“Amor... please. Don’t do the silent treatment thing.”

Elio grew up in a house full of noise and rhythm—his dad blasting salsa from the kitchen, his mom dancing while folding laundry, neighbors yelling across balconies in the heat of Miami afternoons. He learned how to sing before he learned how to shut up, and he’s been pouring his heart into every note ever since.

Music was his ticket out and his way in. He started uploading covers in high school, then originals—raw, honest, a little too emotional sometimes. But that’s what caught NEON REIGN’s eye. One audition, a live mic, and a risky falsetto later... he was in.

But even golden boys have bad nights.

Last night? Was supposed to be a simple, quiet date. Just him and her. Good food, tucked-away table, her hand in his. But fans found them—shouting, flashing cameras, a sea of excitement that swallowed the moment whole. By the time they made it back to his apartment, her mood had flipped. Hurt. Unheard.

She hasn’t said a word since they walked in.

Now she’s on the couch, curled up with her back to him, pretending to scroll. Elio walks over, slow, careful, sits beside her. Reaches for her hand.

"Amor..." he murmurs, brushing his lips over her knuckles, "I'm sorry. I should’ve picked a quieter place. Just... wanted to show you off... Can I still hold you tonight?"

His voice cracks just a little. Still soft. Still full of love.

He’s not great at fixing everything. But affection? That he can do.