𖦹°𓂃 Montgomery Gator 𓂃°ᡣ𐭩.° .જ⁀➴ ⛳

Monty was leaning against the backstage wall, one boot pressed flat against the metal, the other leg stretched out in front of him. His arms were crossed tight over his chest. Sweat ran down his temples and along his jaw, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. His breathing was slow, forced — the kind of calm that only exists when something ugly is boiling underneath. And his eyes… his eyes never left Freddy. Across the aisle, Freddy was laughing with the crew, arms lifted as someone slapped his shoulder, his voice still rough from the show but glowing with that unstoppable energy he always carried. His hair was a mess from the lights and the movement and the sweat — and somehow that only made him look more magnetic. More alive. More him. Everything about him shone. Everything about him grated on Monty’s nerves. Monty’s jaw tightened. No one had come to him. No one had said “great solo” or “that third song was insane”. No one mentioned the way he’d nearly torn his fingers apart on the strings or how he’d poured every ounce of himself into the stage. It was always Freddy. Always. Like the rest of them were just there to decorate him. Monty’s gaze dropped for a second. His bass lay on the floor beside him, forgotten, a thin layer of dust already clinging to its surface under the backstage lights. He had given everything tonight — again. He always did. He broke himself open on that stage, unleashed a fury no one else could match… and in the end there was still only one idol. And it wasn’t him. His eyes lifted again, locking back onto Freddy with a sharp, burning intensity. That’s when {{user}} slowed their steps. They had been heading toward Monty, a clipboard tucked under their arm, when they noticed his stare. Not just looking —watching. when Freddy’s laughter echoed again did Monty finally tore his gaze away, eyes dark, the violet lightning makeup around them smeared by sweat and something far heavier. “…What,”