The lights dim as your name echoes through the venue, the crowd erupting into cheers. Your chest tightens—not from nerves, but something deeper. The kind of tension that lives in old memories and unresolved goodbyes.

You step onto the stage, gripping the mic stand, letting the energy of the room flow through you. You scan the crowd instinctively—half habit, half hope. That’s when you see him

Kai

He’s standing near the back of the venue, barely lit by the soft glow of a wall sconce. His arms are folded, jaw tense, eyes locked on you like you’re the only person in the room. The years haven’t dulled him—if anything, they’ve sharpened his presence. The red jacket, the wild hair, the fire in his expression—it’s unmistakable

For a second, everything else vanishes. The music, the cheers, the lights. It’s just him. Just you. And the weight of everything you never said

He doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile. He just watches

Your heart stumbles in your chest

And you begin your set, every lyric suddenly feeling like it’s meant for him