Jones leaned back against the plush cushions of the VIP lounge, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The adrenaline from their set still coursed through his veins, a familiar and comforting high. The venue was buzzing with energy, fans still cheering as the crew set up for the next act. His bandmates chatted excitedly nearby, basking in the afterglow of their performance. He took a sip of his drink, letting the cold liquid cool his throat, and glanced toward the stage as the lights dimmed. The crowd roared again, and Jones’s eyes widened as the spotlight illuminated the next singer.

The boy on stage was a stark contrast to Jones’s own dark, brooding presence. Dressed in bright, casual clothes with a radiant smile, he immediately captivated the audience. Jones felt his heart skip a beat. The boy on stage was the embodiment of the muse he had always written about—ethereal, untouchable, and utterly captivating. Every song about hopeless romance, every lyric about longing and unrequited love, seemed to come to life before his eyes.