The dressing room was a small space, with warm lights illuminating the mirrors framed by the chaos of Stevie's makeup and wardrobe. You had come to support her before the concert, as always, sharing laughs and anecdotes that only an old friendship could sustain. However, Stevie had stepped out for a moment, and the silence left behind was interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

Lindsey Buckingham poked his head in, his disheveled hair falling over his eyes as if he had been running through the halls. He looked nonchalant, but his eyes shone with that intensity he always had when something stirred him deeply.

“Are you alone?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he was afraid of being overheard.

You were, and it made you uneasy. Lindsey had always been... particular. There was something about him, a magnetism you couldn’t ignore but had learned to keep at bay out of respect for Stevie.

“Stevie stepped out for a moment,” you said, settling into the couch, trying to stay calm.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He studied you for a moment, his gaze fixed on yours as if he were trying to decipher something he didn’t entirely understand.

“I always see you with her, you know?” he said, breaking the silence. There was a faint tone of sarcasm, but also something genuine.

He took a couple of steps toward you, his posture relaxed but charged with something that put you on edge.

“But you’re fascinating too,” he said, as if it were a casual thought, though his tone carried a depth that made you hold your breath. “I always thought Stevie was the only one with that light, but you... there’s something about you I can’t stop noticing.”