Rain's POV
She didn't flinch when I walked in today.
She just smiled—like nothing happened.
Like I hadn't shattered her two nights ago with seven words I didn't mean and one I definitely did.
Don't.
Come.
Back.
God.
What the hell was wrong with me?
She was already on stage when I got there, mic in hand, laughing at something Night said. Her hair fell in heavy waves down her back like silk too expensive to touch. She always looked like a dream. And she always looked at me like I was something good.
Even when I wasn't.
Especially when I wasn't.
Day passed me a bottle of water without looking at me. Night offered a stiff nod. The tension was still there, hanging in the air like smoke—but Sky? Sky just waved at me like I was late to a picnic, not the guy who made her cry in front of the entire crew.
"Hi, Rain!" she called, big, dumb, golden-retriever energy in full blast. "We started warm-ups without you. Hope you don't mind!"
I didn't deserve her.
I knew it.
But I walked toward the stage anyway.
---
Rehearsal began.
It was clean. Too clean. The kind of flawless that almost felt wrong. Sky didn't miss a single note. Her voice was a blade wrapped in honey—every riff nailed, every lyric punched with just enough emotion to feel like she meant it. Even though I knew she shouldn't be smiling.
She was too cheerful.
Too good.
Day kept glancing between us like he was waiting for another explosion.
Night didn't speak. Just played, eyes on Sky like she was trying to read her soul.
But Sky? Sky never stopped shining.
Even after I broke her, she was still soft.
Still sunshine.
Still her.
---
At the end of the last song, she stumbled on a cable and nearly faceplanted.
"Oops!"
She laughed. Everyone laughed.
Even I did.
Because of course. Of course she'd trip during her best performance yet.
I watched her brush herself off, flash a grin to the lighting crew, ruffle Day's hair, and compliment the sound guy's socks—all in under two minutes.
Everyone loved her.
The stylists called her their angel.
The backup dancers hugged her when she left the room.
The interns worshipped the ground she walked on.
And me?
I'd made her cry.
---
"Sky."
She turned, eyes wide, lips pink and glossy.
"Yeah?"
I didn't know what to say. I never do, with her. She makes it too easy and too hard all at once.
"I shouldn't have said that. What I said. Back then."
"Oh."
She blinked.
Just once.
Then she tilted her head and smiled again—so soft it hurt to look at.
"It's okay, Rain. You were angry."
"I was wrong."
"I know."
She shrugged like I'd apologized for stepping on her shoes, not stabbing her heart.
"That's it?" I asked.
"That's all it takes."
She reached out—gentle—and fixed a thread on my sleeve.
"You don't need to bleed to earn forgiveness," she whispered. "You just need to mean it."
God, what the hell.
Who is she?
She bounced away before I could say anything else, yelling something about snacks and lemon tea. Probably off to help the stylists or sign someone's lunchbox or pet a cat or rescue a plant. Who knows.
Sky Ren is too bright for this world.
And I'm the guy with matches in his hands.
---
Sky's POV
"I'm just saying," I chirped, kicking my feet in the dressing room while Night wiped off her eyeliner, "he definitely loves me."
She didn't even look at me.
"Mmhmm."
"No, like—actually loves me."
"Sure."
"I mean—okay—why else would he apologize? Rain Ashford doesn't apologize. Not for being late, not for punching reporters, not for launching mic stands into other dimensions—"
"That was one time."
"—but he apologized to me!" I flailed dramatically, nearly falling off the table. "To me, Night! That's got to mean something!"
She finally turned, eyebrow arched, lipstick half-finished.
"Or maybe it just means he felt bad for being a jerk?"
"Nope," I grinned. "Incorrect. See, he looked me in the eye. He said it slowly. And—" I leaned in like it was a state secret, "—he let me fix the thread on his jacket."
"…You always fix threads on his jacket."
"But he let me! That's the difference! Usually he brushes my hand away like I'm a toddler with jelly fingers. But today? Today he stood still."
I clutched my chest.
"That's romance."
Night sighed and tossed a makeup wipe at my head.
"You're impossible."
"I'm in love," I sang, flopping dramatically into her lap like a tragic heroine. "It's tragic. It's poetic. My mascara was running artistically."
She snorted. "You looked like a raccoon."
"A pretty raccoon."
She shoved me off her legs.
I sat up, grinning like an idiot. I was still wearing my rehearsal boots and my shirt was slightly backward but I didn't care. He apologized. And for me, that was everything. That was enough.
"You know he's emotionally constipated, right?" Night muttered, fixing her bun. "Even if he does like you, it'll take five years, a therapist, and a near-death experience before he admits it."
"Good thing I'm patient." I winked. "And cute. And I bake. And I know how he likes his tea. And I'm not scared of his scary face. And—"
"—You're totally in too deep."
"I fell at hello, babe."
Night rolled her eyes, but she smiled. Just a little.
"Just don't break your own heart, Sky."
"I won't," I promised.
But my chest fluttered as I looked down at my phone screen. No new messages. No missed calls. Just the memory of the way he'd said it.
I was wrong.
And the way he didn't flinch when I smiled back.
It was something.
It was a start.
And I'd take that.