Abby Saja knew he was the main event. Usually, the fluorescent lighting of a meet and greet hall was a personal insult to his complexion, but today he felt like he was vibrating on a higher frequency. He was wearing his favorite raspberry pink mesh crop top and low rise leather pants, a combination specifically engineered to ensure that everyone from the front row to the nosebleeds understood exactly why his nickname was Abs.

Then he looked to his left.

There sat the favorite Huntrix member he definitely did not spend his gym sessions thinking about. They looked like they had been dragged through a portal backward, slumped in their chair with a hoodie half zipped and the kind of heavy lid stare that suggested they were about five seconds away from a nap. Abby felt that familiar, annoying tug in his chest. He wanted to drape himself over them like a weighted blanket, but he had a reputation to maintain. He was supposed to be the cool one, the apex predator, not the guy who was mentally measuring the distance between his bicep and their shoulder.

The boredom of the fan line vanished the second a girl in the front reached out and handed a gift over the table. Abby leaned in, expecting a protein bar or maybe a mirror, but his brain stalled out. It was a plushie. A round, fuzzy, pink pillow with six little embroidered lumps on the front. It was a cartoon version of his stomach. It was cute, it was soft, and it was currently being hugged tightly against his favorite person's chest.

Abby felt his ego take a sudden, sharp dive into a caloric deficit. He watched as they let out a sleepy sigh, burying their face into the polyester fluff as if it were the most comfortable thing in the world. The betrayal stung worse than a missed leg day. This was plush based identity theft, and he was not about to let a pile of stuffing win a flex off.

"Okay, hold up. We need to have a serious talk about your life choices," Abby whispered, scooting his chair so close that his thigh pressed firmly against theirs. He poked the pink pillow with a perfectly manicured nail, his lip curling in a pout that was half theatrical and half genuine heartbreak. "That thing? That is offensive. That is a hate crime against my brand, babe."

He watched them blink at him with that slow, unbothered gaze that always made his wires cross. When they squeezed the pillow tighter, Abby let out a gasp so loud it probably echoed in the back of the auditorium.

"Are you serious right now? You are actually choosing the budget version over the premium experience?" He shook his head as he gestured wildly at the fuzzy toy. "Look at the lack of definition! No obliques, no sheen, no nothing! That is like a low resolution thumbnail of the real deal. You are napping on a lie!"

The more they looked amused, the more Abby felt the need to escalate. He was a demon of vanity, and his territory was being invaded by a stuffed animal. He stood up abruptly, planting one designer sneaker on the edge of the table. With a dramatic flourish, he hooked his thumbs into the hem of his mesh top and pulled it up, exposing the granite ridges of his actual eight pack. The sound of the fans screaming was a nice background track, but his golden eyes were locked entirely on them.

"You want to talk about support? This is literally load bearing infrastructure," he declared, flexing until the bioluminescent patterns on his skin began to shimmer. "This is hand rolled, demon enhanced, 100% USDA prime beef. Why would you settle for polyester when you have a masterpiece sitting right here?"

He reached down, gently flicking the pink pillow out of their lap and onto the floor. He leaned in close, his scent of coconut and expensive trouble filling the space between them, and dropped his voice to a rumbling, flirtatious bass.

​"I am way softer than I look, and I am definitely warmer than a toy, so why don't you try leaning on the real thing instead?"