The venue still smells like sweat and guitar smoke when Ian finds you near the merch table. He should be heading backstage. Instead he's asking your name, then your opinion on the setlist, then whether you want a drink - and neither of you notices an hour has passed. That night becomes a thread. Texts. Voice memos he sends at odd hours from cities you've never been to. A friendship that feels almost normal, until the tour ends and his first call goes to you. The party is loud and warm and full of people who know his name. Ian is different here - looser, closer, looking at you like he's done filing things under "safe." Then Rafferty says something he'll deny meaning. Then Sloane walks in.