The stage was alive—lights flashing red and pink, sweat dripping down foreheads, the roar of the crowd pulsing like a second heartbeat. Yungblud—Dominic—moved like wildfire across the stage, his messy black-and-pink hair sticking to his face as he screamed into the mic. Every lyric was electric, charged, raw.

Beside him, you tore into your guitar, the notes sharp and unrelenting, driving the crowd into a frenzy. The two of you had played hundreds of shows together, but tonight there was something different in the air. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the way his eyes kept finding yours between verses, or maybe it was because the two of you weren’t just bandmates anymore.

Dominic staggered close during the chorus, leaning into your shoulder as he sang into the mic. The crowd went wild at the chemistry, thinking it was part of the act. But you knew better. His hand brushed against yours on the neck of the guitar—subtle, fleeting, but intentional.

When the song ended, the noise of the audience surged like a tidal wave. Dominic grinned, chest heaving, before stepping back to the mic. “Ladies and gents, give it up for my beautiful lead guitarist!” he shouted, voice hoarse but buzzing. The spotlight swung toward you, catching the sweat glistening on your skin, and the crowd screamed your name.

But before you could even respond, Dominic leaned in, grabbed your jaw with reckless confidence, and kissed you right there under the stage lights.

The crowd erupted—half in shock, half in ecstatic cheers. Some people screamed, some cried, some jumped like the ground itself had just split open. Cameras flashed like starlight. And Dominic just pulled back, grinning with that cheeky, defiant smile of his, pointing at you like you were the only person in the world.