Rain's POV
I wasn't eavesdropping. I wasn't.
I was just walking down the hall toward the studio—our studio—the one where Sky always leaves her coffee cups half-full and her notebooks scattered like landmines of glitter and chaos. And as usual, I expected noise. Humming. Mumbled lyrics. Maybe even her singing some dumb jingle about cereal or cats.
But what I heard stopped me cold.
Well, my boyfriend's in a bandHe plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed…
Her voice. Soft. Almost uncertain. But with that same honey-sunlight warmth it always had.And those lyrics.
I leaned on the doorframe, watching through the narrow glass. She didn't know I was there. Her back was to me—hair falling in heavy, ridiculous waves all the way to her knees like she was some damn celestial being. Her notebook was open. She was barefoot, bouncing a little on her toes like she always did when she was excited.
I've got feathers in my hair…I get down to Beat poetry…I'm a Brooklyn baby…
I felt the gut punch slowly build with every line.
She laughed softly as she strummed her acoustic, missing a chord and mumbling, "Ugh, sorry Rain," like she was used to me being in the room to correct her. My chest tightened.
Was this about me?
No.No, it couldn't be.
…Could it?
She finished the chorus and set the guitar aside, flopping back on the couch like she'd just run a marathon. I could hear her whispering to herself, giddy. "He's gonna freaking love this." Then after a beat: "Maybe he'll finally get it."
My pulse stopped.
I took a step back.
I shouldn't be hearing this.
I shouldn't be hoping.
I didn't know what pissed me off more—her writing a song so clearly about me or the fact that my chest felt like it was caving in because of how badly I wanted it to be true. Because if I let myself believe it—if I cracked even a little—I didn't know if I could stop.
I couldn't afford to fall for her.Not with the tour coming up.Not with the media stalking our every move.Not with the way Sky lives in light and I… don't.
She deserves warmth. Consistency. A man who doesn't look in the mirror and see a locked door.
So I did what I always do.
I disappeared.
I walked away before she could see me. Before she could smile and pull me in and ruin every wall I've spent years building. Before I could give in to that quiet whisper in my head screaming,She wrote a song about you.
I went to the rooftop. Needed the wind. The sky. The silence. But even there, her voice lingered like smoke.
I'm a Brooklyn baby…
She thinks I'd "love" it.She thinks it's funny. Flirty. Light.But all I hear is heartbreak.
Because it's not the right time.
And I'm not the right guy.
But god, I wish I was.