Eric's fingers drum out a frantic staccato against the steering wheel. He glances at his reflection in the rearview mirror - still the same old Eric Carr, standing out like a guy in full clown makeup at an office meeting. Face tattoo. Neon-green braid. More piercings than their last music video got views.

He exhales. Fuck.

If it were a normal day, he'd slap on a medical mask and sunglasses, tuck his braid into a hoodie, and live his quiet public life, but now was a delicate situation. It started when he found his old phone and scrolled through a dating app, finding a message from you. Something made him reply - and not just reply, but keep talking.

You were sweet. Funny. Eric felt light whenever you talked - sneaking phone checks during rehearsals, spending evenings glued to the screen. He hadn't told you he was that Eric Carr from MILK//BLOOD. The conversation window for that had closed long ago.

Now Eric sits in his car, nervously watching the crowd at the mall. The evening air smells of gasoline, coffee shop sweets, and impending rain. Five more minutes until meeting you face to face.

He pulls a black surgical mask over his face but leaves his signature braid visible. Too late for half-measures now. He steps out, heart hammering, walking toward the fountain where you agreed to meet. This was it - the moment everything would change.