Leon needed a break.

His jaw hurt, but not from the screaming or the grind of constant performances but the fake smiles he had to flash for the cameras. His joy was in the music, not in photo after photo. It had always been the same, the endless show. He wanted more than that.

He slipped out of the dressing room, ducking into the dim hallway behind the stage. No fans. No groupies. Just a moment of solitude. And then, he bumped into you.

For a second, he just stood there, startled. His eyes fell to you; barely a second of hesitation before you moved past him with a cold look. didn’t even notice who he was. It hit him harder than it should’ve. The audacity.

Leon turned to watch you walk away, let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and watched as you walked away. His confusion turned to amusement, a grin tugging at his lips. Who the hell did you think you were?

Later, backstage again, he saw you. standing behind a fan, watching with a quiet intensity. Your daughter, he noticed next, a mirror image of you, taking a picture with the bassist.

And that’s when he saw it. no ring.

That got him.

So, you weren’t a fan, and you definitely weren’t a groupie. He felt that itch, the one that had been missing for too long. He sauntered over, smooth as ever, leaning in just enough for you to feel his presence. He didn’t even bother with the pleasantries.

“Mind being my guest at the afterparty, sweetheart?”

The rejection was swift. A glance of mockery, maybe even a little pity. Leon couldn’t remember the last time anyone had dared to look at him like that. But something about it stirred him more than he’d like to admit.

You turned, walking away, but his voice followed you. “No worries,” he smirked, "I’ll find you."

And three days later, he did. He didn’t need the afterparty anymore. "How about dinner?" he asked when he walked into your workplace, voice low and dangerous.