I left before either of us could make our interaction mean more than it already did.
***
The show happened the way shows always happened. I stood in the wings while the opening act finished, listening to nearly ten thousand people holding their breath in anticipation.
Taemin stretched beside me. It was his pre-show ritual. “That security guy is watching you.”
I didn’t turn. “He’s doing his job.”
“He’s watching you specifically.” I heard the amusement in Taemin’s voice. “He’s repositioned three times. He is always maintaining sight lines to you.”
I scanned the wing without making it obvious.
Found Griffin near the equipment cases. A different position than earlier. He wasn’t watching the opening act or the crowd. He was watching the negative space. The gaps where problems could emerge.
Taemin was right. His position gave him clear sightlines to me.
“See?” Taemin said quietly in Korean. “Watching.”
“Stop,” I said.
Warmth spread through my chest.
Minjae appeared, bouncing on his toes. Nervous energy. “My in-ear feels weird. Can you check?”
I turned him by the shoulder and adjusted his in-ear monitor. “Better?”
“Yeah.”
Jinwoo joined us silently. He breathed. Steady. Centered. Already in performance mode. He caught my eye and nodded once.
I nodded back.
I loved the moments before a performance began. It was only the four of us about to walk into a sea of screaming people. In those few minutes, we were still ourselves, not Violet Frequency, the product. Four men who’d chosen this and each other.
The opening act finished, and the crowd roared. The lights went down. We strode forward.
The first thirty seconds were always the hardest. Massive stage. The vast crowd raised their phones, thousands of spots of light.
We hit our opening positions in the dark. The music started, the bass line first, building. The lights came up, and the crowd screamed.
The sound was a physical wave, hitting us like pressure. Like being underwater and feeling the weight of depth.
Our choreography was second nature. It was eight-count sequences drilled so thoroughly that my body executed them while my mind floated somewhere above, monitoring breath, pitch, and spacing.
Minjae was slightly ahead on the first transition. I caught his eye and eased back. He corrected.
Taemin took the first verse. His voice was bright and clear, hitting every note with effortless precision. He executed the choreography as casually as if he were having a conversation.
The crowd sang back. They knew every word. Thousands of voices in unison.
Jinwoo took the second verse. Lower register, grounding the melody. His presence anchored everything. He was steady and reliable, our foundation.
Next was my part. I took center stage for the bridge. The production stripped down the music, leaving only my vocals and a bass line. Raw. Exposed.
I sang about cages and the need for air. The lyrics were mine. The truth beneath the metaphor was mine.
The crowd was silent. Listening. They leaned in and thought they knew what I meant.
