#natesibxreader

JONAH

you get home after a long day and find jonah has set up a quiet, romantic surprise just for you.

flower: roses - symbols for love. song: lover girl - laufey

you’re exhausted when you get home.

like brain fried. shoulders tight. you almost forget it’s valentine’s day because work swallowed the whole day.

you unlock your apartment and step inside, already reaching to kick your shoes off.

then you notice the lights are dimmer than usual.

you frown.

and then you see it.

a single rose on the floor.

you just stare at it for a second like your brain needs to buffer.

“…what?”

you close the door slowly and take a few steps forward.

there’s another rose. then another. leading toward the living room.

you feel your chest tighten a little.

you follow them.

and when you round the corner you actually stop breathing for a second.

the table is set up,  candles lit, plates already there. glasses poured. it’s not over-the-top. it’s still your apartment, your slightly messy space. but he tried. you can tell he tried.

you let out this quiet laugh under your breath.

“no way.”

“you like it?”

his voice comes from behind you and you physically jump.

you turn and there he is, leaning against the wall like he’s been waiting to see your face this whole time. bouquet in his hand. hair pushed back. wearing that button down he only pulls out when he wants to look serious.

you just stare at him.

“jonah.”

he walks over slowly, almost cautious. like he’s not sure if you’re about to cry or roast him.

“happy valentine’s day,” he says, softer now.

you look at the flowers. then at him. then back at the setup.

“you did all this after rehearsal?”

he shrugs. “had help with the timing. not the cooking though. that was all me so… lower your expectations.”

you laugh and take the bouquet from him. your fingers brush and he doesn’t pull away right away.

“this is insane,” you murmur.

“good insane?”

you nod.

he kisses you then, his hand slides to your waist and you can feel he’s a little tense.

you pull back slightly. “why are you nervous?”

“because i wanted it to be good,” he admits. “you deserve good.”

he pulls your chair out for you and you sit, still kind of in shock. dinner isn’t perfect but he watches you every time you take a bite like he’s waiting for a grade.

“stop staring at me,” you mumble.

“i can’t.”

you kick his leg under the table and he grins.

after dinner he doesn’t rush anything. he just stands, holds his hand out.

“come outside.”

you let him guide you to the balcony. the air is cold enough to wake you up fully. the city lights glimmers below you,

he pours wine into two glasses he clearly hid out here earlier. you raise an eyebrow.

“you’ve been planning this for a while, huh.”

“maybe,” he says.

you both lean against the railing. quiet for a second, and it’s comfortable.

then he sets his glass down.

that’s when you know something’s coming.

he turns to you fully,  no jokes now.

“i’m not good at speeches,” he starts. “you know that.”

“yeah. you ramble.”

“thanks.”

you smile a little.

he takes your hands anyway.

“i just… i don’t want this to ever feel temporary. you know? like some fun chapter before the next thing. i don’t see a next thing without you in it.”

your throat tightens.

he swallows.

“i want the boring days. the tired days. you coming home stressed and me ordering food because i burned dinner. i want all of it. with you.”

it’s not flashy… he’s not trying to sound poetic.

he just means it.

you step closer without even thinking.

“you’re such an idiot,” you whisper.

“why.”

“because now i’m going to cry.”

he laughs softly and presses his forehead against yours.

“don’t cry. i worked too hard for this makeup.”

you shove him lightly but you’re smiling and he kisses you again, deeper this time.

and somewhere in the distance, fireworks start going off. probably not even for you,  probably some event downtown.

but they light up the sky anyway.

you pull back just enough to look at him.

“did you plan that too?”

he smirks. “i’ll take credit.”

and for once, you don’t feel tired at all.

HOLLIS

after a fight, hollis comes by with a small gesture, hoping to make things right.

flower: daisy - symbols new beginnings song: DAISY - 2hollis

valentine’s day feels stupid this year.

you’ve been staring at your phone all afternoon, not because you’re waiting for a text, but because you’re trying not to send one.

last week was bad.

not a small argument. not a petty misunderstanding. it was the type where voices get sharp and things slip out that you can’t take back, the kind where you both went quiet afterward instead of fixing it.

you haven’t really talked since.

just surface-level,  safe, careful.

you’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, back against the couch, lights off except for the lamp in the corner. you didn’t decorate. didn’t make plans. didn’t tell anyone you were free.

you tell yourself you don’t care.

there’s a knock at the door.

you freeze.

he wouldn’t.

you wait a second. maybe it’s a neighbor.

another knock. softer this time.

you get up slowly, heart beating harder than you want it to. when you open the door, there he is.

