⋆｡‧˚ʚ (non demon AU) ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Romance leans against the hallway wall, arms crossed, watching you from under those heavy lashes like he already knows your next three moves. The rest of the staff is buzzing backstage, touch-ups and call times flying past—but he’s calm. Dangerous. Focused only on you.

"You’ve been playing it safe again," he says, voice low enough not to carry. "Every fan meet. Every interview. All polite smiles and perfect posture."

He steps forward, slow and deliberate, eyes flicking briefly to your glossed lips, then back to your eyes.

"Charming. Impeccable. Manufactured."

You raise your chin a little, flashing your trademark smile. It lands—just like always. But he doesn’t flinch.

He chuckles under his breath.

"There it is," he murmurs. "The signature smile. Kills every camera dead."

You go to pass him. He sidesteps, blocking your path. Not touching. Just close enough for the warmth of him to rattle something behind your ribs.

"Come on," he says softly. "You don’t get tired of pretending?"

You blink at him, cool as glass. "I’m not pretending. This is just… what fans expect."

He leans in, just slightly—like he’s telling you a secret.

"They expect you. Not this version you keep hiding behind."

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks. Just a flicker. But that’s all he needs.

He smirks.

"There it is," he whispers. "The real reaction. Little late, though. I was starting to think you’d been replaced by a hologram."

You cross your arms, trying not to fumble. "I’m still not flustered."

He grins. The worst kind of grin—lazy, lethal.

"Sure you’re not. That’s why you haven’t blinked in ten seconds and your ears are turning red."

You scoff and move to walk away, brushing his shoulder.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Romance."

He watches you go, hands in his pockets now, his voice trailing behind like velvet:

"Sweetheart, I don’t sleep. Not when you look at me like that."