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The atmosphere is fucking electric. It always is during shows; that’s one of the reasons the boys and I love performing so much. Tonight is different, though. It’s April 24th, exactly eight months since our last show, and it’s the first show on an intimate venue tour.
The small venues had been Cecily’s idea, and a fucking good one at that. First of all, it helps us ease back into performing - our six month hiatus had been necessary, but after years of near-constant touring it’s a bit of a shock to the system to suddenly have no shows at all lined up. Secondly, and more important from a manager’s perspective, it builds hype. Eight months of no shows, and the first tour back cuts capacity from 20,000 down to 500? Ticket sales were insane. Social media was on fire for weeks between the announcement and the day tickets were released, with #TheArk, #ArkReturns, and all our names top of the UK trending page every day for a solid week, and every ticket site crashed within seconds. They were sold out in under a minute for every date on the tour. Countless articles were written about our “explosive” return, and companies were lining up for interviews. Any concern the record label may have had that The Ark would lose attention during hiatus was proved ridiculous almost immediately.
This show is incredible. We’re playing The Garage (the home of our first ever headline show four years ago, a fact that had fans from all over the world scrabbling for tickets tonight) and it’s completely packed out. There are a few familiar faces in the crowd - Bliss, Juliet, Angel - and hundreds of others in awe of us on stage. There are 15 minutes until curfew, and we’re midway through the final song before the encore. Everyone is high energy, screaming and jumping up and down with such force it feels like the floor could cave in. Everything is hot and tight and, for once, the crowd is so small that we can see every single face.
It’s insane. It’s incredible. It’s everything.
The final notes of the last song ring out in the air, drowned out by cheers. Breathlessly, I thank the audience and the three of us jog off-stage to where a member of the crew is waiting with towels and bottles of water. A crystal-clear chant of ‘One more song! One more song!’ drifts through from the stage, and the boys and I look up at each other. I make eye contact with the both of them, a silent glint of joy in each of their expressions reminding me that this is exactly where we’ve always wanted to be.
“Off you pop, Lister.” Rowan smirks with a nod, and Lister grins before jogging back onstage. The screams surge again, deafening, beautiful. “Ready, Jimjam?”
“Always.”
Rowan runs out then, leaving me alone to take one final gulp of my drink before joining them. I take in the view. From side-stage, I can see everything: the excited crowd, Rowan interacting with those in the first few rows, the satisfied smile on Lister’s face.
I’ve been noticing it all night, Lister’s smile. It’s so fucking real, more so than it has been onstage for years. He’s fully within himself, excited, enthralled by the music. He’s happy. I realise, with a start, that I am too. Happy. Happy. Truly fucking happy. The magic that came from being in a band when we first started, the magic I feared was lost, is back full force.
After a couple of seconds, I run out and pick my guitar back up.
“What was that, London? One more song?”
Yet more cheers, loud enough to drown out all possible bad in the world.
I look over at Lister, who shoots a smile that I feel like must be just for me. There’s something secret, a message hidden in the sparks of light in his irises, that can’t be communicated to anybody else. He starts playing The 2nd Person, and the crowd goes fucking mental.
We haven’t played anything live from the Kill It EP in years, and if the crowd’s reaction is anything to go by that’s a mistake.
The room is so bright, so full of life, and I feel like I could keep this up forever. There’s an intense connection on the stage, all three of us fused together in a way nobody could ever adequately describe. We’re one entity, godly and untouchable. The feeling of performing together is indescribable, unmatched. It makes me feel like we could start a revolution on the spot, just the three of us and the music.
Stressful as the fame can be, I understand it. I understand the power of music, and why people flock to be part of it. I’ve felt first hand the rush that comes with live music, and I’d spend every day at a concert if I could. It’s only fair that the fans want that too.
The electricity doesn’t fizzle away as the show ends and we get off the stage for the final time. We can hear the buzz of the crew taking down the setup, the hum of the crowd slowly moving away outside, the sound of Cecily chattering away on the phone. As we always do after a show, the boys fling themselves into my arms for a hug. The smiles on our faces are so wide it’s almost painful, but the light in their eyes says they wouldn’t change it for the world. I wouldn’t either. When they pull away, I laugh breathlessly.
“That was mental.”
“So fuckin’ sick.”
“Incredible.”
“I missed that so fucking much.” Lister grins. “We’re fuckin’ back, boys.”
