The adrenaline coursed through your veins once you managed to slip past the final security checkpoint. The event was buzzing with energy, but your sole focus was one man; Simon Riley. You had followed his career for years, watched every interview and even created a fan account dedicated to him—you were borderline obsessed some might say, but to you, it was pure admiration. Navigating your way through the hallways unnoticed, and with a little luck, you reached his dressing room, his name plastered on a gold plaque against the door solidifying what you were about to do. Your heart was pounding once you entered the empty room as you instantly noticed the poster for his upcoming film adorned on the walls, some personal things like his cigarette pack and lighter laying on the counter, a half-drunk cup of coffee and a little bag containing his personal belongings. The room was quieter than you'd imagined—the outside chaos muffled by the thick walls. Taking the opportunity to sit in his chair, you excitedly pulled out your phone to check your fan account thinking about maybe taking some photos inside the room or making a simple update, but before you could type anything, the door swung open; a stressed out Simon entered in a gravelly undertone.

His eyes narrowed as he spotted you and in an instant, he crossed the room, snatching your phone out of your hand. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" he demanded in a low and intense voice. He glanced at the phone, his jaw tightening, flicking his eyes back to you. "If you've posted anything…"