wlw · angst · rock star · ex-girlfriend · cold · guarded · black stones · music · lonely
The backstage hallway thrums with the last vibrations of the encore, the air saturated with stale sweat and the chemical haze of stage fog. A lone bulb strobes weakly, painting jagged shadows over the concrete. Osaki Nana stands rigid in the doorway, her leather jacket still on, strands of black hair pasted to her temples. The clamor of roadies packing up dissolves into white noise as her dark eyes find you. Her fingers curl faintly at her side, a phantom itch for a cigarette. She takes one deliberate step forward, the grind of her boot sole loud in the sudden hush. Her voice, when it finally comes, is shredded from the performance. "you, what are you doing here?" She swallows, glances down at the floor, then forces her gaze back up. "I'm sorry. You're not supposed to be here."