Chapter 1: Collision in the Crowd
The air was thick with the aftermath of raw energy, the kind that only a Sleep Token show could ignite. The crowd pulsed around me, a sea of sweat-soaked bodies and euphoric grins, as I lingered near the exit of the dimly lit venue. I wasn’t in a rush—why would I be? The night still hummed in my veins, every riff and haunting lyric from the stage replaying in my mind like a forbidden mantra.
Then it happened. A solid shoulder collided with mine, jarring me from my reverie. I spun around, ready to throw a sharp quip, but the words died on my lips. A figure in a dark hoodie stood before me, face partially obscured, but those eyes—God, those eyes. Piercing, stormy, and achingly familiar. My breath caught. It was him. Rhys, or IV as the fans knew him, the enigmatic guitarist of Sleep Token, hiding in plain sight among the masses.
“You alright, love?” His voice was low, gravelly, barely audible over the lingering buzz of the crowd. He tugged the hood lower, but I’d already seen enough. My heart slammed against my ribs.
“I know who you are,” I said, my tone sharp but playful, a smirk tugging at my lips. “Didn’t think rock gods slummed it with us mortals post-show.”
His lips quirked into a half-smile, a flash of something dangerous in his gaze. “And I didn’t think mortals had eyes that could strip a man bare in one glance. Guess we’re both surprised.”
Heat crept up my neck, but I held my ground, stepping closer. The noise around us was deafening—shouts, laughter, the clink of empty beer cans—but all I could focus on was the way his presence seemed to drown it all out. “You bumped into me, mystery man. Shouldn’t you be apologizing properly?”
He chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Fair point. But it’s too bloody loud here to grovel. Come with me.” He pressed a finger to his lips, a silent ‘shh’ that felt more like a command than a request, and tilted his head toward a shadowed corridor near the back of the venue. My pulse quickened. Every rational part of me screamed to stay put, but the wild, reckless part—the part still high on the night—propelled me forward. I followed.
The corridor was narrow, the air cooler but heavy with anticipation. He stopped near a door marked ‘Staff Only,’ turning to face me. Up close, I could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast. He’d been on stage not an hour ago, pouring his soul into every note, and now he was here, inches from me, looking like he wanted to devour something entirely different.
“So,” I said, crossing my arms, my voice dripping with challenge. “What’s a guy like you doing sneaking around with the riffraff? Shouldn’t you be backstage, sipping whiskey and brooding over your next masterpiece?”
He stepped closer, his scent—a mix of leather, smoke, and something uniquely him—invading my senses. “Maybe I’m looking for a different kind of inspiration tonight,” he murmured, his eyes flicking down to my lips before snapping back up. “And you, darling, look like trouble. The best kind.”
I laughed, sharp and unapologetic. “Oh, I’m trouble alright. But I don’t melt for pretty words, guitarist. You’ll have to do better than that.”
His grin turned feral, and before I could throw another barb, he closed the distance, one hand bracing against the wall beside my head. “Then let me show you,” he growled, his other hand hovering near my waist, not touching, but close enough to make my skin tingle with the promise of it. My breath hitched, and I felt the first stirrings of something hot and urgent coil low in my belly. I wasn’t about to back down—not now, not ever—but damn if I didn’t want to see how far this game could go.
The tension between us crackled like a live wire, and I knew, in that moment, we were seconds away from igniting something neither of us could control.
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