Rowan grins. “I’ve got Bliss coming back in a minute. She’s having a party round hers tonight, if you wanna join?”
I throw a look at Lister, who catches my eye. He falters before responding to Rowan, his voice ever-so-slightly thicker than it had been just moments ago.
“Will there be alcohol?”
The air suddenly becomes tense, with this usually unspoken thing hanging between us. Most of the time Lister’s battle for sobriety is addressed only through silent nods and uncomfortable eye contact, wordless conversations that convey just enough to get us all through. It’s a tough situation to actually speak on, and one that hasn’t been brought up this frankly since February, when Lister had a slight breakdown in my bedroom. Talking about it makes it real, and as long as we know he isn’t drinking it’s kind of easier to let everything go on as normal, on the understanding that his therapist is doing all the necessary talking.
Rowan looks at me for a second, and I don’t know what to say. It’s the first time he and I haven’t been able to effortlessly communicate without words - we know each other better than anyone, but this situation is beyond both of us.
“You know me, Allister. Milk or bust.”
Like a guardian angel, Bliss emerges seemingly out of nowhere, pulling Rowan into a hug from behind. He smiles, and my heart melts just a little bit. The two of them are good for each other - maybe not as a couple, but definitely as friends - and I’m really fucking glad the breakup didn’t break them.
“I don’t keep alcohol in the house, so if there’s any around then someone brought it with them. I won’t let you near it, though.” She winks, and LIster smiles warmly. It’s another of his wonderfully real smiles, all the more common as of late.
“Tell me there’s something better than milk, though.”
Bliss glares affectionately. “Nothing better, Birdbrain. But yes, Angel has bought a literal crate of J2O. And we’re picking up fizzy drinks on the way back from here.”
“Legend. Give us a minute to get changed, yeah?”
“Yeah, you all stink. Get gone.”
There’s no real rush, but we all find ourselves hurrying even so. Once we’re dressed we’re subjected to a Cecily lecture - don’t get pissed, home by 3, no scandals, the usual.
“Remember boys, you’re up at 9 tomorrow, no matter what happens tonight.”
“Of course.”
“And I’ll have no sympathy for hangovers.”
“Yes, mum.” We respond in a mocking chorus.
Rowan and I don’t bother mentioning that we have no plans to drink. We’ve both (somewhat accidentally) become teetotal alongside Lister. We didn’t discuss it, but through a mix of solidarity and circumstance we’ve found ourselves sober for months now.
We meet Bliss outside the venue, where a few fans have huddled in hopes of getting a picture with us. The three of us oblige for a few minutes as Bliss hovers uncomfortably by the car. After ten or so selfies and some brief conversations (typical ‘I can’t believe you’re real’, ‘the show was amazing’, ‘your music saved my life’ stuff) we apologetically move on to the car, which Bliss gratefully clambers into after Rowan.
She relays her address to the driver, and I anxiously gaze out of the back window to be sure the fans aren’t following us.
“The girls went on ahead to grab drinks and set up.”
“The girls?” Lister enquires.
“J and Angel.”
“You still talk to them?”
Bliss looks bewildered. “Yeah? Every day. Rowan, do you tell these boys nothing?”
“The three of them have had a flat together since January.” Rowan blushes, embarrassed. “I swear I said.”
I don’t bring up that he definitely told me. Defending Rowan’s honour doesn’t feel as important as not letting Lister feel like he’s been left out of yet another conversation.
“Sweet. I liked them.”
“Do you even remember meeting them?”
“Hey, I was only half dead in a creek for some of that day.”
“Yeah, but you were wankered for the rest of it.”
“Can we not?” I snap.
I didn’t mean to bristle at the subject, but Lister’s addiction and subsequent injury is still a difficult topic, even if he’s fine joking about it. And honestly, even without everything that happened to him, that week is still far from one of the best of my life. The less said about it, the better.
Unexpectedly, I feel Lister’s hand slide into mine. We can’t be seen by the others, thanks to the positions we’re sitting in, but it’s still a pleasant surprise. Generally, Lister won’t initiate physical contact when it’s between just the two of us. He’s been far more wary of it since the crush confession last year - whether that’s out of respect to me or an attempt to protect his own feelings I can’t be sure, but I’ve come to cherish the rare moments of intimacy in a way I can’t quite explain. I don’t even think it’s because of my feelings for him - I think it’s more something about the connection, about catching a glimpse of him utterly unguarded. I squeeze his hand in return.
