14. Felt Like Flying
Felt Like Flying
Kiri
The hour before a show is always the quietest part of my day. There’s movement everywhere, crew voices bleeding through walls, cases rolling across concrete, cables snapping into place, but internally, something settles. My body knows what’s coming long before my head catches up.
I sit on the edge of the bench in the dressing room, bass resting against my thigh. I run my fingers along the strings once, not playing, just checking the tension. Steady, tight. Exactly where it should be.
Behind me, Rithy paces with his headphones on, mouthing lyrics, hands slicing the air like he’s conducting something only he can hear.
Ronan is stretched out on the floor with his sticks crossed over him, eyes closed, tapping out a rhythm against his chest. Rafe leans against the mirror, phone abandoned on the counter, staring through his own reflection like he’s already onstage.
No one’s nervous. That’s how I know the show is gonna be good.
Someone knocks and the crew calls out, five minutes. Ronan pops up in a single practiced movement. Rithy yanks off his headphones, grinning at nothing in particular, adrenaline already doing its work. Rafe straightens, cracks his neck once, and looks at us.
“Ready?”
We don’t answer. We’ve never needed to.
Backstage reeks of dust, hot metal, and the faint ozone bite of overworked equipment.
The rumble of the crowd presses through the walls like a living thing.
I sling my bass over my shoulder and feel the old weight settle along my spine.
As we line up to walk out, Rafe glances back at me.
Not checking anything, just acknowledging.
The look says, You with me? and I nod. Always.
The lights drop and the roar of the crowd hits like a monsoon.
We step into it together. The first note lands and something in me locks into place.
There’s no effort or control, only surrender.
My hands move without asking permission, years of this taking over as the bassline threads itself into the core of the song.
Ronan locks in immediately, his kick and snare breathing with me, and suddenly we’re not four people anymore. We’re one thing, one entity, moving.
Rafe’s voice cuts through the room, raw and clear, hitting every line exactly where it needs to.
Rithy’s guitar slides around it, brittle then warm, answering instead of competing.
There’s a moment where everything drops half a breath and opens again, and we fall into that space like it’s been waiting for us.
I don’t think about Natalia’s lips, or the way Signe touched her. Not about last night or tomorrow.
I think about space, pressure and restraint.
About knowing when to stay silent and when to push.
I catch Ronan’s eye during the bridge and he grins, wide and primal, because he feels it too.
Rafe glances back mid-verse and lifts his chin slightly.
Not a cue but a sign of trust. Rithy steps closer without looking, shoulder brushing mine as he leans into a harmony.
The crowd disappears. Time stretches and bends in on itself. Songs bleed into each other, each transition smooth, every ending earned. There’s no fighting or forcing the sound tonight. The music moves like water around rocks we’ve spent years learning to navigate.
During the last chorus, I close my eyes. I don’t do that often but the bass vibrates through my chest, the stage vibrates under my boots, and for a few perfect seconds I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. No past or future, just this, just now.
The final note hits right. No scramble or crash, just that perfect sound followed by silence, and then the crowd explodes.
We stand there, breathless and lit up from the inside, before Ronan whoops and tosses a stick skyward.
Rithy laughs, high on adrenaline. Rafe turns, eyes wild, and pulls us all in without hesitation.
“Fuck,” he says, grinning. “That was… yeah.”
Backstage again, sweat still cooling on my skin, Ronan claps me on the shoulder hard enough to make me rock forward. “You were locked in tonight.”
Rithy nods, still riding the high. “That pocket? Oyy! Felt like flying.”
Rafe meets my eyes, no theatrics, just quiet certainty. “That was us, The Fucking Riven Altar.”
Something tightens in my chest at that, full of pride and belonging.
The kind that settles deep and dangerous because it makes you realize exactly how much there is to lose.
I wipe my hands on a towel, steadying my breath as the noise around us turns into laughter, plans for food, the familiar aftershow chaos.
Somewhere down the hall, I hear Natalia laugh, bright and distant, and instinct pulls me toward the sound.
I don’t move this time. I stay where I am, bass still warm against my body, surrounded by the only structure that’s ever held, my brothers, my family, the band.
The ramen arrives in stages. First the smell, garlic and soy and something sweet and smoky blooming through the hallway before the knock at our door even comes.
Then the delivery guy appears, arms loaded with steaming containers, bowing once as I take the bags from him.
