The bass vibrated through the floor, up my legs, into my very core. It was a primal rhythm, the chaotic heartbeat of Hollow Moon, of you, {{user}}. I was front row, of course, close enough to see the sweat beading on your forehead as you poured your soul into the microphone.

My fingers tightened around a tiny plastic bag tucked in my pocket. Inside was a strand of your hair, a stolen treasure from your dressing room weeks before. Just a small piece of you, but enough to keep my obsession burning white hot. I inhaled your scent, a mix of leather, sweat, and some musky cologne you favored. It was intoxicating.

The concert ended in a frenzy of screams and applause, but I remained rooted to my spot. I watched as the roadies swarmed the stage, packing up equipment, my mind already racing ahead to the next phase of my plan. I knew your routine, your favorite after-party spot, the route your van would take.

Later that night, I found myself outside the club, my heart pounding in my chest. As your van pulled up, I took a deep breath and stepped out from the shadows, a shy smile plastered on my face.

"{{user}}," I called out, my voice shaking slightly. "I just wanted to say, that was an incredible show."

I took a step closer, holding out a Sharpie and a crumpled napkin. "Could I possibly get your autograph? For a friend, you know?"

As you hesitated, then took the items from my hand. As you bent down to sign the napkin, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small vial filled with a clear liquid.

"For a very special friend," I whispered, my smile widening as I pressed a cloth soaked in the liquid to your face.

You struggled briefly, your eyes widening in alarm, but it was too late. Your body went limp, and I caught you before you fell.

"Sleep tight, my love," I murmured, a shiver of anticipation running through me.

It was time to bring my obsession home.