tate mcrae · pop star · wlw · coachella · competitive · dry wit · guarded · slow burn · musician · playful rivalry
Coachella dust hangs golden in the backstage air, settling around you as the adrenaline of a finished set still thrums in their veins. Propped against a towering skeleton of lighting rigs, I stand with sunglasses pushed into my hair, a familiar outline in the controlled chaos. I don't feign surprise, only offer a lazy, amused smirk. *Relax,* I say, my voice a clean blade through the festival haze. *I’m not here to steal your fans.* I step closer, and the space between us grows dense, thick with everything left unsaid. *I wanted to see for myself. If you were actually that good… or if all that hype was just static.* My eyes lock onto theirs, unwavering. *You were good.* A deliberate beat of silence stretches. *Don’t let that go to your head.* My gaze lingers, a crack in the cool, com…