When Bobby and Lili realized that the usual reality checks they'd been receiving all morning hadn't arrived this time, it became a reality check in itself.
That alone was enough to snap them back to earth.
Only then did they notice just how long they'd been hugging.
Both of them pulled away almost immediately—albeit a little reluctantly.
Bobby cleared his throat, face burning red, while Lili fanned herself once again, trying (and failing) to cool down.
Their eyes then drifted to the chaise lounge.
Empty.
"Foca—?" Lili's heart skipped, panic already brewing as the thought crossed her mind that maybe—just maybe—he'd finally had enough of her antics and left.
But before she could spiral any further—
Music.
Soft, deliberate notes floated through the room.
They turned toward the source.
There, seated at the grand piano, was Foca.
Very much still there.
Very much gone.
He was completely absorbed in his own world.
He'd jot down lyrics on his phone, then immediately test them on the piano—trying melodies, discarding them, reshaping them. Over and over. Occasionally stopping to tweak a note when it sounded off, or abandoning a phrase entirely when it just didn't land right.
Lili gently raised a finger to her lips, silently signaling Bobby not to disturb him.
"Ever since we were young," she whispered fondly, "he's always been like zhis."
Her eyes softened with memory.
"Little bread would suddenly drift into his own world—whether it was writing songs, playing instruments, or even dancing. Once he's in zhere, it's almost impossible to pull him back out."
She smiled.
"Zhe only way he snaps out of it is if he finishes what he's creating… or if Auntie forcibly drags him out. Only Auntie has zhat kind of power."
Bobby listened intently, never once taking his eyes off Foca.
To see his greatest inspiration like this—raw, unfiltered, in the middle of creation—felt almost sacred.
It was mesmerizing.
Every movement, every pause, every discarded note.
Bobby soaked it all in, quietly learning, quietly dreaming.
Aspiring—just for a moment—to be even a fraction of what Foca already was.
****
Both Lili and Bobby quietly watched Foca when, all of a sudden, he snapped out of his trance-like state and turned to find them staring at him intently.
The sight made Foca's brows knit together, the situation instantly feeling strange… and a little awkward.
"Uh… please stop staring at me like that," Foca said flatly. "It's creeping me out."
"Huh? You're done?" Lili gasped in genuine shock. "It hasn't even been zen minutes!"
"Well, I'm not done-done, per se," Foca replied. "I just finished a rough draft."
"Really? That fast?" Bobby asked, stunned. "How is that even possible?" His voice came out almost breathless.
"I didn't bring time," Foca said simply. "The song spoke to me. I just listened."
"Zhere you go again, being Shakespeare," Lili said, rolling her eyes as she stood and walked toward him.
Bobby followed closely behind, excitement buzzing in his chest. He couldn't wait to hear what Foca had managed to create from his half-finished chorus.
"I'm serious," Foca argued. "The song spoke to me. That's why I finished the draft early."
"Oui, oui," Lili replied dismissively, clearly humoring him.
"Oh? So that's how you wanna play it?" Foca narrowed his eyes. "Fine. No song for you, then."
He began to stand from the piano bench.
He didn't even manage to lift his ass.
Two strong hands landed firmly on his shoulders, freezing him in place.
"Aw, c'mon, little bread, don't be like zhat," Lili coaxed sweetly as she loosely wrapped her arms around his neck from behind. "You know I was just kidding, right?" she added with an exaggerated pout.
Foca's tough facade didn't last even a second.
His lips curved into his signature soft smile.
"Okay, fine," he sighed. "Only because it's you, you little rascal."
He reached up and gently ruffled her hair, affection dripping from the gesture.
"Aww, you love me, little bread. Admit it," Lili teased, leaning closer—almost like a cat rubbing her cheek against him.
"Fine, fine," Foca conceded. "Now release me. Do you wanna hear the song or not?"
"I wanna!" Lili immediately let go and plopped herself down beside him on the piano bench.
Bobby watched the entire exchange quietly.
He couldn't help but feel… privileged.
Like he'd been allowed a rare glimpse into Foca's personal world—one not meant for just anyone.
And somehow, it felt like Foca was telling him, without words, that he trusted him.
Foca settled himself properly on the piano bench, shoulders easing as if he were stepping into something familiar. His fingers hovered for a moment above the ivory keys, a quiet pause—then he spoke.
"So… this is from Bobby's original version."
The first notes slipped into the room, gentle and deliberate. The melody unfurled slowly, like light creeping through a window at dawn.
Bobby felt it immediately.
A chill traced its way down his arms, the kind that didn't come from cold but from recognition. Beside him, Lili drew in a quiet breath, her posture stilling as if afraid that moving might break the moment.
Then Foca sang.
🎶
As the world continues to spin,
A brand-new morning begins.
I will stand strong,
And keep moving on.
The dawn's breaking,
And the sun's rising,
A taste of new beginnings—
So sweet, like morning dew.
🎶
His voice was calm, steady—but threaded with emotion. Not loud, not showy. It carried weight in its restraint, like someone who had known uncertainty and chosen hope anyway.
Bobby took an unconscious step back.
It was… right. Too right.
Those were the same feelings he'd had when he'd written the words late at night, when everything felt fragile but possible. Hearing them now, shaped by someone else's voice, made his chest tighten.
When the last note faded, Foca lifted his hands from the keys.
"That was the English version," he said lightly. "But from what I know, the French delegation always performs in French at Euroversion."
Lili blinked. "Waiz—don't zell me you zranslated it zoo?"
"That," Foca replied, a faint curve of pride in his tone, "I did."
Bobby let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Bloody hell…"
"So," Foca continued, as though this were the most casual thing in the world, "here it is in French."
Once more, his fingers found the keys.
🎶
Pendant que le monde continue de tourner,
Un nouveau matin vient de commencer.
Je resterai fort,
Et j'avancerai encore.
L'aube se lève,
Et le soleil s'élève,
Un goût de nouveaux commencements,
Si doux, comme la rosée du matin.
🎶
This time, the feeling was stronger.
The language changed the texture of the song—softer, more fluid, carrying a quiet intimacy. Lili's breath caught. Bobby's vision blurred before he could stop it.
It was unfamiliar, and yet… it wasn't.
It felt like seeing his own reflection in a different mirror.
Without hesitation, Lili joined in. Her voice slid naturally into the melody, confident and warm, her eyes flicking briefly to Foca's phone before lifting again. Their voices intertwined with an ease that spoke of shared history.
It had been years since they'd sung together.
And yet, nothing felt lost.
It sounded like home. Like memory. Like something that had always been waiting.
Bobby felt tears slip down his cheeks, silent and unashamed. Not the kind that demanded attention—just the quiet kind, the kind that came from being moved too deeply to speak.
He didn't wipe them away.
Some moments were meant to be felt exactly as they were.