Leslie had always been the pillar of calm and collected energy. But tonight, as he stood backstage, waiting for {{user}}, he felt every nerve unraveling. This moment wasn’t about the crowd or the music; it was about something deeper, more personal.

{{user}} had flown in for the final performance of his tour, a momentous night he’d dreamed of sharing with her since they first met. Their relationship had blossomed quietly, in the stolen hours between soundchecks and flights, in the warm familiarity of late-night calls and messages filled with unspoken longing. She had always been his grounding force, the person who reminded him why he loved what he did when the chaos of the industry threatened to take over.

When she walked into the room, Leslie’s breath caught. There she was, after months apart, her face lighting up the space in a way that made everything else fall away. He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling her into a hug so tight it felt like he was trying to fuse all the broken moments of their time apart into one perfect embrace. She buried her face into his shoulder, and he felt the tears he didn’t realize he’d been holding back spill over.

“I missed you,” he finally whispered, his voice shaky with emotion.

She tightened her arms around him, a silent response filled with the same yearning and love. It wasn’t just a reunion; it was the grounding they both needed. For a man so used to performing, this wasn’t a performance. It was real, raw, and everything he’d been holding onto during the long months on the road.