Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The crowd swelled with nervous excitement, flushed giggles and squeaking of plastic chairs and shouts to friends in a separate row filling the air. There was a slight smell of sanitizer in the air, colliding with the perfumes of hundreds of people and the almost-imperceptible tinge of body odor. The lights were bright, illuminating every aspect of the auditorium as people struggled towards their seats through the mass of bodies within each aisle. Your seat was creaky beneath you. Its hard surface rose to meet the grateful weight of your body as you rested your ankles, which protested the sharp angle your heeled shoes manipulated them into. Anticipation was palpable in the room like the burst of a grape on your tongue.

Twitter was geared up in anticipation of the concert, tweets pouring in from those who could not get tickets, pleading for plenty of photos and videos from those who could, who promised to record the event well. Merely watching the online conversation, you busied yourself on your phone and only slightly resented the people in the front row. You’d spent an entire paycheck and eaten ramen-noodle dinners for two weeks to scrape out a seat in the sixth row, of which you were terribly proud. You’d be close enough to the boys who spent hours of your life listening to and looking at to see the expression on their faces, the way words tugged at their mouths. And anyways, your neck wouldn’t hurt nearly as badly as theirs after the concert from craning upwards.

Allegedly, the concert would have started at seven p.m., but artists were never on time. Always fashionably late and arriving onstage to greet a ceaselessly adoring (if mildly annoyed) crowd.

“Beomgyu just tweeted,” your friend knocked her shoulder against yours in excitement, “he says, ‘thank you for your patience, MOA. we’ll see you soon!’ I know his ass is just fooling around backstage.”

You stomped your feet on the ground as if someone had called “drumroll, please,” a grin bursting across your face, “I can’t even get mad. I think it would be too many emotions in one night.”

The two of you lapsed back into comfortable silence, leaned against each other as you scrolled on your phones. You would save your voices for screaming lyrics passionately off-key through the duration of the concert.

So after twenty minutes of scrolling through TikTok, and thinking that you should have grabbed something stronger than water from the concessions stand, the magical moment finally came. First the house lights dimmed, then the pop music gently receded from the speakers. A hush gripped the room. Someone coughed. Then, with every raptured eye in the room turned the same way, the stage lights snapped on, bright and golden and focused. A hole could have burned through that exact spot on the stage, as everyone leaned forward in their seats to swallow the grand entrance whole. The music reverberated through the room as it came on, and hollers emanated from the crowd when everyone realized what song would be performed first. “Good Boy Gone Bad” - energetic and popular enough to get everyone in attendance pumped, but released long-enough ago to be a predictable start for the performers.

Except, when the live vocals of the group began streaming down from the speakers, there still was no one on stage. When the first line came, everyone was squinting in their seats, trying to discern where it was coming from.

A flicker of light – the back doors on the ground level flung open, and a different member emerged from each of them. The resultant cheer was near-deafening.

As he strutted down the aisle towards the stage, clearly in character but struggling to keep a smile off his face, you realized that Soobin was headed your way. And you had an aisle seat. For a fraction of a second, there would be nothing between your body, pulse beating against every inch of your skin, and Soobin. You gripped your friend's hand and hauled her to her feet. It was only right to stand in the presence of a god.

This close, it was all too clear that that was exactly what he was - a god. Six feet tall, skin glistening with a natural glow and specks of stage glitter, a head of fluffy hair dyed blonde, and a body cultivated with merciful musculature in all the right places. What was worse (or perhaps better) was that look on his face. It was obvious he was soaking in the attention, the praise, of those reaching their hands out to him like congregants prostrating themselves for a blessing, even as he fought to keep the bad-boy persona written in the arch of his eyebrow, the pout of his lips.

You’d burst into flames if you tried to walk into a church after this.

When he finally walked his way past your aisle, Soobin’s back was just slightly turned towards you as first. You saw his spine poking underneath his skin at the junction of his neck, just above the neckline of the white tank top he sported. You wondered how it would feel to kiss that vertebra. To feel the tremor through his nervous system as your breath tickled him.

And then, miraculously, he turned your way. If only for a moment, his eyes met yours, then danced across your face, impossible to translate. His left hand tightened around the leather jacket he held slung over his shoulder. Just as quickly as he came, though, Soobin was gone, a king carving his way to his rightful throne ahead. He left only a breeze scented with vanilla in his wake. Your body caved backwards with the shock of it, and you nearly crashed into your friend behind you.

“I cannot believe that,” she murmured, hands cupping your shoulders supportively.

“I could die now. The Lord could take me right now.”

“Shush. They haven’t even done Blue Hour yet,” she forced your back on your own feet.

The concert went on that way, in a blur of music and tears and laughter and lots of sweat on everybody’s part. It was beyond surreal to be so close to people you were only used to seeing on a screen, but you ached for every detail in their physicality. Increasingly, you were convinced that recorded music was inadequate for capturing true artistry, as you were moved and captured by the specificity in each of their vocals. Even as you enjoyed every moment of the concert, as time passed, a feeling of dread clawed at your stomach. All good things end eventually, and this was no exception. When you guessed there were all but a couple songs left on the setlist, the tortured humming that began “Eternally” came on the speakers. To your surprise, the members came back down into the crowd. This time, Soobin ghosted across the front row of your section, taking a couple photos with fans as he went. Even more to your surprise, he turned and headed down the aisle he’d previously trekked up. In your direction.

By this time, it was his turn to sing the first chorus, and he stood momentarily still. “Don’t go breaking my heart,” he almost whispered into the microphone, amongst the third row now, yet his eyes found you, “Don’t go.”

As he got back to your aisle, you fumbled for your phone, a petulant part of you complaining in the back of your mind that you needed a picture of this moment. But your hands were shaking so badly, you dropped your phone to the floor, where it slid forward.

Your heart was bursting at the seams as Soobin bent down to pick it up, his graceful back curving forward like that of a diver. Having retrieved it off the floor, he approached you, and you couldn’t breathe anymore. Even in heels, he still towered over you. His skin glistened with exertion, and there was a slight pant in his breath after striving to perfect his verse. As you tilted your head to look up at him, you were astounded by the dimpled cheeks of his smile, and his trusting, open eyes.

“Thank you so much,” you breathed. Somehow you were still as a statue, yet vibrated all over simultaneously.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, but didn’t move. Choi Soobin, standing there, upper body curving in as if to shield yours from the howling fans behind him. You realized, albeit after a beat, that he was waiting for you to take a picture.

“Oh, let me - ” Using face-ID, you swiped open your phone, and navigated to the camera.

“I’ll take it,” the idol pressed gently, holding out his - ohmygoditshuge - hand. “The angle will be better.”

“Oh, I - thank you so much.”

With your phone in his hands, he seemed to pitter-patter for a moment, presumably he accidentally exited the camera app. You turned to your friend and saw tears in her eyes, and you tried to slap her hand with yours as inconspicuous as possible in celebration. By the time you turned back, Soobin was ready with the camera. He tucked his microphone into the front pocket of his jeans, and made a peace sign with his now-free hand as he captured the three of you in the photo, all grinning from ear to ear.

As Soobin handed the phone back to you, he smiled, “Thank you for coming.”

You started, “No, thank you,” but he was already off, finishing off the song with the concluding chorus. Admittedly, he had impeccable timing.

They ended with a very emotional rendition of “MOA Diary,” and then it was over. In all the concert had lasted just under two hours, but it felt like an entire era of your life. There was a subtle chill over the expanse of your skin as you exited the venue into the cool air of night, but a warmth bubbled in your chest. You chatted excitedly with your friend about the excellence of the concert, the beauty of TXT’s members, and the immaculate work of the light and sound crew, mouths moving a mile a minute. By the time you got off the metro and began the trek back to your apartment, there was a giddy high in your head, as if you’d had one too many drags off a good blunt.

You both washed up and changed into pajamas, heading to your respective rooms. You were about to get under the covers of your bed when a knock came at your door.

“What’s up?” you asked, sitting up.

Your friend sat on the end of your bed, poking at your leg with her pointer finger. “Let’s watch a couple dance performance videos. I don’t want the night to be over yet.” She hit you with her best kicked-puppy face, so that you would feel terrible for saying no.

Despite the growing ache in the arches of your feet and the slight headache approaching from the loud noise and bright lights of the night, you felt a smile peeling its way across your lips. “Only if we watch the Crown dance. I wanna remember them when they first debuted.”

So the two of you shuttled excitedly into the living room, flopping onto the sofa and booting up the TV. You grabbed your phone out of your purse for the first time since leaving the venue, so that you could connect to the TV and play videos off of YouTube. When you unlocked your phone, you swiped up to see the apps you’d used recently, knowing that YouTube would be amongst them, since the two of you had played music videos while getting ready for the concert. However, something odd stopped you in your tracks. For some reason the contacts app was the second most recently opened app, right after the camera app. You couldn’t remember having pulled it up for any reason. There was no one you’d had to call or a number you’d needed to add over the past day. Curious, you tapped open the app.

