#poly saja

The living room isn’t much better. Tension clings to the air like a storm about to break.

Mistery sits beside Abby on the couch, elbows on his knees, his knuckles bone-white from the pressure of holding them together. He doesn’t look up, just stares at the floor like it’s holding answers. Abby’s leaned back against the cushions, arms crossed tightly over his chest, gaze fixed on the ceiling as though the lights could explain why you’d been crying like that.

Baby can’t sit still—he’s pacing, shoes whispering across the floor with each pass. He looks like he could punch through the wall if it would make you feel even a little bit better. Honestly, if you asked him to, he’d burn the building down and smile about it.

Jinu is the only one perched somewhere else, on the kitchen counter with his phone in hand. He isn’t using it, though—every few seconds, his eyes flick to the hallway like he’s waiting for you to appear. So when Romance finally emerges, Jinu’s up instantly, practically sprinting toward him. The movement draws the attention of the others, every head turning.

Romance just lifts a hand in a silent wait, his expression unreadable as he heads for the couch and drops into it with an exhale that sounds heavier than it should.

Romance barely sits before Baby explodes.

“So? Are you gonna talk or what?” His voice is rough, low, but you can feel the panic underneath. He’s pacing again before Romance even answers.

Romance drags a hand over his face. “She ran into her sister.”

The room stills.

“She didn’t know YN’s working with us.” His voice is steady, but you can tell it costs him. “And Mira—” His jaw tightens. “—she said some things.”

Abby’s brows knit, slow and dark. “What kind of things?”

Romance hesitates, almost like saying it out loud will make it worse. “She told YN… ‘That’s why mom and dad always keep you on a leash.’” The words land like a punch, heavy and cold.

Mistery’s head snaps up, his eyes sharp even behind his mask. “She said that to her face?” His knuckles curl against his knees again, hard enough you hear the faint creak of leather.

Baby mutters something that sounds dangerously close to I’ll kill her, but no one calls him out on it.

Jinu, who’s been silent until now, takes a step forward. “Why would she say that? Unless…” He exhales sharply. “Unless she’s trying to push YN away from us.”

Abby leans back, crossing his arms tighter. “Isn’t it obvious? Mira knows what we are. She knows what Gwi-Ma wants. If she thinks her sister’s in danger…”

“She’s not wrong to think that,” Mistery cuts in, voice quiet but cutting. “Technically, we are using her.”

The words hang there—ugly, uninvited.

“No,” Jinu snaps, quicker than even he expected. His gaze sweeps over all of them. “That’s not what this is anymore.”

Baby stops pacing, his hands on his hips. “You gonna tell me you don’t remember why we approached her in the first place?”

“I remember.” Jinu’s tone softens, but it doesn’t lose its weight. “I also know I don’t want to let her go. Not because of the mission. Because…” He trails off, running a hand through his hair. “Because I like having her close. We all do.”

Romance glances down at his hands, a faint smirk tugging at his lips like he’s not ready to admit how deep it runs. Abby exhales, long and slow, like the admission has been sitting in his chest for days. Mistery doesn’t say it out loud, but the stillness in him says enough.

“We can’t pretend anymore,” Jinu finishes, his voice low. “Yeah, Gwi-Ma gave us orders. Yeah, the mission’s still there. But I’m not gonna stand here and say she’s just a means to an end. She’s…” He searches for the word, finding nothing neat enough to hold it. “…more than that now.”

The silence that follows Jinu’s words isn’t just thoughtful—it’s loaded. The kind of silence that weighs on your chest and presses the air out of the room.

They all know the risk. They all know that what just happened—speaking it out loud—was crossing an invisible line.

Mistery is the first to move, shifting in his seat, the leather of his jacket groaning faintly. His gaze is fixed on the floor, but you can feel the tension coiling in him, like a predator caught between fight and flight. “You know what happens if he finds out.” His voice is so low you almost miss it.

Romance’s smirk fades, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the edge of his ring. “If he finds out,” he echoes, but the false bravado in his tone doesn’t land. His eyes flick up briefly, scanning their faces—almost daring one of them to say he will.

Baby leans against the back of the couch, arms crossed tight, his jaw flexing hard enough to ache. “We’ve been careful so far.” But the way he says it, clipped and quick, makes it sound more like a prayer than a fact.

Abby stays still, almost too still, his eyes narrowing as if calculating something. “Careful doesn’t matter when it comes to him,” he says finally. “He doesn’t need proof. He can smell this kind of thing.”

