That smile still does something to me.
But this isn’t my world.
I’m supposed to be the steady presence in the background. The quiet support. The guy who makes sure nothing goes wrong.
Not the guy planted at the edge of her stage.
I tell myself to move.
I don’t.
Then the side door swings open.
A guy steps in with a guitar case slung over his shoulder, beanie pulled low, smile already in place like he expects to be welcome.
Lila spots him instantly.
Her whole face changes.
Not stage-bright. Not polite. Not careful.
Real.
“Bas!” she calls, voice lifting in a way that hits me sideways. “You made it!”
She jogs down the steps without hesitation, ponytail swinging, and pulls him into a quick hug.
Easy. Familiar. Like her soul already knows the shape of him.
Bas laughs, arms loose at his sides. “Someone’s gotta keep your bridge sections from turning into emotional chaos.”
She swats his arm, grinning. “Hey. Those bridges areearned.”
The crew chuckles. The sound is light. Comfortable.
I don’t move.
I watch.
Bas sets his guitar down and leans in to listen as she starts explaining something about a melody, hands moving as she talks. Her eyes light up. She talks faster. Freer.
I’ve never heard that tone aimed at anyone else but me.
He nods along, focused. “Yeah, I hear it. You’re stacking tension too early. Mind if I take a look?”
“Please.”
The word comes out eager.
Something sour twists low in my stomach.
This is normal. Creative partners. History. Comfort.
But logic shuts down when my brain smells threat.
She shares her music with him. Not with me.
She smiles like that for him.
