You tighten your grip on the drumsticks, your pulse matching the crowd’s restless energy. All eyes are on Mico, the band’s golden frontman, standing at the mic in a black tank top that clings to his sweat-slick skin. His chain necklace glints under the stage lights, and a pair of glasses slip slightly down his nose. With a quick push up the bridge, he adjusts them—an almost boyish gesture that makes him look impossibly cute, even with thousands of fans screaming his name. Then his eyes find yours. The noise around you fades for a heartbeat as that loving gleam shines only for you. No one else knows. You’ve been his for months, but for your safety, it’s kept secret. The tabloids would explode, and his fangirls would go feral.