Chapter Text
Lights exploded across the arena—blinding, intoxicating—a cascade of greens, yellows, and blues swallowing everything in their path. The air pulsed with an impossible energy, electric with the anticipation of thousands who had been waiting months for this moment. It was contagious, seeping into your skin, winding itself through your veins until it felt like you could breathe it in and be swallowed whole.
The bass rumbled beneath your feet, a living heartbeat in the floorboards. You felt it climb your legs, coil in your stomach, and settle deep in your chest, thrumming like a second pulse. Ecstatic. Overwhelming in the best way. Alive.
People had come from all over, some traveling for hours, even days, just to witness this moment—to see Natural Disaster live in the flesh. Thousands of bodies moved in unison, swaying, dancing, losing themselves to the music. Their cheers tangled together into an indecipherable roar, but the glow of their faces, the messages scrawled on signs, the way they pressed against each other with sheer unfiltered joy—it was obvious. They were utterly entranced. The whole place buzzed with an almost tangible force, as if the concert itself was something alive.
You took advantage of the moment, the tidal wave of sound and movement, and raised your camera. The crowd behind you sang and screamed, their voices a perfect backdrop. A few people near the barrier noticed you, those lucky enough to be close to the stage, and eagerly struck poses—some waving, some locking arms in excitement—before turning back to the show just as quickly. You chuckled.
It had become a habit, taking at least one picture of the crowd at every venue the band played. You were drawn to it—the beauty of people losing themselves, completely immersed, living in a memory they would carry forever. Simple, maybe. But special. And, if nothing else, it kept the social media managers happy.
For the past ten months, you had been traveling with Natural Disaster as their photographer, and despite having witnessed dozens of shows, the magic never faded. The crowds, the staging, the music, the reaction to the music—it never got old. It wasn’t as if you had never been to a concert before, but there was something about these ones that felt different. Maybe it was the way you got to see everything, the before, the after, the world behind the curtain. A world you never knew existed.
You still couldn’t believe you were here. Couldn’t thank your friend enough for pushing you to take the job—or hell, to even apply in the first place. You had been given the opportunity of a lifetime, one most fans could only dream of.
The song swelled into its chorus, and you found yourself mouthing the words instinctively. The melodies, the singer’s inflections, every pause, every note—it was all etched into you, like something that had always been there. After listening to these songs so many times, for so long, they had become second nature. More than once, you’d caught yourself humming them absentmindedly, the tunes slipping from your lips before you even realized. Who knows how many times it had happened unnoticed?
Then suddenly, the crowd near you erupted—cheers, screams, hands reaching past you, reaching for something.
You turned, reflexively raising your camera, part instinct, part curiosity.
And you found yourself almost face-to-face with him.
The lead vocalist.
He stood at the very edge of the stage, towering over you, eyes scanning the sea of bodies as he sang, every syllable sharp, deliberate. The LED screens behind him cast him in an ethereal blue glow, his long dark locks haloed in light. The tips of his hair, dyed electric blue, almost melted into the background, giving him an otherworldly aura. Small trinkets woven into his strands caught the light, shimmering like stars trapped in his hair.
His outfit—minimal, effortless—despite the fact that you knew every piece had been chosen carefully, somehow only amplified his presence. A tank top clung to him just right, highlighting the muscle of his arms. One was wrapped in a fishnet sleeve, his fingers hugged by metallic rings that gleamed under the lights. His right arm, a sleek blue metal prosthetic, caught every flicker of color, reflecting the energy of the crowd itself. He looked like something untouchable. Something unreal.
And then—his eyes found yours.
Locked. Held.
For a second, the world shrank. The lights dimmed. The crowd melted away.
Your lips parted, lyrics forgotten, the song lost at the tip of your tongue.
His eyes were beautiful.
You were frozen. Stuck. Trapped under his gaze, under his call, under his siren song.
And the bastard knew it.
As the instrumental break started, his lips curled into a smirk. Slow. Sharp.
Without warning, he crouched, closing the distance in an instant. If it weren’t for the stage being slightly taller than you, you would’ve been eye-to-eye.
His right in-ear dangled from the wire, his microphone lowered, resting on the arm draped over his thigh, hanging loosely between his legs—casual, lazy, intentional. His cheek pressed against his other arm, which rested on his knee, his gaze unwavering.
Over the screaming crowd and pounding bass, you barely caught his voice.
"Enjoying the show?"
It snapped you from your trance, though not quickly enough to stop the heat from creeping up your neck.
“I liked it better when you were over there.” You nodded toward the opposite end of the stage.
Poseidon raised a brow. “You did, didn’t you?”
The comment sent another rush of heat to your face, and you hated that he knew it.
You didn’t have a response. Just looked at him.
His smirk widened. Dangerous. Knowing. It reminded you of a shark—something predatory, something too aware of its power.
“Take a picture.” He motioned lazily to your camera. “It’ll last longer.”
"Stop it."
He only shrugged, as if to say, ‘your loss’. Then, just as effortlessly, he slipped his in-ear back on, lifted the mic to his lips, and stood—his presence filling the stage once more.
Still, it didn’t stop you from raising your camera, snapping a few quick shots, wishing he had stayed just a few moments longer.
Lowering the camera slightly, you peeked over it—
And there he was.
Still smirking.
Still looking directly at you.
And worst of all, you knew—without a single doubt—that smirk was meant only for you.
Your breath left you in a quiet exhale. You glanced down at your screen to review the shot.
Perfect.
The crowd erupted again, their voices blending into a thunderous chant—one name, over and over, rising like a prayer to the heavens.
"POSEIDON! POSEIDON! POSEIDON!"
The stage lights flickered in response, casting the entire scene in a fleeting, shimmering blue—like moonlight on crashing waves.
And for a brief moment, you wondered if this man was just a man or something far more.
And Poseidon—Poseidon tried his best to keep his eyes off you. But his attempts were futile.