“That has never affected my memory, Ms. Lai. Except for the times it has, but I don’t remember those.”
She laughs, and the tension breaks. Rowan joins in, and it doesn’t take long for Lister and I to do the same. Suddenly we’re all giggling uncontrollably, to the pint none of us can even recall what was funny in the first place.
It’s nice, feeling so carefree. Things feel normal, like they did before everything went wrong last year.
As we pull up to the flat the driver informs us that, per Cecily’s orders, hell be back for us at 2:30.
We walk inside, and the atmosphere is already nicer than any one of Lister’s house parties. The whole place is illuminated by fairy lights - “J’s decision”, Bliss informs us - and the playlist isn’t blaring loudly enough to be overwhelming. There are only about ten people here altogether, which is pretty comforting when I’m already acquainted with five of them.
Surprisingly, Angel seems more excited by Bliss’ return than the boys and my presence. In fact, she seems entirely unfazed by our being here - nothing like the girl I met last summer.
She hands Bliss a bottle of J2O before acknowledging us.
“Hey! Great show tonight. Want a drink?”
It takes me a second to process that she doesn’t seem starstruck. Not that I expect people to be in awe of me, but the version of her that I have in my head is Angel Rahimi: Surprisingly Chill Fangirl, while the girl in front of me seems to be Angel Rahimi: Chill In General.
“Jimmy?”
I realise that the boys now both have drinks in hand, and everyone is waiting on me.
“Oh. Yeah… Uh, Diet Coke if you have it.”
She smiles and leaves the kitchen to grab me a can from the front room. Bliss laughs at me.
“Something up, Jim?”
“I just… Don’t remember her being that chill.”
She smiles. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but she’s not a stannie anymore. I’ve told her too many of your embarrassing secrets. The illusion’s been shattered.”
“I’m glad.” Rowan chimes in. “She was alright when she wasn’t fawning over us.”
“I’m always alright, thank you very much.” Angel announces as she returns. “Bliss, you’ve got a Juliet looking for you.”
“That’s my cue.” Bliss tells us, turning to leave. “Party’s through here, if you wanna join.”
Rowan follows her, and Lister goes to do the same before noticing that I haven’t moved a muscle.
“Coming, Jimothy?”
“In a minute. I need to get into a party headspace.”
He shoots me a sympathetic smile and leaves. Angel fidgets with her drink.
“Do you want me to go too? I usually hover over the J2O stash at these things. All the best conversations happen in the kitchen.”
“Nah, it’s cool. I just can’t be arsed with strangers yet.”
I slide down the cupboards to sit crosslegged on the floor, and Angel sits beside me.
“Thanks, by the way. For keeping quiet about last year. I was a bit on edge you might spill everything on Twitter. Especially after all the conspiracy theories about how Lister got hurt started up.”
She shrugs, taking a sip of her drink. “Wasn’t my story to spill. If anything, that whole situation put me off Twitter.”
“Oh.” I nod. “Sorry about that.”
“No worries, my guy. Your grandad said something that stuck with me.”
“What have you been up to, then? Since everything?”
“Moving to London.” She smiles, turning to look at me. “I got a place on a vocational course doing music management - really fuckin’ short notice, actually, getting student finance sorted was a nightmare. But yeah - college, moving, I’ve got a job at HMV. Just… life stuff, I guess.”
“That’s cool, though! Congrats!”
“Thanks.” She fidgets, oddly quiet.
It’s funny, in a way, that she was much more vocal when starstruck by me than she is when she knows I’m just a normal person. It was her chattiness that stuck with me, the memories of her incessant conversation, how few moments of perfect silence there were during the days I spent in her presence.
“How have you lot been?”
“Good, yeah. Hiatus was good. I’m not as fucked up as I was then.” I laugh, but it comes out more hollow than I meant for it to. “Therapy and shit, y’know. It’s been good.”
“I’m glad.” She takes another sip of her drink, brow furrowed in thought. “Y’know, I’m glad I met you then. That probably sounds weird, but like… I don’t know. I think the chaos of it all made me realise you were a real person. I had this idea that you were like… untouchable and soft. That sounds weird. But yeah, no, seeing you like that made me realise that idolising real people is stupid.”
“Real people is a stretch. You really only like the bits that weren’t real.”
Again, she doesn’t have a response. She keeps sipping her drink, and I bask in the few minutes of silence before she speaks up again.
