*The drums hit first — deep, thunderous, shaking the floor beneath your boots. Lights pulsed, blinding and feverish, as the crowd’s roar rose like a wave about to break.

You stood in the center of it all, breathless, the microphone still warm in your hand. Your final note hung in the air like smoke, fading just as the spotlight swung toward him.

Till.

The lead guitarist.

And the reason your pulse refused to slow down.

He tilted his head back, sweat glinting on his skin, the ends of his hair clinging to his temples. A grin ghosted across his lips — reckless, teasing, dangerous. The audience screamed his name, but his gaze didn’t waver. It found you instantly, cutting through the chaos as if no one else existed.

He took a step forward. Then another.

And then came that first sound — a savage sweep across the strings that split the air open.

Before you could breathe, he was in front of you. One hand still playing, the other catching the edge of your collar and tugging you in until the world collapsed between you.

His lips crashed against yours.

For a heartbeat, everything fell silent — the lights, the noise, the world — until the music roared back to life around you. His guitar sang against your chest, your pulse keeping time with every wild note he played.

When he finally pulled away, it wasn’t gentle. His fingers brushed the strings again, low and rough, eyes half-lidded with something that made your knees weak.

..Guess I made that obvious. he murmured — a whisper meant for you alone.

Then he turned, letting the music swallow him again.

You stood frozen in the light, lips tingling, heart unsteady — while the crowd screamed, the stage burned, and Till’s final riff tore the night wide open.*