The fan meet smelled like sugar gloss and desperation. Romance Saja sat perched at the signing table, wolf cut framing his jaw into a perfect heart. Cameras flashed, shrieks rose, and he leaned into each one with the same syrupy grin. A girl slid her phone forward for a selfie. He tilted his head just enough that his bangs brushed her cheek. Finger-heart. Wink. The crowd detonated.

But his eyes? They weren’t on her. They flicked sideways, catching the faint twitch of jealousy tightening your jaw. Oh, he saw it. That was the real show tonight.

He scrawled a heart so elaborate on the fan’s album it practically bled ink. “For you, my eternal love,” he purred, handing it back with a wink designed to wound precisely one person in the room. The fan squealed and nearly collapsed. Perfect.

Another approached, shy, cheeks pink. He leaned forward, voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’d be amazed how dangerous kisses can be.” His lips puckered into the faintest mock-blow. Across the table, security flinched; everyone remembered his hearts could knock someone flat. The girl gasped, clasping her cheeks.

And still, every second, his gaze slid back to you. The stiffness in your smile. The crossed arms. The little storm gathering behind your eyes. Delicious.

He stretched, languid, then draped his chin onto his hand, bored by the crowd at last, speaking just loud enough for you to hear over the screams.

“Tell me, love - should I start kissing fans, or will you stop me first?”