72. Cartoons & Coloring Books
Cartoons & Coloring Books
Rafe
We’re running sound at the KS Dome, the kind of place that makes everything echo too much, guitars, laughter, even breathing. The crew’s been at it since morning. Cables everywhere, the smell of cheap coffee and dust thick in the air.
The girls from R?vind are onstage tweaking harmonies, their Valkyrie-bright voices bouncing off the rafters. I’m slumped on a road case beside Kiri, coffee gone lukewarm in my hand, pretending to check notes on my phone while the others argue over set pacing.
Freja drapes herself across Ronan’s shoulders, whispering something that makes him laugh, that soft, stupid grin that means he’s completely gone for her.
The sight hits me in two directions: warmth with a sting.
I love seeing him happy, but it hurts. That easy closeness, the touch without thought.
What I had. What I keep trying not to miss.
Rithy’s sketching on the back of a setlist. The girls flop into the seats in front of us during a tech reset, joking with Freja about costumes and Seoul humidity. For a second, it feels normal, music, friends, motion. Then Kiri’s phone lights up beside me.
A notification flashes across the screen: Natalia.
Then the picture. It’s a selfie, half-smile, messy hair, off-shoulder sweater that doesn’t quite stay where it should. Flirty, young. My stomach flips, the sound in the room disappearing under the rush in my ears. More than that, it’s Kasia’s sister.
I catch his smirk out of the corner of my eye. I’m already moving. I snatch the phone out of his hand before the words are done.
“What the hell is this?”
“Give it back,” he says, laughing, reaching for it like it’s no big deal.
Ronan looks up from the kit. “What’s going on?”
I scroll, thumb shaking. More messages, texts, emojis, little hearts. Late-night photos, private jokes. The kind of back-and-forth that only happens when two people are already half-in.
I hold the screen out toward Rithy. “You see this? After Kasia’s parents threatened to disown her for what we brought to their doorstep, this idiot is sending her sister messages. Have a fucking look.”
He leans over, reads, rolling his eyes. “A hot influencer is a dime a dozen, so you pick her sister?”
He stops because I’m still holding the phone, because he can see what’s about to happen.
I meet Kiri’s eyes, all cold calculation and rage. “You want it back?”
For a second, he actually nods.
I drop it, then step down. The crack of glass echoes across the stage. I twist my heel until the screen shatters completely, then let a smile creep across my face so he sees exactly how satisfied it makes me feel.
“That’ll stop you fucking messaging her, at least for today.”
Kiri lunges. Ronan’s there in a blink, his drum sticks clatter to the ground, he catches him by the shoulders just in time. “Oi! Enough!”
Kiri’s face is pure fury, voice rough. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind over her!”
“No,” I say, stepping closer, voice low. “I’ve just finally seen what’s in yours. You’ll do whatever it takes to keep that ego fed. You’re a fucking joke.”
Rithy moves between us, one arm out to each side. “Kiri, stop. Rafe, back off.”
But Kiri shoves his brother’s arm away, glaring at me. “Don’t get fucking self-righteous with me. The only reason you’re not with her is because she doesn’t want you. You’re not respecting her parents’ wishes. Fuck off, Saint Rafe.”
That’s when I snap and lunge. Rithy’s right in front, hands on my shoulders, trying to get me to focus on him, but all I do is look over his shoulder at Kiri’s smug fucking face. Ronan’s grip tightens on him.
“Shut the fuck up.” Ronan shouts into Kiri’s ear, then he looks at me, calm steel. “And you, sit back down before you break something else. Is this who we are now? One breath away from a punch-up at every turn? Jesus Christ, guys.”
I ignore him. “She’s twenty-two, Kiri. She’s Kasia’s fucking sister. That should be enough.”
The R?vind girls freeze, wide-eyed. Freja whispers something to Ronan, and he nods for them to go. They scatter, boots hustling offstage, the silence they leave behind louder than any amp.
Rithy’s voice shakes, not from fear, but from disappointment. He turns back to me, arms still wide, still trying to play interference, then looks at Kiri.
“Trust you to turn it into a fucking soap opera. Move on, block and delete the kid’s number, and find another one. Simple.”
Kiri tears free again, eyes hard. “It’s my goddamn life, and I don’t have to tiptoe around his little tantrums. He’s the joke. It’s not my problem what happened between them. Natalia doesn’t care what her parents think and I like her.”
I laugh once, bitter. “Of course you do. You’d chase anyone who looks at you twice if it meant you didn’t have to look at yourself. What do you even talk about? Cartoons and her favorite fucking coloring book?”