“This kind of thing?” Jinu asks quietly, though the words carry an edge.

Abby’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Attachment.”

The word lands like ice water. They don’t have to explain the rest. Attachment is weakness. Weakness is leverage. Leverage is the quickest way for Gwi-Ma to tear them apart.

No one speaks for a moment. It’s like the room is holding its breath, each of them turning over the same truth in their heads: they can’t afford to feel this way.

And yet…

Mistery’s voice cuts through, almost reluctant, but certain. “Doesn’t matter. We’re past that point.”

Romance huffs a laugh, low and humorless. “Guess we’re already screwed, huh?”

Jinu leans forward, elbows on his knees, looking at each of them in turn. “Have you noticed,” he says slowly, “that we don’t hear him when she’s around?” His voice drops even more, like he’s afraid speaking it too loud will break the spell. “When Y/N’s close… it’s like he’s not there. No whispers. No pull. Nothing.”

The others freeze, trading uneasy glances. Because he’s right. They hadn’t thought about it until now, but the realization hits like a cold draft through the room.

Jinu’s gaze hardens. “That’s why we protect her. No matter what.”

One by one, the others meet his eyes. None of them say yes. They don’t have to.

——

You come to slowly, the kind of waking where your mind doesn’t match the pace of your body. The sheets are warm, your head is heavy, and for a moment you’re convinced you’re still dreaming. You blink at the pale ceiling, unsure why the space feels both unfamiliar and… safe.

It takes another few seconds before you realize what’s wrong—you don’t remember lying down.

You push yourself upright, the blankets sliding to your lap, and your eyes dart around, scanning the cream-toned walls and the faint golden light spilling through half-closed curtains.

Then the memory hits you like a punch. Mira’s voice—sharp, cold, and merciless—echoes in your head. Her words crash against you all over again, stabbing at the tender places you’d tried to keep hidden. Your throat tightens, a flash of heat burning behind your eyes.

You remember stumbling away, tears blurring your vision, the cold air biting at your face as you tried to breathe through the mess Mira had left in you… and then colliding with Romance. He caught you instantly, steadying you before you could fall apart, and without a word, he led you back to the penthouse—into his room—where he held you until the trembling eased.

Somewhere between the comfort of his voice and the exhaustion weighing you down, you must have fallen asleep.

And now it all makes sense—the pale sheets, the warm cream tones, the faint scent of his cologne drifting in the air. That scent you’ve grown to recognize in just a handful of days, and—if you’re honest—grown to love.

You’re in Romance’s room.

The thought barely settles before the door opens. He’s there, leaning against the frame like he’s been standing there a while, his smile soft in a way that makes you forget the sting in your chest. Behind him, Abby peeks around his shoulder, her grin brighter, teasing.

“Well, look who decided to wake up,” Romance says, his voice low, like he’s still trying not to disturb you.

You blink at him, half-smiling despite yourself. “Was I out long?”

“Long enough for us to debate whether you’d joined the land of the dead,” Abby chimes in, stepping inside.

They close the door behind them. Abby sits at the edge of the bed, close enough for her knee to brush yours, while Romance circles to the other side and leans back against the headboard.

“You okay?” Abby asks softly, searching your face.

“I think so,” you say, though it comes out quieter than you mean.

Romance’s gaze lingers on you, unreadable but steady. “I told the others what happened,” he says.

A wave of relief washes over you. “Thank you… I really didn’t want to say it all again.”

“You don’t have to,” Abby says firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt.

That’s when you glance at the clock on the wall and your stomach twists. “Wait—don’t you guys have the variety shoot today? How long was I—”

Romance shakes his head before you can work yourself up. “Relax. You’ve been asleep for barely over an hour. We’ve still got a couple before we need to go.”

You exhale, tension bleeding out of your shoulders.

Abby smirks. “Honestly, we were gonna let you sleep longer, but we had to wake you before Jinu strangled Baby.”

Your brows rise. “What happened?”

“Baby refuses to wear the pink outfit you made him,” Romance says, his lips twitching. “He’s been… dramatic about it.”

“Dramatic?” Abby repeats with a laugh. “He said, and I quote, ‘I’d rather set myself on fire than wear that marshmallow of death.’”

You snort, clapping a hand over your mouth. “He didn’t.”

“Oh, he did,” Romance says. “Jinu’s thirty seconds from losing it. We’re trying to save them both.”

You’re still laughing when the door opens again.

