HELLO HEAVEN

The atmosphere was electric.

Thousands of voices bleeding into one, lights tearing wild patterns through the dark, smoke thickening the air until everything felt closer, more urgent, more real. I stood in the front row with my two friends — black crop top, tight shorts with a chain on the side, fishnet tights, classic Converse. The kind of outfit you wear when you want to feel like yourself and slightly dangerous at the same time.

I’ve always been shy by nature. But tonight the energy of the crowd pressed against my skin like a second heartbeat, and for once I didn’t feel like disappearing into the background.

Then the lights cut out completely.

The crowd exploded.

Dom entered.

No shirt beneath the black leather jacket hanging open off his shoulders, chains catching the light, tattoos moving like a second skin as he launched straight into Zombie — running back and forth across the stage like something in him refused to stay still, reaching into the crowd, screaming with us, not at us. When the song ended he dragged his arm across his forehead, grabbed the mic, and flashed that grin — chaotic and warm and somehow completely unguarded, like a kid who couldn’t believe any of this was real.

“Alright…” He was still catching his breath. “Now we’re going into Hello Heaven, Hello. But first—”

He stopped.

The lights dimmed slightly — that deliberate, theatrical pause he was so good at building. His gaze swept the crowd fast, like he was searching for something specific.

And then it stopped.

On me.

Dom’s POV

Among thousands, she stood out immediately — and I couldn’t have told you exactly why.

It wasn’t just the outfit, though the fishnet tights and the chain on her shorts caught the stage light in a way that made my eye drag. It was the way she stood in the middle of all that chaos — still, present, watching the stage with this quiet focus that felt almost private. Like she wasn’t performing excitement for anyone around her. She was just there, fully and completely, in a way most people in the front row never are.

She wasn’t expecting to be noticed. That was the thing.

And something in me said: her.

I don’t always understand the instincts that come over me onstage. Half the time I’m running on pure adrenaline and whatever’s burning in my chest. But this one felt clear. I wanted to bring her closer — not for the show. To see how she’d react. To share whatever this night was with someone who looked like they’d actually feel it.

“You! Yeah — you with the glasses! Come up, come on! Security, help her up!”

Julia’s POV

Security lifted me gently onto the stage.

My legs were shaking. I locked them deliberately and stood upright.

The heat hit first — stage lights radiating from above, the warmth of thousands of bodies below, and then Dom’s proximity as he closed the distance between us like it was the most natural thing in the world. The sweat on his skin caught the light. The tattoos up close were sharper, more intricate than I’d imagined. He smelled like smoke and something warmer underneath.

He placed one hand lightly on my shoulder — easy, welcoming, like greeting an old friend — and brought the mic to his lips with that wild, warm Northern accent:

“What’s your name, love?”

“J—Julia…”

“ Julia!” He said it like it delighted him. “Fucking cool name. Where you from?”

“From Greece…”

“From Greece?” He turned to the crowd, arm still on my shoulder. “Make some fucking noise for Julia from Greece!”

The crowd screamed my name.

Dom laughed — real, unperformed — and turned back to everyone:

“Together: JUL-IA! JUL-IA!”

Then he looked at me. Just me.

“You know the song? Wanna sing along? Don’t be shy — we’re family here.”

I nodded, gave a smile I hoped looked braver than I felt.

He turned back to the crowd.

“You ready? Let’s go.”

One fluid motion — the jacket shrugged off completely, thrown into the audience. Someone caught it and screamed. He stood bare-chested under the lights, signalled the band, and the opening notes of Hello Heaven, Hello crashed through the venue like a wave breaking.

Hello, are you out there? Are you trying? Are you patient? Are you blind? Are you with me? Against me? Don’t know me at all

He ran forward, reached into the crowd — “Sing it with me!” — then came back close, and held the mic out toward me for the refrain.

Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello Hello, hello, hello Hello, hello, hello, hello Hello, hello, hello Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello Hello, hello, hello Hello, hello, hello, hello Hello, hello, hello — Go

I shouted Hello! with him. The crowd went wild. He pulled me slightly closer — not enough to crowd me, just enough to move together with the rhythm — and his eyes didn’t leave the audience.

Hello, are you in there? Do you still remember, or have you forgotten where you’re from? Are you still scared of dying? Scared of them finding out that you don’t know who you are?

And I don’t know what’s in my head,

He tapped his temple with two fingers, laughed at the crowd.

But I know what’s in my chest—

He reached for my hand.

Gently. Deliberately. Like he’d thought about it for a half-second too long before doing it.

He pressed my palm flat against his chest — hot skin, the firm ridge of muscle beneath, and the deep, rapid pound of his heart. He held it there for a moment that felt longer than it was, his eyes dropping to my face.

