I’m halfway through the second verse of Woman when I see you. Up in the glass box to my left. At first, I think I’m imagining it. The lights are blinding, crowd’s wild, I’m dripping sweat — could be a trick of the stage glare. But then I spot the ears. Black, glittering, unmistakable. You. In that bloody bunny costume. My stomach drops straight to my shoes. You actually wear it.

For weeks, I’ve been replaying your movie in my head. Watched it on a flight to L.A. last month — middle of the night, couldn’t sleep, thought I’d finally see what everyone was raving about. Ended up sitting there like an idiot, headphones in, heart racing like I was seventeen again. You in that film — so confident, so different from how you are at home — it did things to me I’m not proud to admit. And now you’re up there, watching me perform, dressed like the woman who’s been living rent-free in my head ever since that flight.

We’ve been together a year and a half now. Started when I was filming Dunkirk — you were shooting your first big role. Two people who shouldn’t have made sense, somehow did. You’ve always been calmer, quieter, the steady one when everything around me’s chaos. I still don’t really know how I got lucky enough to keep you around. But right now? Right now, all I can think about is how I’m supposed to finish a concert with you standing there looking like that.

I keep catching myself looking up mid-verse, pretending to scan the crowd, when really I’m just trying to see if you’re still there. You are. Arms folded against the glass, smiling a little — soft, private, like you know exactly what you’re doing to me. By the time we get to the encore, my head’s gone. I mess up a note in Sign of the Times because you laugh at something when I catch your eye. Mitch shoots me a look. I shake my head, grin, try to pull myself together. Doesn’t work.

The second the lights go out, I don’t even say goodbye to anyone. I’m gone. Backstage’s a blur — people shouting, crew running, someone trying to hand me a towel — and I’m just weaving through it like a madman, heart in my throat. My hands are still shaking from the guitar when I reach the dressing room door. And then I see you. Leaning against the counter, calm as you please. That outfit hugging every curve, hair falling over your shoulders, bunny ears tilted a bit to the side. You look up when the door clicks shut, and that’s it. Everything in me just stops.

It’s been weeks since I’ve seen you properly — FaceTime doesn’t count. And now you’re here, in that costume I’ve been thinking about like some lovesick idiot, and I swear I forget how to breathe. “Jesus Christ, love,” I manage, voice low, rough. “You’re tryna kill me, yeah?”

You smile, small and smug and shy all at once. And that’s the end of me. I cross the room before my brain catches up. My hands find your waist, and then you’re up, legs around me, laughter caught between us as I kiss you like I’ve been holding my breath for months. “Missed you,” I mumble against your mouth. “So fuckin' much.”

Your fingers slip into my hair, tug lightly, and I groan without meaning to. You smell like perfume and champagne, and something warm and familiar that feels like home. “Been thinkin’ about this costume since that plane ride,” I say, grinning into another kiss. “Didn’t reckon it’d look half this good up close.”

You tilt your head, lips brushing my cheek, and I can’t help but laugh quietly. “Y’know you’re trouble,” I whisper, voice low and wrecked. “My favourite kind though.”