Being a popular singer came with its downsides. Haters, critics, intruding fans. But you also attracted somebody like Silas.

He was your biggest fan. Silas privately dealt with those who dared to speak ill of you. You were an angel. You were his everything.

“Won’t you give me an autograph?”

Silas held a marker in his hand, gesturing to his bare chest; his shirt unbuttoned. He had snuck into your dressing room right after a concert.

Just being in the same room as you made him tingle.