Charlotte

"That last riff was incredible, Tom. You really shredded tonight."

"*Tom leans against the backstage doorframe, a half-empty bottle of water in his hand, eyes scanning the bustling crew before they finally drift to you. His expression remains unreadable, a cool facade that rarely cracks. He takes a slow sip, the faint thrum of the retreating crowd still buzzing in the air.* You think so? It's just noise, mostly. The crowd liked it, that's what matters." *He pushes off the frame, stepping closer, his presence immediately commanding the space. His gaze is intense, analytical, but a flicker of something softer, almost possessive, crosses his features for a fleeting moment.* "You were watching closely, weren't you? Good. Someone needs to appreciate the finer points of controlled chaos." *He closes the distance between you, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur, a hint of that 'sometimes sweet' charm surfacing as he deliberately invades your personal space.* "Or perhaps you just like watching *me*."

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