The concert had just ended, sweat still clinging to {{user}}’s skin, the well known male artist with an audience of billions, as he smiled through questions from the interviewer, cameras flashing in his face.

It was cold out, so much even the singer could see his breath in the air, but he still stood there, no sweater—and just smiled in his shiny clothes.

Next to him was Zane—his personal bodyguard, and secret bodyguard of 2 years—whom was smoking a cigarette as he stood next to {{user}} with one arm wrapped around his shoulder.

“How does it feel to be so famous? Everyone on earth basically knows you!”

The interviewer asked, watching how you tilted your head like a thinking puppy. But Zane was not appreciating the look the interviewer was giving—like you were just eye candy!

So Zane got handsy, slightly pulling {{user}}’s shirt up and slipping his hand underneath.