That’s when Ronan locks onto Kiri fully, holding him back from unleashing everything “Stop, fuck’s sake! Both of you!”
Kiri’s breathing hard, jaw clenched. Rithy’s glare could cut metal. He points a finger in his face. “Say another word,” he warns his brother, “and I swear, I’ll even help him beat your ass. Rafe, go, take a breather, then we have a fucking rehearsal to finish.”
I throw my hands up, shaking, and head for the side exit.
The loading-bay door groans as it opens, spilling cold air into the heat of the stage.
Outside, Seoul is a neon lake against snow.
I press my palms to the metal railing, trying to breathe.
My hand’s still trembling. All I can see is Kasia’s face.
The way she looked the last time I saw her, empty, hollowed out, broken.
Behind me, through the half-open door, Rithy’s voice drifts out, dry and exhausted.
“Brilliant start to tour rehearsals, everyone.”
I laugh once, humorless, breath fogging in the night air.
Yeah. Brilliant.
The crowd in Seoul is a blur of light and noise.
I should feel electric, first shows always do that but the second we roll the teaser for the new album, the opening notes of Connaught on Mayfair hit, the air changes.
Every chord feels heavier than it should, like the keys are made of stone instead of ivory.
My voice hits the first line fine, the second with a crack, and by the third my throat just closes up.
I can’t breathe through it. I can’t sing through it.
Rithy looks over mid-verse, eyes wide, guitar still going. Ronan’s foot falters on the kick drum. Kiri mouths what the fuck? I shake my head, step back from the mic. The crowd’s a living pulse of confusion and sympathy, cheers rising like they can will me through it. But I can’t. Not this one.
I bow my head, manage a half-smile, mutter something about the sound mix, whatever lie buys me an exit with some dignity and I’m gone, out the side, the air hitting me like a slap.
Backstage is silent. My heart’s still hammering, my hands shaking like I’ve been hit. Rithy finds me first, towel around his neck, grin trying to hide concern. “Well, that was dramatic.”
Ronan swats him. “You all right?” I must look a sight, truly a man worth pitying.
I nod, but it’s a lie. My voice still won’t work, words stuck somewhere between my chest and throat. “Just needed a minute,” I manage.
The rest of the set goes fine. I go back out, finish strong, play the older stuff. The crowd loves it, they eat up the emotion like it’s art and not collapse. I do my job, I smile, I bow.
By the time we’re off, it’s already everywhere, videos, edits, captions about how Obelus breaks down mid-song. Raw emotion. Pure art. The comments blur together into the same idea. Who hurt him? We ride at dawn. Later, in the hotel, the others are still arguing over me like I’m not in the room.
Rithy says, “What’s the point of writing songs you can’t sing?”
Ronan cuts in, “He’ll manage. Next tour’s a long way off.”
Rithy rolls his eyes. “No one coddled me this much when I was going through it.”
All three of us answer in perfect unison. “We did.”
It makes me laugh and for a second, it feels almost normal.
Then I’m alone again.
The knock comes just before midnight, quick, like someone testing courage. I half expect room service, but when I open the door, Kiri’s standing there in a hoodie and stage-worn jeans, eyes bloodshot from too many drinks or too much thinking. Probably both.
He doesn’t wait for an invite. Just steps inside, pacing once across the carpet before stopping near the window. “After the set,” he says finally, voice rough. “Didn’t look good. You—” He drags a hand through his hair, jaw tightening. “You fucking broke down out there.”
I say nothing. There’s nothing to fix about truth.
He stares at the floor for a beat, then sighs. “I’ll… back off with Natalia. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
It comes out rushed, almost clumsy, like he’s afraid the words might burn if he keeps them too long. I see more fear in his eyes than guilt. Fear that heartbreak runs in that family like a curse and he’s already doomed. I nod anyway. A white flag I’m happy to take.
He lingers another second, hands shoved deep in his pockets, then nods back and slips out the door. The door clicks shut, leaving me in the kind of silence that’s louder than applause.
For a long time, I just stand there, looking at the space where he’d been. The city lights pulse through the curtains like a heartbeat I can’t quite sync to. There’s relief in it, sure but also that slow ache of knowing what it costs to keep the peace.
Kiri’s always been the anchor. When he flinches, it ripples through everything. Tonight, I saw the crack in him, the same one I’ve been carrying.
I sink back onto the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor until everything goes soft. I should sleep. Instead, I press a hand to my chest, trying to find the rhythm again, one that doesn’t hurt.