Mystery steps in—and you freeze, though not for the reason Abby and Romance do. His hair is pushed back completely, revealing the full symmetry of his face, the deep brown of one eye and the striking pale gray of the other.

Both Abby and Romance instantly stiffen, glancing at each other in mild panic. Abby moves like she’s about to block your line of sight.

But you beat her to it, smiling gently. “I’m glad you feel comfortable like this, Min—”

You stop, realizing too late what you’ve said. Heat floods your cheeks.

Abby’s eyes widen. Romance looks from you to Mistery like he’s watching something he doesn’t understand.

Mystery, however, laughs—actually laughs—and it’s warm enough to ease the moment into something softer. “It’s fine,” he says, waving them off. “She’s seen me like this before.”

Abby blinks. “Wait… what?”

“I trust her,” Mystery says simply, his gaze lingering on you. “Besides, you know my name now. You can use them. That’s why i told you.”

For a second, no one says anything. The quiet feels… good. Warm. Like you’ve stepped into a moment that wasn’t meant to be broken.

Then Mystery clears his throat. “Anyway, I came to get you before Jinu commits a felony. Baby’s still refusing to dress, and I don’t want to be a witness.”

Abby chuckles. “Could be entertaining though.”

Your laugh comes easier this time, bright and unguarded. All three of them glance at you like they’re memorizing the sound.

You push off the bed. “Let’s go rescue them before it escalates.”

---

Jinu’s room is chaos when you open the door with the boys behind you.

On one side, Jinu stands by the dresser, jaw tight, one hand gripping the back of a chair like it’s the only thing keeping him from losing it completely.

Across from him, Baby leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“You’re putting it on,” Jinu says through clenched teeth.

“You can’t make me,” Baby fires back.

“Do you want us to be late?”

“Do you want me to look ridiculous?” Baby glances at you when you enter, like he’s found backup.

“Put it on,” Jinu says again, ignoring you entirely.

“No.”

Jinu’s eye twitches. “Baby—”

Before he can finish, Baby grabs the nearest object—a shoe—and lifts it like a weapon.

“Don’t,” Jinu warns.

Baby smirks. “Catch.”

The shoe flies. Jinu sidesteps, narrowly avoiding impact. He lunges, but Baby bolts—straight for you.

“YN!” Baby yelps, launching himself at you without warning.

The momentum knocks you off your feet, both of you hitting the floor in a tangle of limbs. You let out a startled squeak as he clings like a cat refusing to be pried off.

Above you, Jinu groans. “Exactly what I was afraid of.”

You barely have time to process what just happened before Jinu’s shadow looms over the two of you.

“Baby, get off her,” Jinu says, his tone flat in that way that means he’s one second away from snapping.

Baby doesn’t move. In fact, he tightens his hold around you, one arm hooked under your back, the other locking around your waist like he’s barricading you from the rest of the world. His legs are tangled with yours, and the weight of him keeps you pinned to the floor.

“Baby,” Jinu warns.

From the doorway, Abby’s voice pipes up. “You literally tackled her, what is wrong with you?”

“I panicked,” Baby says, not even lifting his head.

“That’s your excuse?!” Romance’s voice now, incredulous.

“It was a tactical maneuver,” Baby insists.

You open your mouth to respond, but that’s when you feel it—his head shifting slightly against your neck, his breath warm where your skin is most sensitive. The ticklish sensation makes you jolt, but before you can pull away, his lips are so close to your ear you can feel the faint movement when he speaks.

“Mm… you smell good,” he murmurs, his voice deep and low, almost a growl softened into a tease. The sound vibrates against your skin, sending an involuntary shiver racing down your spine. “Dangerous, though… makes me wanna stay right here.”

Heat floods your cheeks instantly. The combination of his tone—rich, velvety, and just rough enough to make your stomach twist—and the closeness of his body has your pulse skipping in ways you wish you could ignore.

“Baby!” Jinu snaps again, crouching to pry him off you.

Baby hums in mock innocence, still refusing to move. “What? She’s comfortable. I’m comfortable. Problem solved.”

Romance steps in, hooking his hands under Baby’s arms to try and drag him away. “The problem is you’re acting like a human seatbelt.”

Abby shakes her head, arms crossed. “More like a human octopus.”

You can’t help it—you laugh, even as Baby’s hold makes it impossible to sit up.

The sound of your laughter seems to make him pause for half a second, like he’s actually listening. Then he tilts his head just enough to glance at you, his gray-green eyes flicking down to your mouth before he grins, slow and entirely too smug.

