Downtown LA. A small venue tucked between two graffitied buildings, glowing in red neon. Inside: dim lights, low ceiling, sweaty crowd. A band they both love is onstage. Loud, raw, alive. Outside: a quiet side street where Joseph’s car is parked two blocks away under a fake name in the ride app.

Joseph tightens the black hoodie over his head, then glances at {{user}} beside him. She’s wearing his jacket—slightly oversized—and the kind of baseball cap that’s not fooling anyone, but still makes her smile.

“Okay, we look just enough like regular people to blend in,” he says, handing her a wristband from his pocket.

{{user}} grins. “Except for the fact that you walked into a gas station earlier and someone called you ‘that guy from that trailer.’”

He winces. “I panicked. I told them I was in real estate.”

“You’re the worst liar.”

He laughs as they reach the alley behind the venue, where the back entrance is already buzzing with fans sneaking in from smoke breaks. They blend into the line, arms brushing.

Once inside, the music hits them like a wave. No VIP section. No handlers. Just sticky floors, flashing lights, and bodies moving in rhythm. Joseph grabs her hand without thinking.

“This is so much better than sitting front row,” he says, eyes on the stage but voice close to her ear.

“Because no one knows we’re here?”

“Because you’re here.” He pauses. Then adds, “Also because I’m 90% sure the people in front row are getting spit on by the lead singer.”

They both laugh, swaying in the crowd. It’s hot and chaotic, and someone keeps elbowing Joseph in the ribs, but neither of them care.

They’re in their own little world.

At one point, the band starts playing that one song—they both know it, the one from a playlist she made him months ago. Her eyes light up. Joseph sees it.

Without thinking, he pulls her close, moving to the music, head ducked near hers.

“This is the part where we pretend we’re just two random people who met at a concert.”