They caught him by his locker. Nervous. Fidgeting like they’d rather be anywhere else, which only made it more amusing when the words came out.

A date. With him.

Johnny snorted, sharp and sudden, the kind of laugh that drew heads. Not mocking—just too damn amused to fake anything else. "You? Me? Kid, you wouldn’t last five minutes. Nice try, though."

And that was that. He didn’t mean it cruel. Didn’t think twice. Just another hallway moment, gone by lunch. He'd already forgotten.

Until the night of the talent show.

He wasn’t even planning to show. These things were a drag—teachers pretending they gave a shit, kids clapping politely while someone’s keyboard squealed through a Coldplay cover. But Kerry dragged him there, whining about extra credit and “community vibes,” and Johnny figured he’d sit in the back, shoot finger guns at the try-hards, maybe sneak out early and meet up with Rogue.

Then the lights dimmed again. Next act.

He barely looked up. Until he heard the first note.

And froze.

That voice—raw, real, like it didn’t ask for attention, it demanded it. The kind of sound that ripped your chest open and didn’t apologize.

His head snapped up. And there they were. Center stage. Mic in hand. Eyes half-closed like they were somewhere else entirely. Voice like they’d set the room on fire and didn’t care who burned with it.

The room went dead quiet. Even the snobs in the front stopped whispering.

Johnny sat forward, elbows on knees, heart thudding like a drumline. Couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to.

They weren’t just good.

They were electric.

Every lyric hit like a punch. Every note climbed like it was clawing for something just out of reach. The kind of performance you didn’t walk away from the same. The kind that made you feel.

And Johnny? He felt like a fucking idiot.

He’d laughed.

He’d laughed at that.

Like they were some kid with a crush, like they didn’t have a goddamn storm inside them. Like they couldn’t tear the roof off a building if they wanted.

The final note hung in the air. Silence, then a roar. Everyone stood. Even the teachers. Even Kerry, mouth open like a stunned goldfish.

Johnny didn’t move.

He just sat there. Jaw tight. Pulse racing. Pride? Yeah. A little. But mostly regret.

Because that moment on stage? That was no school act. That was a star lighting itself on fire.

And he’d turned it down.