Looking at the band members in front of him, sobbing uncontrollably, Ronan was, honestly, a bit flustered. It wasn't because he'd never seen anything like this before—he'd witnessed guys cry plenty of times, and he never thought crying was something to be ashamed of. It's just… he'd never seen three grown men break down into a full-on "thunderstorm" all at once. The scene was so overwhelming that Ronan had no idea how to handle it.
He scratched his head.
Ronan felt a little awkward.
Truth be told, his own nose was starting to tingle a bit, but watching Ollie—who kept wiping away tears yet couldn't stop them—looking as pitiful as a little orange kitten drenched in the rain, Ronan couldn't help but find it kind of funny. The mix of emotions—感动 (being moved) and感慨 (sighing with feeling)—eased up a little.
He decided he should do something.
But what exactly?
Ronan's movements were a bit stiff. He wasn't sure if what he was about to try was the right move, so he just clumsily patted Ollie on the shoulder, like he was gently tapping the head of that little orange kitten. "There, there."
Maybe it was because Ronan's actions were so rigid, almost robotic, as if he was afraid of hurting Ollie with the slightest misstep.
Or maybe it was because his attempt at comforting was so childish, like something a parent would do for a kindergarten kid.
Cliff couldn't hold it in. He burst out laughing with a snort, and then—oops—tears and snot came out together. His messy state caught him off guard, and even he started panicking. Ronan and Maxim's faces shifted instantly, unable to believe their eyes, before erupting into laughter laced with pure disgust.
Ollie, completely clueless, looked up with teary, blurry eyes and caught sight of Cliff flailing around. Cliff was in full-on chaos mode, leaning forward desperately to keep the mess from getting on himself, before stumbling off in a frantic dash.
"Hahaha!"
Ollie's earth-shaking, ghost-weeping laughter exploded. He laughed so hard he choked on his own spit, coughing a few times before getting it under control. Then the tough-guy cackling roared back to life. Tears and smiles flew together, snot and spit indistinguishable.
"Cliff, the tough guy's crying!"
"See? Cliff's just built different. Even his crying's on another level."
Maxim and Ollie were totally reveling in the misfortune, clutching their stomachs and rocking back and forth with laughter.
Cliff, with his slight germaphobia and OCD—especially when it came to personal hygiene—was a stickler for cleanliness. Ronan had even pointed it out on stage once, joking about how the gas station and convenience store bathrooms on this road trip were a life-or-death ordeal for Cliff.
And yet… here was that very same Cliff, facing the most horrifying accident of his life.
Ronan told himself he shouldn't laugh at Cliff right now. For Cliff, this was serious—really, really serious. They might not be able to help, but they shouldn't kick him while he's down. Still… it was impossible to hold back. Watching Cliff buzz around like a headless fly was just too hilarious.
In the end, Ronan couldn't resist either. He laughed so hard he felt like he might throw up.
"What's going on? What's so funny? Come on, share it with us!"
The back door of the bar swung open again, and a cheerful, curious voice rang out, echoing across the empty parking lot in the pre-dawn stillness. It stood out sharply. Turning toward the sound, familiar faces came into view—smiling, bright-eyed, radiating warmth and kindness.
Leading the pack was Wesley Schultz from The Lumineers, followed by Jeremiah Fraites and the band's only female member, Neyla Pekarek.
All three were dressed simply yet sharply—shirts paired with jeans and suspenders, with a faint bohemian vibe. Clean and unpretentious, they had a distinct style that left an impression right away. It was the kind of look that suited indie or folk music perfectly.
Wesley clearly couldn't contain himself. He took a few big strides toward Ronan and pulled him into an enthusiastic hug, exclaiming, "Amazing! Absolutely amazing! I've got to say, that was one of the best performances of the night!"
"Thanks!"
Ronan's expression was a little stiff. He still wasn't used to all this praise.
Part of it came from the Eastern cultural habit of staying humble and low-key—"pride leads to setbacks," a lesson drilled into everyone from childhood. The other part stemmed from his unique circumstances in his past life. Praise was rare—very rare—for him. More often, he'd trudged forward in the dark, shouldering endless blame and rejection.
Praise?
For Ronan, it was unfamiliar territory, and even after three short days, he hadn't quite adjusted.
He mumbled something under his breath, fumbling his original thought, but managed to get out something else instead. "Thanks for recommending us."
Jeremiah, stepping up, waved his hands dismissively. "No, no, no, that's not what Wesley meant. We're not praising you just because we recommended you. You earned it. Trust me, being the ones to introduce you to the Full Moon Party crowd—it's our honor."
"Oh, come on, how long are you two going to keep thanking each other?" Neyla Pekarek stepped forward with a warm smile. "I just want to say, tonight's performance was genuinely incredible. Honestly, the music isn't my usual style, but your energy brought it to life in a whole new way. Even after the show, I'll still seek out your songs to listen to. Honest music always finds a way to touch people."
Neyla's words to Ronan were sincere, and though it was praise, it felt softer, gentler.
Wesley nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, exactly! Neyla always knows how to say it better."
Ronan gave Neyla a smile, his eyes conveying gratitude. "I've always believed that truly great music can strike a chord with anyone. I can feel this wandering poet vibe in your performances—a little sadness, a little bitterness, a touch of loneliness and looseness. It's about refusing to be tied down, just wanting to open your arms and embrace freedom. I love that kind of music."
Ronan was getting a bit excited too.
Over the past two days, the band had been so caught up in rehearsals that they hadn't had a chance to meet The Lumineers. He'd felt a twinge of regret about it, but tonight, unexpectedly, they'd come to watch his band perform. It was a pretty cool moment.
"We're working hard to create that kind of music and deliver that kind of stage. Tonight, maybe we brushed up against it, just a little."
Ronan's words made Wesley pull an exaggerated face. "Oh, come on, trust me, you don't need to downplay it. Too much humility's just pride in disguise. I can already picture it—you guys on a stage in front of twenty thousand people, the whole crowd singing along with you! That's where you shine."