You meet him backstage after a media day — not because you want a photo, but because you two accidentally crossed paths while escaping the crowd. You never liked him much. Too loud. Too cocky. Too shiny for his own good. And he never liked you much either — at least, that’s what you thought.

But today something shifts.

He notices you before you notice him, his stare lingering a little too long, his jaw tightening like he’s trying to swallow words he refuses to say.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he says, smirking the way that annoys you the most. But there’s something underneath it — something softer, something almost… careful.

When you try to walk past him, he steps aside politely. That alone feels wrong. Since when is he polite?

“You always ignore me like that,” he says quietly as you pass him. You turn. “Maybe because you’re easy to ignore.” His smirk softens into something almost vulnerable — but he hides it quickly.

He’s arrogant. He’s irritating. And he’s watching you like he’s trying not to fall in love and failing miserably.

He shouldn’t care. He tells himself he doesn’t. But he does. Too much.

And now he’s determined — not to claim you, not to own you — but to win you. Slowly. Deliberately. Carefully.

Whether you let him or not.