Chapter 72

The night started with chaos.

Backstage at the arena, Katseye were a storm of rhinestones and nerves – six girls in matching white lace, silver studs catching the dressing room lights every time someone moves too fast. Ludovic de Saint Sernin had dressed them like a fever dream – sheer florals, crystal mesh, intricate heels hidden under gowns that clung and cut in all the right places. Dani’s version was all crisscross halter and exposed spine, her curls falling loose, already pulling at the hem.

“Stop fidgeting,” Sophia said, adjusting her own choker in the mirror. “You’ll rip it.”

“I’m not fidgeting,” Dani shot back, though her heel was tapping a staccato against the floor. “I’m vibrating. There’s a difference.”

“You’re vibrating at a frequency that’s gonna shatter something,” Megan muttered, scrolling her phone. “Oh – E! just posted our carpet pics. The comments are… actually nice?”

“Let me see.” Lara crowded in, silver glitter catching on her cheekbone. “Wait, why do I look like I’m plotting a heist?”

“Because you are,” Manon said, calm as ever in her gown, the one with the back cut down to nothing. “We’re plotting to steal the show.”

Yoonchae laughed, adjusting her earpiece. “We already did. Did you see the red carpet? The photographers were screaming.”

They had been. Six matching looks, six different energies – Sophia regal, Lara sharp, Manon ethereal, Megan cool, Yoonchae delicate, Dani electric. The girls had posed in a line, hands linked, and the flashbulbs went nuclear.

Now, backstage, the energy had shifted from performance to waiting.

Dani’s phone buzzed. She grabbed it like a lifeline.

Y/N: ‘you looked insane on the carpet. I’m watching from home and my heart is doing something weird

Dani grinned, thumbs flying.

Dani: ‘something weird?’

Y/N: ‘something bad. like it’s trying to escape my chest to get to you’

Dani: ‘smooth’

Y/N: ‘i’m not smooth i’m terrified for you’

Dani: ‘don’t be. i’m about to be so gnarly’

Y/N: ‘that’s the problem’

Dani laughed out loud, sharp and sudden, drawing looks from the others.

“Y/N?” Sophia guessed.

“Who else?” Dani typed back, then looked up at the group. “She says she’s terrified.”

“She should be,” Lara said, checking her lipstick. “We’re terrifying.”

“You’re terrifying,” Megan corrected. “I’m charming.”

“You’re both wrong,” Manon said back. “We’re Katseye. We’re everything.”

The stage manager poked his head in. “Five minutes, girls.”

The energy in the room snapped taut. Dani stood, smoothing her gown, and her phone buzzed again.

Y/N: ‘i wish i was there’

Dani just stared at her screen for a second, something soft breaking through the adrenaline.

Dani: ‘you are. you’re right here’

She pressed the phone to her chest, just for a second, then shoved it into Megan’s hands. “Hold this. Don’t read my texts.”

“I already did,” Megan replied, not looking up from the screen. “She’s cute. You’re gross.”

“Very funny,” Dani shot back, already moving toward the door, toward the roar waiting on the other side.

*

The performance was everything.

They came out in combat-inspired looks – stripped down, fierce, all sharp angles and even sharper choreography. The beat of ‘Gnarly’ dropped and Dani felt it in her teeth, in her spine, in the place where fear usually lived and had been replaced by pure, screaming adrenaline. She hit every mark, every body roll, every note, and when she caught Sophia’s eye mid-formation, they both grinned – feral, triumphant, alive.

The crowd roared. The lights burned. Dani thought of you watching from the same couch miles away, thought of your hands and your laugh and the way you always said ‘be careful’ like it meant ‘come back to me.’

When the final beat hit, they froze in formation – six girls, one breath, one thunderous moment – and the arena erupted.

Backstage, they all collapsed into each other, laughing, shaking, high on the aftermath.

“Did you see-” Lara started.

“The crowd-” Yoonchae gasped.

“We killed it,” Sophia finished, breathless, grabbing Dani’s hand. “We actually killed it.”

Dani’s phone was already back in her hands, buzzing with notifications, but she only saw one.

Y/N: ‘i don’t have words. i literally don’t have words. you were everything. you ARE everything’

Dani: ‘i felt you there’

Y/N: ‘you did?’

Dani: ‘always”

*

The Best New Artist announcement came later, during the second half of the show when they were all squeezed onto their own table, hands linked like a chain of rhinestones and hope. Dani’s leg bounced against the floor, her free hand clutching her phone, thumb hovering over your last message – ‘no matter what, i’m proud of you’ – when the envelope opened.

“Olivia Dean.”

The arena erupted. Olivia stood, beautiful and tearful, and Katseye were on their feet before she even reached the stage, applauding, genuine. Dani clapped until her palms stung, watching Olivia’s speech about bravery and immigrants and her grandmother, feeling something complicated and warm in her chest.

“She deserved it,” Manon said, leaning close.

“She did,” Dani agreed. And meant it.

But her phone was already buzzing/

Y/N: ‘i’m so sorry baby’

Y/N: ‘you deserved that’

Y/N: ‘i hate that i’m not there’

Dani typed back fast, before the feeling could settle wrong.

Dani: ‘she deserved it. we’re good. i promise’

Y/N: ‘you’re sure?’

