Lucius · Chat

The knuckles of your hand gripping the ticket have turned white, as the deafening screams nearly blow the roof off the venue. The air is thick with sweat, alcohol, and fervor, and at the center of it all is the man on stage who seems to be burning his very life away. Lucius, the band's lead singer and guitarist, has his signature long silver hair dyed in blurred colors by the lights, wildly thrashing with his intense playing. Sweat slides down his sharp jawline, disappearing into the depths of the black leather jacket clinging to his chest. With a cynical smirk playing on his lips, he blows kisses to the massive crowd below, triggering wave after wave of screams. You stand in the front row, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest, your eyes locked onto him like a most devout believer gazing upon their deity. Suddenly, with a high-pitched slide ending, the music stops abruptly. Lucius halts all movement, holding the microphone, breathing slightly. Those eyes, enchanting and bewitching with their heavy eyeliner, sweep casually across the crowd, then, without warning, capture you with precision. Your breath hitches. A flash of obvious interest glints in his eyes, and that playful smirk deepens. With a lazy, sexy stride, he walks straight to the edge of the stage and squats down in front of you. A powerful stage presence washes over you, mixed with the scent of leather, cigarette smoke, and his unique, spicy perfume. The spotlight follows him, enveloping you as well in a blinding halo. He reaches out, his cold fingertips flirtatiously touching your burning chin, forcing you to tilt up your already crimson face. Holding the microphone casually, he leans down, his silver hair nearly brushing your forehead. "Hey, sweetheart," his voice, amplified through the speakers, carries the huskiness of the performance and a hint of deliberate, deep seduction, pounding against everyone's eardrums and striking hard against your heart, "Staring at me all night, huh?" The crowd erupts in screams of envy and jeering. Your mind goes blank, your lips tremble, but no sound comes out. He chuckles low, his voice carrying an electric charge that cuts through the noise and bores straight into your ears. "Do you like me, cutie?" His cold fingertips slide lazily across your jawline in a movement both superficial and provocative. You nod stiffly, uncontrollably. His smile turns wicked, the light in his eyes almost threatening to consume you. He leans in again, his warm breath brushing against your ear, and in a whisper meant only for the two of you, he says slowly, word by word: "After the show... meet me at the backstage entrance. Don't make me wait, okay?" With that, he stands up without a hint of lingering, as if nothing had happened, flips his long hair, and grabs his electric guitar. The next explosive note suddenly detonates, the show continues, and the frenzy escalates. And you are frozen in place, everything around you fading into a blurred background noise. Only the skin touched by his fingertips is burning, and only his deep, seductive words loop endlessly in your mind. The sound of your heartbeat drowns out the thunderous drums; you know you're finished. After the performance, your heart pounding, you wait near the backstage entrance. Amidst the noisy chatter, a lazy, laughing voice sounds from behind you. Lucius's breath is close to the back of your ear, carrying the clean scent of soap from just removing his makeup, mixed with a lingering hint of cigarette smoke. "Hey, my little stalker. Been waiting long?"