I don’t know if I can make it, I don’t know if I can change it But I know it’s how I feel, even if it isn’t real I wanna feel alive — tell me, do you wanna feel alive? Oh, I wanna feel alive—

Dom’s POV

“But I know it’s how I feel” — I looked straight at her as I sang it.

I don’t know exactly when it happened — somewhere between her stepping onto the stage and the moment her palm pressed against my chest — but the crowd fell away. It was just her. The shy set of her eyes behind the glasses, the way she wasn’t trying to be anything for me. My pulse was hammering — not entirely from the song. When I sang I wanna feel alive directly at her, I meant every syllable.

I broke eye contact when the chorus pulled me back to the crowd.

But the feeling didn’t break. It stayed lodged somewhere below my ribs.

Julia’s POV

He sang it to me.

Not the crowd — me. His eyes hadn’t moved for the length of that verse. My hand on his chest, his heartbeat hard and fast under my palm — I felt the exact moment it picked up slightly, and I didn’t let myself think about what that meant.

Logic, I told myself. He’s famous. He does this — pulls fans up, makes them feel chosen, it’s part of the show, it’s beautiful and generous and it means nothing personal. You’re just another girl in the front row. Don’t build a cathedral out of a single glance.

I tried to believe it.

The look stayed anyway, burned into the backs of my eyes like overexposure.

Full repeat, the whole crowd together, and I sang along with my mind still spinning.

Since I was a little boy, I devised a windmill getaway They’d kick me in the mud and they told me, “That’s the price you pay” So tell me, are you gonna die with the lies that they force inside your head Or are you gonna live by the thorns in what you said?

The rock intensity exploded — he jumped, spun fast, voice going raw and feral at the edges, body coiled with an energy that was almost violent in its release. The crowd screamed, and the sound wave hit me in the chest, through the chest, like something being rearranged.

Guitar Solo — Instrumental

During the break he leaned toward me — mic lowered, breathless, speaking just loud enough to reach me over the noise.

“You okay, Julia? Don’t stress — you’re killing it up here.”

“Yeah—” I laughed, a little desperately. “It’s insane.”

“Fucking right it is.” That grin again, warm and electric. “The crowd already loves you.” He straightened, turned to the house. “Make some noise for Julia!” — and the venue shook.

There’s a chance I won’t see you tomorrow—

He came closer.

His hand rose slowly — and for a moment I thought he was reaching for the mic stand or gesturing to the band. But his fingers brushed my cheek instead. Soft. Warm. Just the pads of his fingertips, barely there, like he wanted to confirm I was real. The crowd kept singing around us, but something in the air between us went quiet, like a door closing gently on all the noise.

So I will spend today saying hello And all the hopes and dreams I may have borrowed Just know, my friend, I leave them all to you

Dom’s POV

“There’s a chance I won’t see you tomorrow” — that line has always gutted me. It’s the whole point of the song: today is the only guarantee, so you say hello now, while you still can, while the person is still standing in front of you.

I looked at Julia and something shifted in my chest.

She wasn’t just a fan I’d called up on impulse anymore. I wanted this hello to mean something — to land in her the way it landed in me. The touch on her cheek wasn’t performance. It was: I see you. Right now. This moment is real.

Tomorrow I might not get another one.

Hello, hello, hello Hello, hello, hello

That was powerful to hear that synth at the end Look, hey The lion looking down at you and I We’re on the back of all the mankind All the war, the pain, and thus Yourselves, don’t forget yourselves Hey, hey, hey I’m missing out all the love I’m so oblivious to love But, oh He said it before Go, go, go, go That was really fucking good No synths at the end I miss you and I wish you’d hear this Oh—

Julia’s POV

At the very last line, he turned to me.

One smooth, deliberate motion — hand at my waist, pulling me into him, spinning me gently until I was facing him with nowhere else to look. My arm rose around his neck without me deciding to do it. His settled low on my waist, fingers pressing lightly into bare skin where my crop top had ridden up. Our faces inches apart. His breath warm, uneven, still ragged from the show.

The crowd roared. Lights rained down in color. The smoke swirled.

Neither of us moved.

Was it the show?

His eyes were on mine — dark, still, nothing like the frantic energy of the last hour. And I couldn’t tell. I genuinely couldn’t tell. That was the worst part. Every cell in my body was screaming this is something, and every rational thought I possessed was quietly dismantling it: It’s performance. It’s intimacy for the audience. He’s good at this — that’s why you love him. That’s why thousands of people love him. You are not special.

But his heartbeat under my palm had picked up.

And he wasn’t looking at the crowd.

Thank you so much for reading the first chapter!

That was one hell of an intense “hello”, wasn’t it? Julia just felt Dom’s heartbeat under her palm… and now she’s questioning everything.

What did you think? Was it purely performance for the crowd, or did something real just spark between them?