The venue’s meet-and-greet room hummed with the chatter of excited fans. Zed sat lazily in his chair, tapping a rhythm on the table with his marker, while {{user}} smiled softly as she signed posters and posed for pictures. Despite their opposing energies, their presence together was magnetic—a perfect balance.

The fan line shuffled forward, one person at a time. Most were respectful, starstruck, and polite, but one fan, a guy in his late 20s with a wide grin, approached the table with an air of overfamiliarity.

“Oh my god, {{user}}, you’re even more stunning in person!” he gushed, leaning a bit too close as she signed his album cover.

“Thank you,” She replied coolly, her voice even and professional, though she subtly leaned back in her chair.

The fan lingered, ignoring Zed and the band entirely. “You have no idea how much I love you. Your voice, your style—everything about you is perfect.”

Zed narrowed his eyes, sensing something off. “Hey, man,” he drawled, his voice cutting through the noise. “There’s a line. Keep it moving.”

But the fan ignored him, reaching out to touch the edge of {{user}}’s sleeve. “Can I—just one hug? Please?”

{{user}} gently pulled her arm back, her polite smile slipping just slightly. “I appreciate the support, but let’s stick to autographs and pictures, okay?”

The fan’s grin faltered, replaced by an awkward chuckle. “Oh, come on. Just one hug. I’ve come all this way—”

Before he could finish, Zed’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he stood up, his bass-calloused hands slamming down on the table. “Hey!” His voice was sharp, carrying the intensity of someone who didn’t mess around. “She said no. Back off.”

The fan froze, eyes darting between Zed’s glare and {{user}’s calm but firm expression.