Frank Ocean stood tall, facing a crowd of 40,000, a white hoodie hanging off his frame, and a black, backwards baseball cap nestled under a pair of studio headphones. The singer wrapped both hands around a mic inches from his face, elbows tucked together, arms pulled into his chest as if in prayer, and sang in front of an audience for the first time in 1,089 days.

After a full day of early June rain in Denmark, that Friday night, the air was brisk, and Keysi Darbroudi—"Keys" to those closest to him—watched from the back of the crowd at the North Side Festival, ankle-deep in mud, arms raised. He clutched his iPhone 6 in his hand, streaming the show on Instagram. Frank Ocean might've been the night's main attraction, and Keys was as hyped as anyone in that crowd—if not moreso—to see him perform. What Keys couldn't have seen coming, though, was the way in which he was about to take some of Ocean's shine for himself.

To call it a regular concert would be a vast understatement. Frank Ocean hadn’t played a live date since 2014, and since then, mostly faded from public spotlight altogether—despite having released two albums, a one-off magazine featuring contributions from Kanye West and Tom Sachs, and an Apple Music radio show. This is a reclusive musical talent who can flip two weeks of writing into a debut record worthy of four Grammy nominations, who's also a cultural enigma as famous for canceling shows as he is booking them.

All of which is to say, again: This wasn't just some random festival set. And about an hour in, the gravity of the moment hit Keys.

“Man, this night changed my life, for real,” Keys said to those watching his livestream. “I’m an aspiring artist, so I’m connected to this right now, man. He’s speaking to my heart right now. The power of music, you know?”

Keys, 30, has been recording music for years. Every now and then he’ll be brave enough to post some 10-second snippet on Instagram, but he's mostly kept his 77 projects and two finished tracks to himself. He was diagnosed with PTSD three years ago after the death of a close friend, he says, and it flipped his life upside down. His passion for music faded. He avoided being in the company of others. He only left his apartment at night, when he was sure everyone was asleep, and walked the empty streets of Denmark with headphones in both ears.

It affected him in ways he never could have imagined. The mere thought of someone asking how he's doing carried a reflexive sting. He eventually shut down, lost his home, and his possessions, and lived out of his two-door coupe for an entire winter. He shuddered at the thought of being surrounded by people in a crowd or of anyone hearing him sing.

He was facing both those fears simultaneously at the Ocean show, thanks to a free ticket gifted by a friend. As Ocean paced the stage and ran through “Pyramids,” Keys began to harmonize with a break in the track. He figured the music was so loud that no one on the stream could hear him. But viewers noticed, and encouraged him to sing more.

Frank Ocean at Parklife Festival in Manchester, UK on June 11, 2017. Image: PJP photos/REX/Shutterstock

“I haven’t sang in three years. I’ve had a hard time, man,” Keys said. “I might be too scared to post something tomorrow but I’ll try. I’ll try to post a link to one of my songs I made three years ago when I got my PTSD, but I never got to do anything with it.

"I’m just standing right now in this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

“The last three years have been hell for me,” he continued to the strangers on the stream, who increased in numbers as the show went on. “I never knew mental illness could hit someone this way. It’s been a hell of a journey for me. I experienced some things I never thought. I can’t believe I’m even saying that, I’m just standing right now in this moment. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

Viewers began pouring into the stream, sending messages of support. #KEYHIVE, read one. Key > Frank Ocean, read another. Some even asked for a PayPal link to drop donations. With his phone quickly running out of battery, he kept the stream up, kept singing, and the praise kept rolling across the screen.

"I can't believe I mentioned the situation of my life like that, I obviously didn’t mean to. I apologize about that. It’s been hard for me, man. I lost everything and I’ve just been locked up in my room, dealing with my therapy."

The comments kept going:

You're an inspiration brother.

We love you key you're the best

"I would have never expected people to be kind on here, man. There’s a lot of bullies out there," he said, laughing. "But it’s all good, man, I love everybody equally. That’s my curse. I don’t know hatred."

We're witnessing key's awakening from depression. amazing

We got your back key

“I can’t read what you guys are writing, y’all making me cry. Real talk. I’m just doing this so one day when I ask people to be strong and courageous because I did it myself," he said. "I don’t want to be a hypocrite. This is a real journey for me. And I hope one day if people like my music, they also like me as a person.”

The stream lasted just a few more minutes, and then, cut off. Keys ended it with a short, simple note of gratitude, but not before the video and his message had spread across the web. Posts sprung up all over the Frank Ocean subreddit page declaring him a hero. Kevin Abstract, an L.A. bred musician who's known for digital projects, even showed Keys some love.

Such a blessed evening! #UnityOfMusic A post shared by Keysi Darbroudi (@keysidarbroudi) on Jun 10, 2017 at 5:29pm PDT

"Bro shoutout to Keys," one redditor wrote. "He used his platform to spread awareness about PTSD and depression whilst embarking on an incredible journey that was Frank's first concert in a long time. He managed to hold on and livestream Frank for us, a bunch of internet strangers."

"I just received the biggest hug in the world."

Many reached out to Keys directly, flooding his most recent Instagram posts with comments of encouragement and praise. "Key please release some music sometime soon, you've got fans," one wrote.

One fan even directed him to the subreddit page. "Man, I don't even know what a subreddit is," he jokingly replied.

It all was a lot for Keys, who never intended to bring up his struggles with PTSD and depression that night.

Meanwhile, the reactions kept pouring in.

And if given the choice, he'd do nothing different.

"I just received the biggest hug in the world," Keys said via Skype, days later. "The response I've been getting, the messages have been overwhelming."

"People writing from all countries," he continued, "saying they were watching from Russia, Ukraine, Portugal, thanking me for sharing my story and the combination of him singing and my monologue. I've really been getting only positive feedback and I'm really grateful for that."

After the show, Keys posted a selfie with a caption: "Such a blessed evening!"

Then, nothing, until four days later—when he posted this:

Thanks for all the support lovely people ❤️ feeling so blessed and inspired!!! sincerely, 🔑 #keyhive 😃 A post shared by Keysi Darbroudi (@keysidarbroudi) on Jun 13, 2017 at 10:42am PDT

It's not a full track, but Keys doesn't plan to stop there. He says he reached out to his producer, and talked to him about why he stopped making music some three years ago. Keys plans on reconnecting with him, paying for studio time, and finishing more projects. The reactions kept pouring in, and the evidence mounted: People would want to hear his voice. The same one that sat inside him, locked away, dormant—until a musical superstar, a brief moment of bravery, and a bunch of grateful strangers on the internet helped draw it out.

And if he ever goes on tour, here's hoping someone standing in the crowd will hold a phone in the air, livestreaming the whole thing.