𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧' 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝 ─────⋆⋅★𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘺

𝟓𝟏. 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨

Suki took a steadying breath, pressing her eyes shut, feeling the sting of tears before she even began. She was back on that precipice, that familiar edge where love and pain blurred, where every wound was wide open. Her hands trembled slightly, fingers gripping the microphone like it was the only thing holding her together. She drew in one more breath, filling her lungs with the aching silence of the stage. Then, the first note fell from her lips, fragile and low.

"I don't wanna tiptoe, but I don't wanna hide But I don't wanna feed this monstrous fire..."

The words came out like a confession, soft and raw, each syllable peeling back a layer of herself. She'd written these lyrics in the wake of Drew, when he had looked at her and said those words that haunted her: "We could never be friends." She'd spent so long believing that, building a life around the hope of someday being his bride. And now, here she was, playing out that dream in front of him, singing about the pieces of herself he'd left behind.

The pain wrapped itself around each line, curling around her throat, a quiet ache that bled through her voice.

"Just wanna let this story die And I'll be alright..."

But it was a lie, and they both knew it. She'd tried to let him go — tried to bury the hope, the desire, the nights when they whispered promises in the dark. But every attempt only brought her closer to this moment, this stage, this heartache. She poured herself into the notes, like she was unraveling thread by thread, letting the memories weave through the melody.

Drew was there in every word, in every pause. She could feel his presence somewhere in the darkened audience, like a shadow pressing against her skin, and every instinct told her not to look. She couldn't bear to see him, not now. But her body betrayed her, her eyes fluttering open, searching for him — as if he were the only thing tethering her to the earth.

And there he was, in the front row, his face barely illuminated, watching her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. His expression was raw, like he was both aching for her and haunted by what they'd lost. The world around them seemed to disappear, the thousands of faces fading into the periphery, leaving only him.

"We can't be friends But I'd like to just pretend..."

A flood of memories washed over her. She was back in her old house after the VMAs, when he kissed her like he was tasting something sacred. She remembered how his fingers brushed her cheek, his voice low, trembling with a vulnerability he rarely showed. That night, he'd told her that he didn't want to hold back anymore. It had been the happiest moment of her life, a promise wrapped in skin and breath, sealed with a kiss that lingered long after sunrise.

"You cling to your papers and pens Wait until you like me again..."

Another tear slipped down her cheek as she sang, unable to stop the memories from pouring in. She saw them lying in bed, tangled together, their words whispered into the soft light of dawn. He'd always been writing, always carrying those scripts with him, where he jotted down fragments of thoughts — pieces of his soul that she'd fallen in love with. She had waited for him in so many ways.

"Wait for your love Love, I'll wait for your love..."

Her voice cracked, the words splintering as they left her lips. She felt her control slipping, her body betraying her as she choked on a sob. She turned her face away, but it was too late. Drew had seen it — the heartbreak, the years of hope unraveling, right there under the blinding spotlight. She could feel herself falling apart, could feel every wound reopening in front of him, exposing her in a way she'd promised herself she wouldn't.

The crowd blurred, the spotlight too bright, and she could feel the weight of every eye on her, witnessing her collapse. But even through the haze, she could feel him, his presence like an anchor, grounding her even as it tore her apart.