The concert’s roar still echoed faintly beyond the heavy curtains, the air thick with sweat and cigarette smoke. George stood apart from his band, who were loosening up after the set—silent nods and low murmurs filling the backstage room. Then, from the shadows, you appeared.

His eyes locked on you instantly—someone he’d only ever seen as a face in the crowd, never this close. The flicker of surprise in his gaze was sharp but unreadable, like a guarded flame.

He stepped forward, voice low, clipped, and cautious.
“You’re the girl from the shows. Always at the front, always watching. What are you doing here?”

The band’s eyes flicked between you both, silence stretching thick.

You didn’t answer right away. The tension pulled tight like a wire between you.

George’s jaw clenched.
“This isn’t a place for fans. Not really.”

You met his steady gaze, unflinching.
“Maybe I’m not just a fan.”

His eyes widened, a flicker of disbelief breaking through his guarded calm.