Cutee

cutee

Help is on its way

"Baby, play me like a game.."

Chan x Rockstar! Male! Reader

Summary: Reader, named Riot, is a cousin of HAN. Han invited everyone to his cousin's show.. and Riot has his eyes on a certain someone.

Warnings: Spicy undertones but no actual action, idk, maybe Chan having an internal meltdown about Riot?

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The arena pulsed with energy, the crowd’s screams vibrating through the floor as the lights dimmed. Stray Kids sat in the front row, their VIP passes dangling around their necks, courtesy of Han Jisung.

"You sure this guy’s worth the hype?" Lee Know muttered, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat.

Felix grinned, bouncing in anticipation. "Han’s been talking about him nonstop. Said he’s insane live."

"Insane how?" Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. "Like… ‘good’ insane or ‘should-we-call-security’ insane?"

Before Han could answer, the speakers roared to life with a distorted guitar riff, the stage exploding in a burst of pyrotechnics. The crowd lost it.

Then—silence.

A single spotlight cut through the dark.

And he dropped from the ceiling.

A collective gasp ripped through the audience as Riot—your stage name, your identity at this moment—free-fell from the rafters, landing dead center on the stage with a roll, popping up effortlessly like it was nothing. The music kicked back in, a hard-hitting rock beat, and you were already singing, your voice smooth, powerful, unwavering despite the stunt.

Stray Kids’ jaws hit the floor.

"WHAT THE F—" Changbin choked.

Han was already gone.

"Where’d he—?" Chan whipped his head around, but Jisung had vanished into the shadows, slipping backstage like he had a backstage pass to your soul.

Then—you moved.

The stage was yours—a kingdom of fire and sound—and you ruled it like a predator. Every step was deliberate, your boots hitting the floor in time with the pounding bass as you stalked the edge of the stage. The crowd was a sea of screaming devotion, but your gaze cut through them like a blade, locking onto the eight men in the front row.

Especially him.

Bang Chan sat frozen, his fingers gripping the armrests as you dragged your eyes over him, a slow, wicked smirk curling your lips. The music pulsed, the beat dropping into something darker, heavier—and then, with one sharp tug, you ripped your sleeveless shirt down the middle, exposing your sweat-slicked abs, the fabric hanging uselessly at your sides.

The arena erupted.

But you weren’t done.

In one fluid motion, you dropped to your knees, sliding across the stage until you were inches from Chan’s face. Your chest heaved, your breath hot as you leaned in, close enough for him to see the wild, unhinged fire in your eyes.

Then you sang—voice rough, dripping with something between a promise and a threat—

"You wanna play with fire, baby?

Better pray you don’t get burned."

Chan’s throat went dry. His pulse was a hammer against his ribs, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out, to push you away, to pull you closer—but he couldn’t move. Your gaze held him captive, dark and wanting, your lips curled in a smirk that said you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

Then—

You winked.

And just like that, you were gone, spinning back onto the stage like you hadn’t just set Chan’s nerves on fire. Behind you, the other members of Stray Kids were losing their minds—Hyunjin gripping Seungmin’s arm in shock, Felix’s mouth hanging open, Changbin yelling something unintelligible.

But Chan?

Chan was still frozen, your scent lingering in the air, your voice echoing in his skull.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even done yet.

Behind him, the others erupted.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

"HAN BETTER EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW—"

But Han was already backstage, grinning like he’d just pulled off the greatest prank of all time.

And the show had only just begun.

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The arena plunges into darkness, the roar of the crowd fading into a collective, anticipatory hush. A slow, sultry bassline slithers through the speakers, its vibrations curling around the silence like smoke. Backstage, Han leans against the edge of the curtain, his grin feral as he watches his cousin step into the single spotlight illuminating the stage.

“Oh, they’re so not ready for this,” Han mutters to himself, pulling out his phone with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. His thumb hovers over the record button, ready to immortalize the chaos about to unfold.

Onstage, RIOT stands alone, your presence commanding yet strangely vulnerable. Gone is the usual fiery bravado that defines you; in its place is something raw and devastatingly magnetic.

