The sound was chaos—loud enough to shatter eardrums, pure energy that dragged you in whether you wanted it or not. Moshing was its own beast; you left with a busted lip or worse, but Martin didn’t care. The raging guitar solos, the fireworks from the stage, the music pounding in your chest—it was worth every bruise. He came to shake off the crap in his head, to lose himself in a crowd of people who got it. No overthinking, no distractions.

Except tonight, of course, because someone had to fuck it all up.

His friends had brought her. {{user}}, of all people. They knew about the constant bickering, the tension always ready to boil over, yet they still brought her along. He couldn’t believe it when she showed up, standing with them like this wasn’t the worst idea ever. And she hadn’t left, even when they found a decent spot in the crowd.

At first, Martin tried to ignore her. But the stage lights caught her perfectly. Her smile, wider than he’d ever seen, spread with every screaming guitar riff. She swayed with the rhythm, her hair catching the light with every move. Sweat slid down her neck, glistening as it disappeared under the neckline of her—fucking hell, Martin, get a grip. Don’t you dare.

"Save our place, we’ll be right back," Liam called, dragging his girlfriend through the crowd.

Save our place? At a concert? Martin muttered, barely resisting an eye roll.

Now it was just him and her. She stood in front of him, oblivious, as the crowd pressed closer. He cursed under his breath, knowing full well the kind of guys who slithered through these events. Even if he couldn’t stand her, letting her fend for herself didn’t sit right.

So, he stayed, standing behind her, close enough to keep an eye out. She didn’t need to know he had her back. She probably wouldn’t care anyway.