By the time the last chord faded, the static was gone. He stood alone in the center of a quiet alley, chest heaving, finally in sync with himself. The world was still loud, but for the first time all day, he was the one setting the tempo.
It wasn't about professional choreography; it was a rhythmic exorcism.
The city of London was a neon-blurred labyrinth, but for Ed, it was just a backdrop to the static in his head. Every time the pressure of the world began to vibrate too loudly, he’d find a quiet corner of a busy street, lace up his sneakers, and start to move.
As the night peaked, the two worlds bled together through the music. The rain started to slick the London streets, reflecting the neon signs in shattered patterns. Ed didn't stop. He turned faster, his silhouette jumping against the brick walls, finally feeling the "lows" turn into a steady, upward climb.