You tilt your head slightly, letting your shadowed gaze sweep across the audience like a predator sizing up its prey. The leather jacket draped over your shoulders slides down in one fluid motion, hitting the stage with a deliberate thud that seems to echo louder than it should. The sound sends a ripple of tension through the crowd.

A murmur runs through the audience, a mix of awe and anticipation. Stray Kids, seated in the front row, remain oblivious to what’s coming. Chan leans forward slightly in curiosity, his brow furrowed as he watches RIOT with cautious interest.

Then—You sing.

"I don’t need pride, don’t need my name,

Just tell me what you want, I’ll be your fucking game."

Your voice is broken and breathy, each word dripping with shameless desperation. Your hand tightens around the mic stand as though it’s the only thing grounding you. Slowly—achingly slowly—you drag it across the stage with a deliberate sway of your hips that feels more like a taunt than a dance move. The spotlight follows you as you prowl forward, your movements languid and feline.

And then comes the moment.

You slide the mic stand between your legs with a sinful grind of your hips before dropping to your knees at the very edge of the stage. The crowd gasps audibly as you lean forward on all fours, closing what little distance remains between yourself and Bang Chan. Your eyes—wide, glassy, and brimming with something almost too raw to look at—lock onto Chan’s like you're staring straight through him. It’s not just eye contact; it’s an unspoken confession wrapped in a challenge.

Backstage, Han has to bite down on his sleeve to keep from bursting into laughter. His phone trembles slightly in his hand as he zooms in on Chan’s face—frozen and flushed scarlet under the harsh spotlight.

“Oh my god,” Han whispers hoarsely to himself between muffled snickers. “He’s actually going to kill Chan.”

Chan doesn’t move. He can’t move. His brain is short-circuiting under RIOT’s relentless gaze. He feels pinned in place by those eyes—trapped in some kind of spell he doesn’t know how to break.

Meanwhile, Stray Kids are unraveling in real-time:

Changbin has buried his face in both hands like he can’t bear to witness another second of this madness.

Felix is fanning himself so vigorously it looks like he might take flight at any moment. Hyunjin teeters between fainting and launching himself onto the stage—his clenched fists trembling with unresolved tension.

Lee Know crosses his arms tightly over his chest, glaring daggers at RIOT but unable to hide the faint glimmer of reluctant admiration flickering behind his eyes.

But RIOT isn’t done with them yet—not even close.

Still on your knees, you lean further forward until half your torso dangles off the edge of the stage. your body arches back dramatically as you flip onto your back with an effortless grace that feels almost indecent in its intimacy. One arm dangles loosely over the stage’s edge while the other clutches at the mic like it’s an extension of yourself. Your head tilts back so far that strands of sweat-dampened hair cling to your face as you gaze upside-down at Chan through heavy-lidded eyes.

"SO BEG FOR ME LIKE I BEG FOR YOU—TEAR ME APART, I DON’T CARE IF IT RUINS ME TOO."

The final chorus rips out of you like a plea torn straight from your chest. Your voice cracks beautifully on the last note—a sound so raw it leaves everyone breathless.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. The crowd seems collectively stunned into stillness.

And then—the arena explodes.

Screams erupt from every corner of the venue as fans lose their minds entirely. The energy is electric, chaotic—a storm breaking loose after unbearable tension.

But RIOT doesn’t bask in it for long. Instead, you turn your head slightly toward Chan one last time and wink—a slow, deliberate motion that feels more intimate than any touch could ever be.

Before anyone can react further, the lights flicker violently—once, twice—and when they stabilize again… RIOT is gone.

The name RIOT flashes across every screen in jagged dark red letters that seem to drip like fresh blood against a stark black background. The music cuts out entirely as if signaling not just an end—but the end. The show is over.

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Chan remains frozen in place long after RIOT vanishes from sight. His mind races frantically:

What just happened? Was that real? Did anyone else notice how he looked right at me? Oh god—it was aimed at me.

Heat crawls up his neck and settles across his cheeks like wildfire as he tries—and fails—to compose himself.

Backstage, Han is doubled over laughing so hard that tears stream down his face. “Dude,” he gasps between wheezing breaths as RIOT strolls past him looking utterly unbothered by what just transpired. “You just murdered Bang Chan.”