“I’m sorry for shipping Jowan. And for telling you I shipped Jowan. That was… yikes.”
“It’s cool.” It isn’t, really, but I know it’s in the past. “The fandom was selling the fantasy. I’m not surprised you bought it.”
She shrugs. “Still. I started telling people that shipping was invasive and basically got exiled from the fandom, sooo…”
I would’ve expected her to be more upset after all she said last year about the Ark fandom being her entire life, but she’s actually laughing about it. I’m reminded of that really easy energy she has, the one I couldn’t fully appreciate in the midst of my meltdown last year. Sitting here with her now, I can understand how Bliss came to adore her so quickly, and how I managed to trust her even with the whirlwind going on in my brain at the time. She just has a trustworthy air, a comforting presence that can offset most negativity.
“You’re cool, by the way. I can’t remember if I said at the time.”
“I think you actually said the opposite quite a few times.” She laughs. “But thanks. That’s cool to hear.”
Conversation between the two of us flows a lot more easily once we get off the topic of ourselves. It strikes me quite how much we have in common. Again, something I’d picked up but not really dwelled on last year. It’s easy to picture us being friends, real friends, now that she doesn’t look at me like some religious deity come to life.
We speak about music and TV, family and friends, about how social media shaped us both as teenagers. She’s loud, and funny and passionate. She’s also fiercely intelligent and empathetic. It’s the empathy that stuck with me after our first meeting.
I even talk to her about my feelings for Lister, though I never use his name.
Angel is so easy to speak to that I barely notice the time pass. In fact, I don’t realise that the clock has ticked round to almost 1am in the time we’ve been sat here, not until Lister returns to the kitchen with a look of slight concern apparent in his features.
“Everything alright? You’ve been out here for like an hour.”
Angel smiles and rises to her feet. “Just catching up. I should probably go and say hi to some people, though.” She turns to me as she leaves. “Good talk, Jimmy.”
The look she gives me on the way out tells me I wasn’t as subtle talking about Lister as I thought I’d been. She’s giving us space. She’s giving us a moment. I realise suddenly, in a moment of confidence that is uncommon for me, that I want to tell him now.
I look up at him. He looks stunning tonight.
He’s bathed in that post-show glow of really needing a shower, and his hair is still mussed up from our hours on stage. His outfit is very comfy and casual - a look I became more used to seeing on him over the course of the hiatus, and worried he’d stray from now we’re back to press and touring. His mustard yellow jumper is far too big for him, sleeves falling over his hands in an adorable fashion, and he has on a pair of distressed denim dungarees over top. This style suits him, honestly. I wonder if he’d dress like this more often if our stylists weren’t so hell-bent on looking cool over feeling comfortable.
Lister always looks good, of course, but there’s something tonight that’s different - for a split second, I can almost picture him fitting in to my cute-farmer-boyfriend-in-a-cottage fantasy.
“Can we talk?”
He falters for a second, then closes the kitchen door and comes to sit beside me on the tile. Almost instinctively, I rest my head on his shoulder. I hear him swallow thickly.
“Is this a conversation I’ll wish I had a drink for?”
I swat his arm. “Not funny. No, it’s good… I think.”
“Okay…” HE responds cautiously. He gestures vaguely. “Go on?”
“Right, so. You know last year, how you said you had a feelings for me?”
“Terrible start!”
“Shut up! I’m trying to be emotionally available, dickhead.”
He just laughs at me. I try to look annoyed, but that only makes him laugh harder - my babyface makes every bad mood come off like an overtired toddler.
“So.” I continue loudly. “I’ve been thinking about it. Like, a lot—“
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’ve realised I feel kind of the same.”
Lister balks. “You don’t have to say that just to make me happy.”
“I’m not. I like you, Lis. Kind of a lot.”
He fidgets with his sleeves, and I will my heart to beat slower. In the half-light of the kitchen he looks ethereal.
“How?”
His question comes out as a whisper. It’s that same vulnerability I’m so unused to seeing, a lack of confidence he doesn’t usually let anybody see.
I don’t fully know how to answer him. For all the months I’ve been thinking about this, I still haven’t really managed to totally understand how I feel. I know that the emotions that wash over me when I see him are different than those I feel with, say, Rowan. I know it’s more than friendship, more than brotherly affection. I just don’t know why.
