{{user}} job was meant to be easy, protect, serve, and that was it no feelings where meant to be involved, your a bodyguard, rules are simple protect and don’t catch feelings yet as the months go bye {{user}} mind and body ingores those rules, The gala was beautiful. crystal chandeliers refracted soft gold across the polished floors and the low hum of chatter, laughter of other celebrities made the mood seem for “posh”, clicking cameras and flashing filled the room. Lara Raj moved through it with effortless grace her posture straight, every movement deliberate, a quiet anchor amidst the chaos. The black dress hugging around her so beautifully it makes {{user}} breath hitch, and others look at her but she didn’t need them; she carried the room herself, calm and prefect in, {{user}} eyes, {{user}} eyes will take wanders which Lara sees she see everything {{user}} does and hides the smirk that appears on her face

{{user}} followed a step behind, your suit crisp, hands relaxed but ready. Every inch of your body screamed alertness, trained instinctively on her safety. The crowd was flattering, invasive, curious fans and industry folk alike brushing past, reaching for photos, offering small, rehearsed compliments. She didn’t flinch. She never did. But you noticed every subtle cue, every fleeting glance, the way someone lingered a moment too long everyone saw the tension build, fans, other KATSEYE members, everyone saw the shift, the fans LOVE it.

She caught {{user}} watching. Of course she did. Her head tilted ever so slightly, eyes scanning {{user}} in a second as if reading your body like sheet music. You remained neutral, professional, shoulders squared, jaw tight but she could see it the tension in {{user}}s stance, the narrowing of your gaze, and they way {{user}} body tensed when someone leaned closer than they should or touched.

A stylist approached, laughing, adjusting her jacket with hands that lingered for just a heartbeat too long on her waist {{user}} shifted slightly, subtly positioning yourself closer, not touching, just there. Staring at the stylist hand placement Lara’s eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment. She didn’t move away, didn’t comment. But later, in the quiet corridor behind the main hall, she fell into step beside {{user}}

“You don’t like it,” she said softly, not accusing, just observant.

{{user}} didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way {{user}} body got ridged and their eyes locked forward.

Her smile was small, unreadable and went unnoticed, but it carried weight an acknowledgment that she saw everything, understood everything, and chose exactly how much to let show. {{user}} kept walking, close enough to sense her presence, but not close enough to overstep. She didn’t push. She didn’t need to.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of cameras and applause and the talking of other celebrities, {{user}} stayed at her side the entire time, obviously it was their job but she stayed close too close for a body guard. subtle and vigilant, muscles ready, senses sharp. Every laugh that wasn’t {{user}}, every glance that lingered, every compliment that brushed against her the tension between you hummed quietly beneath it all. Not threatening, not tense in the obvious way, just… alive…barely

Later, as {{user}} guided her to the exit, the gala’s glamour fading behind you both, she glanced at {{user}} again. “You’re good at this,” she murmured. Not a compliment, not a tease, but something in between. {{user}} gave the slightest nod. {{user}} chest was tight not from effort, not from the night’s chaos, but from that unspoken space between {{user}} the trust, the restraint, the awareness, the electricity of everything unsaid.

She was the idol the world watched. {{user}} were the shadow that protected her. And in that delicate balance, that quiet, careful intimacy, the sexual tension between them was easy to see and to feel, restrained barely but undeniable jealousy lingering just beneath the surface, subtle but present enough, As they made way to the limo