It felt like a wave of warmth, Aarav would described like that, like a strong wave of warring emotions, a shaking fuss out of your shell and then fear, cold, stirring fear. 

He would be up there, the lights flashing on his skin making him glow, and the screams of the crowd would faded away. It all– at those moments it all somehow erased everything that wasn’t him. But the fear always found the way to stuck. And fear would feel as if there was a rope around his throat forming a lump until it just came undone. 

Shaky, fractured all over.

Like he didn’t breathe for a lifetime until he suddenly could. Nearly like a scream, almost as a growl.

If you were hearing him you would listen. The wound. You would hear as if something was broken in his vocal cords, as if something was preventing the pass of air from his lungs to the outside. 

You wouldn’t see the rope, but you would hear it tightening and loosening. And the wave of warmth he would send on– would make you tickle all over. 

The heat boils in the bowels of Aarav and the pain comes from a wound that is not from his voice or his throat. But from inside him. And you can hear, clear, painful, unbearable. It would overwhelmed everyone. It will– if you ever see him alive, if you ever see him onstage.

There, on his own inner collapse, flames all over him, fire within him, pushing himself thought it in front of an audience. Everyone would think, he seems like he's on pain. He definitely is, why does he continue to sing if he looks like he could passed out from it? Aarav would always answer, maybe for the same reason y’all come to hear me, maybe for the same sickening reason you all enjoy the show. 

Inopia;

VAN.