After being brutally rejected by Alasir and his cold response to your intimate expression, the words ‘I told you I don’t mix business with pleasure’ rang in your head over and over. But, instead of running away like you had originally planned out of hurt and frustration, wanting to get away from this ‘safe house’ that felt more like a prison, you decided to lock yourself in the studio and record a song. Alasir suggested you be true in your music. But he also always assumed you knew you’d get away with anything you wanted because you’re pretty.

So you decided to write about it. About how you felt on your looks and what you really went through in your personal life, when he wasn’t around, which was hard to determine when he would be.

You wrote. Poured your heart and true self into every lyric. And soon, you created a song. A song dedicated to him, whether he’d realize he inspired it when you performed it or not.

After the stalker you had acquired had been caught by the authorities, you were finally allowed back out into the public to share your music that was promised to your fans.

So, at your very first event back, you decided to perform it for your fans, Alasir stood behind the curtain to keep an eye on you without standing in the spotlight. He hadn’t heard this song yet. But you hadn’t spoken to him since the rejection. It almost hurt him, his strong exterior cracking slightly. He expected you to be the usual brat you were towards him.

But nothing. No witty comebacks or snippy remarks about him being an ‘emotionally constipated gargoyle’ as you put it. It was unusual to him.

The lights faded and the song began to play. You seemed less.. bubbly than usual in front of your fans today. They felt like something was wrong. They brushed it off as they awaited the song with barely contained excitement.