The moon hung high, stars sparse, a gentle breeze rustling through. You could faintly hear the trickling of river water weaving through the thick night, but it was drowned out by the slurred yells of a drunk and a woman's curses. Filthy words cut through the paper-thin walls, loud enough to echo through the whole building.
Down below, the courtyard's emerald-green swimming pool sat empty, not a drop of water in sight. Forget swimming—trip in there, and you'd crack your head open. Peeling walls, scattered dry leaves, and cracked dirt painted a picture of decay. The stark white lights cast deep shadows into the pool, like some hungry beast lurking at the bottom, waiting for someone to stumble in.
The clock was ticking toward midnight, but the motel still glowed bright. Standing at the third-floor railing, Ronan looked down at shadows playing out like a puppet show—each little light from every room quietly spilling the struggles of lives inside.
The air reeked of something sharp and rotten, tainting even the distant fishy smell from the water.
"Whatcha looking at?"
A voice came from behind—no need to turn around to know it was Ollie. That signature chatter was unmistakable.
"It's almost midnight. Sure you don't need to rest? You still looked feverish earlier, and tonight you burned through all your energy. You've gotta recharge for tomorrow's gig—no one wants a repeat of today. You really okay?"
Ronan didn't even need to reply. Ollie's one-man monologue filled every gap, never leaving room for silence.
"Seriously, what's out there? It's just a messy patch of reeds up ahead, and you can't see a thing now—not even the reeds. Or… wait, did you spot some eager couple sneaking in there? Where? Spill it—what'd you see?"
Ollie sidled up next to Ronan, bumping his shoulder with a grin, completely derailing the conversation.
"There." Ronan tilted his chin slightly, pointing the way.
Ollie followed his gaze, squinting hard into the dark, but saw nothing. He couldn't help but grumble, "…Okay, real talk—did you see a UFO or something?"
That one line tugged a smile onto Ronan's lips, a spark of amusement lighting his eyes. "Nah, just taking in the night view."
There was a thrill, a little leap of joy—like a kid at Lunar New Year, finally getting a crisp new outfit to show off. That pure, bursting happiness was impossible to hold back, kicking the blankets off even while lying in bed.
That's how Ronan felt now.
Sure, his skin still felt warm, the fever not fully gone, and his body was whining from exhaustion. But his mind? Wide awake, buzzing with no hint of sleepiness. He just wanted to keep his eyes open—didn't matter what he saw, he studied it all, listening close. Even the rustle of leaves in the breeze was beautiful. Everything was fresh, everything was good, everything was alive.
"Night view?" Ollie's face scrunched up, totally lost. New York's skyline, sure, that could be stunning—but New Orleans?
Then Ronan's voice cut through.
"Look."
"Stars scattered across a cloudless sky, the inky black turning a soft peacock blue. You can almost see the trails of starlight falling, mysterious and deep, but somehow tying right into our world."
"Down below, those little orange lights tell their own stories—city life and human revelry laughing away. The yellow seeps into the night, mingling with the stars, loud and bold."
"Think about it—did Van Gogh paint Starry Night like this? Capturing the loneliness of the sky and the noise of humanity, giving the stars life while showing our isolation. When we look up, what are we really seeing? Is someone up there looking back at us?"
Slow down, and you'd notice where the peacock blue met the orange, a streak of purple bloomed—vibrant and wild, spreading out in a haze.
No need for travel or grand adventures—beauty hid in the everyday corners. Too bad the grind and stress blinded most people to the brilliance all around them.
Following Ronan's gaze, Ollie's eyes flickered in the dark. After a beat, his voice broke the quiet again. "…So, did you actually see a UFO? Aliens now? Why can't I spot 'em?"
"You hear about NASA's latest report? Only the pure-hearted can see UFOs and extraterrestrials," Ronan shot back, dead serious.
Ollie stared at him, dumbfounded, which sent Ronan into a fit of laughter—big, hearty guffaws that rang out like glass being wiped clean. Ollie couldn't help but snicker too, their chuckles bouncing around the shabby motel lot, mixing with the chaos of other noises, adding a bit of life to the mess.
Maxim stepped out from the room, catching Ronan and Ollie mid-laugh. A helpless look crossed his face. "You two are really…" Laughing like that—were they just carefree, or plain clueless? No sense of urgency at all.
Shaking his head lightly, Maxim couldn't shake the heaviness in his chest. He asked, worried, "What's next? What's the plan? After tomorrow's gig, what do we do? Keep going?"
"But if we don't keep going, what else is there?" Ollie's smile faded, brows knitting together. "We're locked into a contract. Breach it, and forget the penalty fees—what about the mess after? Will anyone book us for tours again?"
"You think we've even got a future?" Another voice chimed in from behind—Cliff, stepping up, his tone low and bleak, offering a different take.
"Cliff, we talked about this last night…" Ollie sounded exasperated, a little down.
Maxim cut straight to it, glaring at Cliff. "What's that supposed to mean? No future? You saying we should just break up now?"
"I didn't say that," Cliff shot back.
But Maxim wouldn't let it go. "Then what do you mean? You're always the downer, like you don't even want us to have a future…"
"Because we don't have one!" Cliff's voice rose, a cold laugh slipping out. "Don't you get it? We're at the end of the line. It's not me being negative—it's that we're out of options. Ronan, you think we should keep pushing too?"
All eyes turned to Ronan.
(End of Chapter)