The backstage hallway was dim, quiet, and too small.
Everything else — the lights, the applause, the noise — stayed just behind the double doors. But in here, it was just the two of them.
Alex sat on the edge of a piano bench, notebook in hand. She wasn't looking at Elias.
Elias leaned against the wall, hood half-up, eyes on the floor.
Their names were coming. Any second now.
Neither spoke.
The silence wasn't companionable. It was coiled.
Finally:
"You're mad at me," Alex said, without looking up.
"No," Elias replied.
"You're mad at yourself, then."
He didn't respond.
Alex snapped her notebook shut. "Look, if you're not going to perform, say it now. I'll go solo."
"You're not a soloist."
She looked at him. "Excuse me?"
"You build walls out of intellect and hide inside them like that makes you alone on purpose."
"And you write confessions and throw them into a void hoping no one listens."
Their voices weren't loud. Just sharp. Precise.
"I didn't sign up for this," Elias said. "You dragged me here."
"You could've walked away."
"Maybe I should've."
She stepped forward.
"You think I like needing someone?" she said. "You think I like depending on a voice I didn't ask to hear, or a person I can't stop thinking about?"
Elias blinked once.
Then: "Then stop."
"No."
Her voice cracked on it.
And that did something.
Elias pushed off the wall, stepped toward her, too close. "This wasn't the plan," he said, voice low.
Alex didn't back away.
"I had a plan," she whispered. "You ruined it."
They stood there, the breath between them electric, brittle, almost unbearable.
His hand twitched at his side.
Her lips parted like she was about to say something else. Anything.
She didn't.
Neither of them moved.
And then—
She turned her face just enough to break the moment.
The silence shattered with it.
Elias stepped back.
Alex didn't look at him.
"I'll lead the first verse," she said, voice steady again.
He nodded once.
Nothing more.