The screen displayed the app’s most recent activity: a newly added phone number, with only the letter “S” entered where the name ought to have gone. A furrow creased the space between your brow now, confusion taking over.

“Someone added their number to my contacts,” you murmured as you passed the phone to your friend, who was busy uncorking a bottle of wine for the two of you.

She wiped her hands on her pants before taking the phone from you, “It just says “S.” And the only person who had your phone other than you was… but you don’t think it could be –” her words dropped off awkwardly in their tracks.

“Quit that. Don’t get my hopes up like that.”

Both of you pretended not to notice the whine in your voice. A little too much desire was folded in the intonation of your words. It was a pipe dream to even entertain the idea that a globally famous idol would give his number to a random fan he met for all of thirty seconds at a concert. A concert in America at that, virtually across the world from his home.

Right?

“I think you should text the number,” your friend pushed a mug full of white wine towards you. “You ought to figure out who it is, even if it isn’t Soobin. If it is, though… make sure you ask for Yeonjun’s number for me.”

You chewed your lip. Your options tumbled around in your head like options in a vending machine or, rather, a pair of dice in cupped hands. Downing the wine in front of you in one long sip, you set the phone on the coffee table in front of you. The screen was open to start a new message between your number and this “S” number. All the power, technically, was in your hands right now, to text or not to text. So why was your heart battering in your chest?

“You’re right. I’m gonna text. What's the harm in finding out? Anyways, whoever’s number this is, they started it,” the rationalization was sound, even if you secretly clung to a rather irrational hope about who might be on the other end of this affair.

“Put a song on in the background. Like “Our Summer” or something. This is our movie moment.”

You complied, hands only a bit shaky. “Alright, I’m just gonna keep it simple. Like, ‘Hey, I noticed this new number in my phone, and I was wondering who it was?’”

“Good,” she poured you another glass, “But you don’t wanna make it a little flirty, just in case? Maybe a little wink at the end?”

Shaking your head, you typed out the message, “No, because what if it’s someone from work and I just forgot to put it in?” You stared at the string of letters on the screen for a moment, then asked, “Should I add ‘Have a nice day!’ at the end? Would that be too much?”

Your friend cackled, “You’re not sending a work email. You’re solving a mystery. Keep it casual.”

“Okay, okay. Sent. It’s done.”

For the next thirty minutes, you made a concentrated point not to look at your phone. Instead, you focused your attention on the HD clips playing on the TV, eyes always attaching themselves to Soobin, even when he danced in the back. A sensation of ease blossomed out of your stomach. Wine always made you sleepy.

When both of you were only watching half the videos, because your eyes kept drooping shut, you decided it was time to call it a night. You hugged each other rather emotionally, alcohol and the aftereffects of an adrenaline rush springing tears to your eyes.

“Thank you for the best night of my life,” you whispered solemnly.

Your friend patted your back in comfort. “We’ll remember this day until we die. I swear it.”

With that, you brushed your teeth in your bathrooms and fell in a jelly-like mass into bed. Tucking yourself in, you connected your phone to the charger on the nightstand to charge overnight. You reached to turn the lamp off, then hesitated. One last time, you checked your text messages, opening your conversation with “S.” But, as you expected, there was no response. Not even a bubble with three dots dancing on the screen, to tell you someone was typing. Not even a little “Read” printed under your text, just to let you know you’d been heard. It was all too frustrating for no good reason, this waiting game.

Thank whatever force was out there for wine, though. You clicked off the lamp and fell asleep within minutes of your head hitting the pillow. Your dreams carried you to a place far away, where flowers danced on top of clouds and the sun shone in multicolor on the earth below. Amongst a dream where you vaguely think you were being chased by a rat through the city, a vivid fantasy bled into the forefront of your dreams that night. In it, you were walking through a garden, drenched in rich greens and vibrant flowers. The ground beneath you was plush, like you could sleep on it with ease. A gentle wind carried the scent of various flowers to your nostrils, and it was comfortably warm, strolling there in the sun. So distracting was the scenery, that it took you a moment to register that someone was holding your hand. When they gave you a squeeze, you startled, following the line of your arm to set your eyes upon the person trailing behind you.

Smiling gently at you was Choi Soobin. Dressed in a loose white blouse, and corduroys the color of cedar bark. The sun shone on the slope of his shoulder, his exposed collarbone, that doelike neck, and his welcoming face. When your eyes locked with his, he let out a deep giggle, crinkling at the edges of his eyes, tongue poking out almost imperceptibly. “Why are you in such a hurry? Let’s take our time,” he pulled you into him by your linked hands.

“I want to get to the cherry blossoms,” dream-you insisted from the place where you were now pressed into his chest. Here, you could feel the beat of his heart under his warm skin. You could breathe the same air he breathed.

“I only wanted to get to you,” Soobin wrapped his arms around you, swaying the two of you from side to side. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

Birds sang from the nearby branches of a blooming dogwood tree. The rocking motion was lulling you deeper and deeper into sleep, and dream-you was near to drifting off against Soobin’s chest.

Until an ear-splitting crash sent every hair on your body standing up straight. For a moment, you thought, Is the world about to end? Am I lucky enough to die in Choi Soobin’s arms?

Then, coming around to the world of the waking, you realized the blanket was twisted tightly around you from where you’d tossed in your sleep, and irritating hairs tickled your upper lip where they fell onto your face. Without opening your eyes, you knew you were in your bed. The threads of your dream stitched themselves back into something coherent in your brain as you recalled the garden, Soobin, and the warmth. A sensation of longing dropped into your chest with crushing weight. You slapped your hands onto your face, dragging them down as you groaned. You must be crazy. The concert had caused you to lose your mind. It was not normal to be so disillusioned as to think an idol would give you his number, or walk you through a garden, or so much as look in your direction. You had to get your shit together before work on Monday, or else your coworkers would think you, already the new girl, were unhinged.

It took you longer than it should have to register the cursing coming from the kitchen. You glanced at the clock on your bedside table as you unwillingly dragged yourself from under the covers: 10:45. You’d slept like a rock. Making your way into the kitchen, you blinked your dreary eyes at your friend, who was picking pieces of glass off the tiled floor, swearing the entire time. The isolated handle of a mug had been scattered to the far wall. Creamy brown liquid was crawling ever so slowly across the floor.

“Good morning,” you said, voice hoarse from the night before.

“I was gonna be nice,” she bit, “Bring you coffee in bed. But no, my dumbass had to drop the mug. Butterfingers. I’ve decided to be angry at the world today.”

“Okay, hun. How about I scramble us some eggs and put some toast in while you clean that up? Looks like there’s still coffee in the pot.”

Crouched on the floor like a cheap cosplay of Gollum, she looked up at you with watery eyes. “I’m so glad I live with you.”

Ten minutes later, you were settling into your side on the bench-seating of your kitchen table, cup of deliciously un-shattered coffee in hand. One hand around her mug and the other bringing toast piled with cheesy scrambled eggs to her mouth, your friend asked, “So did that number ever respond?”

“Oh shit,” you dropped your toast back to your plate. “I woke up thinking a bomb had dropped on us and I forgot to check my phone. Hang on a second.”

Without waiting for her answer, you practically leapt for the table and made for your bedroom at a speed walk. Trying not to lunge for your phone, you snatched it off its charger. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw the notification announcing two new messages from “S”. Pacing back into the kitchen, you sat down and practically shoved your phone in your roommate’s face, “They responded. But I’m scared. I don’t wanna open it.”

“Listen, if it’s not Choi Soobin, you just say “Have a nice day” and move on. If it is Choi Soobin, I expect to be in the wedding party. What’s there to lose?” she asked.

You took a deep breath, “Right. I’m getting worked up for nothing. There’s no way it’s Soobin, anyways,” despite your words of assurance, the feeling had receded entirely from your legs in your anxiety. You had a bad habit of getting your hopes up.

“Right. So open the phone.”

“Okay. Right.”

A sensation of cold swept through your body as you took one last spiteful glance at the message notification, then unlocked your phone. What you saw made you want to laugh, and in fact you did, cackling like a madman in a way that warranted only a bit of concern. Because it was hilarious, and yet you resented being made the fool. Because you couldn’t truly believe what you were reading. Because it just was not possible.

“Well, if you’re not gonna read it out, gimme the damn phone,” your friend tugged at your arm as you laughed incredulously.

