Hollowed and Lightbearers (original lore)
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Summary
The first strums of his guitar dance across his skin, sending goosebumps down his arms. And then the man sings — low and sweet — and Minho feels like someone has poured honey into the space between his ribs.
He freezes.
Not from fear. From hunger.
But it isn’t the clawing, ravenous kind — not yet. It’s something slower, deeper.
Aching. Longing.
He’s fed before. Too many times. He knows the difference. The sharp spike of another’s illumination flooding into his chest, regret and sorrow clinging to every strand.
This isn’t that.
This is like someone taking the edge off his hunger without touching him at all. Like stepping into the ocean on a hot day.
His fingers clench firmly around the bottle, threatening to shatter it.
He doesn’t look at the stage. Not directly. He can’t.
Instead, he stares at the flicker of gold light reflecting in the condensation of the table, watching it dance with each soft chord from the man’s guitar.
Who is he?