The venue was hotter than Elliot remembered.
Not in temperature — though the air inside was thick with sweat and neon light — but in presence. In pressure. In expectation. It clung to the walls like static. Every footstep echoed with tension, every low hum of speakers buzzed against the base of his skull.
It was standing-room only. The crowd pushed up to the barricade. Some held glowsticks. Others had banners — with Ami's name on them.
He blinked at that.
This wasn't like the last one. This wasn't underground and barely legal. This was something else.
This was real.
⸻
Backstage, Ami was silent.
She sat in front of a scratched mirror, headphones still around her neck, costume zipped up — a black-and-red set of half-laced boots, crushed velvet skirt, fingerless gloves, and a single silver ring around her neck like a choker. Her hair was tied high, her expression low.
She didn't look nervous.
She looked… hollow.
Elliot crouched beside her.
"Ten minutes."
She nodded.
Didn't speak.
Then, quietly:
"I dreamt last night I forgot the lyrics. Froze. Crowd walked out. No one even booed. Just left."
He didn't know what to say. So he handed her a bottle of water and said, "You're not gonna forget."
She took a slow sip. "And if I do?"
He stood. "Then we get up. And we keep going."
She looked at him in the mirror. And for a moment, her eyes softened.
"Don't look away," she said.
He frowned. "What?"
"If I fall tonight… don't look away."
⸻
The lights dimmed.
The crowd surged forward.
And Ami walked out into the smoke and heat like she was made of it.
The music started — slow, pulsing, electric.
She moved like she'd been born for it.
Her voice was sharp, every lyric hitting like a spark. She danced with precision. Smiled with just enough mystery. The crowd followed her with their eyes like worshippers watching a fire dance.
Elliot stood at the edge of the wings, headset on, counting beats, watching the set unfold like clockwork.
Until it didn't.
⸻
Halfway through the second song — a ballad with a sharp tempo shift — Ami's mic crackled.
Once.
Twice.
Then: nothing.
Her voice cut off mid-verse.
The backing track kept playing. Her mouth moved, but no sound followed.
The audience hesitated.
Some laughed. A few shouted.
Ami froze.
Not like last time.
This was different.
She wasn't blinking. Her arms hung loose. The light caught the sweat on her forehead, but she didn't wipe it.
The crowd started murmuring.
Elliot didn't think.
He moved.
Walked straight into the light, toward center stage, heart hammering against his ribs.
He didn't look at the crowd. He didn't care.
He picked up the backup mic from the equipment crate — the one Ami refused to test — and handed it to her.
Everyone watched.
Ami took it, fingers trembling.
And Elliot leaned into her ear and whispered:
"They're still here. Don't give them a reason to leave."
Then he turned to the crowd — just for a moment — and said:
"Sorry for the delay. She's going to show you something worth remembering."
The crowd roared.
And Ami — with fire suddenly back in her eyes — screamed the next verse like it would tear the roof off.
⸻
The set ended on a high note.
Literally.
The stage lights flickered down. Her final pose froze in place as the crowd screamed her name. Her name. Not the group she used to be in. Not a stage name. Hers.
Backstage, she collapsed onto the floor, breathing like she'd outrun a landslide.
Elliot dropped to his knees beside her.
"You did it," he said.
"No," she whispered, voice raw. "We did."
She turned to him — red-faced, glitter smudged, eyes glassy — and before he could react, she grabbed his collar and kissed him.
Fast. Messy. Real.
Then she pulled away and looked at him like she was scared he'd disappear.
"I need you," she said.
He didn't move.
But he didn't pull away either.
⸻
And someone saw.
From the shadows of the back entrance — behind the curtain, behind the noise — Mizuki Hanabira stood still, half-lit by a neon exit sign.
She hadn't meant to follow him here. Not really.
She hadn't meant to see that.
But she did.
Her fingers tightened around the bento box she'd made — meant to surprise him after his "secret gig." Meant to just talk. Ask what this was. What they were.
The box fell.
And she walked away.
⸻
Meanwhile, somewhere in the crowd, someone uploaded a clip.
A blurry video.
Of Elliot on stage. The way he handed off the mic. The way Ami looked at him. The way the crowd reacted.
And by midnight, the comments started.
"Is that the new transfer student from Class 1-A???"
"Why does she look at him like that???"
"Ami Yuzuki's manager is hot LMAO"
"Wait, are they DATING?!"
By morning, the entire school would know.