Chapter 68 Let’s Start a Riot
LET’S START A RIOT
Somehow, I’ve survived the past couple of hours. My emotions are swirling. Trying to pretend to browse at various shops and getting some food from a little deli did nothing to calm them. I picked out a sandwich, but then couldn't make myself eat it.
Finally, I am heading to the concert venue. It is odd to be going there by myself rather than as part of The Boys’ entourage.
I have been wondering how I’m going to get in. I am hoping not to need to threaten anyone. That doesn’t seem like a good start to the night.
When I’m nearly at the door to the venue, though, fate is on my side.
A man is standing near the entrance selling his tickets.
The others passing don’t seem interested, so by the time I make my way over to him, he still has them.
I’m prepared and have a small amount of money that’s mine.
Luckily, the cost is less than what I have, so I am able to purchase a ticket from him.
I approach the door, hoping the people at the entrance won’t try to take my sword. Thankfully, they simply take my ticket, make a mark with ink on the back of my hand, and allow me through.
I move with the crowd until I am standing somewhere in the middle, centered on the stage. I ensure my hood stays up to hide my unusual pink hair. I have no intention of revealing my presence to anyone.
I’m jostled by the crowd as is familiar, but all the practice with footwork from sword fighting, and my experience at past concerts, keep me standing easily this time.
As The Boys finally walk out on stage, the experience is both like and unlike past concerts. This time, I’m a part of the crowd in a way I have not been in the past. However, unlike the crowd, I don’t scream and cheer.
If I were to open my mouth at this moment, I think I might vomit.
My heart races.
Dio shows up on stage last. My first thought is how immensely glad I am to see that he seems to be healed and is looking better than he has in a while.
However, when he looks out at the crowd and introduces the band, I see the dark circles under his eyes.
As I stand quietly in the screaming crowd, I also notice that his suit doesn’t have its carefully pressed creases. He looks almost rumpled.
I don’t have much time to worry about him, though, because at that moment the band begins to play and I am forced to focus on keeping my feet as the crowd surges.
The momentary distraction is helpful, as with the physical effort, I manage to regain some of the internal stillness I had been clinging to.
Just as always, The Boys’ performance is glorious to watch. The focus and joy are clear on their faces as they perform songs that I now know by heart.
The band eventually breaks for intermission, and I stay where I am. I keep my spot as the crowd shifts, and other fans leave to get refreshments or try to find a better spot.
When the band appears on stage again, I see that Dio has removed his suit jacket and vest. His sleeves are slightly rolled, his collar open, displaying the familiar hint of tattoos. My heart pounds in my chest. My palm sweats as I run my thumb along my finger in the familiar movement.
I glance at the others and see that they have also stripped off layers. I can hardly blame them. It is hot in here with all the bodies, and they’re working harder than the crowd, even though we are constantly trying to maintain our feet.
The Boys start the next set, and again I’m pulled along by the music as they perform one of their most popular songs.
The crowd is screaming out the words with Dio, and I am completely surrounded by the sound.
Suddenly, I’m pulled from the moment as I realize Dio is looking directly at me.
I meet his eyes and watch as he stills, losing a few words in the song before starting back up again.
He doesn’t look away from me.
I can’t read his expression, emotions seeming to riot across his face as he stares at me openly while singing.
He manages to sing a few more lines but seems distracted, the words stilted, and his voice tight. Then, suddenly, without warning, he stops singing, lets go of the microphone, and jumps off the stage into the crowd.
The crowd in front, nearest to him, is screaming at a fever pitch.
Back where I am standing, people are beginning to grumble as slowly the rest of the band stops playing and the music fades out.
I watch as Reem, Lent, and Fem move to the edge of the stage, looking out at the crowd as they try to determine what happened to their lead singer.
I tip my face down, not wanting to be seen by them. I attempt to make myself turn and leave, but freeze as I have a flash of memory of Dio telling me to be careful as I stepped forward to fight the angels in the street.
As I hesitate, the louder, feverish screams from the crowd move closer to me in a wave. Then Dio emerges in front of me. His chest is heaving, and his shirt is slightly torn.
We’re standing in a small break in the crowd, and somehow the sound of them fades out of my awareness. Dio blinks at me as though shocked that I’m still standing here.
My heart pounds in my chest.
He steps forward, closing the distance between us slightly. He reaches out and gently pushes the hood off my head.
I blink at him, still frozen in place and hardly daring to breathe.
He takes another step and brushes a tendril of hair behind my ear. His jaw ticks as he searches my face. “I’ve been looking for you,” he finally says. His voice is only just loud enough for me to hear him over the noise of the crowd.
I take another step toward him, standing so close that I can see the specks of gold in his eyes.
He cups my cheek in his palm before slowly pulling his hand away and clenching his fingers into a fist. As he does so, he heaves in a breath and closes his eyes.
“I’m just glad to see you’re alright,” he says tightly.
His shoulders slump slightly, and he looks as though he’s going to turn and walk away.
“Wait,” I say, and he stays where he is.
He opens his eyes and stares at me briefly before blinking and looking away. His throat bobs.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I mumble out, and his eyes flash to mine. How he heard that over the crowd, I don’t know, but the intense focus on his face tells me that somehow he did.
