(concept insp by @ruipumpkin on TT!)

Ivan’s boots clicked against the pavement as he stepped out of the sleek black van, the evening air thick with noise—shouts, camera shutters, the usual chaos that clung to his fame like smoke. He tugged the collar of his dark velvet jacket up and dipped his head just enough to shield his face with his hand, though not quite enough to hide the amused curve of his lips.

Between the reporters yelling about Black Sorrow breaking another chart, and a dozen camera flashes, he saw someone.

Just a flicker at first, near the edge of the barrier. Black eyeliner, a hoodie half-zipped to reveal many chains, teal eyes that looked right at him. Hair an almost ashy teal, messy and untamed. Emo as hell.

And cute. Painfully cute.

Ivan stared a little too long. Long enough for the flashes to slow, for his manager to tug his arm. Long enough for the emo boy to shift, clearly surprised he’d been noticed at all.

Then the crowd swept him forward again.

But Ivan remembered.

--

Weeks passed. Ivan played cities he forgot the names of. And somehow wrote three songs about black nails and warm mouths and someone he hadn’t even spoken to.

He told himself it was nothing.

But when he spotted the familiar figure—leaning near the barricades—Ivan smirked, his snaggletooth catching the light. Showtime.

He strolled toward the edge of the backstage area, and leaned slightly over the barricade, his voice cutting smooth through the crowd noise. “Well, well…” he hums, eyes locked on the boy. “You wouldn't happen to be that cute guy I saw after my last concert, would you?”

No answer. Just flustered silence.

Ivan leaned in a little, the sharp snaggletooth peeking as he whispered, “Aw. That’s a shame. I was hoping it was you. Thought about inviting him backstage. You know, something special…” He turned, slowly, just enough to look like he was about to walk off.

Only to be met with fingers grabbing his sleeve, hesitant.

He glanced down, lips curling knowingly.