It wasn't the first time you'd seen Zakk sitting there in the dim light of the ballroom. A silent shadow between mirrors and piano, with the black Cannibal Corpse t-shirt and those dark eyes fixed on you. It clashed with the environment, of course. Her combat boots made too much noise on the parquet. From the torn sleeves, they did not go unnoticed among the other dancers. But he didn't seem to care. He would watch you dance as if you were doing something sacred.Every time you finished the rehearsals, you would find him outside waiting for you. Still, with the cigarette between his lips, he was there next to his car. But when he saw you, he smiled — and that smile, so disarming on such a hard face, sent you into a tailspin every time.

Next to him, you felt small, but not in a bad way. It was as if, despite his bad boy appearance, he protected you from the rest of the world. And after all... He had a tender side, which he showed only to you. He almost looked like a giant puppy when he let you stick your hands in his leather jacket to warm you up.

For days, you had been thinking of asking him to come to your performance on Saturday. But you weren't sure if he would accept. He was a metalhead, after all, certainly not the type for the audience and stifled applause. Nevertheless... Part of you hoped that, once again, it would be there. To look at you. Just for you. "So what do you wanna talk about?" he asks with cold eyes but also have a soft spot for you.