“First, it says, “This is Choi Soobin.” With a period at the end, like who texts like that?” You huffed out an unconvinced breath, “Then, and this is the real kicker, “Did you sleep well?” Sent at eight forty-two this morning. Choi Soobin my ass.”

Your friend tilted her head, eyes squinting, “What? I mean, probably someone is playing a trick on you, but like… for what reason? What would they gain by pretending to be Choi Soobin?”

You thought about it for a second. Could be a random person from the concert, hacking peoples’ phones in the hopes they’d get some thirteen year old girl to send them her parents’ credit card numbers. Or like, a cruel joke being played by some particularly malicious TXT fan who had nothing better to do. It could be a lot of things, really, but it could not be Choi Soobin on the other end of the line. That was way too unrealistic, and you were definitely not going to waste your time fantasizing about being swept off your feet by a superstar like the aforementioned thirteen year old girl. You were freshly graduated, with a new job, and adult responsibilities. You couldn’t get carried away in the thrall of your imagination like you used to.
“I guess I shouldn’t respond, then. There’s no telling what liar texted me at ass o’clock in the morning.”

“I don’t want to be a bad influence, but…” your friend trailed off, shrugging suggestively, “I mean, on the off chance… this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Sure it’s not likely, but… we’re never too old to dream.”

You shook your head, “I’m gonna get ready, and get groceries, and go pick up the books we wanted from the library. And if my day of very responsibly running errands does not amuse me enough, then I will text back. But only if and then. I don’t wanna get let down.”

“I won’t pressure you. Just don’t be afraid to play a little, I don’t think this is really anything serious,” she reassured.

You went on to do exactly that. You got in the shower, brushed your teeth, and got dressed while only glancing at your phone to check for new notifications roughly every two minutes. Maybe you jumped out of your skin when you got an email from work about the morning meeting tomorrow, but you told yourself you were just dreading the oncoming work week. By the time you were ready to head out the door of your apartment, you were only a little too perky, and your voice only a little too high-pitched as you called to your roommate that you’d be back later.

The sun was shining outside, the day comfortably warm. You walked through the city with your head held high to embrace the rays of sunlight. The public library would come first, then a recess in the park next door to read a chapter of your book, and then you’d bring home groceries to cook dinner. Except, you’d be cooking for one that night, since your roommate would be leaving for a work trip shortly after you’d get home.

You thought about your real, perfectly normal life, and did not entertain thoughts about Choi Soobin.

Once at the library, you walked amongst the shelves, working your way through the list you and your friend had made of books to read. Unluckily for you, she adored romance. Slouching your way through the romance section, you tried to ignore the titles on the fronts and synopses on the backs of books reaching towards you as if to say “believe me.” You averted your eyes from the people lounged on the sofas in this section as they cooed and fanned themselves over tales of windswept confessions and dashing pursuits of love. Your phone seared in the back pocket of your jeans. Swearing you felt the buzz of a notification, you whipped it out unnaturally fast, startling the person browsing beside you. But your lock screen was empty, except for the picture of you and Soobin you’d made your screensaver earlier (you wouldn’t take out the frustration of this event on Soobin, you’d decided, since he was not involved).

The weight of your phone in your hand in the library stacks was somehow heavier than the basket of books cradled in the crook of your opposite elbow.

Fine, you decided. If your brain wouldn’t let it go, you would text back. Not because you thought there was even the slightest chance you’d be texting Choi Soobin, but just to give yourself the peace of mind to know that you at least tried to figure out what random person had put their number in your phone. To help you sleep easy without worrying that someone had hacked your banking information through your phone or something along those lines.

After a couple unsuccessful attempts to sound assertive but not outright aggressive, you settled on typing, ‘Thank you for asking, but I would really like to know whose number this actually is. Please let me know. Thanks.’

You sent the message with a cringe, then shoved your phone back in your pocket to pretend it wasn’t the bane of your existence at that moment. Content with having given it your A-one effort, you successfully checked out without freaking out the librarian with your nervous tittering and tight smile. See: you could be a functioning member of society, and deal with the whole not-Choi-Soobin thing simultaneously!

Until your phone actually did vibrate, this time while you were lounging in the shade of an oak tree in the park, book propped open at its twenty-second page on your lap. That same breathless feeling caught hold of you when you saw the notification was from “S,” that god-forsaken letter.

‘What do you mean? This is Choi Soobin. You didn’t tell me how you slept. Did you enjoy the concert last night?’

You couldn’t help the ugh! that escaped you in your frustration. This guy was gonna insist on impersonating Soobin, which definitely had to hold some level of illegality, then ask creepy questions about how you slept and where you were last night! It was beginning to feel too much like a violation of privacy. Motivated by your anger, now, you responded in a flurry, ‘I’m concerned about who put their number in their phone and how, so please respond honestly. I will have to block you otherwise.’

So, the blocking part was going to come no matter what, since there was no way this was Soobin texting you, and you weren’t interested in talking to a creep who’d snuck their number into your phone. You just needed some leverage to work with, a fire to light under this guy’s ass. The righteous fury was building in you, and you stared at your phone awaiting a response before realizing you wouldn’t get one as instantaneously as you’d sent yours. Whatever. The creep was probably trying to figure out a way to cover their tracks.

Slamming your book shut, you decided to just continue on to the grocery store without finishing your chapter. You couldn’t sit still enough to read now. The grocery store was a mile walk from the library, then another half mile back to the apartment. That should be enough to shake some of the adrenaline pulsing under your skin so that you could enjoy the rest of your Sunday in peace.

You didn’t expect to drop the carton of eggs in your hand when you felt your phone vibrate again, and you most certainly did not expect said eggs to tumble and crack all over the grocery store floor. While you pleaded for them to let you help, the store’s employees insisted on cleaning up the mess themselves, perhaps because of the embarrassed tears gathering in your eyes and the obviously-melting pint of ice cream languishing in your cart. You were red as a rose checking out, trying your best to avoid the cashier’s eyes so she wouldn’t be able to tell that you were the cause of the “cleanup on aisle six” that had sounded on the intercom only a few minutes earlier. Leaving without buying the bottom one-third of your grocery list, you fled shamefully outside. At least your reusable bags wouldn’t be as heavy as usual on the trek home.

When you got back, you fumbled the lock and doorknob into the house, calling out a “Honey, I’m home!” on your way to the kitchen to unload. But as the feelings of embarrassment faded from your stunt at the grocery store, you remembered the cause of your downfall: a fucking text.

“Did you get me the chex mix to eat on the plane? You know I hate airplane pretzels,” your friend said as she stepped into the room, but you were too busy staring down at your phone to give her the time. “What’s up with you?”

There on your screen, impossibly, was a picture of Choi Soobin. Dressed in comfortable clothing, no makeup on, a smile on his face. That wasn’t the weird part, though. What had your jaw hanging loose was the location of the picture. He was posed in front of the venue from last night’s concert, in what looked like a before-the-show photo. Looking downright adorable, but that was besides the point. You had scrubbed squeaky clean every surface on social media before the concert last night keeping updated on the day’s events, and had never seen this photo. Underneath the photo, a follow-up text read, ‘I am being honest. I hope you had as much fun as I did at the concert!’

You shoved the phone in your friend’s face without words.

“That’s definitely Soobin, but where’s the photo from? I mean, last night was the first time they came to the city, and I didn’t catch that photo anywhere. But maybe we missed something?”

“I’m responding,” you bit, “This has gone way too far, and I want it to end here. I don’t appreciate being messed with.”

The mature thing to do would probably have been to stop responding entirely and let the imposter fade into the antiquity of your memory, but you didn’t want to do the mature thing. An immaturely indignant part of you insisting on winning some sort of argument here. This felt oddly personal in a way that was uncomfortable to admit. It was currently four p.m., so you told yourself you’d ride this out until the end of the day, and tomorrow you’d be back to business.

“I’m just gonna write, ‘That’s a nice photo you found, I didn’t catch that one on social media. Have a nice day.’ Is that rude? Or not rude enough?” The groceries sat unattended on the floor, but you took a seat at the table anyways.

Graciously, your friend began putting things away. “It’s kind of a weird response, but the whole situation is weird to begin with. So just go for it,” she passed you an orange from the bag you’d brought home.

“Why is the photo so goddamn cute?” you protested, “It’s making me want to be more gracious than I should be. Soobin has that effect on me.”

“Stick to your guns, but I will say, don’t push this person away entirely. We technically haven’t seen any evidence that it’s not Soobin, either,” she pointed out completely un-usefully.

