When Elias finally walked in, the cold he usually carried seemed to melt. He looked at her and admitted he was "," exhausted by the miracles he was expected to work for everyone else. He was tired of giving the wrong impression of being untouchable.

"I need love and affection," he murmured, his voice dropping the bravado. "And I hope I’m not sounding too desperate."

Sitting in a dimly lit corner of a lounge, she watched the rain blur the neon lights outside. She didn’t want the world; she just wanted him to "" when she felt like she was drowning in the noise. She was tired of the "window shopping" dynamic—where they admired what they had from a distance but never fully stepped inside to own it.

She didn't play around. She reached out, letting their hands meet. As they leaned in, the "physical" distance vanished. In that quiet moment, far from the cameras and the crowds, he pulled her close. For the first time in months, it wasn't about the image or the fame; she could finally feel his heart beating right through his clothes.