You smirk lazily while wiping sweat off his brow with a towel slung over one shoulder. “Good,” he says nonchalantly before tossing Han a wink for good measure. “Now let’s go watch them try to recover from that.”

The arena is still buzzing with the aftermath of RIOT’s performance, the crowd’s screams echoing like a storm that refuses to settle. The screens are black now, save for the blood-red name that lingers ominously: RIOT. The lights remain dimmed, casting the venue in an eerie half-darkness as if the air itself is trying to catch its breath.

But Chan can’t breathe.

He’s still sitting in the front row, frozen like a statue, his elbows propped on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together to keep them from trembling. His face is flushed—burning—and no matter how much he wills himself to calm down, his heart won’t stop pounding in his chest. It’s deafening. He feels like everyone can hear it, like it’s betraying him in real-time.

What just happened? His mind replays the performance in fragments: RIOT’s voice cracking with raw desperation, the way he’d dropped to his knees, the way he’d looked at him. That wink—that wink. Chan swallows hard, but it doesn’t help. His throat feels dry as sandpaper.

“Hyung?” Felix’s soft voice breaks through the haze, but it only makes Chan flinch. He turns his head slightly, catching Felix’s worried expression through his peripheral vision.

The younger boy leans closer, fanning himself with one hand while clutching Chan’s arm with the other. “Are you okay? You look… uh…”

“Red,” Hyunjin finishes for him from Chan’s other side, his voice laced with disbelief and something sharp-edged that might be jealousy.

Hyunjin is slouched back in his seat, one hand gripping the armrest so tightly that his knuckles are white. His jaw is clenched as he glares daggers at the now-empty stage. “Like a tomato,” he adds flatly, though there’s a faint tremor in his voice that betrays him.

Chan doesn’t respond. He can’t even look at them. He stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, trying to piece together some kind of coherent thought amidst the chaos in his brain.

Lee Know, seated next to Hyunjin, lets out a low whistle and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well,” he says dryly, tilting his head toward Chan with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Looks like someone has a new admirer.”

At that, Chan finally snaps out of his daze—just barely—and turns to glare at Lee Know with wide eyes. “What? No! That’s not—he wasn’t—” His words trip over themselves as panic sets in again. “It wasn’t aimed at me,” he insists weakly, though even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie.

“Oh, come on,” Changbin groans from two seats down, finally lifting his head from where it had been buried in his hands for most of the performance. His face is still redder than usual, and he looks thoroughly exasperated as he gestures vaguely toward Chan. “Hyung, everyone saw it. He was basically crawling into your lap.”

“Stop!” Chan hisses, waving both hands frantically as if trying to physically push away Changbin’s words. His ears are burning now too; he can feel it.

“Honestly,” Lee Know muses aloud, tapping a finger against his chin like he’s deep in thought. “I’m impressed by how bold he was. That takes guts.”

“Or insanity,” Hyunjin mutters darkly under his breath.

Felix giggles nervously and pats Chan on the shoulder in what he probably thinks is a comforting gesture but only makes Chan sink further into mortification. “It’s okay, hyung,” Felix says cheerfully despite looking like he might faint at any moment. “It just means you’re really… uh… magnetic?”

“Magnetic?” Hyunjin echoes incredulously before scoffing and crossing one leg over the other with an exaggerated huff. “More like cursed.”

“Guys!” Chan snaps suddenly, louder than intended. The others fall silent for a moment as they all turn to look at him with varying degrees of amusement and concern. He takes a deep breath and runs both hands through his hair in frustration before slumping back against his seat with a groan. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“But hyung,” Felix starts again hesitantly before trailing off when Changbin nudges him with an elbow and shakes his head as if to say let it go.

Meanwhile, Seungmin has been sitting quietly on the far end of their row this entire time, watching everything unfold with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he speaks up in that calm yet cutting tone of his that always seems to hit its mark: “You do realize Han filmed the whole thing, right?”

Chan freezes again.

“What?” he whispers hoarsely after a long pause.

Seungmin shrugs nonchalantly and adjusts his glasses as if this isn’t groundbreaking news that threatens to ruin Chan’s life forever. “I saw him backstage,” Seungmin explains matter-of-factly. “He was laughing so hard I thought he might pass out.”

