"Ronan, is this real?"
After the rush of excitement, joy, and wild energy settled, a creeping unease began to take hold. It all felt too good, too perfect, and that made it hard to believe it was actually happening.
Ronan couldn't help but chuckle. "I don't know. Maybe it's all just a dream." Maybe him becoming Ronan Cooper was a dream, and these past few months were nothing but a fantasy. "But, Ollie, if it's a dream, why not dream bigger?"
Ollie went quiet for a moment before muttering softly, "Because I'm scared."
Ronan blinked, caught off guard. This wasn't the Ollie he knew.
Ollie let out a long, frustrated groan. "I'm terrified. Scared we'll mess up the performance, scared Bruno won't like us, scared our opening act will be a total disaster, scared our talent's just something we've made up in our heads…" His voice trailed off, fading into the air.
Also?
Ronan caught that little word in Ollie's ramble and turned to look at him, peering at his shadowy outline in the dark. He didn't know what to say.
Just when Ronan thought Ollie might've drifted off, Ollie let out a heavy sigh.
"Ugh."
Ronan laughed lightly. "Ollie, don't sigh like that—you'll age faster."
"I already feel like I'm aging right now. Seriously! It's like I can feel time slipping through my fingers, and my body and soul are just… getting old." Ollie let out a wistful sound, then suddenly rolled over. The mattress creaked pitifully under him as he faced Ronan head-on.
The shift in his voice made it clear he was looking right at him now.
"Ronan, you know what? I keep feeling… I don't know, just this constant unease."
"I'm not sure if it started after Trastan left, or after we met Scooter at the Full Moon Party, or maybe even before that. But I can feel this demon inside me, clawing and snarling, ready to swallow me whole any second."
"They're lurking in the dark, feeding off my fear and doubt. They can smell my hesitation, circling me like vultures, dragging me by the ankles into some barren wasteland, leaving me there to lose my mind."
"The darkness is closing in, and I've got nowhere to run."
"I…"
As he spoke, Ollie buried his head in his hands. Ronan could hear the faint thud of his fingers against his skull, a sound laced with raw, unbearable pain.
Watching Ollie curl up into a ball in the darkness, Ronan's mind flashed back to that fight in the motel. During their heated clash, Ollie had pulled away from the storm's center, burying his head in the sand like an ostrich trying to shield itself. But deep down, his soul was just as scarred as the rest of theirs—maybe even more so.
Beyond Trastan and Scooter, Ollie had to endure the band's internal struggles and rifts too. He'd tried so hard to escape the hurt, only to find it following him everywhere. Powerless to stop it, he'd slipped further into the shadows.
That "also" he'd let slip earlier—it was about Trastan, about Scooter. A dormant demon hid in Ollie's heart too, gnawing at his faith and hope, letting fear and unease spread like darkness overtaking light.
Ollie was afraid too—afraid of repeating the past, afraid Bruno Mars would turn into another Scooter fiasco, afraid they'd crash and burn again.
And if that happened, how would they keep going? What belief would they cling to then?
This wasn't just about their music dreams anymore—it was about the conviction they'd held onto. If that crumbled, it'd be the end of everything they'd fought for over the past seven years. When someone's lifelong belief shatters, it's a personal apocalypse, breaking them apart from the inside out.
Ronan didn't have an answer either.
"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know," Ollie mumbled, his voice weak and frail.
"I feel like a sandcastle, and the grains are slipping away. I can sense it teetering on the edge, ready to collapse any second. And that demon—it's creeping closer, merging with me, becoming me. I'm turning into my own enemy, denying everything we've stood for, tearing down our hope, stopping it all."
"But I can't do anything about it."
"What do I do?"
"Look at our rehearsals—I'm a disaster. If I stand in front of Bruno and turn into that demon, destroying our last shred of hope, what then?"
"What do I do? Get out of my head—I just want them to get out of my head, leave me alone."
"But… I can't."
Softly, so softly, Ollie's voice trembled with confusion and vulnerability. In the darkness just before dawn, that fragile side peeked out. Beneath his bright, sunny exterior, festering wounds bled quietly.
His breathing grew ragged and heavy, like the darkness was choking him, stealing his air.
Ronan tried to say something, but words felt so small and useless in that moment—anything he could say seemed hollow.
He let out a quiet breath, giving up on comforting Ollie. Instead, he thought for a moment and said gently, "Ollie, do you believe me when I say I'm scared too? Everyone's got their own demons—not just you. Me, Maxim, Cliff—we all do."
"We're all afraid, uncertain, lost. Life doesn't come with right answers. We never know if our choices are the right ones, and we won't know what's ahead until we push open tomorrow's door ourselves. Until then, we've got no clue what's waiting on the other side. All we can do is decide—do we open that door, or do we let fear stop us?"
"But one thing's for sure: the fear never goes away. Never."
Ronan meant it.
From his past life to this one, he'd carried his own fears—deep, gnawing fears. Even now, he wrestled with that same unease:
What if this is all just a dream? What if I wake up tomorrow and can't see again?
He didn't have answers.
All he could do was run—keep running, fast enough that maybe the demons in the dark wouldn't catch up to him.