“You should laugh more,” he says, still low, like it’s for you alone. “Looks good on you.”

Your cheeks burn hotter. “You’re impossible.”

“True,” he says without shame.

It takes both Jinu and Romance working together to finally pry him off you, his arms stretching out toward you like a child refusing to be taken from their favorite toy.

“Traitors,” he mutters at them as they haul him backward.

“You tackled her!” Jinu snaps. “We’re saving her life!”

Baby just laughs, unbothered.

“Alright, you’ve got to get dressed,” you say, keeping your tone light but firm as Baby groans, flopping up and crossing his arms dramatically.

“I don’t want to wear that,” he complains, wrinkling his nose like the idea alone is unbearable.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him your best ‘mom look.’ “That’s the vibe we picked. We all have to match.”

He scowls but clearly isn’t convinced. You soften your expression, batting your eyelashes just enough to tease. “Pretty pleaseee?”

After a long, exaggerated sigh, Baby finally relents. “Fine. But next time, I’m vetoing this entire look.” He mutters under his breath as he grabs the outfit, stalking out of the room with his usual mock-grump.

You wave the others off with a smile. “Go get dressed, you dorks.”

They scatter, leaving you alone for a moment. That’s when it hits—you don’t have an outfit ready for yourself, nothing you feel confident wearing on camera.

“Going back home isn’t really an option right now,” you murmur to yourself.

Just then, Romance appears in the doorway, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You can take whatever you want from our closets. No one minds. Plus, we have the guest bathroom if you want to shower.”

Abby’s voice floats from the hallway, calm and steady. “Seriously, we want you to feel comfortable.”

You smile softly, gratitude warming your chest. The boys head off to finish getting ready, leaving you alone with Jinu for a quiet moment.

He steps closer, eyes gentle as he asks quietly, “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you since you got here… after.”

Your throat tightens, but you blink away the sting of memory. “I’m… better now,” you whisper.

He nods, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Good. We’ve got your back.”

After he leaves, you take a deep breath and begin visiting each boy’s room.

You start with Abby’s—bright, bold, a cascade of colors and patterns that somehow feel like home. You quickly find a crisp, white button-up shirt, the kind Abby wears when she wants to look sharp but casual. The fabric is smooth, cool under your fingers.

Next, you step into Romance’s room, warm and familiar. The cream walls and soft lighting feel comforting. You grab a soft, light beige tee folded neatly on the bed—perfect for layering under Abby’s shirt.

Leaving Romance’s room behind, you move down the hall to Mystery’s. The atmosphere shifts immediately. Minimalism rules here—dark gray walls accented with sharp silver frames, a sleek black desk holding only a laptop and a few pens arranged just so. The room feels precise, controlled, much like mystery himself.

Your eyes land on a pair of wide-leg pants hanging casually over the back of a chair. Their flowing fabric contrasts beautifully with the room’s austerity—stylish yet relaxed. You carefully take them, imagining how they’ll move with you and catch the light.

Baby’s room surprises you with its coziness. Near the door, a pair of sturdy black boots catch your eye. You slip them on, feeling their weight ground you instantly.

Finally, you enter again in Jinu’s room. It’s refined and elegant but understated. Your gaze lands on a dresser where simple bracelets and a sleek silver necklace rest. You pick a couple of pieces, heart fluttering at the thought of carrying a bit of him with you.

Back in the guest bathroom, you layer the clothes with care—Abby’s shirt left open over Romance’s tee, the wide pants falling just right, Baby’s boots laced tightly, and Jinu’s bracelets sliding over your wrists. The faint scent of their colognes clings to the fabric and your skin, mingling in a way that makes you feel... connected.

A soft knock at the door pulls you from your thoughts.

“YN?” Romance’s voice calls through. “We’re all ready whenever you want to come see.”

You take a deep breath, smooth your hair one last time, and open the door.

You step out of the hallway, towel-dried hair falling loose over your shoulders, the mixed scent of five different colognes still clinging faintly to your skin. The air in the living room stills—like someone’s hand just pressed pause on the whole scene.

Romance’s eyes are the first to find you. His gaze drags slowly, almost lazily, but every inch he takes in sets something low in his stomach alight. The heat spreads downward, sharp and insistent, tightening everything in between. His fingers flex against his thighs, but the denim is already too tight, already biting into him.

Jinu’s look is sharper—quieter—but no less consuming. He swallows hard, feels the warmth crawl up his throat before dropping lower, heavy and unyielding. He shifts his stance, subtle but deliberate, trying to hide the way his body’s reacting.

