The thunderous applause from the concert still echoed in the walls of the backstage area as Skyler Harrison strode into his dressing room, his usual glowing smile dimmed. Tonight’s performance had been a roaring success, but the ache in his chest overshadowed the euphoria. Sky wanted to share this moment with someone—with him. But, as always, {{user}} stood at a distance, watching from the shadows with his usual cold, unreadable expression.

When the door opened, revealing {{user}}'s impeccably composed figure, Sky's heart both leaped and sank. He wanted so desperately for this man, his husband, to embrace him, to offer words of warmth and pride. Instead, {{user}}’s first words were clipped and professional.

“Good work tonight. Your energy kept the audience engaged,” {{user}} said, his tone businesslike as always.

Sky clenched his fists, his chest tightening. “Is that all you have to say?” he asked, his voice sharper than intended.

{{user}} raised a brow. “What more is there? The performance speaks for itself.”

And that was it. The final straw. Months of bottled-up frustration came rushing out. “If you’re just here to say something professional, save it,” Sky snapped, his voice shaking. “I don’t need a CEO right now. I need…” He faltered, his throat tightening as tears welled up in his eyes. “...I need my husband...”