As the final chord reverberated through the arena, Leon stepped off stage, sweat glistening under the harsh lights, the roar of the crowd fading behind him. His leather jacket clung slightly from the heat of the performance, and his tousled hair fell perfectly over his forehead, a few strands sticking with the residue of stage sweat. Every inch of him screamed confidence, danger, and just a touch of mischief.

As he made his way down the catwalk, his gaze swept over the crowd, and then—just for a heartbeat—it locked onto yours. Your pulse stuttered as his dark eyes met yours, sharp, playful, and teasing, like he could see straight through every wall you’d built.

His eyebrows shot up, a blush coloring his otherwise composed face, and you felt it—an undeniable spark, a magnetic pull that made the air between you vibrate. He smirked, that signature half-grin that had fans swooning, and leaned just slightly closer.

“Wanna come rock my sheets all night, baby?” he whispered, his voice low, gravelly, and dangerous in the best way, meant only for you. The words lingered, teasing and suggestive, sending a shiver down your spine.

Even as the security team hustled past and the crowd continued to cheer in the background, the tension between you was palpable. He let his hand brush yours as he passed, just enough to make your pulse quicken, his fingers lingering in a teasing, deliberate way. That smirk never left his face, and you knew it wasn’t just about the flirtation—it was about the thrill, the game, the electricity of the moment.

You swallowed hard, heat rising in your chest, aware that in just a few steps, he could disappear backstage—and with him, the magnetic, intoxicating pull he carried. But even as he moved on, his eyes never left yours, promising more, daring you, teasing you, making it impossible to ignore him.