Dani: ‘i’m sure. now stop being sad and start getting ready. i’m about to see you and about to lose my mind’

*

The Charli XCX afterparty was already spilling over when the Uber dropped you outside – neon, bass, bodies pressed together in the warehouse space, everything smelling like expensive perfume and spilled champagne. You’d changed three times before settling on a black slip dress, something simple that wouldn’t compete with the girls’ gowns but still made you feel like you belonged.

You spotted them before they spotted you – six white dresses glowing under the purple lights, already surrounded by well-wishers and industry people and the general chaos of Grammy night. Dani saw you last, but when she did, her whole face changed.

She crossed the room in three strides, gown sweeping behind her, and crashed into you like you were the only solid thing in a spinning room. Her arms locked around your waist, her face buried in your neck, and she smelled like stage makeup and sweat and lavender body spray she kept in her bag.

“Hi,” she breathed against your skin.

“Hi,” you laughed, holding her tight, feeling her heartbeat rabbit-fast against your chest. “You were incredible.”

“I know.” She pulled back, grinning, wicked and exhausted, but most importantly, yours. “But say it again.”

“You were incredible.”

She kissed you then, right there in the middle of the afterparty, slow and deep, completely unbothered by the room around you. Her hands framed your jaw, thumbs brushing your cheekbones, and you felt the familiar slide of falling – always falling, always her.

“Get a room,” Lara’s voice cut through, laughing.

“Don’t have one,” Dani mumbled against your lips.

“Then get a corner,” Megan added. “You’re blocking the bar.”

Dani flipped them off without looking, but she did pull back, keeping her arm locked around your waist, pulling you into the circle of the group. Sophia hugged you, careful of her gown. Manon pressed a cool cheek to yours. Yoonchae, Lara and Megan all crowded in, a tangle fo white lace and silver and warmth.

“How was it?” you asked, looking around at them. “Really?”

“Terrifying,” Yoonchae admitted.

“Amazing,” Lara corrected.

“Both,” Sophia said, smiling. “Always both.”

“And we didn’t win,” Megan added, shrugging. “But Olivia did, and she’s brilliant, so.”

“Plus,” Manon said, sipping something clear and sparkling, “we performed at the Grammys. We were nominated. We’re actually here. That’s not nothing.”

“That’s everything,” Dani said, and squeezed your hip. “Especially now.”

The night unfolded into a blur of music and movement. Charli XCX herself stopped by to congratulate them, all swag and genuine warmth, and you watched Dani light up in a different way – professional, grateful, still buzzing from the stage. You talked to producers you didn’t know, smiled at celebrities you recognised from screens, and always, always, Dani’s hand found yours, her body drifted back to yours, her mouth pressed to your ear to whisper things that made you blush.

“You’re being obnoxious,” you told her, half-laughing, after she’d pulled you into a dark corner for the third time.

“I’m being in love.” She kissed your jaw, your throat, the hollow above your collarbone. “There is a difference.”

“Is there?”

“Nope.” She grinned, unrepentant. “Same thing… but you love it.”

You did. You always did.

On the dancefloor, she pulled you close, gown tangling with your dress, her hips rolling against yours in a way that was probably inappropriate for a Grammy’s party but completely appropriate for the two of you. She sang along to the music, off-key and loud, her hands on your waist, her forehead pressed to yours.

“I missed you,” she said, serious suddenly, the noise of the room fading around you. “All night. On stage, I kept thinking about your hands. In the audience, I kept looking for you. Even knowing you weren’t there.”

“I was there,” you said, echoing her earlier words. “Always.”

She kissed you again, softer this time, something reverent in the mess of it. “Let’s go home.”

“Now? The party’s-“

“The party’s loud and I’m tired and I want you in my bed, not in a corner.” She pulled back, eyes dark, pupils blown. “I want to take this dress off and I want you out of that one and I want to spend the next three hours proving winning doesn’t matter because I have everything.”

Your stomach flipped. “Dani-“

“I’m being romantic,” she said, grinning. “Is it working?”

You laughed, breathless, and grabbed her hand, already pulling her toward the exit. “It’s working. It’s always working.”

She whooped, loud and triumphant, and the other girls turned, shaking their heads.

“Finally,” Sophia called.

“Took you long enough,” Lara added.

“Text us when you survive,” Megan yelled, and Dani flipped her off again, still laughing, still pulling you through the crowd.

In the Uber, she was all over you – kissing your neck, her hand sliding up your thigh, her whisper hot against your ear. “I meant what I said. About having everything.”

“I know,” you managed, arching into her touch.

“And I meant what I said about the dress.” Her fingers found the zipper at your back, tugging once, teasing. “Three hours minimum. Maybe four. I’m feeling very… grateful.”

“Grateful?”

“Grateful.” She kissed you, deep and dirty, and you felt it everywhere – the night, the performance, the loss that wasn’t a loss, the win that she was standing right in front of you, wearing white lace and smelling like stage lights and home. “Grateful for you. Always grateful for you.”

You pulled her closer, tangling your fingers in her hair, and let the city blur past the windows, and let the night end where it always did – with her, with this, with the promise of morning and the certainty that whatever came next, you were already home.

———-

Honestly Grammys MIGHT just be my favourite look from the girls of ALL-TIME. Hands down. Chefs kiss. The LACE!??!?!?! put it in the Louvre