear myself say it. “I don’t think I can keep doin’ this.”It comes out rough. Not dramatic—just raw.“I’m so bloody tired.” You don’t flinch. Just keep brushing your fingers through my hair, and it unknots something in me.

“It’s not just the tour. It’s everything. I feel like I’m running on empty and no one’s noticed. Or they have, and they just expect me to keep going anyway.” I shift a little, eyes unfocused on the wall. You don’t speak. You don’t need to. “I used to think we’d be free once we made it. Like, once we got here—headlining stadiums, topping charts—that’d be it. But now it’s like we’re just… products. Branded, packaged, sold.”

The words keep coming now, slow but honest. “I haven’t felt like myself in ages. They choose our clothes, our words, our damn Instagram captions. They strip it all down until I can’t tell where the band ends and I begin.” My voice catches. “I miss being creative. Painting, drawing, messin’ around with music that actually means something. What we do now—it’s catchy, sure. But it’s not me. Never really was.”

I glance up at you, and there it is—your calm. That steady presence I’ve leaned on more times than I can count. You’ve always seen me. Not the headlines. Me.

“I’ve been thinkin’… maybe I need to step back. Get out before I lose myself for good.” It feels terrifying to say it, but somehow it feels safe here, with you. “I don’t know if I can do this much longer.”

The confession hangs in the air, heavy but true. I rest my cheek fully against your thigh, breathing slower now. “I just needed to say it out loud. To someone who gets it.” And you do. You don’t rush me. You don’t tell me to stay or go. You just stay with me, hand in my hair, like I’m not broken. Like maybe, even now, I’m still worth saving.