Passive-aggressive text sent, you started cutting up vegetables and peppers for dinner. It was the onion’s fault that you were crying, and not a single tear was caused by the mishaps of the day, okay? Next, you sautéed chicken and sausage together in a pan. Tonight was a night for comfort food, greasy to give you a satisfied feeling in the belly, spicy to make you feel alive, and seasoned to perfection. Jambalaya took long enough to cook to be a meditative process, but not so long that you’d get bored halfway through. Somewhere in the middle, after you sautéed your vegetables but before you added the shrimp, your roommate came in to give you a big hug, before hopping into a taxi for the airport.

“I want updates about this whole texting situation. Don’t let it bother you too much, I’m sure there’s no bad blood.”

You assented, wished her a happy trip, and waved for too long at the door while her taxi drove off. Being home alone was half-fun, because you got the place to yourself, and half-scary, because you were a woman sleeping alone in the big city for a week. You decided to make the most of it tonight, to take advantage of having the TV to yourself and to run a long, long bath in your roommate’s tub afterwards. A self-care night was in good order.

Except the universe didn’t seem to want to give you peace. While you were stirring your big cast-iron pot, your phone dinged ominously. You picked it up with your free hand, still going with the other round and round in clockwise circles, like a nervous habit. The dim kitchen lighting overhead cast a slight glare on your phone as you read, ‘I didn’t find it online, I took it last night. What’s your name? I’ll prove it to you.’

With one hand, thumb stretching awkwardly across the screen to reach the far buttons, you keyed in your first name. Then you hesitated. Should you be giving your name away to someone you didn’t know? What if they used it to, like, steal your social security number and take your identity and take out student loans in your name? You wrestled with the risks for a minute or two as you stared blankly at the response. It wasn’t until your hand grazed the side of the pot and you let out an involuntary hiss at the sting of hot metal on your palm that you realized the hand you’d be holding the wooden spoon with had been slowly drifting downwards. And of course, when you jumped at the burn, your traitorous thumb had pressed send. Today was just going that way, you supposed.

Running cool water on your injured hand in the sink, you anxiously waited to see what this person needed your name for. The next text came as you were bandaging your hand, fingers smudged with burn cream and struggling to peel the paper wrapping off the bandaid. You secured the bandage and took up your phone once more. At this point, you felt drawn to it in the way you couldn’t resist a morning coffee, or maybe in the way you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the city rats that scurried in the metro, even though you knew the sight of them would only make you sick.

You don’t know what exactly you were expecting, but the wind was knocked out of you when you opened the message. There was another picture of Soobin, this time from the angle of a selfie, that same cheerful grin on his face. He was holding a piece of paper in front of his chest, and your eyes bulged to see what was written on it. In the slightly-shaky but painstaking straight scrawl of some not entirely adept at the Roman alphabet, and in bright blue ink to boot, the paper said “Hi” to you by name, and underneath was added the date and city. You weren’t an expert, but the image didn’t look like an edit, even a good one. The paper had a slight shadow falling on it from something in the room, and the handwriting seemed authentic. The ink was even smudged a bit on the last letter of your name. As you were staring in confusion, another text came in, ‘I hope you believe me now. If not, I don’t want to bother you. It was nice to meet you.’

Maybe you didn’t want to believe it, because the information sent your head spinning like a carousel. Surely this wasn’t real. This was an elaborate dream. You would wake up wishing you were still at the concert and perhaps aching in the head a bit from clenching your jaw through the night.

The universe was cruel; when you called your friend to ask her advice, it seemed she’d already turned on airplane mode. Theoretically you could wait for her to land, but impatience was rising within you. You just needed to know, and it felt like you were getting closer and closer to the conclusion. And anyways, Soobin looked so cute in the photo, with his hair messy as if he’d taken a shower and toweled it dry with no styling, that you began to feel exceedingly gracious. But what do you say to the person who might or might not be your favorite idol who you’ve been hounding all day to prove his identity?

Turns out, it’s, ‘So maybe you are Soobin… in that case, do you remember what you said to me last night?’

His voice had been hard to hear then, over the speakers and the thousands of people singing and dancing. It would have been difficult for anyone but you to hear his words, his soft-spokenness.

Thankfully, the reply came quickly this time. You had increasingly less ability to wait.

‘I offered to hold your phone for the picture, because the angle would be better. Did you like the picture I took?’

Allowing the food to just simmer on the stove, you sat down on the couch, a bit in a daze. You still weren’t sure you should buy into this, but this person was damn good at convincing you. It would be terribly embarrassing if you fell for an elaborate prank, if that was what this was, but still, you yearned for it to really be Choi Soobin taking selfies for you, in a slightly childish part of your heart that you usually kept tucked away. Your own vulnerability struck you when you texted, ‘I want to believe you, but this whole thing just seems unreal. I don’t know how I can ask you to convince me.’

Three little dots, hovering on the screen, then disappearing. Then popping up again, then taking their leave just as quickly. It was maddening, but the thrum in your chest made you feel aware all-over in a way that was hard to come by. For two aching minutes, there was nothing, not even some silly little dots. You kicked your legs anxiously as you waited, waited, waited.

And then a text bubble popped in, showing you’d received a video. Your stomach was in your chest and your heart in your belly as you hit play to discover Choi fucking Soobin looking at the camera in an almost-shy manner. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before saying, “Hi, uhm, I thought this might help. This is really Choi Soobin. I hope the pictures came out well last night. If they didn’t, maybe I could take some more for you?” You swore there was a blush rising onto his cheeks when he said in a hurried mumble, “Okay bye now,” and ended the video.

Leaning back into the couch, you stared at the ceiling. Maybe you should go to the hospital emergency room to make sure you didn’t have brain damage, because this couldn’t be real. You took screenshots of the texts and thought about sending them to some of your friends to see if you were missing some kind of joke or being led along without realizing, but ultimately decided not to. On the one hand, it would be too embarrassing if you were falling for some cruel prank. On the other, this might actually be Soobin, and you didn’t want to risk these texts getting leaked in that case. It could be detrimental to his career if the public, and God forbid his label, found out he was giving his number to girls he met at concerts. Which brought you to another crisis: if this was Soobin, why was he doing this? Why was he putting his contract and public image on the line to text a fan? It didn’t exactly seem like the wisest choice, no matter who that fan was.

Pouring over these questions in your mind, you made a decision. If this was Soobin, he was being incredibly brave, just to talk to you. So, shouldn’t you be brave, too? Shouldn’t you risk getting let down or being embarrassed, if it meant a chance at connecting with someone you really, really liked?

The time was just shy of six p.m.. It was May, and as summer gradually took the baton from spring in the relay-race of the seasons, you had about two hours of daylight left. It was easier to be brave during the day, you reasoned, because at night, the shadows loomed and thoughts crowded in the space beneath your bed. You needed to be brave now, before it was too late. Gathering your strength and drawing a deep breath, you typed out, ‘It was nice to meet you too, Soobin. I slept well! The pictures are already my screensaver, but I would love to take more. Thank you for being patient with me today’

A tension you had been all-too-aware you were holding felt released from your body. All of a sudden, you gave in entirely to believing. It felt as though a talking reindeer had flown down from the North Pole to tell you Santa was real, such was the childlike joy of your belief that this actually was Soobin. If you thought you could die happy last night, now you really knew you could rest in peace. Somehow you were talking to Choi Soobin, in a personal way, and he had made a considerable effort to communicate with you. That meant something big and intoxicating that you still couldn’t quite understand.

You were typing out a message explaining everything to your friend when you got the notification from “S,” which you changed to “Soobin <3” in your contacts before opening the text. He’d said, ‘I would like that too. We have the night off before we fly out for the next show in the morning. Is there a place we can have dinner in private? I want to see you before I leave.’

Your face was hot as ash, and you grabbed a pillow cushion to scream into it, stomping your feet excitedly on the wooden floor. He wanted to see you! He wanted to spend his night off in the city with you. It was overwhelmingly flattering. Except that in this city, there really wasn’t any place private for dinner, not in this era of phone cameras and crowded restaurants and information spreading like wildfire. Unless… but it would be insane to invite a man over to the apartment when your roommate was out of town! Even if that man was Choi Soobin. It was a safety hazard that any woman would warn against.

…Fuck it.

‘That would be great, if you’re comfortable coming to my apartment, that’s the only chance for privacy. Can we meet at a park first? I still need to make sure you aren’t a serial killer’

You were making date plans with Soobin. An unintelligible stream of excited syllables flew from your mouth. Frantically, you finished typing out the message to your roommate, finishing with a ‘so he’s maybe coming over here tonight but please don’t yell at me I promise I’ll be safe xoxo’ and rushing to the kitchen to turn the stovetop off and drop a lid over your jambalaya. Your jambalaya that you might be feeding to Soobin! You then rushed into the bathroom to take stock of yourself in the mirror. Your hair was messy from a day of running errands, you wore a comfortable tee shirt and jeans, and the beginnings of a pimple was pushing up the skin at your right temple from sweating last night. So, possibly some work needed to be done before meeting the half-idol half-god in question. His follow-up text confirmed, ‘Of course. I don’t think BigHit would be happy if I was a serial killer. Can you send me the park address? Can you meet in an hour?’

