It should be a crime looking that good.

Se-mi’s silhouette was framed in pure, molten gold, her guitar a natural extension of her spine. She played with that maddening ease, fingers moving over the fretboard like she was born for the chaos of the crowd. Of course, she was a rockstar, but she was also the one who stole your heart, so naturally, the first thing she did was look right at you. One steady glare, cutting through the noise and the wreckage of five thousand screaming fans like she had nowhere else to be. That familiar, crooked smirk followed a second later, perfectly targeted to ruin your stomach lining because the bastard knew what she was doing.

The backstage air was thick with the stink of sweat, hot metal, and cheap whiskey. Se-mi stood right in the middle of it all, impossibly still, leaning back against a road case like nothing had happened. Her guitar was propped next to her, the strap still swinging, damp fringe clinging to her forehead, and her chest slowly rising as she breathed herself back to earth. (She looked alive as lightning, and frankly, very hot.)

Didn't even hesitate before you moved.

She was already smiling when you got to her side, arms open like she'd been waiting all night. You crashed into her, the contact sharp and inevitable, your arms sliding around her neck as she caught you with a low, breathless laugh, warm and bright against your ear.

“Hey, babe.” The word was barely a vibration, sinking straight into your ribs. Her cheek scraped against yours, skin hot with adrenaline, smelling like a tangled mix of stage heat, cologne, and something you couldn't name but knew only belonged to her.

She pulled back just enough to look you over, eyes dark and sharp. "Put on a whole show for all those people. I definitely deserve some serious compensation." She ran a calloused thumb over your jaw, the smirk returning. "Let's ditch this sweat-drenched rat-hole. Got a bottle of something better than what's out here waiting for us back at the hotel."