Page 5 of Spotlight Hearts

And I hate—really hate—the way my pulse kicked when our mics crossed on stage tonight. The way my skin still remembers where his hand gripped the back of my neck for the freeze-frame. The way part of me wanted to close that last inch and see what happened if we stopped pretending it was all for show.

I rake a hand through my hair, still damp from the show. Shake it off.

It’s nothing. It’s the adrenaline. The lights. The script. The job.

I hate him.

He’s uptight, judgmental, impossible. He thinks I’m shallow because my dad’s name opened doors. He thinks I don’t work for this.

He’s wrong.

But he’s also…fuck. Absolutely, fucking not, he’s nothing.

It’s all show.

Every touch. Every look. Every viral moment. I’m good at selling it. That’s my thing.

And Kai? He’s just another prop in the performance.

Nothing more.

I head back to the building to wait for the others when the loading dock door bangs open, spilling yellow light and the muffled thump of someone’s playlist still going inside. Michael steps out, duffel slung over one shoulder, hoodie zipped to his chin. He’s got that easy, lopsided grin already in place, as if he’s been saving it just for this moment.

Kai and Min-ho follow after him, but he pauses as they both pass me by.

“Yo, lover boy!” he calls, voice echoing off the concrete. “You gonna stand out here brooding like a rejected rom-com lead all night, or are we rolling?”

I snort, turning toward him. “I’m not brooding. I’m…decompressing.”

“Decompressing.” He draws the word out, mock-serious, then drops his bag and leans against the wall, pulling out a cigarette. “That what we’re calling it now? Because from where I was standing, you looked like you were about two seconds from climbing Kai like a stage prop during that press scrum.”

“Shut up.” I shove his shoulder lightly. He shoves back harder, laughing.

“Come on, man. The cheek kiss? The arm drape? The way you said ‘baby’ as though you’ve been practicing it in the mirror?” Michael fans himself dramatically. “I felt things. The entire internet felt things. My phone’s blowing up with edits of you two eye-fucking each other in there. Sexual chemistry level: nuclear.”

I roll my eyes, but I can feel the heat creeping up my neck anyway. “It’s called acting, Sawyer. You should try it sometime instead of just standing in the back row making jazz hands.”

“Hey, my jazz hands are iconic. And don’t deflect.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Admit it. There’s a spark. Tiny. Flickery. But there.”

“There’s nothing. You know how Kai feels about me” I say, too fast. Too defensive. Michael’s grin widens as if he’s caught me red-handed.

“Uh-huh. Sure. That’s why you stared at him for a solid three seconds after you kissed his cheek. Because you feel nothing.”

I open my mouth to argue, then close it. Because yeah. I did stare. Just for a beat. Long enough to notice the way his jaw tightened, the faint flush under his makeup, the way his eyes flicked to mine as though he was daring me to push it further.

I shove the thought down hard.

“It’s the job,” I repeat, quieter this time. “Harry wants viral. We give viral.”

Michael studies me for a second, grin softening into something more real. “I know. And you’re good at it. Too good, maybe.” He bumps my shoulder again, gentler. “But if it starts feeling less like a job and more like… I don’t know, something else? You can talk to me. No jokes. Promise.”

I glance at him. Michael’s the only one in the band who can say shit like that without it sounding like a Hallmark card. He’s been the glue since day one—cracking jokes when rehearsals get tense, pulling all-nighters with Min-ho to fix choreo, checking in on Kai when he thinks no one’s watching. He’s never once made me feel like the rich kid tagalong.

“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”

He nods once, satisfied. Then the grin’s back. “Cool. Now get your ass in gear. Tasha’s got the SUV waiting, and I’m not riding back to the hotel without my wingman. You staying at your folks’ place tonight?”

“Yeah. Dad’s got some barbecue thing tomorrow. Mom’s already texting me pics of the grill and pool like I might forget where the house is.”