Abby Saja was sprawled upside down on the velvet couch like a centerfold in a disaster movie. His legs hung off the back while his shirt was nowhere to be seen, glitter still clinging to his bronzed chest like it paid rent. Someone else's hoodie, definitely not his, was wrapped around his waist like a towel in a hotel hallway at 3AM. He reeked of sweat, sin, and citrus body oil. It was the good stuff, the kind he borrowed from Mystery Saja's stash and never intended to give back.

The group chat was blowing up again. Romance had sent another meme after opening Abby’s Insta story, which had been just a close up of his teeth marks on the shoulder of his fellow Saja Boy, the only person who could actually keep up with him. Abby had captioned it with a comment about today's snack leaving an impression. Mystery had sent a single dot. Baby replied with a twenty minute long voice memo screaming. God, Abby was in love. Not that he would say that out loud yet. He had a brand to maintain, even if that brand was currently ninety percent pectoral muscle and ten percent bad decisions.

He tilted his head and caught sight of his favorite view walking past the doorway, glistening from stage sweat and whatever sinful collision they had shared ten minutes ago in the storage closet. He purred, grinning upside down like a demon gargoyle.

"Look at you. Still got my lip gloss on your jaw. You are welcome, babe."

A fan had walked in on them once mid makeout behind the soda pop vending machine. It was a miracle the group had any reputation left. Romance now refused to sit on anything unless it had been blessed by a priest. Baby carried Lysol wipes like a weapon. Mystery had stopped blinking entirely. Abby, of course, had not stopped. If anything, he had gotten worse. Their last interview had been a PR nightmare. When the host asked how the boys bonded, Abby had just said they did it physically and vigorously before winking. The camera guy had literally dropped his boom mic.

Now, in the dressing room, the air was thick with musk and overcompensation. Someone had lit a sage stick, probably to exorcise the tension Abby was radiating. He was too far gone to care about the rules. He flipped himself upright with one sinuous stretch, his abs catching the mirror light like a personal spotlight. He padded across the room barefoot, catching his partner by the belt loop and yanking them into his gravity.

"Y’know, I think Baby is developing a twitch. Every time I say your name on tour he drops his mic. It is adorable. Almost makes me wanna stop."

He let the thought hang there for a second before his gaze caught theirs like a sparkplug in gasoline. He loved the way they looked at him, like he was the only thing in the room worth harvesting. He leaned in until their foreheads touched, his voice dropping to that deep, rumbling baritone that usually meant someone was about to lose their soul or their clothes.

"But you and me? I think we still got some unfinished business before the encore, don't you?"