Vulnerable.
Then the lights dimmed. The crowd hushed. And Bodhi opened his mouth to sing.
“I’ve worn my name into the floorboards, every night the same disguise.
If this is all I’m ever known for, let me burn before it dies...”
He didn’t move like he usually did. Didn’t prowl, climb, or scream. He stayed exactly where he was, bathed in a single spotlight, the mic resting in its stand.
He did nothing but let himself be seen.
After watching him perform a few times, I understood what he’d meant back in rehab. What it felt like to be detached from the music.
There were songs he threw his whole self into. Mind, body, soul. He bared everything for the crowd and burned through them like it cost him something real.
And then there were the others.
When you spend enough time searching for the cracks in yourself, you start to see them in other people too. I noticed the way he moved more stiffly during certain songs. How his excitement dipped, ten or twenty percent at a time. Those were the ones he wasn’t connected to. The ones that felt manufactured. Written by someone whose only interest was profit margins and chart placement.
The rest of Noctis were the same. They didn’t play as hard, or as wild. Still good. Still polished. Still more than enough to give a paying crowd their money’s worth. Enough to keep the label satisfied so they could keep creating at all, even if it wasn’t exactly what they’d dreamed of.
I wondered how long that balance could last.
How long before the suits took over completely. Before the band was told nothing more than where to be, when to show up, what to play. Before all that was left was performance without passion.
Watching them hover just this side of apathy madesomething hot and helpless rise in my chest. I wanted to shake them. To demand they fight for their music, their joy, their autonomy.
But I never did.
It wasn’t my place. I didn’t understand the industry well enough to pretend I had answers.
All I knew was that if anything was going to change, it had to come from them. From Bodhi. From the boys of Noctis. They had to want it.
And I wasn’t sure they wanted it badly enough yet.
Tension built as Thump crept in on percussion. Riff and Mick joined on vocals, their harmonies weaving together and sending a shiver straight down my spine.
“I don’t need saving. I just need to stay...”
Then the music swelled, rising like a wave before crashing into the arena as the chorus hit. Bodhi gripped the mic stand, closed his eyes, and poured himself into the words.
“If I fade out tonight, I’ll be the last light.
Still breathing, still here, still holding the fight...”
I’d heard this song before. More than once. I’d even added it to my carefully curated Spotify playlist, wedged between K-pop and classical pieces.
But tonight, for the first time, it made my eyes burn.
“When the noise falls away and the crowd’s out of sight,
I’ll stand in the dark, I’ll be the last light...”
The tears spilled over and slid down my cheeks.
This was the song. The one Bodhi cared about most. I could feel it in every note, every breath. It was the perfect way to end the show. Not just a performance, but a confession. Somethingreal.
A tissue appeared in front of me. I turned to see Clara watching the stage, pride softening her smile.
