Page 67 of Faithful

Inside, I pull off my baseball cap and wrestle out of my jacket and then check my phone.

“Kneel” is blowing up social media.

man so many bands out there but no one’s voice does that to me

Epic!

Who’s here waiting for midnight?

Wow! This is some new level shit

You go Kai!

This performance is pure fucking magic

Iodine wrote a love song?

Our boy Kai is probably seeing someone

I scroll through the comment sections on TikTok and Instagram for a little while longer, then look up a couple of music magazines to see if they released reviews of “Kneel.”

Most haven’t just yet, but many have been reposting fans’ videos on their social media platforms calling the single a true gem and a hit in the making.

My heart feels full and happy, drowning in stupid fucking emotions.

I don’t know why it’s important to me that people love the song. It’s not like anyone’s ever going to know that I’m the reason behind those lyrics. But it’s almost a validation of sorts. A validation of him and me, of what’s going on between us.

I get carried away with reading about the public’s reaction to the live debut and lose track of time. It’s the click of the door that snags my attention. When I tear my gaze from my phone and look across the room, Kai is standing there in the shadows, an ominous figure in a long coat, boots, and a beanie.

The floor lamp near the desk–the only one I turned on in my hurry when I arrived–is the single source of light here, and with the blinds shut, parts of the suite are in complete darkness.

“I looked for you,” Kai says, voice rough and low. “In the crowd.”

My hand holding my phone drops to my thigh.

For a long moment, we just stare at each other, and the intensity of this exchange is hitting me hard. I’m back at the venue again, up on that balcony with hundreds of cell phones pointed at the stage illuminating the club. Kai’s a lonely, grim figure surrounded by a shimmering wall of red fog. He’s singing about things that don’t necessarily go together. Serious things, deep things, important things. And sex. It’s not black and white, but it’s there between the lines and it’s not that difficult to read. At least, not for me.

My stomach tightens. “And?” I ask him. “Did you find me?”

“Couldn’t you tell?” Kai starts walking toward me.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t steal my lines.” He halts in front me and cups my cheeks with warm palms.

“Your fault.”

“How’s that?”

“I spend too much time talking to you.”

“You can always stop.” He holds my gaze, his eyes tense and waiting.

“Don’t want to.” I brush my lips over his and press up against him, my hands slipping under his coat to hold his body.

“Good,” he says when he pulls back for a fraction of time, enough for him to reveal the reason. “'Cause I don’t want you to either.”

There, in the muted light of the room, he nudges me in the direction of the bed, and we fall onto the covers in a tangle of limbs, clothes, and messy kisses. It’s desperate to the point of pain–this need to possess him after he’s been giving himself away to strangers up on that stage for over an hour.

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