Chapter One: Catching Feelings by Rosaline Saul
Ibiza’s nightlife was a perfect disguise. Well known for its nightlife and electronic dance music club scene in the summer, which attracted large numbers of tourists it thrummed with life, masked by flashing lights and drowned in bass that rattled bones.
Christopher stood behind a large, ultramodern DJ setup, his domain, glowing with LED lights and sleek dials. The crowd pulsed in sync with the beat, waiting for the next wave of music to wash over them. In the booth, the equipment glistened—two turntables, a mixer, headphones, and his laptop with carefully curated tracks lined up for the night but this was not just about technicality; this was where his divine influence merged with his love for music.
He leaned in, one hand adjusting his headphones, the other scrolling through a playlist on his laptop. He was choosing the perfect reggaeton track, something heavy on the dembow beat—the genre’s signature rhythm that gave it its infectious, danceable groove. He was focused, but there was also a flicker of something else—an excitement that only he understood. His fingers hovered over the trackpad as he listened for the moment when the crowd’s energy synced with the rhythm in his headphones.
The deep, rolling dembow beat kicked in—steady and hypnotic, with a bass-heavy rhythm that at once ignited the dancefloor. Characterized by a syncopated kick and snare pattern, the dembow formed the backbone of every reggaeton track, a driving force that felt primal. The music pulsed through Christopher as if his heartbeat was linked to the beat itself.
The percussive elements—claves, snares, and electronic hi-hats—formed a cyclical rhythm that hit hard and fast, carrying the crowd in its wake. The layered synths and Latin melodies soared above it, creating that perfect fusion of Puerto Rican sound and modern club energy.
With one hand on the fader, Christopher masterfully transitioned from one track to the next. As the current song started to fade, he built anticipation by introducing a new, low-frequency beat underneath it. The crowd did not realize it yet, but they were already moving to the next track in their subconscious.
Christopher loved to mix in variations of reggaeton—infusing classic dembow rhythms with elements of EDM, Afrobeat, and trap, blending the old with the new. He carefully adjusted the tempo, ensuring a seamless flow, making sure the energy on the dancefloor never dipped.
He turned the filter knob, gradually stripping away the high frequencies of the outgoing track. The crowd sensed the change, and there was a brief moment of anticipation, of tension. Then, with a sharp twist of the crossfader, the new track burst through the speakers with full intensity, bringing the energy back to a peak. The crowd roared, and Christopher could not help but smile. He knew the exact buttons to press—literally and figuratively—to keep them hooked.
Using the mixer’s controls, he manipulated the beat to enhance the performance. He added stuttering effects, quick reverb hits, and smooth EQ transitions to highlight the beats and vocals that mattered most. Occasionally, he would use a loop, repeating a catchy section of a song to extend the crowd’s favourite moments. He built tension, playing with the beat, before dropping back into the chorus and letting the dancefloor explode with movement.
He lifted his hand off the deck, encouraging the crowd to clap in time with the beat, their hands rising and falling as if guided by invisible strings. The dembow rhythm took over again, and Christopher leaned into the flow, letting the music do the talking.
Beyond just playing music, Christopher watched the crowd. He sensed the ebb and flow of their energy, knowing instinctively when to slow things down and when to push for another peak. This was where his divine intuition came into play—the slight tilt of someone’s head, the movement of their hips, the glance between two strangers—he felt the emotions swirling in the club.
It was not just about the music; it was about connection. He could feel when love was sparking between two people, even before they realized it themselves. In these moments, he gently adjusted the music to heighten that sense of euphoria, amplifying the emotional ties being formed on the dancefloor.
One of the most electrifying moments of a DJ set was the drop, and reggaeton was full of moments that begged for a massive beat drop. Christopher rode the build-up with precision, layering percussion and synths until the tension was almost unbearable. Then, with a sharp flick of his wrist, he let the track explode into a heavy dembow drop, the bass booming through the speakers like a heartbeat. The crowd erupted, dancing harder, and Christopher knew then that he was in complete control of the room.
Christopher was not just a DJ—he was a performer. Between mixing tracks, he raised his hands to hype up the crowd, his charisma radiated throughout the venue. “Let’s go, Ibiza!” His voice was part of the energy, his words flowed into the rhythm of the music.
As the music swelled, he grabbed the mic again, leaning in to shout, “Who’s ready to feel the love tonight?” The crowd screamed back, and for a moment, Christopher allowed himself to feel the rush, the connection with them. It was intoxicating, but fleeting—just like everything else in his life.
To them, he was simply Chris, the island's hottest DJ, but beneath the perfect smile and smooth charm lay a truth far more ancient. He was Cupid, god of love and desire, forever bound to orchestrate connections for others while knowing he could never experience it himself.
Christopher’s fingers moved almost reflexively, layering melodies that stirred something deep within the crowd. With every beat, he felt the pull of hearts, the subtle shifts in emotion. His divine intuition could sense a spark between two strangers who had locked eyes near the bar. In a matter of moments, a connection would ignite—another pairing he had facilitated, unseen.
He lived for this. The thrill of aligning hearts, of guiding love to bloom where it would otherwise falter. It was all he had known for centuries but it was also his curse.
As the track reached its crescendo, Christopher allowed his eyes to drift toward the far corner of the club, where two people sat apart, stealing glances at each other, hearts on the verge of something more. He felt the familiar tug of duty pulling him in their direction. With a soft exhale, he adjusted the sound, blending tones that heightened the mood, pushing the pair closer together without them even realizing it. He felt the connection snap into place. Another match. Another love story set in motion.
And yet, as the energy surged through him, the emptiness inside grew deeper.
He stepped back from the booth, letting his assistant take over, and retreated to the rooftop lounge, his escape from the constant reminder that the love he brought to others could never be his.
The moon hung low over the water, casting silver threads across the waves, but even this quiet beauty could not soothe the ache. His phone buzzed in his pocket—an ancient message system upgraded to modern convenience—summoning him back to Olympus for a report.
He ignored it, choosing instead to let his thoughts unravel in the cool breeze.
For centuries, Christopher had avoided temptation. He had been careful, cautious, abiding by the rules that bound him: gods could never fall in love with mortals. He was forbidden from feeling the very thing he spent his immortal life creating for others. The gods had warned him long ago of the dangers, of what happened when immortals coveted human desires, of how easily gods could lose themselves in the fleeting passions of mortals.
Was this all there was for him? Pairing strangers, only to retreat to solitude as they embraced the joy he would never know?
He closed his eyes, letting the sea breeze wash over him, trying to remember the words of Aphrodite from long ago. She had warned him: “You are love’s servant, not its beneficiary.” At the time, he had accepted it without question. Now, though, those words haunted him.
A flash of laughter from below drew his attention. Another couple, giggling and twirling under the moonlight, lost in each other’s gaze. He could feel the intensity of their emotions, the heat of the passion that swirled between them. Christopher clenched his jaw, forcing himself to ignore the feelings he felt that could never be his. This was the life he had chosen—the life he was bound to.
A life without love.
His phone buzzed again, but this time, it was not Olympus. It was a message from Sam, his best friend and assistant, and the only mortal who knew the truth about his double life. “Club’s packed. You gonna help or what?”
Christopher sighed, knowing his responsibilities called. He could not afford to dwell on his own desires. Not when there were hearts out there waiting to be nudged in the right direction.
As he walked back to the pulsating heart of the club, an unfamiliar feeling gnawed at him. A sense of longing—stronger than it had ever been before. Somewhere deep inside, a question began to take root.
What if—for once—he did not resist?
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