Memories flood in, vivid and overwhelming. Us in our pillow fort, safe in our own world. The night he fell asleep with his head in my lap, music playing softly through my old Discman, his face peaceful in sleep. Now, with each note, I'm transported back there. Just us, in our sanctuary built of blankets and trust.

His fingers dance across the strings with fluid grace, like the guitar is simply an extension of his soul. When his voice joins in, low and rich with emotion, the air itself seems to hold its breath. His voice carries something raw and honest, the kind of sound that reaches past your ears and straight into your heart.

The lyrics take on new meaning as I truly hear them for the first time—each word sinking deep into my bones. They speak of hidden truths and the yearning to be understood completely. That's what we've always been—an unspoken truth, a bond that defies explanation.

The fort, the late-night drives and conversations, the moments no one else witnessed—they existed in our own private universe.

This isn't just a cover of a song—it's a declaration.

It speaks of searching for connection in a world that often feels too big, too empty. Of being truly seen by someone who knows every shadow of your soul. And as he sings, I understand with startling clarity that he isn't performing for the room.

He's singing for me.

For us.

Nate's expression shifts as he loses himself in the music, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes closed as if he's diving deep into something only he can see. Every word feels purposeful, like he's offering pieces of his soul to the room, but in my heart, I know this is ours.

The song builds, his voice rising with it, and I feel every note resonating in my chest, tightening my throat and sending shivers down my spine. The room fades away until there's nothing left but him—just a boy brave enough to pour his heart into sound.

Suddenly, it's too much.

The intensity of the moment, of him and the memories, start crashing over me. My chest constricts as the song reaches its crescendo, and I can't seem to catch my breath.

I need air.

"I'll be back," I mumble to Ollie, not waiting for his response as I push myself out of the booth.

With the bathroom line stretching halfway across the room, I duck into a small utility closet instead, pressing my back against the cool wall. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing. My hands tremble as echoes of his voice linger in my mind, and I press my palm against my chest, willing my racing heart to slow before I pass out. A minute or two passes by and I hear the crowd clapping and cheering uncontrollably.