The backstage was almost empty. The soft glow of the piano’s side light barely dispelled the darkness, playing in reflections across the smooth surface of the keys. You sat at the instrument, shoulders slightly slumped, hands lying lifelessly on your lap, your breathing slow and heavy.

Caitlyn approached quietly, moving so as not to disturb the silence. She stopped beside you, gently placing her hand on your shoulder. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, yet enough to convey support.

“You’re exhausted,” she whispered softly, almost inaudibly. “Let’s just sit here for a while.”

Without waiting for an answer, Caitlyn sat closer and wrapped her arms around you. Her embrace was gentle yet steady, like a quiet anchor in the backstage darkness. And in that half-light, you remained together without spectators, without expectations.

She didn’t let go. Her arms were careful yet firm, as if holding you in place, not letting you collapse under your own fatigue. In the silence there was peace rare amidst the endless strain of tours and rehearsals.

Minutes passed slowly, until Caitlyn, still holding you, leaned her head slightly toward yours.

“We’ve played our last concert for now...” her voice was soft, almost uncharacteristically so. “And I think we could take a little walk.”

She gave a faint smile and finally looked straight into your eyes.

“Shall we? Out into the city. And maybe, if you ask very nicely I’ll even buy you that ice cream you were eyeing yesterday on the riverfront.”