‘Yes I can, and here’s the google maps link. I’ll see you at 7:30 :)’

For the next forty-five minutes, you tore through your closet, hunting down an outfit that was appropriate for a date with Choi Soobin, although the task was somewhat futile given that the idol would undoubtedly show up styled in pristine designer clothes tailored to his proportions. A struggle with hair products, makeup application, and shoes that you couldn’t shove onto your feet fast enough later, you were ready to go. You’d picked the park not quite closest to your house, but one fifteen minutes away. If you sped-walked, you could be on time. It probably wasn’t for the best to make Soobin wait for you, so you hightailed to the door, throwing one look at your mildly (“charmingly”) cluttered home and slamming your bedroom door shut on your way out.

On the walk over, you darted between other pedestrians on the sidewalk, nearly getting toppled over by a bicyclist and, oddly, someone on roller skates in your haste to reach your destination. The sun had begun its descent in the sky, so pink and orange blazed through the clouds. The green treetops of the park bordered the scene as you approached, causing you to think of rainbow sherbet. When you arrived, you walked over to a bench and nervously sat down, quite literally twiddling your thumbs as you looked around. It couldn’t be hard to spot Soobin in the crowd, given his height and beauty and the likelihood of a massively irresistible aura following him everywhere he went. No longer than three minutes could have passed like that, but your heart was beginning to sink as your brain filled with cynical predictions of being stood up or tricked. The thoughts threatened to spill over in overwhelmed tears, but you kept it together, reassuring yourself. Even if it wasn’t Soobin, even if he didn’t show up, this would just be a good opportunity to enjoy the sunset at the park. You could take a couple photos for Instagram and treat yourself to a boba tea at the shop nearby.

You’d become completely occupied with consoling yourself that you jumped to your feet when you felt the tap – really just the graze of fingertips – on your bare shoulder, which sent sparks ricocheting down your arm. Whipping around, you cradled the affected hand to your chest, as if you’d touched an exposed outlet. At first, your eyes were met with a chest, covered with a light blue button-up. They were forced to travel upwards, between the clavicles, up the column of the throat to the face of the chest’s owner.

Here he was. Standing on the grass behind the bench in a button-up, medium-wash jeans, and custom sneakers. The lower half of his face was covered with a surgical mask to not be recognized at a distance, but this close, you could tell it was him. Soobin. His eyes twinkled as they looked at you, only you, and everything went still. The whole word hushed as the sunlight roared its last at Soobin’s face, lighting his blonde hair up like golden threads. He reached up then with long, deft fingers to pull one loop of his mask off his ears, and then there was just his mouth. Peony-pink and plush; he’d put on lipgloss for this.

“Oh,” you breathed, nary a brain cell in your brain working, “Hi.”

His hand dropped to his side, “Hi.”

Neither of you moved for a good five seconds. “Hi,” you repeated, then brought your hand up to your mouth with a flush.

Soobin laughed, “It’s okay. I think it’s so pretty here. Can we stay to watch the sunset?”

Of course you said yes, because who would say no to watching the sunset with their favorite idol? You didn’t have a blanket to sit in the grass, so Soobin came around to sit on the bench. Rather unconsciously, both of you angled your bodies towards the other, knees inches from knocking together.

“I used to come here all the time at this time of day,” you explained, “back before winter. Now that the weather is warming up again, I guess I should start again.”

“When I was a kid, I liked to watch the sunset over Seoul, when we visited there. It made me think about how someone else in the city was watching the same sunset,” he craned his head up to watch as a cloud drifted lazily overhead. (You tried not to be distracted from his beautiful words by the gentle curve of his neck into his jawline, or the way it fluttered when he swallowed.)

“While you were watching the sunset, I was probably watching the sunrise, on my way to school. The time was different, but we shared the same sun, you know?”

Soobin looked at you for a long moment. You began to feel heat in your ears at his gaze, wondering if you’d said something stupid, when he said, “It’s like I know you, somehow. Like we’ve met before.”

“I’ve never been to Korea, but maybe you met me… in your dreams?” you joked, cracking a smile in an effort to alleviate the intensity of the moment.

“That must be it!” Soobin giggled, nose wrinkling up adorably as he rocked forward on the bench, “Or maybe I visited you in yours?”

You ducked your head, thinking about your dream last night, in the garden, Soobin’s hand in yours. Maybe you’d hold that information back for the time being. “Nope. I just dream about memories, and sometimes cute animals. The ones with fluffy hair and big eyes. Although,” you leaned forward conspiratorially, “that kind of describes you, too.”

He sat back, “In that case, I want to dream about something cute tonight, too. Because that describes you.”

That was warfare, flirting warfare! You put your face in your hands to cover up the smile that was taking over your face. Being with Soobin made you feel like a middle-schooler again, tickled by everything the boy you like says.

“If the food I cooked is good enough, I’ll have you dreaming about dinner. Let’s go eat, so we can find out.”

The two of you stood up, the closeness feeling somehow nearer now that you were on your feet. Looking up at Soobin, you fidgeted with your hands for a moment. Behind his head, a burst of sunlight shone like a halo. He looked down at you, the silence momentarily awkward, his arms hanging by his sides. You shook yourself out of your beauty-stricken stupor, laughed, and said, “it’s this way,” leading you both up the path to your apartment.

On the way there, Soobin asked you about the buildings you passed, like who they belonged to and what they were for. He seemed to want to know about the layout of the city, its functions, although he cringed at the heaps of trash on the sides of the street. When you passed a flower shop, he asked you, what’s your favorite flower? And you responded, pausing in the shop’s window to point to your flower of choice in a bouquet.

“I should have bought you flowers,” he frowned, eyes not leaving the bouquet you pointed out, “I’m sorry.”

You shook your head, “You know what they say? Your presence is present enough. I’m happy just to be here with you.”

Soobin looked back to you, then extended his arm towards you, palm facing up. He didn’t say anything, but there was an invitation written all over his face, in his unflinching eye-contact. So you took his hand, and marveled at it in yours. His fingers were chilly, like his heart had a hard time pumping the blood to his lengthy extremities. The way his large hand wrapped around yours gave you the feeling of being encompassed, safe. Soobin’s palm was soft and uncalloused, and his nails clipped short, so he was nothing but smooth to the touch. He squeezed your palm just once, and you squeezed back.

The two of you continued like that the rest of the way, chatting idly about the city, until you arrived at your place, climbing up the flight of stairs outside the front door. “Now, it’s really not much, but it is home. And it’s the best spot in the city to not get spotted and have your picture posted all over Twitter,” you explained as you slid the key into the lock and turned. A rush of nervousness hit you as you grabbed hold of the doorknob, thinking about how you were bringing a multi-millionaire into your two-bedroom apartment with its brick walls and windows that jammed halfway up.

You steeled yourself. You’d already gotten this far. Opening the door, which swung into the house, you gestured for Soobin to step inside. Instead of walking in, though, he gestured the same right back at you. You gestured again, arms waving a bit more dramatically this time, “Please, be my guest.”

“It’s your house,” he protested, “Lead the way.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped inside, hurrying past Soobin into the entryway. He stepped inside and politely shut the door, then immediately removed his shoes. After you followed, the two of you placed your shoes side by side against the wall, and you were struck by the domesticity of the image. A large pair of men’s sneakers, hardly creased and obviously expensive, next to yours at the door (not the normal, beat-up ones you usually wore around the city – you’d pulled out the nice sneakers for Soobin).

“So, what’s it like where you live?” you asked as you led Soobin to the kitchen, part of you wanting to distract him from the glaring modesty of your home.

“It depends,” he responded, “My family’s house in Ansan has oak floors made from trees nearby, and my parents turned the extra bedroom into a playroom for me and my siblings, but we used it to study when we got older.”

You turned the stove back on to heat up the jambalaya, “And the dorms at BigHit?”

He hummed, thinking for a moment. “It’s still like living with family, because we’re all together, and we have to keep our own spaces tidy. But it’s like, you’re never alone, at the same time. There isn’t much privacy,” Soobin played with the sleeve of his button-up as he talked, gaze wandering over your kitchen before landing back on you.

Setting two glasses of water on the table, you sat down. Soobin followed your lead to sit down across from you. His legs stretched the length underneath the table so that your knees knocked against his just slightly, but neither of you pulled back. You could feel vibrations as he tapped his feet against the floor in an unfamiliar rhythm, as if he was keeping the beat to your conversation.

