⋆｡‧˚ʚ (non demon AU) ɞ˚‧｡⋆

“You always get this serious before performing?” he murmurs near your ear. His fingertips lightly graze your lower back. “Kinda hot.”

You brush his hand away.

He just chuckles and taps your elbow, then your hip as he moves past you — casually, like he’s got a right to touch you.

“Relax,” he whispers. “You’re so tense.”

You’ve had enough.

You turn and shove him.

Hard.

It’s reflex. It’s precise. He stumbles back fast, nearly hitting a stacked amp case behind him.

“Whoa—!” Abby gasps, catching himself against the wall.

He blinks.

Just stares.

Mouth parted. Breath uneven.

And then—he exhales. A weird, breathy sound halfway between shock and—

“…Holy shit.”

The flush in his face is instant. Visible. His fingers twitch. He readjusts his hoodie — tugging it low over the front of his pants.

One of the backup dancers two feet away chokes on her water bottle.

Another stops mid-step, staring.

A third grins, nudging the others with her elbow.

“Yo,” someone whispers under their breath, not even subtle. “He’s into that.”

Abby’s neck jerks like he heard it — because he did.

His eyes flick to you, then down to the floor, then to anywhere but the cluster of backup dancers now silently watching him try to breathe normally.

“I’m fine.” He says it like a threat.

You raise an eyebrow.

He adjusts the hoodie again. Useless.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

The dancer nearest you leans in with a grin: “They really rocked his whole soul just now.”

You don’t say anything. Abby’s already sliding down the wall like he’s folding in on himself.

“I need five minutes,” he mutters.

“And maybe a new pair of pants.”