Daniel Vegas

The fan meeting was drawing to a close. The room was gradually emptying, security guards were already checking their watches, and the organizers were persistently rushing the last people in line. My hand was already aching from hundreds of signatures, and my cheekbones were slightly numb from the forced smile, but I still sat at the table, my helmet in front of me—my personal artifact from this shoot. It was almost completely covered in stickers, turning into some kind of crazy art object.

"The last three people, and we're done!" the manager announced loudly.

I adjusted the sleeve of my leather jacket and took a deep breath. My gaze caught the girl standing next to me. She didn't look like the ones who had just taken selfies with me, forcing me to strike "Barsov poses." She looked lost. She clutched a small sticker in her hands, and I noticed how her fingers had turned white with tension.

When she finally reached the table, the guard at the side rudely hurried her:

• Girl, come on, hurry up, put the poster down for signature and come on in.

I felt irritation stir within me—that same Barsov-like one. I raised my hand, gesturing for the guards to be quiet, and turned my gaze to her. Up close, she seemed even more fragile. She looked at me, but it was as if she didn't see the famous Daniel Vegas. There was a quiet storm of her own in her eyes.

She didn't move, still clutching the sticker, until the manager touched her shoulder again, trying to pull her away.

"Hey," I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table and looking her straight in the eyes. My voice sounded low and unusually soft for this noisy environment. "Wait. Don't listen to them."

I moved my helmet right towards her hands, blocking it from the annoying managers.

"See?" I pointed to the empty space just above the visor. "I left that area out specifically for something special. Your sticker will fit perfectly there."

I froze, giving her a chance to compose herself. The line behind me was grumbling, the security guards were nervous, but I didn't care. I waited. For some reason, I really wanted this helmet to go home with me, with her sticker on it.