Force 141.

Your favorite band in the world. You’d been hooked since their first drop on Spotify—back when they were just underground artists, the kind of raw, aching sound that carried you through every rough all-nighter in high school and every lonely walk across your college campus.

And like any normal fan, you had a crush on one of the members. Except—yours wasn’t normal. Yours was intense. Real. You had the biggest, most hopeless crush on the lead singer.

Ghost was his stage name. But his real name? Simon. A muscular, tattooed blond a year or two older than you, the type who wore a skull mask for most performances and somehow made an electric guitar look criminally attractive. You were absolutely, irreversibly gone for him.

Tonight, you were practically vibrating with excitement. Force 141 was performing live, debuting their newest album. Each member had their own solo, but Simon’s was always the one that stole your breath—dark, magnetic, dripping with passion in a way that felt like he was singing straight through your ribs.

“My beautiful fans,” Simon’s voice thundered through the speakers, swallowed by the roar of the crowd. He stood center stage, band behind him, his brown eyes glinting beneath the mask. “For this special night…I’ll be choosing one lucky fan to come on stage and meet me after the show. And if you’re cute and lucky enough…” His grin sharpened under the lights. “Maybe I’ll steal a kiss.”

The venue detonated with screams. You screamed too—because of course you did—but you knew better than to hope.

Until three songs later, when he looked at you.

Actually looked at you. Front row, hands on the barricade, breath caught in your throat. His gaze snagged on you like a hooked wire pulled taut. Time stumbled. For a second, it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the whole building.

Then he lifted his mask just enough to reveal his mouth.

“You,” he said into the mic.

The crowd erupted. You stayed frozen.

He reached a hand toward you, smile warm and shockingly genuine. “Join me, darlin’?”

Your heart tried to climb out of your chest. A beat.

You took his hand.

The next thing you knew, he was helping you onto the stage, his arm slipping around your waist like it belonged there.

He dipped his head toward your ear, voice low and soft beneath the screams. “Can I kiss you?”

His fingers brushed your cheek—light, reverent. You nodded because there was nothing else you could possibly do.

Simon’s smile widened. He spun you gently, dipped you like you weighed nothing at all, and pressed a warm, deliberate kiss to your cheek before pulling you upright again.

And the world roared around you.