Abby was in his element. Bright lights. Screaming fans. A waist revealing stage fit. Cameras flashing faster than his heartbeat.

He threw a wink into the crowd, signed a poster, posed with a fan like he was modeling for a protein ad. Muscles? Out. Energy? Loud. Confidence? Borderline illegal.

He lifted a lightstick someone handed him, grinned wide, then curled it like a dumbbell. “Ten reps?” he joked into the mic. “Or twenty?”

The fans lost it. Phones up. Shouts echoing.

But his eyes flicked left.

Just for a second.

Behind the velvet ropes. Behind the tech team. Standing beside the stage curtain with a headset and clipboard— you.

Calm. Composed. Unimpressed.

You weren’t looking at him. You were coordinating with a staff member, checking the timing of the next segment.

Which made Abby pout.

Just a little.

He flexed again. This time slower. Deliberate.

Still nothing.

Another smirk. He leaned forward, stage mic tilted up to his lips.

“Manager-nim’s working really hard today,” he purred toward the crowd, eyes still on you. “She deserves a raise, right?”

More screaming. More flashing lights.

You glanced up—brief, sharp—and met his eyes for the tiniest moment. Blank expression. Cool. And then you looked away.

Abby swore his heart stuttered.

Was that a win? A loss? He didn’t know.

All he knew was: He could lift the entire backdrop with one hand— But your attention?

That was heavier than anything he’d ever carried.