Abby freezes mid-step. His smirk tries to come naturally, but there’s a slight hitch in his breath as his eyes travel up your legs to the curve of your waist. Heat pools fast, and he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek, the muscle in his jaw flexing just once.

Mystery’s hands pause at the edge of his vest. He doesn’t speak at first, but you can feel his gaze—steady, unwavering. Beneath the surface calm, there’s a slow burn building, the kind that makes his breathing almost imperceptibly deeper.

Baby’s grin falters for half a second before returning. His eyes flick down your body and back up, the movement too slow to pass as casual. There’s a quiet weight in his stare, and he feels the twitch in his jeans before he even thinks to move.

“Damn,” Baby says, voice lower than intended. “You… clean up nice.”

“You look…” Jinu starts, but stops, jaw tightening as his eyes linger on the slope of your neck for a beat too long.

Abby lets out a short huff of air, smirk returning in full force. “Didn’t know we were hiding a runway model in the studio.”

Mystery’s voice is low, steady, but the faint rasp gives him away. “It suits you.”

You arch a brow, stepping toward Romance first. “Let’s see… this here’s a little off.” You tug at the edge of his shirt, fingers brushing over his stomach. The contact is brief but electric—heat shooting straight through him. His hips stay perfectly still, but his breath leaves hotter than it should.

Next, Abby. You lean in, fastening a button near his collar. “Just one,” you murmur, not looking up. “Knew this fabric would make your eyes stand out.” His smirk curves higher, but his body stays rigid, his pulse skipping under your nearness.

Baby is next, shoulders squaring as you smooth the fabric over his arms. “Relax,” you murmur, your hands trailing slowly down to his wrists. His breath catches; his grin is back, but there’s tension in the way he shifts his weight.

Finally, Mystery. You step into his space, fixing the line of his vest and running your hand down a stubborn crease. “There,” you say softly, “perfect.” He doesn’t move, but his chest rises slightly more with each breath, the fabric over it straining just enough to betray him.

Romance’s fists curl tighter at his sides. The faint trace of his own scent on you, the warmth of your fingers—both have his demon snarling ugly, possessive things in his head. His jeans feel suffocating now, and every movement is a fight to keep still.

Jinu notices—too much. The restless tension in Romance’s stance mirrors the one in his own. It makes his pulse kick harder, knowing they’re both fighting the same losing battle.

Abby tilts his head, watching the silent exchange, and Baby smirks knowingly. Even Mystery’s gaze flickers once before settling back into that stoic mask.

Romance mutters something about getting water and disappears into the kitchen. Baby’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter; Abby’s lips twitch, trying to keep a straight face.

“What?” you ask, glancing between them.

“Nothing,” they say in unison, eyes glittering with the kind of secret you’ll never hear.

——

You step into the bright chaos of the backstage area with the boys at your side, the air buzzing with pre-show energy. Staff members rush around, adjusting cables, testing lights, and handing off last-minute notes.

A woman with a clipboard hurries toward Jinu. “Is this your stylist?” she asks, glancing quickly at you.

“She’s in charge of our image today,” Jinu confirms, his tone calm but leaving no room for doubt. “If you have any questions about our look, talk to her.”

That gets the woman’s full attention. “Got it. We just want to make sure everything matches the stage lighting.”

You nod and immediately move toward the makeup station, the boys trailing behind. “Alright, they’re already dressed, so we just need light touch-ups.”

You start with Abby, tilting your head to examine him under the warm bulbs. “Keep his skin looking fresh—no heavy contour, just a subtle highlight on the high points so the stage lights catch him right. And for lips, stick to a sheer balm.” Abby flashes a quick grin in the mirror, clearly pleased with the minimal fuss.

Next, you turn to Baby. “We want his eyes a little sharper. Soft brown liner to define the shape, but nothing too smoky—it’ll make him look older, and that’s not the vibe we’re going for today.” Baby hums in acknowledgment, leaning back casually in the chair as the artist follows your notes.

Romance is next, already lounging like he owns the place. “His blush needs to stay warm-toned—peach, not pink,” you instruct. “And leave the freckles as they are. Don’t cover them.” You catch the way his gaze flicks toward you in the mirror, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You move on to Mystery. His long, dark hair still falls forward, covering most of his face until just above his lips. You take a moment, studying how the light hits him. “No foundation. Just powder for shine control,” you say quietly. “And keep his skin matte—it’ll help the shadows from his hair look intentional on camera.” Mystery gives a slow nod, almost imperceptible, but you can see his shoulders relax at your choice.

