Brandon's POV
The energy backstage was electric—chaotic and loud enough to rattle bones. Every corridor inside the London Fashion Fest arena buzzed with movement and noise, as if the entire building had a heartbeat of its own. Models hurried past in robes and heels. Stylists carried racks of glittering outfits from one end of the venue to the other. Makeup artists yelled for missing brushes while assistants rushed around with coffee trays and emergency sewing kits.
Amidst all this chaos, my own pulse refused to settle.
"Bro, this is insane," Oliver exclaimed as he spun slowly in the middle of the performance prep room, his eyes wide with wonder.
"I swear, if sixteen-year-old me could see this right now, I'd actually pass out," he added.
Pete, who was nearby tuning his guitar, laughed. "You mean cry."
"I'd cry first," Jason corrected him. "Then I'd pass out."
