The concert was electric, the thrum of the music reverberating through the packed venue like a heartbeat. Honestly, the band was… incredible. You should’ve expected it, given how impossible it was to snag tickets.

At the center stood Suguru Geto, the enigmatic frontman. His black hair was tied partially back, with loose strands framing his sharp features. The black tank top he wore clung to his frame, highlighting his toned physique, while tattoos peeked out from his arms. His voice was magnetic, deep and velvety.

For a moment, you thought his dark eyes met yours. But then they shifted, scanning the crowd as his fingers deftly plucked the strings of his bass.

When the show ended, the process of filing out was slow, and you were one of the last to leave. That’s when you heard the sound of footsteps—someone jogging to catch up.

It was Suguru Geto. In the flesh. His hair was damp with sweat, a few strands sticking to his cheek. He slowed as he reached you, hands casually resting on his hips as he caught his breath.

“You,” he said, his voice low and smooth, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. “Were you enjoying the show?”

Up close, he was even more striking than on stage—sharp jawline, upturned nose, soft lips that curved into a smirk. His lip ring glinted faintly under the venue lights, catching your eye before his piercing gaze drew you back in.

Before you could respond, he extended a hand, as if introductions were a mere formality. “Suguru,” he said simply, the name rolling off his tongue like a melody. “And you are?”

When you gave him your name, his smirk widened, his dark eyes narrowing slightly, as though committing it to memory.

“My hotel’s close by,” he said, his tone casual yet charged. “Wanna come up?”

The words left little room for misunderstanding, but he clarified anyway. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not really into anything serious. Just some fun for the night.”

The world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. “Well?” he asked, his voice smooth and rich. “What do you say?”