We stood on stage singing your song.  Luna, You, Me, and D.O. The one you wrote and told me that it was about us. Much like the song we had drifted away.

D.O.’s part is first, but the second my verse comes in you playfully wave your hands back and forth.  It takes every ounce of my self-control to stop myself from looking over at you and laugh or playfully push you.

I roll my sleeves up and listen to the crowd absentmindedly singing the lyrics. As if they relate to it. But how could they? They never went through what we did.

It feels awkward on this stage with you.  I hate it.

Your rap is next and all I want to do is place my hands over my ears and block out all sound.  I want to run off stage into my sister’s arms, who warned me to stay away from you in the first place.  But a small smile instead escapes my lips as you begin.

Your voice sounds like home.

We sing together for a moment but the moment is fast lived.

I notice your hands waving beside me and I look only to see that you were waving at the fans. We make eye contact. I pretend to fix my hair. You pretend to fix your mic. Our eyes quickly shift away and the tension is thick.

I politely wave to fans, screaming their heads off because of us. 

We walk onto the main stage and the crowd suddenly roars. I glace over to see the skinship between you and Luna.  Why is it so easy for you two?  How does it come across so naturally? The crowd loves it.

I follow D.O. Hiding my frustration by fixing my outfit.  I use my hand to block the light from my eyes as I stare into the ocean of people.  I use this opportunity to turn my body around and watch you and Luna walk around on stage with your arm over her shoulder.

I smile at D.O. as we head back to center stage. A small friendly smile. I appreciate him for singing your song, even though I knew very well you could do it.

We stand beside each other once again, but a lot closer compared to the beginning.  You and I wave and bow in perfect synchronization. We begin to walk off stage and I walk slower hoping that you’ll sling your arm around my shoulder this time. 

For good times sake.

Instead, we awkwardly make our way to the exit stairs. No interaction between the two of us. Just the tension that always lingers.

Is this goodbye?