Hollis looks tired.

he holds up a small paper bag.

“i brought food,” he says quietly. “you didn’t answer my text.”

you swallow. “i saw it.”

“yeah. i figured.”

there’s a long pause where neither of you move.

“can i come in?” he asks.

you hesitate. just enough for him to notice.

then you step aside.

he walks in slowly, like he doesn’t fully feel welcome yet. his eyes scan the room, taking in the low light, the fact that you didn’t do anything for today.

“you weren’t doing anything?” he asks.

“no.”

“me neither.”

he sets the bag down on the coffee table and sits on the floor without asking, back against the couch where you were earlier. he doesn’t try to touch you. doesn’t try to close the space.

you stay standing for a second before sitting down across from him.

the silence is thick.

“i don’t want to fight,” he says first.

“then don’t,” you reply.

his jaw tightens slightly. 

“i’ve been replaying that night in my head all week,” he admits. “every word.”

you look down at your hands.

“so have i.”

he nods slowly.

“i shouldn’t have said you don’t support me,” he says. “that wasn’t fair.”

you blink. you weren’t expecting that first.

“you don’t,” he adds quickly, correcting himself. “you don’t make me feel unsupported. i was frustrated and i took it out on you.”

“i shouldn’t have said you’re selfish,” you say quietly.

he looks up at you immediately.

silence again.

you hate that you meant it in the moment, n you hate that he probably believed it.

“i just feel like i’m competing with everything in your life sometimes,” you say. “the group, the schedule, the pressure. it’s like i get what’s left.”

he exhales slowly, rubbing his hands together.

“i don’t know how to balance it,” he says honestly. “i’m still figuring it out. but that doesn’t mean you’re an afterthought.”

you don’t respond right away.

he looks at you like he’s trying to decide how much to say.

“when you said you were tired of trying,” he continues, voice lower now, “that scared me.”

your throat tightens.

“i’m not tired of you,” you say. “i’m tired of feeling like i’m losing you.”

he shifts closer this time. 

“you’re not losing me,” he says.you search his face for doubt.

there isn’t any.

“i don’t want us to end because we’re both stubborn,” he adds. “or because i’m bad at communicating. i don’t want to wake up in a few months and realize we let something good fall apart over ego.”

you let out a shaky breath.

“so what are we doing then?” you ask.

he reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls something out slowly.

it’s small.

you frown slightly.

he unfolds his hand.

a single daisy.

not wrapped, not dramatic, just one simple white daisy with a slightly crooked stem.

“i know everyone does roses,” he says. “but daisies mean new beginnings. or whatever. i googled it.”

despite everything, you almost laugh.

“of course you did.”

“i didn’t want to bring something that felt… fake,” he continues. “i don’t want to pretend last week didn’t happen. i just don’t want it to be the thing that ends us.”

he holds the daisy out toward you.

“i’m not promising i’ll never mess up again,” he says quietly. “i probably will. but i am promising i’m not going anywhere. if you’re willing to keep trying with me.”

your eyes sting.

you reach out slowly and take the flower from him.

“you’re so bad at grand gestures,” you whisper.

he huffs out a laugh. “i know.”

“but this is… good.”

he looks relieved in a way that makes your chest ache.

you move closer on your own this time until your knees touch. his hand slides carefully to your waist, like he’s asking permission without words.

“i don’t want to almost lose you again,” he murmurs.

“then don’t,” you reply.

he leans forward and kisses you, when you pull back, your forehead rests against his.

“happy valentine’s day,” he says quietly.

you look down at the daisy in your hand.

“happy new beginnings,” you correct.

