Although I liked their music, I'd never seen Darkest Days perform live. I preferred listening to music by myself, without the press of a sweaty, screaming audience. August told me to follow him backstage, where I could watch the concert away from rabid fans.

He handed me a lanyard with a VIP pass hanging from the clip. I put it around my neck along with my DSLR camera. My hands shook as I took it from him.

The moment we entered the concert hall August's tone turned brisk, his stride lengthening. It was as if a switch had been flipped. He acted like nothing had happened between us.

"You're going to want to take photos from every angle, and that includes the pit. But we don't expect you to officially start work until tomorrow. Tonight you should experience the concert through the eyes of a fan, not through a camera lens. Hopefully it will spark some ideas."

The backstage area was even busier than the tour bus parking lot had been. I stuck next to August, following close behind him, like a duckling following its mother. Even with my VIP pass, I was afraid I'd get lost or kicked out by the hulking bodyguards placed at every entrance.

I certainly didn't look like I belonged backstage at a rock concert, with my leggings and over-sized shirt. Aside from the event staff in their all-black outfits, the rest could have been rock stars themselves. Leather, mesh, and wildly colored hair were the predominant styles.

"Is everyone back here in a band?" I asked August.

"We've got an opening act." August pointed to a corner where a group of guys with guitars in their hands stood waiting. "But some of them are fans with VIP passes or friends and family."

I took a quick glance around, but no else seemed to be dressed as casually as me. I tugged at the sleeve of my shirt, rubbing at the seam.

August gave me an inquisitive look.

"Are you feeling out of place?"

"Just a bit," I admitted. "Concerts aren't really my thing."

"And what is your thing?" he asked curiously.

"Sneaking into abandoned buildings to take photos. Roaming the city streets for interesting scenes to shoot. Sitting in front of my computer for hours editing and cleaning up the images. Not… this." I gestured with my arm, indicating the frenetic energy permeating the concert hall.

"Sneaking into buildings? I didn't take you for a law-breaking delinquent."

"Sometimes you have to bend the rules for the sake of art."

"It's always the quiet ones."

"I don't suppose you've ever broken the rules for your art." I pushed my glasses back up my nose. August didn't seem the type.

An odd look crossed his face, almost alarmed. It passed quickly.

"Does bribing and threatening music execs to get my own way count?" he asked.

I examined him closely. No sign of that previous expression.

"I didn't think August Summers would have to stoop to bribery," was all I said. "I heard the music execs bend over backwards for you."

"Most do."

"And the ones that don't?"

"They learn to fall in line soon enough."

"Have you ever been told no by anyone?"

It was worrying that he had to pause thoughtfully for a moment, as if searching his memory for any such instance.

"I asked Damon and Ian to stop switching places," he said eventually. "They were always pretending to be each other. They'd agree and then immediately go back to doing it anyway." He shook his head with a long-suffering yet indulgent expression, the way a parent looked when their beloved child was acting naughty.

A booming voice sounded from the speakers, announcing the first act. The crowd roared in approval. A group rushed onto the stage in a flurry of guitars, leather pants, and eyeliner.

"I really don't fit in at all," I observed, looking down at my sneakers and leggings.

"How about I introduce you to some people?" August suggested. "Not everyone here is a rock star."

He lead me to a roped off section close the pit. A girl with slightly messy brown hair stood next to the curtains. She wore a knee length, green cotton dress with tights. She wouldn't have looked out of place in any of my photography classes.

As we approached the girl, her eyes flicked between me and August. Her face lit up.

"Hello," she said with a cheery smile. "Are you a friend of August's?"

With the way she stressed the word friend, it was clear she was hoping for a different answer. My face flushed hot, thinking about that moment on the bus.

"This is Cassie, our tour photographer," August introduced. "Cassie, this is Hope, Ian's girlfriend."

Hope was the person he wanted to bring on tour. The one his twin was more than overjoyed to leave behind.

"Do you mind if I leave Cassie with you while I go wrangle the guys?" August asked. "She's new to this."

"Of course. I'll take care of her." Hope linked arms with me and gave me a squeeze. I was taken aback at her friendliness. It wasn't unwelcome, just surprising. I didn't know many people this touchy-feely.

"Poor August," she said. "It's always up to him to get the guys into line. It's like herding cats." Hope turned to me. Her earnest brown eyes shone as the spotlights from stage hit them. "Have you ever been to a Darkest Days concert before?"

