Page 44 of Second to None

I could practically see them falling in love with him. Hell, I didn’t blame them. He was the kind of person who could chisel through any armour, find the cracks, and pour himself into them like molten gold. They’d never stood a chance.

But I knew him still. So I caught the details most people would miss—an undercurrent of exhaustion, almost invisible under the glossy sheen of energy. It was in the dip of his head when he paused to listen, in the set of his shoulders when he answered Cosma’s question about bad weather contingency plans.

Was it the swirl of speculation that wore him down? Our surprise band reunion had been everywhere—good for publicity and thus donations. While serious outlets had left it at a vague mention of fans expressing ‘particular interest in how close Monroe seemed with former bandmate Levi Blake, given they haven’t been spotted together in years,’ gossip rags showed rather less restraint. They’d dug into murky confirmations of my sexuality, analysed his rainbow necklace and our dinner date, and cited anonymous sources ‘close to us’ that claimed we’d always had a ‘special bond.’ No mention of Emily, though. Cass’s team had done their job.

Twenty minutes to showtime, with night settling down, Cosma, the boys, and I left Cass with his band and found the restricted viewing area next to the stage. I got stopped more than usual, some asking for pictures, my face clearly fresh in people’s minds after the charity performance and being linked totheCassian Monroe. My acts hovered nearby, pretending to be cool even though their eyes darted between the crowd and the stage often enough to betray their excitement.

The side area offered a decent vantage point. When the lights over the main stage dimmed to yellows and pinks, large screens flickering with Cass’s logo, the energy shifted from scattered cheers to piercing screams. Once the band filtered out to take their places, fans pressed forward like a wave. A chant of Cass’s name rose up.

Showtime.My body knew the signs, adrenaline flooding my system even though it wasn’t me about to burst on stage.

“This ismad,” Cosma said, leaning close to be heard over the roar.

Yeah, it was. And still my chest ached with a sharp kind of longing, nothing like when I’d caught one of Mason’s shows some months ago. This was bright and immediate, slicing through my delusions about being here as a distant observer.

And then Cass strode out.

The crowd screamed in colour as his silhouette emerged, striking against the luminous backdrop. A gladiator, born to the stage. The haze of the spotlights doused his loose silk shirt in a kaleidoscope of rainbow hues, his face all angles and softness, long fingers curling around the microphone like a caress. I bit the inside of my cheek, used the sting of pain to settle my rabbiting pulse.

No. I couldn’t do this. Not again.

The music started, raw and thundering, with the crowd singing every word right back at him. He prowled the stage, magnetic under the lights, and I caught just bits and pieces of the song, snatches of lyrics that made no sense in isolation—‘dive deep’ and ‘holy water’ and ‘in my bones.’ I knew his hits because they were impossible to escape, but I’d never actually listened to any of his albums—afraid to find myself in them, afraid that I wouldn’t.

The first song melted into the second, every moment bright and immediate to me. His curls, haloed by the haze of spotlights. The delicate dip of his collarbone, laid bare by the undone buttons of his shirt. His eyes, dark and half-lidded like it was just us alone in some hotel room—only this was thousands, all tethered to him.

“Leeds!” he yelled once the song drew to a close, the faint throb of a bass lingering. “Thank you for lending me your voices. You soundbeautiful!”

Another roar rolled over me, and I remembered what he’d said back in LA—that people weren’t here to hear him sing, but themselves. It pulled me back into myself, a stubborn edge to the realisation that I wasn’t just another fan succumbing to his magic. Iknewhim.

I knew the way he scribbled lyrics in messy bursts, his notebooks a chaos I’d loved deciphering. I knew how his hands moved over my body, warm and steady, and the faint surrender in how he curved into my kiss when he wanted me to lead. I knew the chinks he hid from the world, like how he wasn’t that close to his parents even though he claimed otherwise, or the sharp scent of his sweat after a run.

It settled something in my bones. No, I wasn’t just another face in this crowd.

As if to prove me right, he glanced at where I stood. I wasn’t sure he could see me, not with the lights in his eyes, but the cheeky tilt to his smile faded into something soft and real. He turned back to the crowd a second later, introducing his third song.

“Wow,” Cosma said, just loud enough for me to hear her. “So it really is true, huh?”

I wasn’t meant to confirm anything yet. Cass’s team had provided clear instructions, something about a steady drip-drip strategy, only in much fancier terms. So I shot her a little smile. “I’m your mentor, love. You want to gossip about boys, call a friend.”

She grinned, clearly unimpressed by my deflection. “Yeah, sure. But just so you know, you guys aren’t subtle. The way you look at each other—like, anyone with half a brain can see it.”

“Half a brain and the willingness to use it,” I said with a wink. “Not a given these days. And this is not a confirmation, just so we’re clear.”

“Okay.” She laughed, ducking her head. “Noted.”

Cass’s next song was one of his bigger hits, thrumming with positive vibes. Halfway through the first chorus, he strode to the far side of the stage and picked up a sign someone held out to him, waving it for the crowd to see. Dusted in glitter, it spelled out a multi-coloured‘Love is love.’

He was grinning when he handed it back, a thousand phones raised to capture his every move. And that… just… That wasit. The moment it hit me that this was real. He was real. Maybe a part of me had held out until now, suspending belief and wondering if he might change his mind, turn tail and run. But—no. He wouldn’t. He was in this, entirely.

AndChrist—I was too.

* * *

‘Where are you staying?’

I read it over. Deleted it. Only to rewrite the exact same words and hit send before I could change my mind again. Then I sat back on the bed of a hotel room that was guaranteed to be a notch below Cass’s—when leaving was a security risk, you made damn sure the digs were nice. Of course it wasn’t as bad as it had been with Neon Circuit, the fans had grown up with him, but he still couldn’t move freely in places where his presence was expected.

They’d whisked him away right after the concert, no chance for me to even say goodbye. He might already be on a flight home, for all I knew, because up until now, I’d refused to plan ahead.

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