“I would have a hard time with that,” you admitted, “It’s nice to be alone sometimes, to clear your thoughts and to recharge.”

“It’s good and bad. I get annoyed with the other members sometimes, but there’s always someone to cheer me up when I’m sad or discouraged. And I get the bottom bunk, so I don’t have to worry about falling off the bed in my sleep,” he added with a smile.

You just nodded, amazed by the man in front of you.

Soobin wrapped his fingers around the glass then, holding it the way you would hold a mug between your hands to feel its warmth seep into your body. “How did you become a fan? Was it the music or my charming good looks?”

“Oh, definitely your looks,” you assured, “you have the best visuals. Although Yeonjun is the it-boy of Kpop, so I can’t say I wasn’t drawn in by him…”

“I know, I would date Yeonjun if I was a girl. Not that you should date him, because…” Soobin’s sentence trailed off as he flushed.

“Because, what?” You raised your eyebrows.

“What’s for dinner?” he diverted, knocking his knee against yours playfully, “I haven’t ever smelled something like this before.”

You explained to him that you were cooking jambalaya before you had made plans with him, but you thought it would be a good opportunity for him to taste uniquely American cuisine. He seemed to be okay with all the ingredients as you explained them in turn, listening patiently as you rambled on about cooking time and the unique fusion of flavors in Southern foods.

When you filled up bowls for the two of you and sat them down on the table, the food was steaming hot. You heaped Soobin’s bowl extra high, thinking that BigHit probably wasn’t feeding him enough, anyways. He stared at his bowl with momentary hesitation, before picking up the spoon you’d laid out for him. Either out of politeness or fear that you might have poisoned him, he waited until you’d done the same to say, “Thank you for dinner, I’ll enjoy it!” He then brought the first spoonful to his mouth.

Munching as calmly as you could given the situation, you asked, “What do you think? Is it good?”

Soobin’s blonde hair bounced in front of his face as he nodded, “It’s very yummy,” but you noticed, he wasn’t eating anymore, and his cheeks had started to burn red. He’d tilted his head downwards, so that you saw more of his eyebrows than his eyes.

Very quickly, you decided that he must hate it, but was too polite to tell you such. “You know, if you don’t like it, we can just order something. I can get it delivered to the door, so that no one sees you.”

“No, no, I really do like it, it’s just,” Soobin’s eyes snapped up to meet your and you that pools had gathered in those big brown eyes, dripping a single tear down his cheek, “it’s spicy.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize, do you – can you not handle spicy food?”

He shook his head, no, then brought his glass of water to his mouth, pulling a long sip in a way that made his Adam’s apple bob deliciously and - hello, stay focused.

Rushing over to the kitchen cabinets, you pulled out another glass, “I’ll get you some milk.” Practically lunging for the fridge, you flung the door open. And then you remembered, “Uhm, I’m lactose intolerant, so we actually only have almond milk… would that be okay?”

Soobin looked at you like you’d hung the moon. In fact, you swore you could see stars popping out of his eyes when he said, “I love almond milk!”

With a glass of almond milk in Soobin’s hand and the red slowly but surely receding from his cheeks, the crisis was averted. You tried not to think about the fact that you’d just almost killed Choi Soobin with your spicy cooking, instead reveling in the fact that he insisted on finishing the food. By the time the meal was done, he’d made his way just about through the entire carton of almond milk you’d bought at the grocery store earlier, but there was a satiated pink to his cheeks that made you smile. He looked like a cat after finishing her food, licking her lips clean in a distinct sort of contentedness.

You continued to sit at the kitchen table and chat for a while after that, emptied dishes pushed away and forgotten at the end of the table. The hazy, warm overhead light cast shadows across Soobin’s face across the table from you, so that he wore his long eyelashes not only on his eyelids but at the top of his cheeks, as if they’d been painted there. At some point, you offered to bring out a bottle of wine, but Soobin declined, saying that he wasn’t good enough at drinking. At some other point, you’d asked him a question, and he’d looked at you for a very long moment, before pulling out his phone and booting up Google Translate. From then on, he left it open on the table like that, so that either of you could type in words that got lost in translation across languages and cultures. Time was slipping forward like a drip of paint down the wall, but you hardly noticed, because you were falling much faster.

There was something in his presence, his actuality, that you still couldn’t get over. The lankiness of his form spilled out onto your table that was unaccustomed to seating giants, the bounce of his toes under the table as he continued to tap out his own beat, and the gentle “o” of his parted lips as he listened intently when you spoke.

You hadn’t even realized that your gaze was straying shyly from Soobin’s face when it was your turn to speak, instead drifting to his chest or the window to his left, until he placed his hand on top of yours on the table suddenly. Your mouth slammed on the breaks, speech abandoned as you were taken off-guard.

“Look at me,” he insisted, “I want to see your eyes when we talk.”

Not daring to move a centimeter, you matched his gaze steadily, even as you felt your breath suspended in your lungs. “I guess you just make me nervous.”

“What does someone as pretty as you have to be nervous about?”

An element of the siren existed within Soobin. You could see it in the lure of his eyes, as if you would trip into them and drown any moment.

“You realize who you are, right? I mean, you’re world-tour, packed-stadiums famous. I think it’s normal that I would be a little anxious about, you know, getting this right,” you defended yourself, crossing your arms over your chest.

Soobin rolled his lip between his teeth, then set his forearms on the table as if he were about to make a business pitch, “I am Choi Soobin from TXT, and that is a big part of who I am. But I’m also just Choi Soobin from Ansan. Even if I wasn’t an idol, I would still be me. So see me for who I am, not who I am to the world.” At the end of his somewhat impassioned speech, he seemed to grow self-conscious of what he said, looking away from you and taking a long drink of his almond milk.

“Alright,” you relented, “What does Choi Soobin from Ansan want to look into my eyes for?”

“That depends on what you meant when you said you wanted to ‘get this right.’ What does that mean to you?” He threw the question back at you, voice soft and calm despite the brevity of his words.

You sputtered, “Well, that’s… Do I have to answer that?”

He didn’t bother to respond to that, just continuing to look at you in expectation of a real answer.

“I guess getting it right means, like, impressing you. Making you see me in the way that I see you.”

Soobin hummed as he drew circles around the rim of his glass with the tip of his middle finger, “I think you already got it right, then.”

Your heartbeat stuttered, your stomach churned. How was he so shy and yet so brazen at the same time? There was an anxious flutter about him in the way he couldn’t quite keep still, always tapping or twirling or turning some part of his body. But his facial expression stayed so calm as he composedly said things that made you feel like you’d just jumped into a pool of cool water on a hot summer’s day. The gloss had worn off of his lips by now, but they were still aggravatedly red from the food. You stared at them, too carried away to feel ashamed, and fought demons to keep your butt glued to its seat, so that you didn’t launch across the table to kiss him.

“Enough about me,” you changed the subject without much subtlety, “What have you thought of America so far, in the times that you’ve visited?”

Soobin blurted out a laugh, “I don’t think I have heard enough about you, but for now I’ll let you out of it.” He looked up at the ceiling as he thought over your question, “Obviously it’s a big country, and I was surprised that the people here are all so different from each other. But I haven’t actually seen that much. When we go on tour, we’re always busy traveling and doing last minute rehearsals. Even if we weren’t doing that, it’s hard to explore without being bombarded by fans, so we mostly stay in our hotel rooms to rest.” There was a sad resignation in his voice as he explained, accentuated by the disappointed downturn in his lips.

“I didn’t realize. That’s kind of awful,” you murmured.

Soobin shrugged, and you could imagine the rise and fall of his sharp collarbones under his button-up shirt. “It’s part of the job. Every job has pros and cons, and at least I do get to go all over the world with my group.”

“Still,” you chagrined, then paused, a thought coming to mind. “You know, right now it's, what, like eleven at night? On a Sunday, too, so most people will be in bed for work in the morning. If you wanted to, we could go explore the city, now. I can show you around what’s accessible at night.”

“If I wear my mask, maybe no one will recognize me,” Soobin seemed to be getting more excited as he thought your proposition over, a smile beginning to light up his face.

“So let’s at least try. If anyone does spot you, we can just take off running,” you chuckled at the idea, “You’ve got long legs, I’m sure you’d be halfway to Canada by the time they could get their phone out to take a picture.”

He giggled, “It would be way too risky. Like, if my agency found out, they would make me wash everyone’s dishes for the next year.”

“Speaking of your agency, how did you convince them to let you come here tonight?”

Soobin rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, then, looking down and laughing awkwardly. “I may or may not have convinced Beomgyu to tell our manager that I have food poisoning, and don’t want anyone to see me…and I may or may not have snuck out of the hotel.”

The image of Beomgyu lying about such a delicate situation made you cackle, “You really wanted to see me that bad?”