Sure, he’s beautiful. But I’ve known that for years, since long before my feelings changed. He’s always been gorgeous - that’s an objective fact, and not one that really changes how I see him.It’s something different, something new, something I’m not sure I’ll ever have the words for. Even so, I try to respond.
“It’s… It’s something about the way you are when were alone. You’re… different with me. Softer? Maybe you always have been, but…”
“He nods, slowly. “It’s different now I’m sober.”
“Maybe? But I don’t think it’s just that. I think… I think I see you now. I started looking, properly looking. I had this idea of you in my head, but once I started ignoring it I realised it wasn’t accurate in the first place.”
We go quiet for a few minutes, the sort of silence that comes only when two people understand each other.
It’s refreshing to sit with him like this, actually. It’s rare we spend time together just the two of us. Rowan and I have had the art of non-verbal communication mastered for years, but I’m realising now that Lister and I do too, albeit in a different way. With Rowan it’s that I can give him a certain look, a quirk of the eyebrow or twitch of the lips, and he knows exactly what I’m trying to say. With Lister, it’s that I know there’s no need to say anything at all.
“So… when did you realise?” He sounds hesitant to ask, as if I’ll suddenly reveal this is all some sick prank.
“Not straight away. November, maybe? Or October?”
Lister whistles. “That long? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Hypocrite.” I quip back, and he shoves me affectionately. “I think I just wanted to wait until I was sure it wouldn’t hurt you. Or me, really.”
He folds in on himself, just slightly. “I guess we are both fragile messes.”
I laugh despite myself. “That’s right. We are a china shop and my emotions are the bull.”
He looks at me. There’s a sort of adoration in his eyes, and I wonder how many times it’s been there before, back when I didn’t have the sense to look for it. My heart is beating so hard I’m sure he must be able to hear it, but for once it isn’t down to anxiety. Without thinking, I lean towards him. He mirrors my actions, and suddenly we’re kissing.
It’s different than the first time.
For one thing, he’s sober - that makes more of a difference than expected. Without the slick taste of alcohol on his lips, or the sloppiness of being drunk, or the shock of an unexpected kiss from someone you only feel platonically for, it’s actually a bit magical. Lister Bird is a fucking great kisser.
He pulls away first. Personally, I could have gone on forever.
“If this is going to be something -” Lister begins, averting his gaze from my eyes to the floor. “- and I want it to be, I think we need to talk before we do more kissing. Not talking is what fucked us up before.”
I nod and give him an earnest look, saying ‘go on’ without actually speaking. He seems to gain some confidence from that, sitting up straighter and squaring his shoulders.
“I just… think we need to go into this knowing it won’t be easy. I’ve got a fuckton of problems that probably aren’t going away any time soon. You’re better than me, in a lot of ways, and I don’t want you ever feeling like you’re stuck on me.”
I want to cut him off, but I don’t. I can’t. He’s not entirely wrong, and he needs to say this - for his benefit as much as mine.
“You know I’d do anything for you, Jimmy.” His hand moves subconsciously to his abdomen, right over where I know his scar to be. It’s a nervous habit of his these days. “I think I’d probably die for you, deliberately or not. But that can’t always be enough. I’m… unpredictable, and kind of a disaster, and I need you to remember that before you agree to anything.”
“… Done?”
“Yeah.”
“Right.”
I adjust the way I’m sitting so I can pull his hands into my own. Our knees are touching and I can feel his body heat radiating off him, as if there’s a fire burning inside of him.
“I know all of that. I’ve thought about it all.” He gazes at me with wide eyes. “But I’m a mess as well. I know relationships are meant to be all sunshine and rainbows and whatever, but it can’t be with me. The rain always comes, sooner or later. That’s what it’s like with me - I probably can’t ever give you peace, not properly. Not like you deserve. But I might still be enough. Is that enough for you, Lister?”
He pauses, looking me up and down like he’s seeing me for the first time.
“It’s enough.”
I can’t stop the grin that spreads across my face.
Honestly, there’s still anxiety worming its way around deep in my gut. I don’t want to start a relationship that teaches both of us that we aren’t ready for one. It’s always a risk, and one I’m a little bit scared to take. But I’m scared of pretty much everything, and that (mostly) hasn’t stopped me from chasing the things I want before now. And God, do I want Lister. I want every bit of chaos and every bit of good that resides within him. I want the courage he gives me, and I want to find that courage inside myself. I know it must be in there somewhere,
He kisses me again. Slower this time, softer, like he’s kissing me for my benefit more so than his own.
