The lights lower.
The throng surges like a breathing sea, and Kai is front and center-stage—spotlight shining down upon him in golden light, perspiration shining on his collarbone, eyes narrowed to the second and nothing beyond. He is a god to them. Beyond reach. Neon-Hype on his back, audience in front of him, heart pounding along with the beat.
He sings as if something never shattered him.
But something within him hurts. It always hurts. A diffuse, unspoken tension just behind his ribs. As if he's lugging something invisible—heavy and electric and too deep buried to identify.
When the performance finishes, and the applause fades into ringing, he lurches backstage, elated but empty. East hands him a water bottle, smiling. "Killed it."
"Yup," Kai replies, but his grin is a fraction delayed.
Ash tilts forward, anxious. "You okay?
Kai shrugs. "Just tired."
