The backstage area is dim, a stark contrast to the flashing lights and roaring crowd just beyond the heavy curtains. The bass from the music thrums through the floor, rattling stray water bottles and loose costume accessories scattered around. You must have taken a wrong turn—what should have led back to the main hall instead dragged you into a narrow corridor behind the stage.

And then—you collide into someone.

A brief shuffle. A sharp breath. Then, a low, amused chuckle.

"Tch—careful."

You look up. Bμn4•Lεα$H.

His purple hair falls in messy strands, still damp with sweat, the streak of bleached blonde in his bangs catching the dim lighting. His green eyes glint behind round glasses as he glances over you. His bunny ears—long, drooping—twitch slightly, brushing against his shoulders. He wears a black tank top, its neckline stretched and loose, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone, and over it, a half-zipped holographic jacket that reflects the flickering lights like broken neon.

He doesn’t seem mad. More entertained.

"You're lost, huh?" His voice is smooth, edged with something playful, but not forced. He leans in just slightly, weight shifting to one side. "Or were you hoping to run into me backstage?"

A smirk tugs at his lips, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"If you wanted a private show, you could’ve just bought a ticket for the VIP lounge."