ROMAN

your first valentine’s without him is quiet, lonely, and full of memories.

flowers: black dahlias - symbols broken trust, love song: sad girl - Lana del ray

valentine’s hits differently when it’s the first one without him.

you wake up and immediately feel it in your chest, a hollow space where anticipation used to live

. it’s quiet in the apartment, too quiet, like the walls are holding their breath. you make coffee mechanically, scroll through your phone, but there’s nothing from him. no texts, no calls. not that you expected any. not anymore.

the fight last week was sharp, precise. no yelling, no slamming doors. just words cutting through like knives wrapped in silk. you told him you needed space. he told you he couldn’t give it. and then it ended. Just like that.

you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, trying to convince yourself it’s okay. that it was necessary. that it wasn’t sudden. that you’re strong enough to handle this. the coffee grows cold in your mug.

your phone buzzes. you don’t pick it up. it’s probably him. maybe he’s checking in. maybe he regrets. maybe he wants to fix it. but the thought of speaking to him makes your throat tighten.

instead, you wander to the living room and slump into the couch. you find yourself opening the drawer where you keep the little things: the ticket stubs from his shows, the hoodie that still smells like him. you hold it for a moment, then toss it back. it’s too heavy.

you remember the last time you kissed him. the way he pressed against you,, like he didn’t want to hurt you but couldn’t stop himself from being honest in the moment. the memory makes your chest ache, a twisting ache that has no relief.

evening comes, and the city outside is alive with couples and laughter. you feel like you’re looking through a window at another world. you thought maybe, just maybe, he’d show up. that maybe you’d forgive him in a blink, because love doesn’t always make sense.

but he doesn’t. the black dahlias he got u a month ago sits on your counter, dead and withering away.

you don’t cry. not yet. you just let the quiet settle, like an unwelcome blanket you can’t shake off. you pick up your phone again, scrolling through your messages until you stop at the last one from him. it’s simple. i’m sorry. i wish i could stay.

you read it over and over, and it doesn’t get easier. it never will. 

you place your phone down, hug the hoodie to your chest, and let yourself sink into the emptiness.

it’s valentine’s day. he’s gone. and even though every rational part of you knows it was for the best, a piece of you still wants him here.

and that piece will want him for a long time.

RYAN

a calm valentine’s night turns bittersweet when you realize timing is working against you.

flowers: black roses - symbols the end song: dont smile - sabrina

valentine’s day with ryan feels normal.

that’s the worst part.

he picks you up like he always does, one hand on your waist when you get in the car. he kisses your cheek, then your lips. but there’s… something in his eyes.

not distance.

not anger.

just… thought.

dinner is simple.he holds your hand across the table. rubs his thumb over your knuckles absentmindedly.

you both laugh. you talk about random things. memories. a trip you took last summer. the time you got lost driving and ended up at the beach at midnight.

and every time you laugh, it feels a little too important. like you’re both trying to memorize the sound.

you’ve known for a while.

no one said it out loud, but you both feel it.

wrong timing. different paths. things pulling you in opposite directions. love isn’t the issue.

life is.

after dinner, instead of dropping you home, he drives somewhere quiet. an overlook you’ve been to before.

you sit on the hood of his car like you have a hundred times. his jacket around your shoulders. his arm around you.

for a long time, neither of you speak.

you rest your head against him and whisper, “we’re not okay, are we?”

he exhales slowly.

no defensiveness. no pretending.

“…no.”

your chest tightens but you’re not surprised.

“i don’t want to lose you,” you say.

“i know.”

he says it like it hurts him too.

“but i don’t want us to start resenting each other either,” he adds quietly.

it’s not explosive,  it’s not messy.

it’s mature.

and that makes it worse.

you pull back to look at him and his eyes are already glassy, even though he’s trying to stay composed. he brushes his thumb under your eye when a tear slips down.

“i wish we met later,” he says softly.

and there it is.

the line that breaks everything.

not “i don’t love you.”

not “this isn’t working.”

jus wrong timing.

he disappears into his car or a second while you sit  awkwardly, arms wrapped around yourself.

when he comes back, there’s something in his hands.

a small bouquet, black roses.

you blink at them, confused at first.

he walks toward you slowly.

“I didn’t want to get red,” he says quietly. “That felt like lying.”

your throat tightens.

he holds them out to you, not smiling, 

“Black roses mean endings,” he adds. “But they also mean… rebirth. New chapters.”

Your fingers tremble slightly when you take them.

“You’re unbelievable,” you whisper, and it isn’t an insult. It’s heartbreak.

“I didn’t want tonight to feel fake,” he says. “If this is the last Valentine’s we get… I wanted it to be honest.”

He steps closer, one hand coming up to cup your face like he’s done a hundred times before.

“I love you,” he says.

