The arena roared so loudly it blurred into something almost physical, a vibration that pressed against Tina's ribs as she stood just beyond the curtain. Waves of light sticks rolled through the darkness, rising and falling like a living sky, while the bass traveled up through the stage floor and into her bones.
Backstage smelled exactly as it always did — heated wiring, hairspray, fabric, and adrenaline layered together until they became one indistinguishable scent.
She adjusted her earpiece without looking down, her attention fixed on the monitor beside the stage entrance.
Under blue light, NØCTURN waited.
Five figures in silhouette.
Five careers she could trace back to an empty practice room and forty-seven minutes of lateness.
The first notes of **"Don't Call Me Yours"** drifted into the arena — a quiet piano melody swallowed by a massive crowd that still somehow hushed to listen.
Kai stepped forward.
His voice carried steadily, warm and controlled, just as it had the night he apologized for being late, even though the others hadn't asked him to.
*I kept the lights on for you…*
The audience fell silent almost instantly.
Tina folded her arms — not defensive, simply anchoring herself in place.
He didn't look at the cameras. He never did during this verse.
His gaze slid past them, toward the wings.
Toward her.
She pretended not to notice.
---
Minjae entered on beat, his tone sharper than any rehearsal recording — emotion shaped carefully into rhythm. During training he used to mumble lines at three in the morning, half-asleep while she reorganized schedules beside him.
The first time he sang this part live, his hands trembled.
Now they didn't.
*You only loved me when I changed…*
The crowd echoed the words back to him perfectly.
Tina glanced at the fan section. They weren't just listening — they were remembering something personal, attaching their own lives to the song.
There had been a time when it belonged to no one.
---
Seung moved to the center, his bright smile softening naturally into the pre-chorus. He used to exaggerate happiness, convinced idols had to look cheerful at all times.
She had pulled him aside once after rehearsal.
"You don't need to convince people you're okay." She told him.
He'd been silent for almost ten seconds — a personal record.
Now, sincerity has replaced performance in his voice.
*I kept watering a dead rose…*
The sea of lights dimmed, swaying more slowly. Even the staff backstage lowered their voices without realizing it.
---
Then the chorus struck.
All five voices aligned.
*Don't call me yours anymore—*
The arena erupted.
Their choreography locked into precision — breath, timing, and motion unified through repetition and trust. Ryujin's movements cut clean and sharp, no longer reckless. He used to break formation just to see if she would react.
She never had — not outwardly.
She'd only adjusted his position the next day, giving him the lead transitions instead.
He never broke formation again.
Under a flash of white stage light, he grinned briefly toward the wings.
Toward her.
Defiant, as always.
---
Dohyun's line arrived last — the quietest moment in the song.
He barely moved while singing, drawing the crowd inward rather than pushing outward. During their first week together, he barely spoke, yet he never once missed an instruction.
*I won't ever lose me again…*
The audience softened their voices automatically to match him.
Tina watched the monitor.
Then she looked up at the stage itself.
She rarely did that.
Tonight, she did.
---
The final chorus swelled — lights brightening, fans singing louder than the speakers.
Five voices carried one message.
Confidence where hesitation once lived.
They held the ending pose as silver confetti burst into the air.
For half a breath, silence.
Then thunder.
---
Staff applauded softly out of habit backstage, but Tina remained still.
On the monitor, they were breathing hard, smiling — not the practiced smiles from their debut showcase.
Real ones.
Kai bowed deeply.
Seung waved both arms.
Minjae pushed his hair back.
Ryujin glanced toward the wings again.
Dohyun searched automatically until his eyes found her.
They always looked for her after this song.
Every time.
---
The memory returned to her without warning.
Their first performance had been in a venue small enough that the crowd's breathing could be heard between lines. The stage lights were too bright for the size of the room, washing out their expressions and leaving nowhere to hide the nerves they tried so hard to mask.
They had stood in formation, but not yet as one.
Minjae missed a breath halfway through his verse, voice catching just enough for only someone listening closely to notice.
Seung smiled at the audience, but his lips trembled before the chorus.
Ryujin moved sharper than necessary, overfilling every motion like he could bury uncertainty under energy.
Dohyun's lines were soft — not wrong, just hesitant, as if he was still asking permission to be heard.
Kai never faltered vocally, yet his eyes never settled on the audience. They stayed on the others, counting them, grounding them, making sure none of them fell behind.
The performance ended to applause that sounded louder than the room should have allowed.
Then they turned.
All five of them, almost at the same moment, searched past the lights and found her standing just offstage.
They didn't look relieved.
They looked… expectant.
Not waiting for compliments.
Not hoping for reassurance.
They were waiting to know if they had done enough.
Tina pressed the talk button on her headset. For a second, she said nothing, letting the silence steady their breathing.
"…Good work."
She watched their shoulders loosen in unison, tension leaving them more surely than the applause ever could.
That was all.