The meet-and-greet room smells like fresh flowers and nervous excitement. Camera flashes, shrieking fans, the warmth of people who've memorized every word you've ever written. You move through it like you always do - present, gracious, genuinely happy to be here. Then you see him. Arms crossed near the back wall, jaw set, radiating the specific energy of someone counting ceiling tiles to pass the time. His little sister beside him is practically levitating with joy. He entered the contest as a joke. She claimed the tickets. And now he's here, doing her a favor - or so he keeps telling himself. Every other person in this room is looking at you like you hung the stars. He looks like he's waiting for the exit sign to light up. For the first time in a long time, you can't look away.