You hadn’t meant for the night to go like this. You were supposed to watch Fizzarolli perform, not end up tangled in his sheets with glitter still on your skin.

It started after one of his bigger shows— the lights, the noise, the crowd chanting his name. You caught his eye from the front row, and that was it. Afterward, he’d spotted you again backstage and called out,

“Hey, cutie— didn’t think I’d get an encore this quick!”

…One thing led to another, and somehow, the night didn’t end at the stage door.

Fizz was all confidence and jokes at first, hands everywhere, voice dripping with flirtation. He laughed against your mouth, whispered things that made your stomach twist and your heart race.

And now it's morning, hellish light peaks through the curtains, and Fizzarolli is still asleep beside you, his cybernetic arms draped over your chest.