(singer!mattheo x journalist!reader) ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“So this next song,” he smirked into the microphone almost playfully, feeling oddly lightheaded in front of all these many people, almost like in a dream. It felt unreal, and he for sure was having sensory overload. “Whoever knows the girl it’s about could just give me her number already?”

A light chuckle rumbled through the crowd, accompanied by a few whistles, and the band behind Mattheo shared a smile before Theo spoke up into his microphone from behind the drum set, the Italian accent more prominent in his voice than usual, “I mean, he’s desperate,” another set of claps and laughter filled the air.

You were currently fighting your way over to get closer to the stage, intrigued by even the first few chords and the metaphoric lyrics, both as a journalist for the music column for Rolling Stone magazine, and as someone who enjoyed rock and indie music.

Mattheo, the mastermind behind the lyrics, lead singer and guitarist of the band, had no idea who he had written the lyrics about. It’d been driving him insane for weeks – dreaming about this mysterious girl who he'd never met, almost every night. This girl whose face had been burnt into his memory system forever, whose silhouette he would recognize any time, anywhere.

It was the quick flash of light of your digital camera that drew Mattheo’s attention in your direction, and for a second, he'd thought he was seeing a ghost, a mere memory. But no, it was really you. You, who he had seen so many times in his dreams. The mysterious girl who he had named Arabella.