"I've never been to a rock concert before." I braced myself for her reaction, wondering whether it would be disbelief or judgement.

She only nodded her head. "You're going to have fun. I've seen them play live too many times to count."

"Do you go to all of Ian's concerts?"

"All the ones I can. And of course, I went to a bunch before we started dating, too." She gave me an embarrassed smile. "I was sort of a big fan before we met."

A rock star fell in love with one of his fans. That was every teenaged girl's dream come true. I wanted to hear more about their story, but the music started up, blasting our eardrums. I winced, covering my ears with my palms.

"Sorry," Hope shouted over the music. "Should have warned you."

We turned to the stage to watch the concert. I couldn't remember the name of the band that had been announced, and I didn't recognize anyone on the stage. I was intrigued that the singer was a girl, decked all out in a rocker chic leather kilt and combat boots.

I should have enjoyed the concert the way Hope seemed to be doing, taking in the music and soaking in the energy of the crowd with a happy grin. Instead, I couldn't help but think in terms of my work. Identifying the best angles, contemplating how I'd frame particular shots. I took out my camera and snapped a few pictures here and there.

I didn't have much experience with event photography. It made no sense why August had hired me. Was it really just because he'd seen something in my photos? Something full of passion?

My face flushed, and not because of the heat of the concert hall. Every time I recalled that word falling from that man's lips, my body reacted in unfamiliar ways.

I was glad for the darkness of the concert hall, so no one could could see my bright red face.

As the opening band left the stage, Hope squealed and ran off in a flurry. Ian had appeared, carrying his guitar in hand. He caught his girlfriend with his one free arm as she threw herself at him. She shouted something in his ear. He squeezed her in return. Hope ran her hands through his hair as he pulled her in for a kiss. I averted my eyes at the public display of affection.

I caught sight of August. Black leather pants looked molded to his thighs, and a sleeveless mesh shirt showed off toned arms and torso. I couldn't stop my eyes from drinking in every exquisitely defined muscle.

August headed toward the stage, twirling drumsticks between his fingers in complicated patterns. The rest of the band members followed behind him. I recognized the lead singer and bassist. With fiery red hair, the bassist was laughing at something one of the twins was telling him, clapping him on the back. The lead singer wore a look of intense concentration, his dark eyes glinting in the spotlights.

The announcer shouted an introduction, telling the fans that it was time for Darkest Days to appear on stage. The entire concert hall shook with the energy of cheers and chanting and the stomping of feet. The twins and bassist rushed on stage, thrusting their guitars in the air and calling out to the crowd. The lead singer and August took their time to reach their respective places at the front and back of the stage.

Hope returned to my side, her cheeks flushed and mouth red.

"Sorry I abandoned you," she said. "I just see Ian in that eyeliner and—"

She made a sound in the back of her throat, like a wild animal about to leap onto its prey.

"I get it," I said. "It's that rock star appeal."

As I was learning all too well.

The sound of two guitars shredding emitted from the speakers, soon followed by heavy drum beats. Hope's attention turned to the stage as the concert began.

I followed her lead, watching the band perform their first song. It was one of their more well known ones. I'd heard it on the radio often enough I'd almost become sick of it. Listening to it played live was a different experience.

The lead singer's sensual voice seduced the audience with his heartfelt words. The sound of the bass guitar thrummed in my chest, pulse quickening along with the beat. The twins wailed on their guitars, playing wildly, fingers flying over the strings.

But it was August who really captured my attention. His arms were a blur as they pounded away. His hair whipped every which way, sweat-dampened strands sticking to his cheeks and neck. His eyes were narrowed, hot and fierce. Despite the ice blue color, there was no chillness in his expression. August's gaze burned with an inner fire that made my whole body heat up.

I fought to drag my attention away from him. I was supposed to be getting ideas for my work. But the shifting of his toned arm muscles under skin, the way his shirt clung to his chest and abs, the way beads of sweat trickled down the side of his flushed face, made it impossible to think about anything else.

August was an artist himself. We didn't share the same medium, but art was art. He had a different perspective, more experience. Maybe I could learn from him. Ask him to be a mentor of sorts.

My face burned as I contemplated what exactly August could teach me.

About art.

About passion.

August had seen something in my work. Something no one else ever saw.

What had I been feeling when I took that photo?