“I did,” he said matter of factly. The absurdity of such a concept didn’t seem to register with him the same way it did with you.

“I’ll give you a two for one deal, then. You get to see me and you get to see the city,” you stood from the table, “Let’s do this.”

Soobin stood and made out to follow you, asking “Can I use your restroom before we leave?” So, you pointed him in the right direction and distinctly chose not to think about the celebrity pissing in the bathroom that you’d forgotten to clean earlier. While he was away, you sat for a moment on the wooden-slatted bench that was settled against the wall of your apartment’s entryway. A buzzing warmth filled your cheeks, and the lingerings of a smile wouldn’t seem to fall off your face. Soobin was, so far, everything you might have imagined and more. Even besides his beauty, there was a collected sort of kindness and humor about him that made him incredibly easy to be around. Although you were nervous, it was easy to talk to him when he exuded such an honest acceptance in his every word. You felt like you could trust him, even though you’d technically only just met him.

When Soobin emerged from the bathroom into the hallway, tapping his hands on the tops of his thighs as he walked towards you, you stood up. “Where to first? What’s something you’ve always wanted to see?”

“Maybe we can start with… coffee?” he asked sheepishly as you led him through the door, “They got us up early this morning to film a vlog for YouTube, so I’m kind of sleepy.”

You presented him with your hand to hold, warmth rushing through you when he took it without hesitation. “Never fear. I just graduated college, so I know every late-night coffee shop within a walking, driving, and metro-able radius.”

Hand in hand, you and Soobin set off into the city on foot, embracing the cooling nightfall air of late spring. He was still seemingly entranced with his surroundings, looking all around and asking plenty of questions along the way to the coffee stand you had in mind. It was a cute mini camping car that had been renovated to hold a full espresso bar, situated comfortably in the public park that actually was closest to your house, and it was open until midnight. Having not seen anyone so far on the streets, Soobin hadn’t put on his face mask yet, although he held it at the ready in his free hand just in case. The expression on his face was downright endearing as he poured over the coffee menu, deliberating his options.

“What’s an “affogato”?” he asked in a hushed voice, as if the barista would judge him if she heard.

“It’s where they pour espresso over ice cream. It's really good.”

He sighed out an “ah” and nodded, then turned towards you. “I know what I want.”

You turned so that you were now facing each other, his left hand still clasped in your right one, “What’s that?”

“You.”

Well, fuck. Heat flooded into your face, which you tried to hide with your hand, but quickly gave up to push Soobin lightly on the chest instead, “Hush, you can’t say that to me in public. What coffee do you want?” The height difference between the two of you felt exaggerated standing so close, as you tilted your neck back to look at Soobin’s face.

“Okay, okay, sorry. Can I have a latte with almond milk, please?” he looped his right hand’s fingers with yours, too, and swung both your hands’ back and forth a couple of times. Coupled with the way he smiled down at you, you were feeling like a kid in a candy store.
“Have you seriously not had enough almond milk tonight?” you chuckled, but assented, ordering the drinks. At Soobin’s insistence, you paid with his credit card, which was made of thick metal that sat heavy in your hand.

Once they were finished, the barista called out your name, having met you on several occasions before this during your many late-night study binges. Setting the coffees on the counter, she said, “I didn’t know you had a boyfriend! The two of you are so cute.”

“Oh, he’s not – ” you stumbled over your words. You couldn’t exactly tell her he wasn’t your boyfriend, but was actually a famous Kpop idol, now could you? “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s more like my nuisance,” you joked instead.

She laughed, “I’m jealous. Here, take these croissants with you. We’re probably not gonna sell them by the end of the night, anyways. They’ll go well dipped in your coffee.”

You and Soobin both thanked her, and walked away even happier than before with coffee and pastries in hand. The only problem was that, with both hands occupied, you couldn’t hold hands. You tamped down your childish disappointment at the fact, resolving to grab hold of Soobin’s hand again as soon as you’d both finished your treats.

It seemed like that wouldn’t take long. “I love bread,” Soobin enthused, then took a big bite out of his croissant, humming through his chewing.

He was ridiculously captivating, to the point that you couldn’t look away. As a result, you almost tripped over the sidewalk as you came up from a crosswalk, in what was one of your more embarrassing moments in life. At least you didn’t spill your coffee, and honestly, Soobin seemed a bit too preoccupied with his croissant to really even notice.

For the next two hours, the two of you walked around the city, exploring all the sites that were visible and open at nighttime. Luckily, that was more than enough to fill an entire night, even if you’d started earlier than midnight. As you walked along, you and Soobin got to learn more about each other. You found out that he had two older siblings, a sister and a brother, and a little nephew who called him Uncle Yayaya because of his closing lines in “Crown.” He shared about how he missed his family a lot, being apart from them so much because of his busy work schedule and traveling on tour.

“My parents nicknamed me turtle when I was a kid, because I would duck back into my shell when I became shy,” Soobin admitted when you encountered a mural of a sea turtle swimming along in the sea on a building’s wall, “I still do that, I think.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being introverted. It just makes it more special when you do come out of your shell,” you bumped your shoulder against him lightly in reassurance.

He returned your bump, somehow making the friendly gesture so gentle. “I’m glad you see it that way. I worry sometimes that our fans don’t like that I’m quiet at times.”

“Please. You could kill a man on camera and your fans would immediately have a list of reasons to explain why you’re innocent. We all love you.”

Soobin opened and closed his mouth a couple times at that, looking at you like you’d said something strange. “Love me, huh?” he said finally, somewhere between teasing you and genuinely asking.

Immediately, you were embarrassed. Context aside, you’d technically just told a guy you loved him on the first date. You were scrambling to say something that would cover your tracks when Soobin pulled you into a side-hug, leaning his head on your shoulder.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he patted your shoulder where his arm was wrapped around you (and you tried not to squeal, because Choi Soobin’s arm was wrapped around you), “I know that you’re my fan. I’m grateful to have your support, but I’m even more grateful to be here with you right now.”

“I’m the one who should be grateful. This is, like, the sort of stuff you read about in fanfictions. Which isn’t to say that I read fanfictions about you – I mostly just read about Taehyun,” you rambled as you tried not to seem too terribly creepy.

He made a hilariously offended facial expression and pulled you in tighter, grumbling about competition as you continued walking along the sidewalk. You’d decided to show Soobin around one of the neighborhoods with lots of street art, since he wasn’t able to enter any galleries during the daytime without being bothered. With his arm around your shoulders, and your hand coming up to hold his as it draped over your front, you were genuinely beginning to feel like he was your boyfriend, as the barista had assumed.

But you knew better than to get ahead of yourself. This was an amazing date, and was way more than you ever could have dreamed of, but you knew that by the end of the night, this would all probably be over. There was no way Soobin would maintain a relationship with a random fangirl who lived across the world from him. Especially not when his label was so strict about dating, and his schedule already didn’t afford him the time to visit his own family. You were a temporary source of fun for him, and that was enough for you. You told yourself to leave well enough alone, and not get worked up when it wouldn’t change anything.

Winding through the streets of the city, stories and jokes and affectionate glances continued to unravel between you like a spool of yarn sent rolling through a maze. The orange glow of the streetlights caught in the mildly humid air to give the entire scene a hazy, warm filter. It was well past one in the morning by now, although the espresso had done its job in keeping you both awake. Your feet were beginning to ache from all the walking, so you needed to figure out a place that would both impressively conclude the tour and give you somewhere to sit down.

It didn’t take much pondering for you to land on the perfect spot. The large bridge that connected the city to the other side of the river, which had not only a sidewalk for pedestrians, but was dotted with benches, and had an amazing view of the water and the city.

“Are you ready for our final destination?” you asked Soobin.

“Not really. I don’t want the night to be over,” he flirted, those brown eyes full of something way too energetic for this hour of the night.

After about a fifteen minute walk, the bridge was finally in sight. Soobin gasped when he saw it, “We’re going there?”

You nodded, “We can walk over it if you want to. There’s a great view in the middle.”

The bridge was quiet given the time of day, with no pedestrians walking along its sidewalk, and only the rare car tumbling over the paved road in its center. While the absence of life on the bridge had an eerie feeling to you, you were also glad to be alone. You felt that you could spend quite a lot of time alone with Soobin, and perhaps never get sick of it.

“There’s so much meaning in a bridge,” Soobin pondered aloud as he looked out over the water, which was black but for the city lights dancing upon its wavy surface. “Transition, progress, connection.”

“It is amazing, the way that human beings will create such complex technologies in order to be able to visit each other. If it weren’t for planes and cars or trains, I never would’ve been able to meet you,” you agreed, subconsciously crowding yourself closer to him.