Chan groans again and buries his face in both hands this time. “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he mumbles miserably into his palms.

“You’re really not,” Seungmin agrees without missing a beat.

Before anyone can say anything else—or before Chan can spontaneously combust from sheer embarrassment—the lights in the arena flicker back on fully, signaling that the show is officially over. The crowd begins to disperse slowly amidst lingering chatter about RIOT’s performance.

But Stray Kids don’t move right away.

Chan finally sits up straight again after what feels like an eternity and exhales shakily as if trying to regain some semblance of composure. He glances around at the others—at Felix’s worried smile, Changbin’s exasperation, Lee Know’s smirk, Hyunjin’s simmering irritation—and feels equal parts grateful and overwhelmed by their presence.

“Let’s just go backstage,” he mutters eventually while standing up and brushing off invisible dust from his pants as if that will somehow help him regain control of the situation.

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As they make their way out of their seats and toward backstage access, Chan can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t over—not by a long shot.

And somewhere behind those curtains… Han is waiting for them with a video file and far too much glee for anyone’s comfort.

You step off the stage, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through your veins like a wild animal refusing to be tamed. The sweat-drenched shirt clings to your back, and you rip it off without hesitation, letting out a sigh of relief as the cool air hits your skin. Your eyeliner is smudged, and you can feel the makeup starting to run, but you don’t care. You’re too busy gulping down water from the bottle in your hand, trying to quench the thirst that seems to have taken over your entire being.

As you glance up, you catch sight of Stray Kids making their way backstage, their presence unmistakable even amidst the bustle of staff and performers. Your eyes immediately land on Bang Chan, and the sight nearly makes you laugh out loud. He looks like he’s seen a ghost—his face flushed a deep red, his wide eyes fixed on you with a mix of shock and something else you can’t quite place. His expression is so unguarded, so raw, that it’s almost endearing. Almost.

You feel a flicker of amusement curl at the edges of your lips. It’s clear he’s still reeling from your performance, and honestly, you can’t blame him. You’d gone all in tonight—left everything on that stage—and judging by his reaction, it had landed exactly where you wanted it to.

Han’s laughter cuts through the air before anyone else can speak. He’s leaning against a nearby table, holding up his phone triumphantly like a trophy. “Did you see their faces?” he cackles, pointing the screen toward you as he replays the footage he captured. “Oh my god, Chan looked like he was about to pass out! This is gold.”

You roll your eyes at him but can’t help smiling as you shake your head. “Put that away before you get us both in trouble,” you say lightly, though there’s no real heat behind your words. Han’s always been like this—chaotic, relentless, and utterly impossible to stay mad at.

“Trouble?” Han grins wider, clearly unbothered. “This is art, cousin. Pure art.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment before Stray Kids finally reach earshot. You straighten up slightly as they approach, wiping the sweat from your brow with the towel slung over your shoulder. Despite the exhaustion still weighing on your limbs, you force yourself to focus.

“Hey, guys,” you greet them with an easy smile, extending a hand in welcome. Your voice is calm—steady—a stark contrast to the whirlwind of energy you’d unleashed on stage just minutes ago. “I’m RIOT. Nice to meet you all properly.”

There’s a beat of silence as they process your words. Felix is the first to step forward, his signature sunshine smile breaking through the tension as he shakes your hand eagerly. “Nice to meet you too! That performance was insane,” he says with genuine enthusiasm, his Australian accent adding an extra layer of warmth to his words.

“Insane is one way to describe it,” Changbin mutters under his breath, though there’s no malice in his tone—just lingering disbelief as he glances between you and Han.

Hyunjin crosses his arms tightly over his chest, his sharp features set in an expression that hovers somewhere between intrigue and irritation. He doesn’t say anything yet but keeps his gaze locked on you like he’s trying to figure out what makes you tick.

Lee Know tilts his head slightly, studying you with that unreadable look of his that always seems just a little too knowing. “You’re… calmer than I expected,” he remarks dryly, one eyebrow quirking upward.

You chuckle softly at that and shrug. “The stage brings out a different side of me,” you reply simply.

