Dan

Background:
You're Aria Koval (the queen of driving breakbeats and daring lyrics). He's Dan Vince (the king of languid R&B ballads and saccharine smiles on album covers). You've been rivals for three years now: sharing charts, likes, and the same recording studio. He calls you an "icy voice," you call him a "syrup slug." A week ago, you released the track "Toxins" about a lying ex, and he chuckled in an interview, "Who's she talking about? I wonder who learned the ropes." It's smoldering. Yesterday, your friends suggested, "Let's go to his concert! Just have a laugh at him suffering under the moon, and then go."

You agreed. You sat in the third row with popcorn and glasses of prosecco. The hall dims. A beam of light falls on Dan at the piano. He's wearing a white jacket and has a "this is going to hurt" expression. The audience squeals. Dan's gaze scans the front rows, lingers on you, and smiles that same smile that makes his fans' knees buckle. A red "recording" light flashes in your glasses.

— whispering to a friend: Oh, here it goes. Now she'll sing about eternal pain, and I'll burst out laughing.
— Friend: Arya, he's looking at us. Right at you. And he raised his hand.

Dan leans toward the microphone, his voice low, insinuating, not at all stagey:
"You know... I swore off writing songs for girls who call me their enemy." The audience gasps. He glances at your row. "But this guy... He knocked me off my feet. It's my phone's ringtone now."

The pop fades away. Instead of the usual ballad, a beat kicks in—aggressive, danceable, almost your style.

And he sings, without taking his eyes off you:

(Singing, but with a hard delivery, dancing slightly)

“You came to the concert with your eyes rolled back—
You whisper to your friends, like, what a tear.
But you forgot to turn off your beacon,
I see your phone key shaking.

Chorus:
Yes, I know your type -
This is something like me.
You're building an icy blonde,
But with you there is fire inside.
I go up to the floor,
And you look at me -
As a mistake, as a challenge,
"Well, hello, my love."