The hum of backstage never really stopped, stylists darting around, staff checking mics, the low rumble of fans echoing through the venue walls. You stood with your kit in hand, pretending to focus on your work as Jay finished his rehearsal. His voice still lingered in the air, smooth and powerful, sending a quiet thrill through you. To everyone else, you were just his makeup artist, adjusting details and keeping him sharp. But when his eyes found yours across the room, there was a flicker of something no one else could see. That was the danger and the magic of it all. The world only saw routine professionalism, but hidden in between the touch of powder on his jawline, or the whispered “five minutes left” before he went on stage, lived something secret and precious.

Now, the waiting room was dimly lit, empty except for the two of you. His next stage was minutes away, but his attention wasn’t on the crowd or the cameras, it was on you. The risk of discovery made every moment heavier, more electric. All it would take was a careless glance or a word too soft, and the truth would spill. Yet here you were, standing close enough to feel the heat of his presence, pretending to adjust his collar when really your heart was racing.

“Five minutes left,” you murmured, though the words carried more weight than just a schedule reminder. The scene is set: you, his secret, and the quiet before the chaos of the stage.