And then there’s Chan—still standing slightly behind the others as if trying to blend into the background despite being their leader. His hands are stuffed into his pockets now, but it does nothing to hide how tense he is. When your eyes meet again, he quickly looks away, his cheeks flushing even deeper than before.

Before anyone can comment further on Chan’s obvious discomfort—or lack thereof—Han decides it’s time to drop his bombshell.

“Oh!” Han exclaims brightly, clapping a hand on your shoulder with exaggerated flair. “Did I forget to mention? We’re cousins.”

The reaction is immediate and priceless.

“Cousins?” Changbin blurts out incredulously, his jaw practically hitting the floor as he stares at Han like he’s just announced aliens are real.

Felix blinks rapidly in surprise before breaking into another grin. “Wait—you’re related? Like actual cousins?”

Hyunjin uncrosses his arms abruptly and narrows his eyes at Han suspiciously. “Why didn’t you tell us this sooner?”

Lee Know just gives an amused snort and shakes his head as if this revelation somehow explains everything.

Chan looks like someone just pulled the rug out from under him entirely. His mouth opens slightly as if to say something but then closes again when no words come out. He glances between you and Han with wide eyes as though trying—and failing—to reconcile this new information with what he knows about either of you.

“Surprise,” Han says cheerfully, clearly reveling in their reactions.

You chuckle again and raise both hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged,” you say lightly before glancing back at Chan specifically. “Sorry for not mentioning it earlier.”

Chan blinks rapidly at being addressed directly and stammers something unintelligible before finally managing a faint nod. “It’s… fine,” he mumbles awkwardly, though the redness in his face suggests otherwise.

The conversation drifts into small talk after that—Felix asking about your training routine while Changbin peppers Han with questions about why he kept this secret for so long—but your attention keeps drifting back to Chan despite yourself.

He stays quiet for most of it, only chiming in occasionally with polite nods or murmured agreements when prompted by the others. But every now and then, you catch him sneaking glances at you when he thinks no one is looking.

It makes something stir inside you—a spark of curiosity mixed with mischief that refuses to be ignored.

As the group begins to relax around each other again, you find yourself wondering just how far this little game could go…

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As the others continue to pepper Han with questions, you seize the opportunity to pull Bang Chan aside, away from the chaos. Your eyes lock onto his, and with a gentle tug on his arm, you guide him a few steps away from the group. The sudden movement catches him off guard, and for a moment, he looks like he's not sure what to do with himself.

You lean in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper that sends a shiver down his spine. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" The words are laced with a flirtatious undertone that you can't help but inject into every syllable.

Chan looks up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and curiosity. The flush on his cheeks deepens, and he nods slightly, his throat working to swallow. You can't help but notice the way his eyes dart around before finally settling on yours, like he's searching for an escape route that doesn't exist.

As you stand there, the air between you feels charged with tension. You let your gaze linger on his face, taking in the way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck, the way his lips part ever so slightly as he breathes. It's almost too much to resist.

"Hey, I wanted to check in with you," you say, your tone turning more serious, though the flirtation still simmers just beneath the surface. "Was it okay, putting you in the spotlight like that during the show?" Your eyes hold his, searching for any sign of discomfort or distress.

Chan looks puzzled, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes your question. "What do you mean? It was just a performance," he replies, his voice softer than usual, tinged with a hint of confusion.

You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest. It's hard to keep the sincerity out of your voice as you say, "I kind of admire you, Bang Chan." The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

But instead of catching the underlying tone, he takes it as admiration for his work as a producer. "Oh, thanks," he says with a slight smile, his eyes lighting up with pride. "I appreciate it."

You shake your head gently, a chuckle escaping your lips. It's almost too cute how he misinterprets your intentions. You take a step closer, your voice dropping to a whisper again. "No, Channie," you say softly, using the nickname to make it more intimate. Your hands find their way to his hips, pulling him closer so he can see the sincerity in your eyes.

"I meant every word I sang," you whisper, your breath brushing against his ear. The words are laced with a raw emotion that you can't hide anymore.

You wink at him, the gesture playful yet serious. For a moment, you just hold his gaze, letting him absorb the weight of your words. The air between you crackles with tension, and you can feel his heart racing against your fingertips.

Then, with a final glance that leaves him looking more bewildered than ever, you turn and head towards the changing room.

