The recording session ended earlier than usual that day. Mo Yue leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms with a satisfied groan, while Wei Yuxiang neatly stacked the scattered lyric sheets on the table. The faint glow of the recording booth lights dimmed as the engineer packed up his equipment.
"Perfect timing," Mo Yue muttered, tugging off his headphones. "I have an event to attend tonight. The All Stars Party."
He said it casually, but Andre noticed the subtle spark in his eyes. It wasn't just another gathering—it was one of those high-profile, media-flooded events where stars mingled with stars, and appearances carried as much weight as performances.
"Weekend," Wei Yuxiang added, slipping his jacket on. "Good excuse to leave the studio early. Besides—" he shot a look at Mo Yue with a sly grin—"he'd never forgive himself if he missed his grand entrance."
Mo Yue chuckled. "You're not wrong."
Andre watched them with his usual calm detachment. He was still reeling from the morning, the lingering echo of last night's confrontation with Yichen haunting him like a shadow. But here, in the bright lights of the studio, with Mo Yue's teasing banter and Wei Yuxiang's quiet steadiness, he found temporary distraction.
As they walked toward the car waiting outside, Mo Yue turned to him. "Andre, you coming?"
"Yes," Andre said simply.
On their way, they made a stop. Mo Yue and Wei Yuxiang disappeared into a designer boutique to pick out fresh outfits for the evening, their conversation filled with fabric choices, fitting cuts, and the right balance of flash and elegance.
Andre sat on a bench outside, his phone in hand, ignoring the scrolling feed. When Mo Yue returned in a sharp tailored black suit, paired with a deep red shirt that shimmered faintly under the lights, Andre raised a brow. Wei Yuxiang had gone for sleek simplicity: a gray blazer, black turtleneck, and fitted trousers that screamed understated charm.
"Andre," Mo Yue called, tilting his head at him. "Not changing?"
Andre looked down at himself—blue baggy jeans, a fitted black long-sleeve T-shirt, and white sneakers so clean they looked brand new. His look was simple, casual, comfortable.
"No," Andre said, voice steady. "This is fine."
Mo Yue exhaled dramatically. "You're killing me. You're going to a high-profile party dressed like a university freshman."
Wei Yuxiang smiled faintly. "I think it suits him. Not everyone needs glitter to stand out."
Mo Yue rolled his eyes, though his lips curved in amusement. "Fine. But don't blame me if the cameras eat you alive."
The ride to the venue was lively. Mo Yue sat sprawled in the backseat, already slipping into his 'public figure' aura, the easy charm that made people gravitate toward him. Wei Yuxiang scrolled through his phone, occasionally reminding Mo Yue about names of people he'd need to greet at the event.
Andre stayed quiet, staring out the tinted window at the city rushing past. His thoughts kept straying back to the morning. Yichen's face pale under the dining room lights. The heavy silence between them. The way Andre's own lips still tingled with the memory of the kiss last night.
He hated that memory. He hated that his body remembered.
But at the same time, he wanted to break Yichen further. And that dark thought coiled deep inside him, even as neon lights flashed outside and the sound of Mo Yue's laughter filled the car.
The All Stars Party was exactly what Andre expected—flashing cameras, glittering gowns, luxury cars rolling up one after the other. The venue, a glass-walled skyscraper hall overlooking the city, pulsed with music even before they stepped inside.
The moment Mo Yue emerged from the car, the paparazzi swarmed. Flashes went off like lightning, voices shouting his name. He slipped into character effortlessly, flashing that signature half-smile, pausing just enough for them to catch the angles they wanted.
Wei Yuxiang followed behind, calmer, a steady presence beside his star friend.
Andre stepped out last. The cameras glanced his way, but only a few bothered to capture him. To them, he was background—a staffer, maybe a friend, nothing worth selling in glossy magazines.
And Andre liked it that way.
Inside, the hall was already packed. Celebrities mingled with business moguls, laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. Waiters in crisp uniforms carried trays of champagne and hors d'oeuvres. A massive chandelier glittered overhead like a cascade of frozen stars.
Mo Yue was quickly swept away by fans and fellow actors, his presence magnetic. Wei Yuxiang drifted along, shaking hands with acquaintances.
Andre found a quiet corner near the balcony, leaning on the rail and letting the night air cool his skin. From here, he could watch it all without being swallowed by it.
But he wasn't invisible.
"Who's that with Mo Yue?" a voice whispered nearby.
"Don't know. Looks too young to be staff… maybe a trainee?"
"He's handsome, though."
Andre ignored them. He wasn't here to blend into their shallow games.
Instead, his eyes followed Mo Yue, who was laughing at something a famous director said, his posture easy, his aura dazzling. Andre could admit it: Mo Yue belonged here. The spotlight was his natural habitat.
Wei Yuxiang, too, fit in seamlessly, though in a quieter way. He navigated conversations with a practiced smile, knowing when to lean in, when to pull back.
Andre, on the other hand, felt like a stranger in this glittering world. But strangely, he didn't mind.
At some point, Mo Yue returned, slightly flushed from drinks and attention. "Andre!" he called, pulling him toward the dance floor.
"You're drunk," Andre said firmly.
Mo Yue laughed. "No I'm not just tipsy. Wanna dance?accompany me." And he twirled dramatically, earning a burst of laughter from people around them.
Andre sighed but let himself be dragged. The music was loud, bass vibrating through the floor. People were swaying, laughing, clinking glasses mid-dance. Mo Yue moved easily, pulling energy from the crowd, while Wei Yuxiang watched from the sidelines, his lips quirking in amusement.
Andre didn't dance, not really. He stood there, letting Mo Yue move around him, occasionally nudging him with exaggerated gestures. Andre can't do anything but to stand there, just watching him and also to look after looking he seems drunk.
And to his surprise, it wasn't so bad. For a moment, he even forgot about Yichen, about the heaviness at home.
But only for a moment.
Hours later, as the event wound down, Andre found himself on the balcony again, away from the noise. His phone buzzed—one unread message.
It was from Yichen. Why is he texting?
Where are you?
Andre stared at the words, a strange tightness curling in his chest.
He didn't reply. Instead, he slid the phone back into his pocket, lifted his eyes to the city lights below, and let the music from inside bleed faintly into the night air.
Maybe this was his chance. To forget. To play. To break someone else instead of being broken.