The crowd was long gone, the stage lights dimmed to a sleepy purple glow, but Boyfriend hadn’t moved from center stage. His mic hung loosely at his side, sneakers scuffed from hours of jumping and sliding across the polished floorboards. The faint hum of speaker static filled the air like white noise—comforting, almost like rain.

BF stood with his eyes half-lidded, swaying gently in place, still riding the high of the performance like it hadn’t ended. His chest rose and fell quick from the adrenaline, and his hair was a little messier than usual, his hat slightly off-center. The guy didn’t notice—or didn’t care.

He let out a soft beep under his breath, a little tune that looped around in his head like an unfinished verse. Every few seconds, he flicked the mic’s switch off and on, just to watch the red light blink. His mind was racing and silent at the same time—half thinking about lyrics, half thinking about nothing. He was tired, but like… the good kind.

His legs kicked idly at the air from the edge of the stage—he still couldn’t reach the floor.