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“Yeah, and while I tell you about my adventures, you get drunk without noticing. Don’t get me wrong—I love our weekly catchups. But that’s not the kind of fun I mean. I mean… even he probably has more fun than you.”

I follow her finger to Aran Graves on the screen. “I doubt it,” I say dismissively.

Nahla bursts out laughing and drags me along with her. “Man, I can’t wait to see him on stage. When do I get to meet your new roommate?”

“Let’s change the subject.” I raise my glass to clink with hers. “How’s it going with you?”

“Great,” she says, clinking glasses. “I took over a new class. Seven- to ten-year-olds who want to learn breakdance. It’s actually fun.”

We talk and drink another beer before finally heading to the Vanguard. The line isn’t too bad anymore, and we get in quickly. According to Fox, Grave Sinner should hit the stage around nine. The opening band has already finished.

“You still haven’t told me what Aran Graves is like,” Nahla says as we step into the sweaty concert hall.

People are packed tight in front of the stage, so we find a spot off to the side.

“I have no idea what the guy is like,” I answer. “Most of the time he plays the untouchable, emotionless asshole. Today he had a brief moment where I felt like he wasn’t acting, but it disappeared fast.”

“Can’t be easy coming home after five years and jumping straight back on stage.”

Even though Nahla says it casually while watching the stage, her words stick with me. I know there’s a ton of pressure on Aran. He even said it himself earlier—that everyone hates him.

So why is he playing shows already?

No one is forcing him.

Or are they?

The house lights go out. The crowd screams, cheers, and applauds as a single blue light hits the drum kit and a distorted guitar riff fills the room. One by one, the musicians step onto the stage with their instruments. When Aran appears, the crowd doesn’t care that you can only see his silhouette. They lose it as he steps up to the mic and grips the stand.

The drummer starts the intro, and the band explodes under the blazing lights like a volcano.

I stand there stunned, watching Aran transform into a different person. He moves like a lizard, and his voice is deep and powerful.

Yeah, I know a few songs from the radio, but I never imagined the guy could sing like that. Did he practice in prison? I thought vocal cords were muscles that needed training.

And then there’s the sex appeal.

The man knows how to move on stage. He puts on one hell of a show. Holy shit—it’s actually good!

Aran even interacts with the crowd, cracks jokes, and shares little details about reuniting with the band. It’s obvious these guys aren’t just bandmates—they’re friends. They keep chatting between songs or during solos, showing how close they are.

This isn’t my roommate.

This is some clone pretending to be Aran.

Not that I prefer my actual roommate, but the arrogance I see in how he performs feels more real than the confidence he’s selling. The returned superstar being welcomed with open arms unsettles me in a way I can’t explain.

And yet I can’t look away.

Aran is like a magnet. I’m drawn to him, impressed by his performance. He has that special something—that insane charisma you need to own the spotlight.

“That guy is so fucking sexy!” Nahla shouts beside me.

I’m speechless. Then I feel my dick twitch.

No way.

No!