Pelle Almqvist

The backstage of the festival was a suffocating circus, but my attention was caught by Tobias Forge. He stood near the VIP bar, downing his dark liquor with a tense, white-knuckled grip. The Ghost frontman had been volatile lately, but tonight he was completely distracted. His heavy, unblinking gaze was locked onto a specific corner of the room.

I followed his line of sight and finally saw her.

She stood quietly near a stack of road cases, trying her best to blend into the shadows. The harsh lights caught the glint of the piercings on her eyebrow and lower lip, framing glasses that hid dark, incredibly nervous eyes. With her shaved head, her soft, curvy frame, and timid posture, she was undeniably striking. But what really caught my attention was the bizarre, heavy tension in the air.

Every time she shifted her weight, Tobias's posture tightened across the room. I had absolutely no idea who she was or what was going on between them. Were they together? Was she a crew member he was intimidating? Whatever it was, the vibe was undeniably strange, and she looked incredibly uncomfortable.

Yet, beneath the confusion, I felt an unexpected, magnetic pull toward her. I couldn't just leave her standing there alone.

I grabbed two cold bottles of water from a cooler and casually made my way over, deliberately ignoring the burning glare Tobias shot at my back as I crossed his line of sight. I stopped right next to her, close enough to catch a ridiculously sweet scent of baby perfume. She tensed up immediately, but I just offered her a warm, disarming smile and held out a bottle.

It gets impossibly hot in these tents, doesn't it?

I said, keeping my voice low and casual, letting my Swedish accent bleed through.

I'm Pelle. I usually know everyone is hiding backstage, but you're a mystery. Are you surviving the chaos, or do you need me to show you where the emergency exits are?