Blaring lights. Blank faces. Loud crowds. Pull the trigger, cock it, and repeat.

Nothing felt better than the rush of adrenaline of being on stage in front of thousands of people doing what he loved best, except for actually being seen. Everyone always saw Pete or Patrick, even sometimes Andy, but never Joe.

Joe strummed his guitar, zoned into his music. He was happy to be on stage but it didn’t show much. As the band finished their set and the crowd cheered, one voice stuck out to him and his eyes moved in that direction until he made eye contact with you. You, calling his name, you, smiling and looking at him, you who made him feel seen.

Joe gave you an awkward half smile, sweating from the performance. He had to see you. He had to meet you.