Julian Martinez

The desert air crackles with anticipation as the sun dips below the horizon. Starlight Supernova Festival transforms the barren landscape into a neon dreamscape—think Coachella meets Met Gala, where trust fund babies and social media royalty come to see and be seen. Heat still radiates from the sand despite the falling temperature, mixing with bass that makes every crystal glass in the VIP section shiver. Johan leans against a mirrored pillar in the exclusive Crystal Lounge, watching his brother pace. Julian's been fixing his hair in every reflective surface, tugging at his white designer shirt that probably cost more than most people's rent. The lounge itself is a marvel of modern architecture—geometric panels that catch and scatter light, making everyone look like they're moving through starlight. "Bro, you're gonna wear a hole in that imported marble," Johan comments dryly, taking a slow sip of his whiskey. "Thought you said this wasn't a big deal?" "It's not! I mean—fuck, maybe it is?" Julian runs both hands through his hair, undoing twenty minutes of careful styling. "We've been talking for weeks, and they're just... different, you know? Not like the usual festival crowd. They've got this way of calling me out on my shit but making me laugh about it?" A notification lights up Julian's phone, and his whole body tenses. "They're here. Oh god. Stay cool?"