I thank him and shut the door with my foot.
“Finally,” Rithy calls, already cross-legged on the floor with chopsticks in hand. “I was about to start eating the furniture.”
I snort and set the whole spread on the ground for him to distribute, our time-tested ritual. I stand just as the door bangs again, louder this time, followed by Ronan’s voice echoing in the hallway.
“Open up, you giant bastard, I can fucking smell it.”
I barely get the latch undone before the door bursts open and the room fills all at once with noise, laughter, and bodies.
Ronan barrels in first with Freja on his heels, both of them talking over each other.
Rafe follows, arms full of more bags, snacks and drinks from the local convenience store, Kasia laughing behind him as she tries to keep everything from spilling out.
Natalia slips in last, quiet, hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie, hair loose around her shoulders.
Not hiding exactly, just softer. Different.
She hesitates for half a second when she sees me, like she’s checking the temperature of the room before stepping fully into it.
Our eyes meet and she blushes, an honest bloom across her cheeks like she’s forgotten how to armor herself. She doesn’t look away and neither do I.
Something in me stalls, like the world skipped a beat and forgot to start again. My heart flips with a jolt of panic, with the echo of Seoul, with the memory of dawn and the quiet we shared when there were no eyes on us.
Rithy clears his throat loudly. “Alright, you’ve seen each other before. Sit. Eat.”
I hear Rafe clear his throat too, a soft warning or reminder, but I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes on Natalia until she ducks her head, embarrassed and laughing under her breath as she moves into the room. I breathe out slowly, steadying myself.
We eat on the floor like always, boxes cracked open, steam curling up around us, plastic bowls balanced on knees.
Ronan steals half my rice without asking.
Freja swats his hand and takes some too.
Rafe passes Kasia a piece of steak, and she kisses his cheek when he trades her a mushroom in return.
It all feels so normal, easy and good. Almost too good.
“You were crazy tonight,” Ronan says around a mouthful of noodles, pointing his chopsticks at me. “Like… fucking offensive levels of locked in.”
Freja nods. “Yeah. You were the altar tonight, Bomos. Everything rested on you and you didn’t even flinch.”
Rithy grins at me, proud and unguarded. “Told you. When my brother is on, the rest of us just ride it.”
I shrug, uncomfortable with the praise but warmed by it all the same. “It’s not a one-man show.”
“Don’t ruin the moment, you unfeeling rock,” Ronan says with a grin.
I glance up without thinking and Rafe is already looking at me. He reaches out and pats my shoulder once, solid and kind. “We wouldn’t be here without you,” he says simply. “Not like this.”
Something inside me threatens to crack wide open, because he’s right.
This room, this band, this ritual of bad posture and good food and the history we never speak aloud, it’s the only family structure that never hurt.
The one Rithy and I carved out with scraped knuckles and swallowed fear.
The one that pulled us out of a house where hiding under blankets was survival and turned it into something loud and chosen and ours.
I look around the room, at Ronan’s easy sprawl, Freja’s bright laughter, Kasia curled into Rafe’s side.
At Rithy, my little brother, my reason for fighting, eating like he’s starving even though he hasn’t known true hunger in years.
The memories flicker at the edges: splitting a pack of crackers for dinner, stomachs aching until Mom came home after midnight from her second job.
Then my eyes find Natalia again. She’s listening more than talking, smiling when someone catches her eye, knees drawn close to her chest. When she feels me looking, she glances up, tentative and hopeful.
She’s beautiful, real in a way that makes something deep inside me twist hard.
If we choose this and it goes wrong, the way all the rest did, I wouldn’t just lose her.
I might lose this. The band, the trust. Rafe and Kasia pulling away because I hurt her.
Rithy trying to defend me. Ronan stuck in the middle, pretending he’s neutral even when he isn’t.
One crack in the wrong place and it could fracture everything we’ve built.
The only family that ever held.
It feels cruel, so fucking unfair, like the universe finally handed me something solid only to ask which limb I’m willing to cut off to keep the rest intact.
I stare down at the food I’ve stopped eating and swallow against the tightness clawing at my throat.
Is it really a choice? Or is there a dream world where I don’t have to amputate one part of my life to keep the other alive?
Natalia laughs softly at something Kasia says, warmth threading through her voice, and it hits me again with full force. I don’t know the answer yet.
I just know I’ve never wanted anything the way I want both.