Finally, you reach Jinu. “Skin has to look natural, no heavy products,” you direct. “A bit of concealer if needed, but make sure the jawline stays sharp.” Jinu’s eyes meet yours for a brief second, something unreadable passing between you before he sits down for the touch-up.

You step back, scanning all five of them. “They’re ready,” you tell the crew.

That’s when two Hosts approach—a man and a woman, both in sleek outfits and holding cue cards. “Alright, gentlemen, here’s the rundown,” the female Host says. “You’ll open with a short interview, then we have three mini-challenges before your performance.”

The male Host grins. “First challenge is a rapid-fire Q&A—answer as fast as possible. Second is a coordination game; we’ll explain it on stage.”

“And the last one,” the female Host adds, smiling knowingly, “is a spicy endurance test. Whoever can drink the most spoonfuls of extra-hot sauce without giving up wins.”

The boys exchange quick glances—competitive sparks lighting instantly in their eyes.

“Oh, we’re doing this,” Abby says under his breath.

Romance leans against the wall, his smirk widening. “Hope you’re all ready to lose.”

Baby scoffs. “Not a chance.”

Even Mystery tilts his head, a small curve forming at the edge of his lips.

“Five minutes,” the stage manager calls out.

You watch as the boys straighten up, their playful banter fading into sharp focus. The switch from casual to performance mode is instant—and electric.

The stage manager’s voice crackles through the comms, urgent and sharp.

"Two minutes! Positions!"

The boys start moving toward the side entrance, the muffled roar of the crowd seeping through the curtains. You can feel the pulse of the bass through the floorboards, rattling up your legs.

You take a deep breath and step forward, giving each of them a quick smile and a few words of encouragement.

“You’ve got this, Jinu—show them who’s boss,” you murmur, and he nods, a small grin tugging at his lips.

Romance catches your eye, and you flash him a wink. “Keep that smirk ready—you’re going to kill it out there.” He smirks in response, confidence brightening his expression.

Abby leans forward slightly, and you clap him on the shoulder. “Remember your cues, okay? You’ve got this.” He winks back, giving a subtle thumbs-up.

Mystery brushes past without a word, but you catch the faint graze of his shoulder against yours, and you murmur softly, “Keep calm, you’ll be perfect.” A tiny nod from him is your only acknowledgment, but it’s enough.

And then… it’s just Baby left.

He lingers by the curtain instead of joining the others, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely gripping the mic. His head tilts slightly, eyes catching yours under the bright backstage lights. There’s a faint sheen on his lips—lip balm, not gloss—and your brain instantly recalls the feel of them this morning.

“You should go,” you say, forcing your voice steady.

He doesn’t move. “Should I?” His tone is low, casual, but the faint curl at the edge of his mouth tells you he’s anything but indifferent.

“The show’s about to start,” you murmur, fingers tightening around your clipboard. “But… I know you’ll do great.” Your voice softens, a playful lift at the end, trying to tease and reassure all at once.

He steps closer—just enough to blur the air between you, the faint scent of his cologne curling around your senses. It’s fresh, warm, intoxicating.

“I remember you didn’t push me away earlier,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on yours. “Still thinking about how sweet your lips were.”

You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks. “That was—”

“A mistake?” he finishes, leaning in just enough for you to feel his breath on your cheek. “You don’t look like you believe that.”

Your pulse hammers. You should step back, speak, do anything—but your feet stay rooted.

The crowd outside roars again, the bass vibrating through the walls, but here in this narrow backstage strip, the world narrows to just him.

“You’re late,” you murmur softly, your voice quieter than you intend.

“So make me leave,” he challenges, stepping closer, close enough that the heat of his body brushes yours.

Your breath hitches. “You think I won’t?”

He smiles—not wide, but slow, teasing, burning. “I think you don’t want to.”

The words hit you, dangerous and intoxicating. He slides his hands to your waist, pulling you gently toward him. His lips brush yours in a kiss bolder and more daring than this morning’s, lingering just long enough to leave your chest and stomach aflame.

When he finally pulls back, his voice drops, rougher and husky. “I’ll see you after.”

Then he’s gone—slipping past the curtain, swallowed by the stage lights and the roar of the crowd—leaving you standing there, heart hammering, lips tingling, legs weak, every nerve alight.

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