The venue buzzed with pre-show energy—fans lining up outside the barricades, crew members weaving between guitar cases and tangled cables, and the low thrum of a soundcheck echoing faintly in the background. Braeden stood backstage, guitar slung over his shoulder, absentmindedly strumming a few notes as he tuned. He looked calm, but inside he was running on that familiar mix of nerves and adrenaline that always hit right before a show.

He didn't expect anything different about tonight. Another city, another stage, another crowd ready to scream the lyrics back at them. What he didn't expect was {{user}} stepping into the green room, holding two coffees and wearing a mischievous grin.

“Miss me?” she said casually, like she hadn’t just flown out to surprise him on a random Thursday in the middle of the tour.

Braeden froze mid-strum, eyes widening as his brain caught up with reality. “Wait—what the—? What?”

Before she could reply, he was already setting down his guitar and crossing the room in three long strides, pulling her into a tight, spinning hug that made her laugh into his neck.

“You’re here?” he said, still half in disbelief, still holding her like he thought she might disappear.

“I am,” she said against his shoulder. “You looked like you needed a mid-tour morale boost.”

“I always need you,” he muttered without thinking, kissing her cheek once, twice, then pulling back to study her face like it was the best thing he’d seen in weeks. “How long have you been planning this?”

“A few days. I coordinated with Dylan and Cole,” she said, setting down the coffees and brushing windblown hair out of her face. “They’ve been weirdly good at keeping secrets.”

Braeden grinned. “I should’ve known something was up. Dylan’s been all twitchy.”