“I can’t—you deserve better,” he grits out as he continues to stare intensely at me.
“Don’t I get a say?” I growl.
He bites the inside of his cheek, seeming to consider.
Then, before he can say anything, I take a chance and step forward.
Closing the last bit of distance between us.
Standing on my toes, I tangle my hands in his hair and pull him into a kiss.
For a second, I feel him tense, and then he returns it, sighing into my mouth.
I feel one of his arms curl around me, and then he’s pulling me against him.
All sound fades away, other than the sound of my heart and a hungry-sounding moan from Dio.
The kiss has a frantic feeling to it. Our teeth bruise lips, our tongues steal breath from each other.
It feels as though I am being created all over again in this moment.
The knot of emotions feels as though it might leave a burning hole in my chest. Where our bodies touch, it feels like falling stars burning out, universes colliding.
Soon, my lungs are aching from the lack of oxygen. After another moment, we both break for air. His eyes search mine, and whatever he sees there seems to make some decision for him.
I hear Reem, saying, “Sorry, everyone, it seems something is going on with our illustrious singer. We’ll look into this and get him back up on stage so we can finish our set for you all.”
I don’t think anyone is appeased. In fact, as Dio and I stand there in the crowd, still staring openly at each other, the people around us seem to be getting angrier and angrier. The female voices in particular seem to be rising in volume and pitch.
Suddenly, we are in the middle of a riot.
It is at that moment that I realize I might not have been the only one who wanted to kiss Dio.
Before it can get worse, Dio pushes carefully past me toward the back of the venue, pulling me after him. This time, instead of dragging, he carefully supports me, and we both use our elbows to free ourselves from the rioting fans.
On stage, the remaining members of The Boys continue with what seem to be futile attempts to settle the crowd.
However, I’m confident they aren’t going to be able to locate Dio as we make our way through the press of humanity and escape out a side door.
As we push the door open, a sudden loud sound begins to scream over us, and water begins to spray from the ceiling.
Dio doesn’t hesitate; instead, his hand wraps tighter around mine, and he continues to pull me forward. After quickly making our way down a few more hallways, we emerge into an alleyway along the side of the building.
As the door closes behind us, he pulls me around and presses my back against the stone wall. Then he kisses me again hungrily, his hand pushing my now soaked hood back and tangling in my wet hair.
This time it’s me who moans into his mouth as his hand runs down my side until he grips my hip, his fingers pressing into the skin there firmly enough that I’m sure I’ll bruise.
The heat from the knot of emotions in my chest feels as though it might consume me.
Every part of my body, every inch of skin, feels oversensitive.
My back arches, pressing my head against the wall behind me as Dio deepens the kiss.
I suddenly pull away, gasping, my instincts telling me something. He steps back, allowing me to move away from the wall and around a tall pile of detritus that’s stacked against the building.
I freeze as I see the cherry from a lit cigarette and a dark figure smoking. As I try to figure out what my instincts are telling me, the figure looks at me, and I recognize it to be Malam.
Out of everyone who could be here, of course, it’s Malam.
I attempt to both compose myself and prepare for this next conversation. A conversation that is clearly going to happen so much quicker than I had hoped.
Malam tenses as he notices me. “Chaosta, why are you outside of the apartment?” His tone sounds dangerous.
“I just stepped out for a minute,” I say. “I’ve been careful, and I promise I won’t leave again. There was just something I needed to do.”
He steps forward and, with a snarl, says, “You are putting the only other person in this world I care about at risk with your thoughtless actions.”
I flinch, unable to help myself when hit with the venom in his voice.
He scrubs his hand across his eyes. Then a look of panic flashes across his face. “I need to go make sure she is safe. Don’t think we won’t discuss this later,” he growls at me. Even as he finishes the sentence, he disappears in the familiar swirl of shadow and wingbeats.
I hear Dio walk out from behind the pile of trash and approach me. Standing close, he sets his hands gently on my shoulders. I reach up and wrap my fingers around his, carefully pulling my emotions back under control.
He says quietly, “Are you ok?”
I look up at his face and realize there’s stubble along his jaw. He has always been so neatly shaven that it is a surprise to see it there. “I’m good,” I say unexpectedly.
“Well, I don’t think we can go back in there to the venue at this point.”
“What about the others?”
“They’ll have to figure it out,” he says as he stares at me, and I see hunger in his expression.
I wonder if perhaps he might not be fully grasping the trouble they’re in, but honestly, I don’t want him to go back.
I want him here with me. “We need to talk, and I don’t think I can bring you to where I’m staying right now,” I say, looking back briefly over my shoulder at where Malam was just standing.
A look of worry crosses Dio’s face. Then, clearly coming to some decision, he says, “Want to go back to the mansion with me?”
“What about Reem?” I ask.
“I think he’ll be busy for a while. I’ll talk with him when he gets back,” Dio says quietly, still staring at me as though he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
I nod, and he takes my hand and turns to leave the alley.
Silence falls as we walk side by side back to the mansion. I feel him occasionally glancing at me as though I might disappear, and I can’t wipe the smile off my face. He doesn’t let go of my hand.