You knew Han and the rest of the members couldn't stay longer, they had events to go to tomorrow and it was late already. You waved them goodbye and sent a little wink towards Chan's way.

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Months later, same venue. You performed again, your favourite song to perform since last time..

You’re standing on stage, bathed in crimson light, the bassline thrumming through your chest like a second heartbeat. The crowd is a sea of hands and screams, their energy feeding yours as you move with deliberate precision—every sway of your hips, every flick of your wrist calculated to captivate. You’ve always loved this part—the way the stage transforms you, amplifies you into something larger than life. Tonight, though, there’s something different. Someone different.

Your eyes scan the crowd as you sing, and there he is. Bang Chan. Front and center in the platinum section, his face illuminated by the stage lights. He’s watching you with an intensity that sends a jolt straight down your spine. You hadn’t seen him in months—not since that night backstage when you’d left him flustered and red-faced after your little confession. You didn’t have his number, didn’t dare ask Han for it either. But here he is, and god, he looks good—better than you remembered.

You smirk mid-verse, letting your gaze linger on him before turning away with a teasing sway of your hips. The crowd roars louder at the movement, but you’re barely paying attention to them anymore. Your focus keeps drifting back to him. You point in his direction during the chorus, a subtle acknowledgment that’s anything but subtle to him. His eyes widen slightly, his lips parting as if he’s trying to breathe through the moment.

The performance builds to its climax—a whirlwind of sound and movement—and when it ends, you’re drenched in sweat but exhilarated beyond belief. The applause is deafening as you step offstage, grabbing a towel and gulping down water like it’s a lifeline. Your crew buzzes around you, but all you can think about is him.

And then you see him.

Chan stands at the edge of the backstage area, looking hesitant but determined as he waits for you to notice him. You don’t make him wait long. Setting down your water bottle, you stride over with the same confidence you had on stage.

“Platinum ticket?” you tease lightly as you approach, letting your voice drop just enough to make it feel intimate. “Didn’t know I had such dedicated fans.”

Chan’s cheeks flush immediately, just like they did last time. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and laughs softly. “I… uh… thought I’d come see how much better you’ve gotten.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, leaning in closer so he can hear you over the noise of backstage chatter. “Better? You mean I wasn’t already perfect?”

His laugh comes out more nervous this time, and it makes something warm bloom in your chest. You let yourself take him in for a moment—the way his shirt clings to his frame just right, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead—and then decide to push things further.

“You know,” you say casually, leaning against the wall beside him so your shoulder brushes his lightly, “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

Chan shifts under your gaze but doesn’t move away. “I—well—I thought…” He trails off as if searching for words that won’t betray him.

You smile softly at his hesitation and decide to put him out of his misery—just a little.

“It’s been months,” you say quietly, letting some of your own vulnerability seep into your tone. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”

His eyes snap back to yours at that, and for a moment he looks almost guilty. “I wanted to,” he admits after a pause. “But… I didn’t know how.”

You nod slowly, understanding more than he probably realizes. Being an idol means living in chaos—constant schedules and expectations that leave little room for personal connections.

“Well,” you say after a beat, letting your voice turn playful again as you step closer to him—close enough that there’s barely any space between you now. “You could’ve asked Han for my number.”

Chan lets out a startled laugh at that and shakes his head quickly. “Yeah… no way.”

You chuckle along with him before letting the moment settle into something quieter again.

“I meant what I said last time,” you say softly, watching his expression shift from amusement to something more serious as he processes your words.

“What do you mean?” he asks cautiously.

You smile at him—slowly this time—and reach out to gently rest your hands on his hips before he can pull away or overthink it. The touch is light but deliberate enough to make him freeze under your fingertips.

“Channie,” you murmur, letting the nickname roll off your tongue like honey as your thumbs brush against his sides ever so slightly. “I meant every word I sang.”

His breath catches audibly at that—his eyes wide and searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or some elaborate joke.

You wink at him then—slowly, deliberately—and step back before he can respond or recover from the moment entirely.

“I’ll be in the changing room,” you say lightly over your shoulder as you walk away, leaving him standing there stunned and speechless amidst the chaos of backstage life.

And god—you can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take before he follows.