Not past tense. 

Present.

You kiss him like its your onlylifeline. 

It’s goodbye.

When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours for a second longer than it should.

iI love you.,” he murmurs.

You hold the black roses tighter against your chest.

NATE

nate spends the whole day treating you, ending with a grand, over the top gesture.

song: best part - Daniel flower: tulips symbols passion

It worked — until it didn’t.

“Miss, you can’t go back there,” a burly security guard said, blocking the hallway.

“I’m with Roman,” you insisted, flashing what you hoped was a convincing smile.

He raised an eyebrow. “Everyone says that.”

“I mean it!” you snapped, voice higher than you intended. “I’m literally his girl. You can call him, ask anyone—”

“Ma’am, I don’t care who you are. No one’s getting backstage right now.”

You planted your hands on your hips. “Look, I know you don’t believe me, but I’m not lying. You’re telling me I can’t see the guy I’ve been dating for months? Seriously?”

The guard frowned. “I don’t make the rules.”

You groaned, gesturing toward the commotion outside. “Then maybe someone who does needs to know that I’m not some random fan. I’m his girlfriend. I know his name, his birthday, his favorite—”

“Ma’am!” the guard barked, clearly losing patience. “Step back before I call—”

“Before you call someone, how about you try letting me explain to him first?” you shot back, voice pleading but firm. “He’ll tell you I’m not lying!”

You were about to argue again when someone from inside shouted your name.

Roman.

He stepped out of the hallway, hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, and an expression that said he was caught between confusion and disbelief. The guard immediately straightened, probably realizing he’d just blocked the actual headliner’s girlfriend.

Roman squinted for a second, like his brain was buffering. Then his mouth tugged into a lazy grin.

“Yo, what the hell are you doing here?”

His tone wasn’t angry, just surprised, lowkey, like he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it but wasn’t mad either.

You opened your mouth to explain, but he just shook his head, laughing under his breath.

“Yo, chill. She’s good. That’s my girl.”

The guard muttered an apology as Roman grabbed your wrist, pulling you past the barricade and into the dim hallway. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just kept walking until you were inside the dressing room, door shutting behind you.

Then he turned, leaning against the counter with that same calm stare.

“You really flew out here?” he asked, voice soft but still teasing.

“Yeah. I missed you,” you said, trying not to sound as small as you felt.

He chuckled, rubbing his jaw. “You’re crazy.”

You shrugged. “Maybe. But you weren’t picking up.”

“I told you, tour’s been rough. Studio, shows, interviews—” He paused, sighing. “Didn’t mean to disappear on you.”

You didn’t know what to say, so you didn’t. The silence hung between you, thick but not uncomfortable. He finally stepped closer, eyes softening a little as he took you in, the outfit, the effort, the way you were trying not to seem nervous.

“Damn,” he murmured, a small smile breaking through. “You really pulled up looking like this just to stress out security?”

You rolled your eyes. “Guess so.”

He laughed, really laughed this time, before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. His voice dropped near your ear, quieter now.

“I’m glad you came, though.”

For a second, you let yourself melt into it , his cologne, the warmth, the familiarity that hadn’t faded even after months apart.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, all calm and casual like he hadn’t just made your heart stutter.

“Stay for the show?”

“Obviously.”

“Good,” he said, smirking a little. “You can tell me if I fuck up.”

And just like that, he turned toward the door, already half back in performer mode. But before he left, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, a little softer. “Don’t disappear after. I wanna actually talk this time.”

“Yeah, he didn’t know,” you said, smiling sheepishly. “I kinda… just showed up.”

Nate chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh shit.”

The three of you caught up like it hadn’t been months, talking about random tour stories, the cities they’d hit, how Roman accidentally broke a mic stand during rehearsal in Atlanta.

“Stupid ass guy man,” Hollis said, smirking. “Swore up and down it was aura’”

“Yeah that sounds like something he would do,” you murmured, shaking your head.

Nate checked his phone, eyes widening. “Shit. I gotta head out, stage in thirty.”

“Already?” Hollis asked, glancing at him.

“Yeah, soundcheck’s about to wrap. If we’re late, management’s gonna kill us.”

He turned to you with an easy smile. “Hey, it’s really good seeing you again. You staying for the whole show?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. He’ll be happy you’re here.”

