Rain's POV
I didn't mean to throw the mic stand.
But I did.
It clanged against the floor, metal screeching across the stage like a scream that wouldn't end. For a second, no one moved. No one breathed. Not Day. Not Night. And definitely not Sky.
Sky stood there like she always did—like she belonged in the spotlight. Hair like spilled ink down to her knees, glitter smudged across her eyelids, and that damn look on her face. Soft. Cracked. Hurt. The kind of look that always made me want to pull her out of this industry and lock her away somewhere safe.
Instead, I said, "Then don't come back."
Her eyes widened, lower lip quivering, and something inside me twisted.
She still didn't cry.
Not yet.
"Rain," Day said, low warning in his voice. "Come on, man."
I barely heard him. The sound of Sky's voice replayed in my head, soft and unsure during rehearsal—off-pitch, distracted, airy like her mind was floating somewhere I couldn't reach.
We had a show in four days.
A full set. A world broadcast. We were MARS—the gods of chaos, the saints of the breakdown—and she sounded like a dreamer in a bedroom, not the lead vocalist of the biggest band in the world.
"I didn't mean to," Sky whispered.
Of course she didn't.
Sky never means to do anything. She just feels—loud and unfiltered. And I—I've always hated things I couldn't control.
"You need to get it together," I said, voice cold even to my own ears.
She didn't answer. She just looked at me like I was a stranger.
And I couldn't take it. I turned around and walked off, because if I stayed one more second, I'd do something worse than break a mic stand.
---
Two Hours Earlier
Chaos.
Makeup artists swarming. Cables twisted across the floor. Techs yelling about tuning, lighting, timing, and tempo. Day flirting with a sound assistant. Night sipping Red Bull like it was holy water.
And then Sky waltzed in—five minutes late, grinning like a sunrise.
"Good morning!" she sang.
No one answered. Not because we were mad. That was just Sky.
Too bright. Too much.
Her hair was down again, dark waves tumbling all the way to her knees. Everyone told her it was impractical. She didn't care. She said it made her feel like a princess. I said it made her a hazard. She laughed.
Today, she tripped on a cable and nearly face-planted into the drum set.
"Sky—" I started.
"I'm fine! Totally fine!" She popped up, sparkling from head to toe. "Nothing broken except my dignity!"
God, she made it hard to stay mad.
But I wasn't smiling.
Because behind all that glitter and gold, I saw it. The thing no one else noticed.
Her eyes.
They were tired. Like… soul-tired. She hadn't slept. Again.
And I knew why.
The fan threats. The rumors. The late-night messages. "Sky Ren is just a pretty face." "She can't sing live." "She's dead weight."
Bullsh*t.
She was the heart of this band. But hearts can't beat if they're bleeding out behind closed doors.
"Mic check," I barked, pulling her back into reality.
She nodded, all sunshine and sparkle, and stepped up to the mic.
She opened her mouth.
And missed the note.
Only slightly. Just a hair off. But I heard it. Everyone did. And worse—she did.
She faltered, caught herself, and kept going, but the damage was done. Her confidence cracked like glass.
I clenched my jaw.
One mistake. Just one. That's all it took to get ripped apart by the world we ruled.
When the check ended, the team clapped politely. But my chest was tight.
"Can I do it again?" she asked me, voice too small.
"No." I looked at the crew. "Take five."
She followed me offstage, all eyes on us.
"Rain—" she started.
I turned, arms crossed. "What happened back there?"
"I was just nervous," she said quickly. "I barely slept. My head's kind of foggy and I was thinking about—"
"Sky." I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. "We don't get to mess up. Not here. Not now."
"I know that."
"Do you?"
She looked up at me with those big, ridiculous eyes and nodded too fast. "I do. I'll be perfect for the real show. I promise."
I hated that word. Perfect.
I wanted her real.
I wanted her safe.
I wanted her out of this hell before it chewed her up.
But instead, I said: "If you can't handle this, say so. Don't fake it."
And her face crumbled like I'd slapped her.
I walked away.
Not because I meant to hurt her.
But because she was breaking.
And if I kept looking, I would too.
---
Back to Now
When the mic stand crashed, when Sky's eyes went glassy, when her knees gave way and Day caught her—I wanted to take it all back.
But I didn't.
Because love is dangerous when you're me.
When you've built your whole world on being cold, sharp, untouchable.
And she?
She was a match in a powder room.
And I was already on fire.