Chapter 25
Dmitri
The day off to relax has recharged all of us, and the following night, our Tallahassee show is in full swing.
The roar of the audience vibrates through the stage floor and into my bones, the lights pulse in time with the bass, and the air is thick with sweat, smoke, and electric anticipation.
The stadium didn’t quite sell out tonight, but we’re pushing maximum capacity.
Though he’ll never admit it, I know the pressure of the growing crowd we’re attracting is affecting Eric. As the band’s front man, he carries the heaviest share of the weight. He’s the one in the spotlight, and the one everyone recognizes.
The face of Falling Absent.
And what a perfect face it is.
At the midpoint of our set, Eric is fully immersed, belting out lyrics with such raw intensity that he arches back, chest expanding and lungs drinking in air.
The stage lights hit him just right—cutting sharp across his cheekbones and glinting off the fine mist of sweat that coats his skin like morning dew.
It makes him look almost otherworldly under the strobing reds and blues.
I could listen to him all day.
Deep and powerful, with that slight rasp that scrapes deliciously across my nerves, his voice is pure ASMR to my brain. It glides over me like fingernails dragging slow across my scalp. Every note feels personal, like he’s singing to me alone, even as thousands scream his name.
There’s a haunting, melancholic undertone to the song he’s singing. One that digs smoky tendrils into my heart and presses an invisible weight against my chest, stealing every breath until my lungs burn and my vision blurs at the edges.
This is the first time we’ve performed it, and the lyrics have taken on a whole new depth, demanding my attention in a way they never did before tonight.
Now that I know the truth about what happened between Eric and me all those years ago…
suddenly I’m suffocating. The air turns thick and heavy, and the roar of the crowd fades to a distant hum.
“You took my heart like I owed it to you, stole away in the night while it still beat in your hands.” There’s so much emotion festering inside him, threatening to burst as he grips the mic, eyes squeezed shut, while his voice cracks on the edges with raw pain.
And I…
I can’t breathe.
“Painted over all this pain with anger, because that’s what cowards do. Couldn’t take knowing you still carried that piece of me inside you.”
Surrounded by a sea of people, he stands out as the lone figure, disconnected from the crowd.
Secluded and alone.
The lights shift to a deep cobalt blue, bathing him in cold, ethereal glow, and Eric’s presence takes on a weightless quality like he’s hovering in the middle of the ocean.
Floating.
Drowning.
Isolated in his memories of his broken heart, the stage lights catching the sheen of sweat on his skin, the mic trembling in his grip.
Tears prickle in my eyes as I force myself to keep pace with the song, but inside, I know.
I’m sure.
This was me.
“Now you’re out there, somewhere out there, watching me slowly fall apart.
Never once letting me forget there’s a void in place of my heart.
” He arches backwards once more, breath filling his lungs, and a solitary tear runs down my cheek, merging with the sweat that already slicks my trembling body.
In a powerful bellow, he sings, “Give me back this love of mine. This love of mine. You’ve used it ‘til it’s dead, left me bleeding red. Give me back this love of mine.”
The break kicks in, and the mic falls from his lips, giving him a few precious seconds to recover his breath. Grief carves deep lines into every contour of his face, raw and exposed under the harsh stage lights that cut across his sweat-slick skin.
God, does no one notice?
Are they all blind to the way his shoulders tremble, the way his chest heaves like he’s drowning in the lyrics, and how his voice cracks on the edges like it’s splintering?
I need to see his eyes, to know he’s okay.
To know he’s still with me.
As though he hears the silent plea screaming inside my skull, Eric’s eyes fly open and whip toward me through the haze of lights and smoke.
The pain melts from his face as he meets my gaze with an unblinking stare.
Slowly, he nods—just a slight tip of his chin, then a second one—before a small, anguished smile crosses his lips.
It's fragile but real, meant only for me in this sea of strangers.
Then his chest rises in a deep inhale, the mic’s back at his mouth, and the song surges on as my heart thrashes inside the bone bars of my rib cage. It aches with the weight of everything we’ve carried.
For the remaining forty minutes of the show, I want to go to him. Even after the song is finished and we move to more upbeat melodies, my mind only keeps returning to one thought.
