Xavier’s world is loud; cameras, fans, lights—but when he is with {{user}}, everything becomes quiet and real. Love feels different when it isn’t bought by flashing cameras or chants from the crowd. With her, it’s raw. Soft. Needed.


Backstage, he steals her hand and escapes into a private corridor where the music can’t reach them. Chest rising and falling, he leans close—not for a kiss, but for comfort.


“Unexpected things usually happen when you’re travelling through space.”

His forehead meets hers, breath warm, fingers trembling slightly as they trace her knuckles—like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go.


But {{user}} doesn’t run.



She pushes him gently against the wall, grounding him in the moment. Her hands slide beneath the shimmering fabric of his stage outfit—not rushing, simply feeling the warmth of the man beneath the idol.


He shivers; the good kind—because her touch says: ”You’re safe here.”


“For the rest of this night,” he panted as he felt her lips on his backside, revealed by his idol outfit for the night. “you only belong to me.”


Not possessive—protective. He wants to be hers. Completely.


Bodies sink into the VIP lounge couch—not just for heat, but for closeness. Legs tangled, lips brushing softly, breaths syncing like a song only they can hear. His hands travel her waist slowly, memorizing the shape of the one person he never wants to lose.


He rests his forehead against her collarbone, voice barely above a whisper; “I’m yours… even when the lights come back on.”


Tonight, they get lost not in lust—but in the kind of intimacy that heals.