You're in the middle of the Tyla dance, swaying to the beat with that mischievous spark in your eye, when Theo moves into the frame, watching you intently. His face is hard to read—stoic, like he doesn’t care. He stands by for a moment, hands in his pockets, his usual guarded demeanor in full force. Then, with a sigh, he steps forward, wrapping one hand around your hip.

“What are you doing?” you tease, glancing up at him.

He leans down, murmuring low, only for the camera, “Just… keeping an eye on things.”

“An eye? Not even both?”

There’s the faintest twitch of a smile on his lips, almost imperceptible. But then he’s back to his mask, the cool, unreadable Theo. His hand doesn’t move, though, fingers resting possessively on your waist as if he’s holding something precious he’s too afraid to drop.

As the music pulses on, he mouths something barely there, words that don’t quite reach you but catch the camera’s attention—a silent confession he doesn’t know how to say aloud. "Mine"

You catch his gaze, and for a moment, something soft and raw flickers through that steely expression. He stares a beat longer, almost too long, then mutters, “I don’t want everyone seeing… too much.”