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ʀɪᴏ

Storm balanced barefoot on the edge of an old boardwalk rail, sun stuck in his hair, ripped jeans rolled low on his hips. Rio breathed easy around him, salt wind, palms swaying lazy, sky so blue it looked fake.

The Big Bang was tomorrow, one night, ten thousand strangers and a stage with 'the underworld' name buried in neon. But today was his. One day to forget the noise waiting for him under the lights. One day to let the city hum in his bones like a promise he’d never keep.

He pushed up on his toes, arms out like he might steady himself, but of course he wouldn’t. Storm never did know how to stand still when the ground was safe. One heartbeat later he was airborne, back arching clean against the sky, jeans splitting at the knee where they’d always been too thin. To any onlookers, he was just another reckless, carefree rockstar having fun.

For a second, the city below him disappeared. No band. No ghosts. No worry about the beat or whether the mask would slip. Just sun, sweat, salt, skin. Just Storm, mid-flip, mind gone quiet the only way it ever did when he was half a second from falling.

Someone on the beach cheered when he landed barefoot in the warm sand, hair a mess, grin sharp enough to split him open if anyone looked too close. He shot them a wink, palms up like a trick he’d half-forgotten wasn’t magic at all.

Tomorrow he’d let ten thousand people believe he was all noise and gold and sweat and nothing underneath. He’d break his knuckles on the drums, smile until his jaw hurt, promise the dark in his head he’d keep it quiet just one more night.

But right then? He was just Storm. Shirtless, barefoot, sky stuck to his skin, laughing at nothing, Rio sun pressed into old scars he didn’t mind showing for once. One day left to breathe before the lights hit. One day left to fall and swear he’d hit the ground laughing.