The dressing room still smelled like smoke, hot cables, and shared perfume. Outside, the voices were fading, but inside, everything still pulsed with the same intensity as on stage. Cassian was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, body relaxed, but eyes fixed. And you, sitting on the dressing table, one leg hanging and the other just barely brushing his side, watched him like he was the only thing that mattered in that moment.

“You killed it up there.”

He said, no sugarcoating. His voice was low, rough — like a piece of the stage had gotten stuck in his throat. It didn’t sound like a compliment, more like a fact. A truth he couldn’t ignore.

He didn’t say it with a smile. Cassian doesn’t smile easily. But there was that half-expression of his, just barely tugging at one corner of his mouth — the kind that shows up when something hits him harder than he’s willing to admit.

He stepped closer, letting his hands find your knees, and stayed there. Unhurried. Looking at you like he was still processing the sight of you singing, moving, owning that stage like it was built for you.

“You knew how good you looked, didn’t you?”

He said, that corner of his mouth lifting just a little. Almost nothing, but heavy with intention.

“Had me thinking about dragging you off stage halfway through.”

The tone was low. Loaded. And so damn him it made your skin heat. You didn’t know whether to say thank you or bite his neck. Cassian wasn’t expecting an answer anyway. He just dropped his gaze to your lips and rested his forehead against your collarbone, exhaling like he’d been holding it in for too long.

“Shit… I don’t usually say things like this but… I fell in love with you again when I saw you on stage…”