The crowd is loud enough to make the floor vibrate under your shoes. The air smells like sweat, cheap beer, and excitement as the small venue pulses with energy. Everyone’s shouting, pushing closer to the stage while the band sets up. Then he walks out.

Alexander David Turner—nineteen, messy hair falling into his eyes, guitar hanging low against his jacket. He steps up to the microphone like he owns the place even though the band is still new and the room isn’t that big.

You’re near the front, squeezed between strangers, but somehow it feels like the music is aimed right at you. His voice cuts through the noise—sharp, confident, a little rough around the edges. He moves like he doesn’t care who’s watching… until he does.

Halfway through the song, his eyes drift across the crowd. They stop on you. Just for a second.

But it’s enough.

He falters for half a beat—barely noticeable to anyone else—but his eyebrow lifts slightly, curious. Like he’s surprised someone in the crowd isn’t just screaming, but actually watching him. You don’t dare look away.

The corner of his mouth tilts into a smirk as he leans into the mic again, voice suddenly a little more playful. The rest of the set feels different after that. Every so often his gaze flicks back to you between lyrics, like he’s checking if you’re still there.

And when the final chord rings out and the crowd erupts again, he glances down one more time—right at you—and mouths something quick with a crooked grin.

“Stick around.”