you find yourself stumbling out of the venue into the carpark with all the other fans, drained and ready to fall asleep. your hotel isn’t far from here, but you’ll still have to drive.

you stand by a wall to let everyone else spill out before you, because you don’t fancy getting crushed by what feels like a billion other sweaty people. you’re still holding your lemonade you got from the bar in the venue… but you don’t get to finish it.

as you turn to get a move on you’re bumped into hard by someone much taller than you, the drink spilling all over your white shirt, and you damn yourself for not wearing anything underneath it.

“oh my god, i’m so sorry,”

you look up at the source of the male voice, barely registering he’s exactly who you came here to see.