The arena pulses with anticipation, tens of thousands of voices rising in a deafening roar. The stage glows in moody purples and blues, your name shining in massive letters on the screen. The intro music—a slow, steady bassline—rumbles through the speakers. Showtime.

You roll your shoulders, mic in hand, letting adrenaline settle in your bloodstream. This part is always the same. The waiting, the heartbeat in your ears. But tonight, something’s different.

The VIP tent.

Every show, there’s a section just off the pit—elevated, plush seating, a perfect view. It’s meant for industry people, friends, the occasional A-lister. And, crucially, fans can see in. The only thing separating them is a sleek, transparent barrier. Anyone inside is fair game for Twitter. Judging by the murmurs from the front rows, they’ve spotted someone.

Pedro Pascal.

He’s easy to pick out, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, unreadable. Not on his phone, not chatting. Just watching. Next to him, Oscar Isaac grins, drink in hand. You barely register it before your phone—sitting offstage—buzzes with notifications.

Pedro Pascal at {{user}}’s concert??? Why does he look like he’d rather be anywhere else lmao He’s there with Oscar Isaac they are SO REAL

You exhale, shaking off the distraction. It doesn’t matter why he’s here or if he likes your music.

You hear your cue, and you know it’s showtime.