You nodded, and just like that, Nate and Hollis were gone, their laughter fading down the corridor until it was only you and the noise of the crowd below.

You leaned over the railing, hands gripping the edge, and took it all in. The venue was massive, the kind that swallowed you whole, lights flickering against faces pressed toward the barricade, chants starting and fading like waves.

And somewhere out there, in a few minutes, Roman was going to step into that storm and own it like he always did.

You didn’t realize you were smiling until you felt your cheeks ache a little. For all the missed calls, the long nights, the silence, seeing this made it make sense. He was chasing something real, something big, and you couldn’t help but feel proud.

He’d always said he’d make it, that someday the crowd would scream his name. And now they were.

You leaned back against the railing, letting the sound of it wash over you, the chants, the lights, the anticipation. For the first time in months, you didn’t feel left behind. You just felt proud.

Fifteen minutes slipped by faster than you expected. The low chatter in the crowd had turned into a steady roar, phones raised, camera flashes dotting the dark like tiny stars.

Then the house lights dropped.

Your stomach flipped. You gripped the railing tighter, heart thudding as the first beat rumbled through the floor. The stage flooded in light, smoke curling around the silhouette that stepped out from the center.

Roman.

He ran on stage like he owned the place, head slightly bowed until the crowd’s scream hit full volume. You couldn’t help but grin. This was his world, and he looked damn good in it.

The music kicked in, heavy and electric, and the whole venue moved as one. Roman started his first verse, voice steady, loud, the kind that filled the space and left no air between you and the sound. The crowd lost it, people jumping, singing every lyric, lights flashing in rhythm with every beat.

And then, somewhere between lines, his eyes found yours.

You froze, caught off guard, but he didn’t look away. Just that quick half-smile,the kind only you knew meant something , before he turned back to the mic.

A few songs later, he did it again. This time, a wink. Small, quick, but enough to make your breath hitch.

You pulled out your phone, trying to film without shaking too much, laughing to yourself every time he slipped another glance your way. Maybe no one else noticed, but you could tell. He always had this way of performing like the entire crowd was invisible, except you.

By the time he hit the last chorus, the whole room was jumping. Smoke machines burst from the sides, the final hook echoing through the rafters. Roman threw his hand in the air, a grin stretching across his face, sweat clinging to his neck, eyes shining under the stage lights.

You were clapping before you even realized it, cheering with everyone else, pride swelling in your chest.

He bowed slightly, thanked the crowd, and for just a second before walking offstage, he looked up again, right where you were, and smiled.

Nate’s set was electric. You could feel the floor shake under your feet, the crowd chanting his name as lights pulsed across the venue.

When the last note hit and the lights dimmed again, the noise lingered in your chest like static. You were still grinning, leaning against the railing, when you suddenly felt a pair of arms slip around your waist from behind.

You froze for a second before turning, and there he was.

Roman.

Sweat dampened his hair, his black liner smudged faintly beneath his eyes, giving him that sharp, unpolished look that only made him more magnetic. He didn’t say anything at first—just looked at you, eyes tired but soft, a slow smile breaking through.

“You’re here,” he murmured, voice rough from the set.

You laughed quietly, placing your hand over his. “Told you I’d stay.”

He pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours, still catching his breath. “I missed you,” he said under his breath. “Missed you all the time. Missed having you around. Missed your company.”

Each word came out low, almost like he was talking to himself more than you. You could feel the sincerity in it, the way the last few months hung heavy in his tone.

You smiled, trying not to laugh when he muttered another soft “missed you” between sentences. “You’re kind of repeating yourself, you know,” you teased.

He chuckled, the sound rasped and tired, but full of relief. “Yeah, well. I mean it.”

You and Roman stayed tucked away in that little balcony corner for a while, just talking. Ten minutes maybe, though it felt longer.

He was still a little out of breath, running a towel through his hair while you sat on the railing beside him.

Then the lights on stage flickered white, and the opening beat of Hollis’s set boomed through the speakers.

You both leaned over the railing, looking down as Hollis hit the stage running, hyping up the crowd with effortless energy. His set was fire, every transition smooth, the crowd screaming every line. The bass vibrated through the floor, and Roman laughed beside you, shaking his head like a proud older brother.

Halfway through the set, Nate reappeared, hair still damp from his own performance. “You two hiding up here?” he shouted over the music.

