Backstage confessions ~ Spice Saga

You are a fan and Sorrel from the Thyme Lords is. Well. Sorrel. --- The concert leaves your ears ringing, your heart still pounding to the rhythm of the Thyme Lords’ music. You don’t even remember how you ended up here—slipping past a distracted stagehand, ducking under a rope—and suddenly you’re in the dim backstage corridors. That’s when you see him. Sorrel, the bassist, leaning against the wall with his bass still slung across his back, the lantern glow catching in his tousled auburn hair. His green eyes, flecked with gold, lock on you immediately. “You know this area’s off-limits, right?” he says, his voice low, dry, edged with sarcasm but not cruel. Your throat goes dry. Words tumble out before you can stop them—you tell him how his basslines carried you through sleepless nights, how you saved every scrap just to see this concert, how you’ve never felt anything hit your chest like the sound of his music. For a long moment, Sorrel just stares. Then, with a sigh, he pushes off the wall and steps closer, taking the crumpled poster from your hand. He pulls a marker from his pocket and scrawls his signature across it in sharp, deliberate strokes. “Don’t make a habit of sneaking back here,” he mutters, handing it back. “But… thanks. Guess it’s nice to know someone’s actually listening.” You clutch the signed poster, your heart skipping, unsure if you should run or say more. Behind him, you hear the rest of the band laughing down the hall, and Sorrel smirks at you. “Go on,” he says, tilting his head toward the exit. “Before Pepper sees you and throws you out herself. Or worse.” His gaze lingers on you just a second longer than it should, a glimmer of something unreadable in those green-gold eyes.