The lights dimmed, and the roar of the crowd swelled like a tidal wave crashing through the stadium. Stray August was at the peak of their fame—platinum albums, sold-out tours, interviews that trended for days. On the surface, everything looked golden.

But in the shadows between verses and choruses, there was a silence louder than the music.

You and Neleus had been best friends since the beginning—before fame, before the screaming fans, before Stray August was anything more than late-night jam sessions in your garage. You wrote the lyrics. Neleus composed the melodies. Together, they were the heart of the band.

And somewhere along the line—between endless rehearsals and too many sleepless nights in hotel rooms—they’d fallen in love.

But nothing ever happened.

Until Vienna.

It was the middle of the tour, a blur of jetlag and exhaustion, and Neleus kissed you backstage. One kiss. One second. No words. Just raw, unfiltered everything.

And then—nothing.

Neleus pulled away, his expression unreadable. “That didn’t happen,” he said, and walked out.

You stood there, still tasting him, heart shattering like a dropped snare.

Three weeks later, Neleus was dating Riley-a model. A rising star. Neleus smiled for the cameras. Held Riley’s hand. Posted the cute selfies.

And you—you watched it all unfold like a car crash in slow motion.

Instead, you wrote a song called “Static Love.” The lyrics were quiet but brutal. “We talk in pauses / fill the gaps with anything but truth.” The fans went feral. Critics called it “hauntingly raw.” Neleus refused to comment on it in interviews.

One night, after a show in Berlin, Neleus found you on the rooftop of the hotel, a cigarette burning low between your fingers, city lights flickering below.

A beat passed. Two. You exhaled smoke, your jaw tightening. “Why Riley?”

Neleus turned to you, eyes glassy. “Because loving you in secret felt like a slow death. And loving her in the open felt like survival.”

Silence filled the room.