Only In the Silence

Part I: She doesn't have a name

Not because she doesn't deserve one, but because he never asked.
Not aloud.

She came to every performance.

She never spoke. Never screamed. Never reached for him like the others did.
But she watched. Eyes like moonlight, hands folded at her chest. Still. Reverent.

Vessel noticed her the first time because she didn't try to touch him.

He noticed her the second time because her lips moved with the words, like a prayer.

By the third show, he was looking for her before the first note.

Vessel's Point of View

She shouldn't be in his mind. Not like this.

She was just a girl in the crowd. Soft sweater, bare throat, eyes like she knew him.
Like she loved something inside him.

She never called out his name.
She never tried to break the illusion.
She just was.

And in her stillness, he unraveled.

He sang for thousands, but sometimes... when his voice cracked at the bridge... it was because he saw her.
Standing there like she was born to witness him fall apart.

Her Point of View

She never told anyone.
About the way he made her feel.

The way her chest ached when he sang like the world was ending. The way her body stayed perfectly still, like if she moved, she'd break the thread between them.

She didn't know who he was.
Not beneath the mask.
Not the voice.
Not the weight he carried in every step.

But she knew how it felt when he looked at her.

Like maybe she wasn't just another face in the crowd.
Like maybe... he was afraid of her, too.

Vessel's Private Thoughts

He shouldn't want this.

To see her. To know her name. To touch the curve of her wrist and ask what she dreams about when the world is quiet.

He belongs to Sleep. To the stage. To the devotion he pours out every night.

But she's undoing him.

With her silence. With her eyes. With the way she never asks for anything — and still, he wants to give her everything.

And in the darkest corners of his mind, he wonders:

Would she still love him...
if he took the mask off?