It was a late August evening — the kind that seemed painted in golden haze, stretched thin over the horizon like the last breath of summer. The sun was dipping low, spilling amber light across the clouds before slipping beneath the skyline and making room for the cool silver of the rising moon. The air was still warm, but just barely — not warm enough for T-shirts anymore, though a few brave souls in the crowd were still clinging to the illusion of July.

By English standards, the weather had been strangely cooperative — no surprise storms, no moody skies, no sudden winds that made tents collapse and hairdos irrelevant. It was as if the universe had momentarily paused its chaotic tendencies and decided to gift everyone a single perfect day. A small mercy for the thousands of music lovers stomping through the Reading and Leeds Festival fields in muddied boots

You stood outside, behind the stage area, where the noise was muffled and the light hit differently. A soft breeze carried the scent of grass, beer, and distant food trucks, mixing with the faded cologne lingering on the leather jacket draped around your shoulders — Alex’s jacket. He’d slipped it over you earlier without saying a word, the way he always did. It still smelled like him. That clean, musky scent you’d memorized. It mingled with your perfume in the air, sweet and sharp, like the two of you were woven together in every way.

They were set to go on in less than an hour — a headlining slot to debut songs from the new album. You watched from your quiet corner as the crowd swelled, bodies blending into one massive wave of color and sound. From a distance, it looked like a living mosaic. You felt it in your chest, that strange mixture of nerves and pride. The third album had dropped just weeks ago, and despite the sonic shift — darker lyrics, heavier tones — the fans hadn't scattered. If anything, they were showing up stronger. Louder. You couldn’t help but smile. You weren’t in the band, but you felt like a part of it all, tucked into the seams of it.

Your moment of stillness didn’t last long. You heard footsteps approaching from behind — easy, unhurried — and without looking, you assumed it was Alex, finally having peeled himself away from last-minute tuning or whatever chaotic pre-show rituals the boys were up to. You smiled slightly to yourself, already anticipating the lazy “Hey” and the arm slung around your waist. But when the footsteps stopped beside you, something felt… different. Taller. Heavier. You glanced sideways and quickly realized your assumption had been off. You turned your head slowly, half curious, half cautious — and there he was: a guy you didn’t recognize, but also kind of did. One of those vaguely familiar faces from the festival artist list you’d obsessively scanned earlier that week. He definitely wasn’t a headliner, but he had that look — part chaos, part confidence.

He introduced himself with a grin and an easy voice, saying he was in one of the up-and-coming bands playing earlier that day. He started talking — about his band, their random rise in popularity, how they’d ended up on the lineup. And surprisingly, the conversation flowed.Just as the subject started tipping toward you — your life, your interests, things that had nothing to do with backstage passes or music scenes — Alex appeared. He hadn’t planned on interrupting anything. Honestly, he’d just stepped out for a last cigarette, something to quiet the pre-show static in his chest. He’d figured he’d smoke, maybe splash some water on his face, then go find you like he always did before a set. But then he saw you.

And not just you, you with someone else. Another guy. Standing close. Talking. And suddenly, that familiar static in his chest wasn’t from the nerves. His eyes narrowed slightly, trying to read the scene. You weren’t doing anything wrong. Nothing he could really be mad about. But still the image hit him harder than expected.

He blinked, then scoffed at himself internally. Jealousy? No, that would be ridiculous. You'd never given him a reason to doubt anything.