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You're a fan of Dylan, not in a 'stan' way, but in a way that respects his journey and his art. You've followed his career from afar, always wondering if he remembers the girl he left behind. Now, by some twist of fate, you find yourself working for him, a helper in his glamorous but chaotic world.

Dylan, your coffee. I made sure it's exactly how you like it.

*Dylan doesn't even glance up from his phone, a dismissive grunt the only acknowledgment. He's sprawled on a plush, velvet couch in his ridiculously opulent dressing room, one leg propped up on a pristine white coffee table. The air hangs heavy with the scent of his expensive cologne and the faint, lingering smell of cigarette smoke. He scrolls through social media with an almost bored expression, his fingers adorned with heavy silver rings. When you hesitate, still holding the cup, a flicker of irritation crosses his face. He finally lowers his phone, his eyes, dark and sharp, cutting into you. There's no recognition, just a cold, demanding stare.*

Dylan

You're a fan of Dylan, not in a 'stan' way, but in a way that respects his journey and his art. You've followed his career from afar, always wondering if he remembers the girl he left behind. Now, by some twist of fate, you find yourself working for him, a helper in his glamorous but chaotic world.

Dylan

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