Roman hummed. “Just enjoying the view.”

Nate threw his arm around both of you, nodding toward the stage. “Man, Hollis is killing it tonight.”

You didn’t even realize you were smiling until Roman glanced over, catching your expression in the light. He nudged your shoulder lightly, wordless, but you could tell he felt it too, that quiet pride, that moment of everything finally feeling right again.

For the rest of Hollis’s set, you all just stayed there, talking, laughing, soaking it in.

Hollis is about to start his next song, and the crowd is already hyped as fuck, yelling his name. Up on the upper platform where you, Roman, and Nate have been hanging, the bass from the speakers keeps rattling through your legs.

Roman is leaning on the rail beside from you, bobbing his head up and down occasionally.

Someone from the crew shouts his name from across the platform.

Roman doesn’t move. “Yeah, hold on,” he calls back.

Then he turns to you, eyes flicking down and back up like he’s debating something. Without warning, not dramatic, not slow, he grabs the side of your face and presses a quick kiss to your lips. It’s fast, almost careless, like it’s just habit for him.

You blink. “Bro, what—”

But he’s already jogging off with that half-smirk he gets when he knows he’s left you confused on purpose.

Before you can react, the stage lights blast white and Hollis runs out screaming “LA left to right let’s fuckin go”

The crowd loses its mind.

And then Roman jumps onto the main stage from the stairway, sliding into the verse naturally. He’s hyped now, way more than he was on the platform, jumping around with Hollis, hair sticking to his forehead, eyeliner running just a little more each time he wipes his face with his wrist.

The energy is insane. They’re both yelling the lyrics, hyping opposite sides of the crowd.

Halfway through the second chorus, Hollis is screaming the lyrics and Roman’s pacing the stage edge, pointing at random fans and making them scream louder.

Then he turns toward the upper platform.

He finds you instantly.

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t wink, nothing cheesy. Just lifts two fingers to his lips and sends a lazy, almost bored-looking kiss up toward you.

Every girl in the pit shrieks like it was for them.

Roman doesn’t even acknowledge them. He just tilts his head the tiniest bit, almost a nod, just for you, and keeps rapping, voice cracking from how loud he’s going.

As soon as the final beat of “Left to Right” crashes out, Hollis throws his arm around Roman’s shoulders and pulls him into one of those quick hugs, the kind that’s more like two guys slamming into each other because the adrenaline is too high to stand still. Roman’s still catching his breath, hair sticking to the side of his face, grin sharp and crooked.

They say something to each other you can’t hear over the crowd, then Roman pats Hollis on the back and jogs offstage, disappearing behind one of the lighting towers.

The crowd is still screaming like he’s about to sprint back out.

You expect him to be gone a while, but barely a minute passes before he comes back up the narrow stairs to the upper platform, chest still rising fast like he ran the whole way. He pushes his hair back with his palm, half-laughing to himself.

“That was insane,” you say, staring at him. “What the fuck was that? You didn’t even tell me you were gonna pull that.”

He scoffs a little, smirking as he leans a forearm on the railing. “Bro, I wasn’t even supposed to be up there. Hollis just pointed at me and I was like—” He makes some vague gesture that’s basically sure why not.

He’s still catching his breath, and there’s something reckless in the way he looks at you. not romantic, not dramatic. just charged, like he’s still riding the high of everything.

Then he steps closer like he’s going to say something normal, but instead he hooks two fingers around your wrist, tugging you in.

He leans down, breath warm against your ear, voice low and urgent but somehow casual:

“Let’s get the fuck outta here.”

You blink. “Right now?”

He nods once. “Yeah. Before they drag me to do some other shit I don't wanna do."

You don’t even have time to argue. He’s already walking, still holding your wrist loosely, and you have to half-jog to keep up.

Nate’s at the far end of the platform, talking to a crew member, and Roman calls out, “Yo, we’re dipping!”

Nate turns, confused. “What? Why?”

Roman just lifts his free hand in a shrug that basically means don’t ask, and Nate shakes his head, laughing.

You: “Bye, Nate!”

Nate salutes you both like you’re escaping prison.

And then you and Roman are running down the stairs, the echo of the crowd behind you, both of you laughing like idiots, him in front, still sweaty and smudged and high with leftover stage energy, and you trying not to trip as he drags you out of the chaos and into the shadowed hallway backstage.