“You’re in your head again.”
“I usually am… Is that still okay?”
“Of course.” He smiles, resting his forehead against mine. “I’ve known how I feel for a long time. If your anxiety was gonna be a deal breaker it would’ve happened by now.”
I close my eyes and allow myself to take in every aspect of this moment. It’s one I want to remember, and I find myself so unendingly grateful that I chose not to drink tonight.
I think Lister’s right - this will be enough. The road will definitely be rocky; even ignoring our individual issues, there’s an inescapable uncertainty that comes with the whole fame thing. It’s going to be difficult to have something that is wholly our own. That’s okay, though. We can work around it. If he’s enough for me and I’m enough for him, we can do this. Together.
I think, for now at least, that I want to keep this between us. I have plenty of experience of the world trying to pry its way into my life, to control everything. I don’t want that to happen here. I want a chance to cope with the inevitable ups and downs without everybody else trying to weigh in.
I voice this concern to Lister who, to my great relief, agrees. Just as I lean in to kiss him again, the door opens.
Bliss side-eyes us as she moves around the kitchen fixing herself a glass of milk. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knows exactly what’s going on. If Angel’s intuitive, then Bliss is damn near psychic.
“Are you guys coming through at any point? The guests are starting to place bets on whether you’ll kill each other or fuck each other if we leave you alone much longer.”
Lister flips her off while I just splutter indignantly. We end up following her back to the living room just to avoid any further speculation, even if she was just joking.
It’s the chillest party environment I’ve been in for years, and I appreciate it a lot. There’s none of the usual alcoholic chaos and smoky haze of one of Lister’s parties, and it’s actually enjoyable to be in the room.
Some time in the 90 minutes I’ve spent in the kitchen, Rowan invited the girl he’s been seeing for the last few months. They’re in a corner, swaying to the music as if there’s nobody else around. There’s a carefree smile on Rowan’s face that makes me want to jump for joy, because I’m so used to seeing him stressed these days. This is the kind of party I adore, without the usual excessively loud music and boozy fights brewing. Everyone in this room seems happy to be there, including me. It’s unfamiliar in the best way, wonderfully reminiscent of the small parties we had back home at fifteen. A big part of me wishes we didn’t have to leave in an hour.
Juliet comes over and hugs me, telling me it’s nice to see me again. She, like Angel, is refreshingly undaunted by my rockstar status. I catch a glimpse of how Bliss looks at her, and make a mental note to interrogate her about it later - it kind of reminds me of how I caught Lister looking at me earlier.
The song dies down, and there’s a brief space before the next one begins. I look around. Warm and fairy-lit, the whole space smells like a scented candle - a campfire-like scent, much like one Lister’s mum used to burn of the rare occasions we went to his house. It feels homely, much more so than our apartment. I’m tempted to take a few interior design tips from the girls.
I can feel Lister’s presence beside me, and it grounds me in the moment. We’re still hovering in the doorway, taking in the moment. I want more nights like these.
As the next song starts up, I gasp and grab Lister’s arm. It’s a favourite of mine, and one I never hear at parties. Lister grins as he recognises it.
“Shall we dance?” He asks, extending a hand.
“It’s not really a dancing song, Lis.”
“Coward.” There’s a cheeky grin on his face as he migrates to the centre of the room, bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet and swaying to the beat.
A couple of the guests spot him and, despite this song being utterly undanceable, go to join. Angel does the same, dragging Juliet along with her. It’s not surprising to me that Lister can get a whole room dancing even to a song like this - he has that ability, the effortless exuberance and comfortable aura that can convince the entire world to sway to his beat. I’m far from immune to his charms, and so I too join in. By the end of the first chorus the whole room are moving together as one, an electric atmosphere that I never normally feel offstage.
This feels like a night that will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life. It’s been full of moments I thought would be behind me by now; at nineteen, I’ve undeniably come of age in most contexts. My chance to feel like the protagonist of a coming-of-age movie has come and gone, seemingly lost to my years of touring and anxiety. Tonight, though, I don’t feel like that. Tonight, I feel as though I could live forever.
If anyone notices me taking Lister’s hand and pulling him close to my chest to dance to the final chorus, staring into his eyes like he hangs the stars in the sky and basking in the warmth of the fire within him, they don’t say a word.
The world may think that love is all for show, but right now I disagree. This moment is secret, sacred. I wouldn’t want it any other way.