Someone said my name.
Hands at my shoulders.
The cold stage beneath my cheek.
The audience was still cheering. The sound washed over me in waves, distant and enormous, like standing at the bottom of the ocean.
Someone said my name again.
Hyunki.
His voice didn't carry its usual edge. Something clipped and urgent underneath the sound of it.
I tried to answer.
Nothing.
The lights were wrong. Too bright, then too dark, then blinding again.
I registered his weight dropping beside me—the stage vibrating faintly when his knees hit the floor. His hand found my shoulder, steadying, and he turned me slightly so I wasn't face-down.
Hyunki leaned closer, and I felt him go still.
Not the stillness of someone waiting. The stillness of someone who'd caught a scent and couldn't place it—couldn't reconcile it with everything around him.
Wild pear blossom. Honey. Warm and unmistakable underneath the aggressive bloom of sponsor perfume soaking my collar.
His breath came out slow.
