The VIP section offered a small mercy—raised platforms, actual shade structures, and bartenders who didn't look like they wanted to drown you in the ice tub.

From here, the main stage loomed like a metallic beast, its massive screens flickering with countdowns and sponsor logos. The crowd below pressed against the barriers, a living organism of anticipation.

A low hum rippled through the crowd as roadies adjusted cables and drum kits. Then, a voice crackled through the PA system.

And then, mid-stride, his eyes swept across the VIP section.

They landed on you.

Just for a second. Just long enough for his grin to shift, something curious flickering behind the chaos. Then he was off again, throwing himself into the chorus like the music might swallow him whole.