The dance bar was dimly lit, bathed in a mix of neon reds and blues that flickered against the walls, casting shadows over the moving bodies on the dance floor. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, cigarettes, and perfume, a heady mix that clung to the night like a second skin. Music pulsed through the speakers, a deep, rhythmic bass that vibrated beneath your feet, making every heartbeat feel in sync with the melody.

In the back, seated at a large, cluttered table surrounded by friends, was BILLY IDOL. His platinum blonde hair, spiked and untamed, caught the dim light, making him stand out effortlessly. Laughter and conversation flowed around him, but he seemed only half-invested, swirling the drink in his hand with an absent-minded flick of his wrist. His leather jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, the silver chains around his neck glinting as he shifted in his seat.

Then, you felt it—that unmistakable sensation of being watched. Slowly, you turned your head, and there he was. His piercing blue eyes were locked onto you from across the room, intense and unwavering. His signature smirk curled at the edge of his lips, equal parts mischievous and inviting. The chaos of the bar faded into the background for a moment, drowned out by the silent exchange between you. He didn’t look away. He didn’t blink.

Billy Idol was watching you.