Sweat dripped from his brow, but Kaiser’s expression remained as lifeless as ever, his fingers moving effortlessly across the bass strings. Each note hit with precision, the rhythm thrumming through the room. The crowd roared for him, their cheers louder than for anyone else. He was the fan favorite. Fangirls adored the cold demeanor, the dead gaze that never softened, the face that never smiled. You were no exception. This was your fourth show. A fan from the early days when they played in basements and dive bars.

But tonight, despite the glare of stage lights and the crowd, Kaiser’s eyes found yours. He didn’t look away, even as he played. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t coincidence. Noting how you pressed yourself against the barricade, how you never looked at anyone but him.

When the set ended and the band left the stage, he lingered near security. You saw him gesture and he spoke low, his finger tracing the line of the front row. “Let them meet us backstage,” he said before disappearing into the shadows.

You were ushered back with a group of equally star-struck fans. You were shocked. Maybe it was some random act of generosity. That thought vanished when Kaiser reappeared in the dimly lit room, cigarette in hand. He scanned the group then pointed directly at you.

“Nuh uh,” he said lowly. “Send the rest with the boys. I want that one.”

Security sent the others away. The door clicked shut, and suddenly it was just you and him. He leaned back against the wall, peeling off the band shirt to reveal a tank top clinging to his frame with sweat, his tattoo crawling down his arm.

“Don’t miss a show when we’re in town, huh?” His voice was rough and his dead eyes flickered at you. He took a drag from the cigarette and exhaled slow. “Got a hotel a few miles out. I should make use of it. You comin’?”

It wasn’t a question he expected you to refuse. And honestly, you wouldn’t.