Work Text:
Heartbeats.
Resonating through the concert hall’s speakers.
Screams from the ecstatic crowd, before dying away at the first guitar riff.
A dark stage, silhouettes emerging from the shadows.
And then, that familiar voice pierced the sudden velvet silence of the crowd.
Oh, please, let me treasure your sweet touch
Oh, please, let me breathe within your love
He knew that the singer and his band weren’t just pure energy, furious madness, and exuberant joy. That there was balance, a careful precision in the way every emotion was delivered, through their songs.
So the photographer should have expected something softer. Sadder.
But he hadn’t been ready for this.
The sudden clench in his gut. The hesitation of his fingers above the shutter.
That strange magnetism, when Jayce Talis, gradually lit by the strong spotlight above him, sang with such raw pain etched into his face.
That fascination, hitting Viktor Reveck like a blow to the soul, leaving him speechless.
Melting in the pool of your gaze
I don’t want us to be apart
The pain in the musician’s expression—seen as feigned to some, deeply shared to others—was echoed by the fans, their voices merging with his, chanting in unison, matching the depth and insistence of his every word.
A pain so real, for Viktor, that he began to lose control of his own emotions.
He sensed regrets, remorse, from a past he didn’t know.
Jayce was giving himself to his audience — his essence, his voice, his body, his being, his everything.
Please, leave markings, scar me, let them show
Please, ruin me, so that I know
His voice scraped out of his throat with passion, a plea in every word, eyebrows raised framing that imploring gaze.
And yet, he radiated with that delicate sorrow, that fragility that made him seem to burn alive, with his molten amber eyes and sweat-slick limbs crying out their suffering.
All the parts of my soul can wither, lose control
So I can drown in you
He screamed, suddenly pulling back from the mic, and Viktor saw his white canines flash under the lights, damp hair flying—like the whirlwind of despair he’d become.
His fingers moved fiercely on his guitar, the golden T-shaped pendant bouncing on his chest like a frenzied heartbeat.
The singer suddenly gripped the mic with both hands, the pick glinting under artificial light, his fingers clinging to the tool like it could absorb his anguish.
Falling stars, brighten the sky
Don’t mean much, to the blur of time
Jayce closed his eyes, tilting his head to the side, taking the mic stand with him, leaning it like a partner he was leading in a bittersweet waltz.
His exposed throat seemed to pulse with adrenaline under the spotlights—the curves of his skin, the neatly trimmed ebony beard, and the gleaming black earrings added to that aching vulnerability.
A blazing star in the night, afraid of vanishing into indifference.
Then, Jayce opened his eyes again, released the stand, took up his guitar once more.
And drowned in the song of his soul.
Sweet words, falling, numbing my mind
Come read my soul, yes, oh
Heartbeats.
Resonating in his chest.
The crowd singing in harmony, distant drum beats pounding in his ribcage—then nothing else around him.
Jayce, flooded with light, flooding the world with his open wounds, begged to be guided, to be pulled out of his torment, of the fears Viktor watched in delicious awe.
From behind his piercing camera lens.
My soul
Click.
And the shutter echoed in the imaginary silence of his mind.
…That one, would be the perfect picture.
By Ponet @PonetteDeFeu > Twitter