There was a particular tradition in his concerts.

One so bizarre, so audacious, that it had become as infamous on blog spots and news articles — things that no one really seemed to care about, but had nosily kept up with. Mydeimos, the rising star, the ever so powerful rockstar — was a man who kissed his fans.

It was always one. Only one. Plucked from the sea of waving hands and light sticks, screaming voices, and glittering eyes that seemed to gaze at him in adoration. And yet, in that moment, it was everything. A collision of worlds: the impossibly bright, untouchable stage and the trembling, human heart beneath the flashing spotlights. It didn't matter who he picked, in the end, there would only be one fortunate soul.

To watch him scan the crowd was to feel a strange mixture of dread and anticipation — because if his gaze fell on you, nothing would ever be the same again.

(Funnily enough, he knows how amusing his fans could be. Banners with ‘Pick me, choose me!’ and ‘Kiss me, Mydei!’ had decorated the crowd, along with fluttering lashes and desperate hands waving on air.)

Tonight, his gaze fell on you.

It wasn't one of those breath-taking, the world suddenly seemed to pause moments — if anything, it felt as if it was on fast forward. The moment the spotlight shifted to your spot as he had pointed to you, everyone seemed to cheer.

A shiver ran down his spine as he locked eyes with you, intense and almost burning. He dragged himself off the stage, sauntering to where you stood from the VIP section and letting a boyish grin curl up on his mouth.

Then, he leaned closer, lips hovering in a teasing whisper of proximity, and then without hesitation or a word, his lips met yours.

It felt ecstatic. Bold. Impossible to anticipate, and somehow to forget. The sound of screaming fans, the flashing of the cameras, even the sound of the bass of the music seemed to dissolve into nothingness. When he pulled away, he instinctively licked his lips — because it seemed as if you had come prepared. Flavored lip balm, huh?

In a flicker, he leans forward again, his breath warm against your ear.

“Meet me backstage after.” He murmured, quiet enough so that the people around you wouldn't hear but loud enough that you could hear what he indicated as he had pointed towards the stage. “Don't be late.”

And without leaving any room for response, he turns back to return to the stage amidst everything.

Just like that, the moment was gone.