He drags himself away from his staring, still grinning, and the three of us make for the doors. The balcony air is warm and thick with humidity. Rithy's forearms are braced against the railing, cigarette dangling from his fingers like he’s tempting it to fall. Kiri is first through the door, as usual, voice loud enough to fill the silence.
“Here we go. Little brother doing his moody genius act again. Can’t let anyone else have five minutes of spotlight, eh? Classic younger sibling syndrome.”
Ronan exhales, long-suffering, leaning beside him. “What're you even mad about? That was the best set we’ve played the whole tour. I’m still buzzing, that crowd was electric.”
Rithy doesn’t turn around. “It wasn’t any betterthan usual,” he mutters. “Maybe you’ve all forgotten what matters, but I haven’t.”
I step closer, careful. “And whatdoesmatter, Rithy?”
He finally turns, hair a mess, eyes determined under the low light. “Us. The band, the music, the fans. The reason we started this. You all act like you hate it now, like it’s something to survive instead of something we built together.”
“No one hates it,” I tell him, soft, trying to keep my voice from cutting. “We still love it. Some nights just hitdifferently,that’s all.”
Rithy scoffs. “Right. Tonight justhappenedto hit differently.”
There’s a pause that stretches too long. Ronan frowns, glancing at me; Kiri tilts his head like he’s trying to read a foreign language. We all know what he’s hinting at but none of us are stupid enough to say it out loud.
Rithy just shakes his head, takes one last drag, then flicks the cigarette hard into the night, arcing down like a dying comet. “Never mind, forget it. I’ll be back inside, getting drunk enough to stop thinking.”
He shoulders past us, door sliding shut behind him.
Kiri lets out a long sigh, hands in his pockets. “Well. That was fun.”
I glance sideways at him. “He’s been off lately, you think someone’s gotten under his skin? Romantic thing?”
That gets a snort. “Rithy? Are you still talking about my brother? Too obsessed with the music, you know that. The only thing he falls for is his own reflection. Just the usual roster of hot dudes if he’s bored.”
Ronan chuckles. “That sounds a little judgmental coming from the man who’s already had three lobby meltdowns and a reality TV star blocking him on Instagram this year.”
Kiri grins, unoffended. “At least mine havecareers.I focus on one at a time, at least long enough to remember their names,thank you.His just disappear, never to be seen again.”
We laugh. The moment stretches easy again, the night slipping back into its rhythm. When we head inside, the noise swallows us. Kasia’s on the couch near the center of the suite, the city skyline glittering behind her. Some talent scout I vaguely recognize is sitting close, gesturing animatedly, card in hand. She’s listening politely, head tilted, smile soft.
That dress is even more dangerous than before, the purple fabric drapes around her legs, split high enough that I can see the outline of one knee, all the way up to her thigh, the shimmer of skin before the fabric folds again as she crosses her legs. My gaze trails up before I can stop it, her hand resting against the couch cushion, her shoulders bare under the dim light.
Then she looks up and catches me. It’s like being caught mid-theft, hand in the cookie jar. I look away too late and her lips curve, barely a smile, more a knowing amusement but she doesn’t look away. The scout’s still talking, oblivious. She’s not even pretending to listen anymore, just watching me.
I clear my throat, too aggressively, then drag my attention to Ronan. “Hey Ronan—wait up!” I call, voice breaking the moment, an obvious and messy deflection.
Ronan turns, confused. Kiri smirks, instantly reading me. In my periphery, I can see her laughing, not at the scout but at me. Because she’s the only person in the room who can see me coming apart in real time.
Slowly the room thins out, the noise drops from chaos to a mild rumble. A few stragglers still circle the bar, the rest drifting toward the elevators or into private corners. I spot her near the couch, still glowing under the soft gold light, hair cascading down her back. I make my way over, dodging half-empty glasses and someone’s abandoned jacket.
“Well,” I say, stopping close enough for her to hear me over the music, “you survived. How was it, your first after-party?”
She exhales, smiling. “Good.”
“Good,” I echo, nodding once.
“Did you—”
“I should—”
We both stop, then laugh, the sound easing the tension that’s been simmering all night. I steady my voice. “Did you want to go over some of the lyrics quick? You’ve had a long day, so I get it if you say—”
“Sure.”
Thatsurehits sweeter than I expect, an echo of cherry soda on the tongue of my first kiss, all nerves and lust. Alone, with Kasia. I swallow, trying to keep the grin from breaking too wide.
