The lights dim.
The crowd roars, then hushes.
I step into the spotlight, pulse hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape. My breath feels too big for my lungs. The mic is cold in my grip. I don't speak right away. I feel the weight first—the quiet, the eyes, the love. And the ghost inside me who isn't a ghost at all.
I look out at the crowd, then down at my trembling hand. My voice doesn't shake when I finally speak.
"I used to think my voice was the only thing that made me strong," I say. "That if I lost it—if I broke—I'd disappear."
Silence stretches, deep and listening.
"But the truth is... I've been broken for a long time. I just kept dancing around the cracks. Singing over them."
A tremor rises in my throat. I swallow it down.
"Then I lost someone. Not to death, exactly. But to love. To sacrifice. He gave me everything. He gave me his soul."
There's a soft gasp somewhere out in the dark. I keep going.
"And I didn't know what to do with that. I didn't know how to carry someone else inside me. I thought it made me wrong. Dangerous."
I look up. Not at the crowd. At the light above. The one that hums like his breath.
"But I don't think that anymore. I think maybe love isn't about holding on tight or letting go. Maybe it's about... singing in harmony, even if one of you is invisible."
I place my hand over my heart.
"I'm not afraid anymore. And if you've ever felt like you were too damaged, too different, too lost to love—then this song is for you."
I close my eyes.
"And for him."
I step forward, mic in hand, pulse in my throat.
I inhale—and sing.
"I tried to hide but something broke
I tried to sing, couldn't hit the notes
The words kept catching in my throat
I tried to smile, I was suffocating though…"
Each word is a release, like exhaling pain I've held too long. The notes are breathless but clean, rising slowly, curling around the rafters.
"But here with you, I can finally breathe
You say you're no good, but you're good for me…"
His voice folds into mine.
A low harmony, warm and familiar—Jinu. Not a recording. Not a memory. Him.
"I've been hoping to change, now I know we can change
But I won't if you're not by my side…"
The lights bend beside me. His shape coalesces from nothing—gold-tinged shadow, not fully solid, but real enough. A thousand gasps ripple through the crowd, but I don't look away from him.
"Why does it feel right every time I let you in?"
"Why does it feel like I can tell you anything?"
We sing together, his voice sliding under mine like a second heartbeat.
"All the secrets that keep me in chains and
All the damage that might make me dangerous…"
My chest tightens. Every word is true. He sees me—really sees me. He always has.
"You got a dark side, guess you're not the only one
What if we both tried fighting what we're running from?"
He steps toward me—bare feet on the stage, like he belongs here. I can't stop the tear that slips past my lashes.
"We can't fix it if we never face it
What if we find a way to escape it?"
The beat swells. Lights swirl like water. The arena disappears—just me and him, and the music.
"We could be free
Free…"
The post-chorus lifts like a promise. His voice wraps around mine again.
"We can't fix it if we never face it
Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless…"
Then, he takes the lead.
His eyes find mine.
"Ooh, time goes by, and I lose perspective
Yeah, hope only hurts, so I just forget it…"
His voice is rougher than I remember. More human. More real.
"But you're breaking through all the dark in me
When I thought that nobody could…"
My fingers tremble on the mic. I want to reach for him.
"And you're waking up all these parts of me
That I thought were buried for good…"
He's not buried. He's here.
We sing together again—perfect synchronicity, like we've always known how.
"Between imposter and this monster
I been lost inside my head…"
His pain bleeds through the lyrics. I feel it in my bones.
"Ain't no choice when all these voices
Keep me pointing toward no end…"
He looks down, voice quiet, eyes shining.
"It's just easy when I'm with you
No one sees me the way you do
I don't trust it, but I want to
I keep coming back to…"
I step closer, heart caught in my throat.
"Why does it feel right every time I let you in?"
"Why does it feel like I can tell you anything?"
We're not just singing anymore.
We're becoming.
"We can't fix it if we never face it
What if we find a way to escape it?"
The arena is silent now, breathless, hanging on every note.
"We could be free
Free…"
His image flickers, but I see him clearly—hair tousled, eyes soft, hand reaching.
"We can't fix it if we never face it
Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless…"
We reach for each other.
Fingers touch.
And this time—I feel him.
Warm. Solid. Alive.
The music dips. We breathe together.
"Oh, so take my hand, it's open…"
His voice, low and trembling.
"Free, free…"
I take his hand. I don't care who sees. I don't care what they think.
"What if we heal what's broken?"
"Free, free…"
We hold that final moment—eyes closed, foreheads pressed.
And sing the last lines, not to the crowd, but to each other.
"I tried to hide, but something broke
I couldn't sing, but you give me hope…"
He smiles.
I smile back.
"We can't fix it if we never face it
Let the past be the past 'til it's weightless…"
The song ends.
Light fills the stage.
He vanishes.
But my voice remains steady.
And in the silence that follows, I hear it—
A hum in my chest.
A note I didn't sing.
"Still here," he whispers.
I press a hand over my heart.
Free.
The end.