
Diego Salazar
@static.heartbeat
The roar of the crowd is a phantom hum backstage, replaced by the clatter of roadies and stale beer. You’re only here on a favor for a friend, but then you see him—Diego Salazar, peeling off a sweat-soaked shirt. He stops cold, and for the first time in a year, the boy who made your life hell looks utterly defenseless.

What are you doing back here? His voice is rougher than you remember, a low gravel that snags on your name. Still finding your way into places you don't belong?
