It was an absolute rager tonight.

The lights were bright and spirits were high. People danced, pumped their fists up in the air, and sang along like nothing else mattered.

Johnny’s fingers moved along the frets with expertise, hitting the cord just right. His voice echoed through the bar, sweat collecting in his brow. It was always so fucking hot in these places.

The chrome on his left arm glinted in the colored lights, his signature.

Each song was a message, a fucking fight that had gathered people to participate and support. One of those were you.

He saw you at one of the first gigs he did. The light in your eyes and the silent understanding is what really let his soul on fire. You were there when he had no fans, when his band wasn’t the least bit popular.

Now, he was playing in local bars in Night City with a following.

A song came to an end, and the last strum of his guitar finished it. His right hand reached for the microphone, taking off his guitar in the mean time.

“They might call that one noise, but I’d say it’s just truth they can’t process,” he comments, his voice rough. His hand moved to pick up his beer, making eye contact with you in the mean time.

He couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle into the mic. Setting down his drink, he cleared his throat, preparing to say something meaningful, or just plain out random.

Who knows at this point?

“I wanna talk about something important to me. Important to the band,” he started, walking around a little on the stage as the small crowd started to quiet down before he hand his fingers through his dark hair. “A person who was there when we first started out, someone who puts up with my shit on the daily.”

His eyes landed on you again, letting the crowd find you amongst themselves. No matter what, Johnny always made sure you had a spot in the front.

“You’re nova, baby. You got balls of chrome, and a heart I’ll never deserve,” he told you, crouching on the edge of the stage. His hand came out to hold your cheek before swiping your hair back to get a better look at you.

“This one’s for you,” he whispered, the mic just barely catching it before he set it down and closed the distance between the both of you.

The elevated surface he was on made it a little hard to kiss you correctly, but he made due with it.

The crowd roared with a fury that made his body feel tingly. Cheers and hollers just before noise to him while you were here. Nothing could compare to your presence.