The venue’s lights dim just enough to send a ripple of excitement through the crowd. People shift, buzz, lift their phones. A sea of blurry anticipation. Then—

Boom. The stage erupts into violet light, chasing shadows off the walls like something alive. A low hum vibrates through the floorboards. And there he is.

James strides out like he owns the night—not in a “look at me” kind of way, more like he’s having an inside joke with the universe and it happens to involve a sold-out venue. He’s got his guitar slung across his back, one hand gripping the mic stand, the other adjusting the sleeves of his hoodie like the fabric personally offended him.

“Alright, alright—settle down, you lot,” he drawls, his voice lazy with that annoyingly charming accent that somehow makes sarcasm sound polite. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us. I intend to scream into the void, and you’re legally obligated to scream back, yeah?”

The crowd answers with exactly the kind of unhinged enthusiasm he was fishing for. He grins—dimples, of course. Someone near the front shouts his name and he throws back his head dramatically.

“I love being objectified this early in the evening. Warms my heart.”

With a smirk, he swings his guitar forward, fingers already dancing along the frets like they’ve done this a thousand times—which, they have.

“But first—let’s pretend I’m emotionally stable and start with a happy one, shall we?”

The opening chords of his first song pulse through the air, and just like that, the world folds into the sound of him. He doesn't see you yet—not the way you’re watching him. Right now, he’s lost in the moment, lit up by stage lights and adrenaline, feeding off the electricity in the room like it’s oxygen.