I did this to him.
The drums are deafening around me, drowning out all other sounds as the crowd jumps and cheers, drunk on the music.
Guitars wail and scream, beating through every inch of the stadium with more energy than I’ve ever felt from a concert.
It pulses in my very veins, forcing my heart to beat with its grueling tempo.
Eric’s back remains facing me for the duration of the show, those powerful shoulders flexing and popping as he moves across the stage, pouring his entire goddamned soul into every note.
The stage lights carve sharp angles across his body, sweat catching the beams like molten glass, and the roar of the crowd crashes through the air.
He’s in that place musicians escape to—where awake and asleep blur, and the only thing that exists is the music.
I did this to him.
As the final chords fade, the crowd erupts so loud there’s no room left to think. Exhausted, he stands at the mic, chest heaving, sweat dripping from his jaw, eyes distant and hollow under the dying lights.
They should be on their knees, humbled before him. They should bow to the talent he carries in every bone of his body, and worship the raw heart he rips open night after night for strangers who will never know the cost.
He splinters himself into shards before these people, oblivious to the toll it takes to piece himself back together.
And I did this to him.
Mentally and physically exhausted, I’m in a tailspin as we repack and reload our equipment for what must be the thousandth time since we left on this tour a week ago.
When the last of my drums is securely stored away, I make my way toward the side of the bus.
The metal is warm against my back as I lean against it, while the night air carries the scent of the city.
I stare up at the vast expanse of stars sparkling above me.
Wary steps approach me. “Are you okay?” Eric’s voice is hoarse from overuse, and his tone is careful.
My hand rakes through my sweaty hair as I turn and glance at him, finding his face cautiously neutral. “Shouldn’t I be asking that question instead of you?”
“I’m fine, Dmitri, but you aren’t.”
It takes me a couple of tries before I’m able to swallow around the lump in my throat. “That song…”
He nods. “It’s about you.”
“Figured that much out,” I rasp, staring back up into the inky night. “How can you stand to look at me after what I did to you?”
“Well, to be fair, you are nice to look at,” he teases softly.
I shake my head. “It’s not funny, Eric. There’s not a goddamned thing that’s funny about knowing I hurt you like that. That song is a fucking masterpiece, but I wish it didn’t exist. I wish you never had to write it.”
“I don’t,” he insists. When I turn to him, he's so close that I can practically taste his presence. He leans against me so his body heat seeps into my skin, while the wind carries a whiff of his familiar scent.
I scoff. “You’re glad I broke your heart now?”
“Yeah, I am.” He scoots closer, face inches from mine and breath warm against my skin.
“Who knows what paths our lives would have taken if our story had happened differently all those years ago? Maybe I wasn’t ready to confront this part of me, and it would’ve been you with the broken heart when I walked away. ”
“But you did walk away,” I whisper, cupping his jaw and thumb brushing through his short beard. “And my heart was broken. Can’t you see that, Eric? I destroyed both of us.”
“Sometimes things have to be broken before they can mend,” he murmurs, dragging a hand across my chest until it rests above my heart, palm warm and steady over the heavy beat.
“And without those fractures, all that light inside you would be trapped. It would never break free, and that? Well, that’d be a damn tragedy. ”
A pained sound leaves my throat as I lean forward, lips frantic as I kiss him.
He melts into my embrace, tongue finding mine and sliding against it as his fingers glide over my cheek, rough and gentle all at once.
I pull him closer, forcing his mouth open wider as I push into him, teeth gnashing as I swallow his moans.
Frenzied and demanding, I need more—need him closer, deeper, forever.
“Dmitri,” he rasps, and I press my forehead against his, panting. “Baby, it’s okay. We’re here now, and that’s what matters. That’s the only thing that matters.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” My nose nuzzles against his, unable to help myself as my lips crash into his again. “I swear, I'll find a way.”
“All I need is for you to be here with me.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” I promise.
His smile is slight, but genuine. I can always tell by the way his eyes form little crinkles in the corners. “Will you stay with me tonight? I know the beds are small, but—”
“I need to feel you beside me,” I finish for him.
“Yeah,” he agrees with a sweet smile. “That's exactly what I was about to say.”