“Thank God that someone a hundred years ago decided humans should be able to fly. Otherwise, I would’ve had to take a boat to find you, and I think I would’ve gotten seasick.”

You stalled your tracks as the two of you drew to the middle of the bridge. Turning to lean against the thick concrete railing of the bridge, you drank in the sight of Soobin in front of you. “But you would’ve found me?”

He drew nearer to you, placing his hands on either side of you on the railing and leaning in until he was only a couple inches from your face. “Of course.” You swore you could feel his heartbeat in his chest at this proximity.

All you could do was swallow, becoming overwhelmed with Soobin’s closeness at that moment. You’d taken him to the best view in the city, and all he was looking at was you. His forearms brushed against your sides where they caged you in against the railing, making you feel secure. He towered over you, but was leaning downwards to look you in the eyes, strands of his fluffy blonde hair falling into your face to tickle your forehead. This close, his breath ghosted over the bridge of your nose, warm and smelling of coffee. His jaw cut a sinful angle as he tilted his head towards yours. You could see the joint in his chin flexing as Soobin wet his lips with his tongue. Somehow you were completely at ease, and yet every muscle in your body was turned on at the same time.

Not knowing what else to do with them, you placed your hands softly on his chest. The fabric of his button-up was smooth and crisp, the pectoral muscles underneath firm and supple. As he crowded into you, you realized that one of Soobin’s feet stood between yours now, so that his left leg leaned into the space between your knees.

“Can I kiss you?” Soobin finally, finally whispered, searching all over your face with a desperate furrow between his brows.

“Oh good God, yes,” you sighed and drew your arms around his neck.

One of Soobin’s hands came up to rest on the side of your face, his pinky cradling the curve of your jaw. The other reached to your hip, where he rubbed the fabric of your clothes there between his fingers, as if he was too shy to actually grab hold. Soobin drew his thumb across your bottom lip. His eyes flickered from your mouth to your eyes, then to your mouth again. After only a moment of impatient waiting, you saw his eyes drift close, and shut yours firmly on cue.

Then his lips landed on yours, and your heart exploded.

As far as first kisses go, this one skyrocketed to the top of your list. Soobin’s lips were well-moisturized, and full, and the sharp bow of his lip was infuriatingly sensual when it slid against your lips. He pressed gently into your mouth at first, with his mouth closed. There was a pause after you pulled away, where you both hovered centimeters from each other, daring the other to further the kiss first. You responded with a couple subsequent pecks until he titled his head to change the angle, diving back in with a comfortable rhythm. When Soobin slid his tongue out to trace an arc over your upper lip, it was all you could do not to moan. Your lips parted on command. The kiss remained primarily chaste, but the moderate glide of tongues taunting one another toed the line into dangerous territory.

After a couple minutes, when you and Soobin both were thoroughly out of breath, you parted. Soobin’s forehead crashed down to press into yours as he panted. He pressed an innocent kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, as if to get the last say.

“I’m sad,” he said to you, still in a hushed tone.

A touch of worry tugged in your belly, “Why?”

“I want to watch the sunrise with you,” his hand trailed down to stroke soothingly up and down your neck, “but I have to be at the airport by six.”

Despite knowing that this was soon to end from the very start of the night, you relented to feeling a bit disappointed that the end was approaching so quickly.

“In a perfect world, we’d watch the sunset on this bridge, and then I’d take you back to my apartment and make you pancakes for breakfast.” You ran your fingers through the short hairs on the back of Soobin’s head, taking note of the way he shivered at the attention.

“Maybe the next tour stop can wait. We can say I got the flu.”

Pulling back to look at him more clearly, you shook your head and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, “You and I both know that wouldn’t be fair to the other fans. I got to have you for tonight, and that’s more than I could have ever asked for,” the sentence was punctuated with the trailing of your finger down his jawline - which, you thought, you had to touch at least once before this was over.

“What if it wasn’t just for tonight?” Soobin placed his hands firmly on your hips as he asked, bold and a yet bit bashful at his own question, “We have phones, and I have unlimited international service - I’ll get you international if you don’t have it. We can keep talking.”

You hesitated, thinking about how it would feel when he (inevitably) grew bored and slowly stopped texting you. Wasn’t it better to rip the bandaid off all at once? “I don’t know. It would be just another stress on your plate, and I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

In lieu of a response, Soobin pressed his lips against yours once more, firm and full of meaning. “You couldn’t be trouble to me. So, let’s keep talking. Please?”

And that was just completely unfair! His cuteness was a weapon, with those begging puppy-dog eyes and those pouty lips that you wanted to bite. Soobin kept his hands on you, pulling you into him like he was trying to demonstrate just how good, how electric being in each other’s presence was. You felt his knee knocking against yours, the friction of his denim jeans, from the anxious rocking of his foot back and forth on the ground. It was very clear that he was not necessarily accustomed to being told no, but you found it more endearing than annoying. He wanted you. He was being a brat, yes, but it was because he wanted you.

You took a moment to think to yourself, why not? Because you were afraid of getting hurt? That was a risk you’d already taken the moment you walked to the park earlier that day. It was, you reasoned, more likely than not that you would end up having your heart broken by this man. And it would suck – like really, really suck – but you would heal. People always do. Besides, he would look so goddamn good doing it, so you wouldn’t even be able to be mad at him anyways.

“Alright,” you relented, “We should keep talking. But only because you asked nicely.”

Soobin was so excited that he picked you up and twirled in not one, not two, but three circles. Dizzy, you came back onto your feet, clutching at his biceps for support as you both giggled, happy fools. You couldn’t resist leaning your face into his chest, so you did. Immediately, his arms came around you, and all was right in the world. Alone together on a bridge in the middle of the city, damn near three in the morning, swaying back and forth like two slow dancers. Evidently, you were delirious with fatigue and dopamine-rush, because you nearly forgot that this was where you parted.

Brushing a hand between your shoulder-blades, Soobin voiced with regret, “I need to call a taxi. They’ll be coming in to wake us up soon, because for some reason we need to be styled before we can go to the airport. At six in the morning.” It was obvious someone was going to be cranky on the flight.

“I can call you an uber,” you responded, not knowing the next thing about calling an actual taxi.

“You need to call one for yourself, and take my card to pay for it,” Soobin protested, already pulling his wallet out of his back pocket, “I can’t let you walk back to your apartment alone at this time of night.”

You rolled your eyes. “Such a gentleman. If it weren’t for the fact that we’ve been walking for hours and my feet feel like they might fall off, I would insist on saying no. But, tonight, I’ll just say thank you,” you smiled cheekily up at him.

After a bit of arguing about who would get picked up by their ride first (it obviously needed to be Soobin, because an internationally famous didn’t need to be left alone in an unfamiliar city at three in the morning, but he was petulant about leaving you alone at night as well), Soobin put his card information into your phone and you both called your cabs. In the ten minutes it took for his car to show up, you sat on the bench with Soobin, looking out over the water. With your head on his shoulder and his on top of yours, fingers interlaced on your lap, you talked. About the weather, and what you planned on making for breakfast in a few hours, and where Soobin was staying for the next show. The conversation was light-hearted, but there was a lingering sense of longing. Even before you parted, the air was charged with the feeling of you both yearning for each other.

Then, a sleek black car pulled up, and Soobin got his mask out of his pocket. You walked with him to the back door, and watched as he opened it with one hand, the other still held in yours.

Soobin turned around, and hugged you tight. “Thank you for the most amazing night,” he breathed.

“Thank you,” you wrapped your arms around him, “for everything. Let me know when you get back safe, and if your management figures out where you were tonight.”

Soobin nodded, then pulled back to take one last, long look at you. Surging up on your tippy toes, you planted a kiss on his lips. For several moments, your lips moved against one another, until the Uber driver cleared his throat loudly. As you both smiled then laughed into the kiss, you broke apart. Pressing one last kiss on the top of your head, Soobin finally let go of your hand. He got into the car and softly shut the door.

You waved at him as he drove away, glad that he wouldn’t be able to see the tears in your eyes. Really, you weren’t sure why you were crying. This was a happy ending. Maybe it was the overwhelm or the exhaustion, but you shed a few hot tears. Alternating between a quivering grin and a look of awe, you must have looked interesting as you sat back down on the bench and waited for your car.

The whole way home, you just looked out the window of the Uber, reflecting. But when you got inside and checked your phone, it was blown up. About a million messages had come in from your roommate asking for you to explain what the hell you meant when you said you’d brought Choi Soobin into your house when she wasn’t there. You shot her a quick text saying you needed to call her when you got off work tomorrow. Well, today. You needed to be at the office by nine.

Worth it, you thought to yourself. Sure, you’d be insanely sleep deprived at work and would probably make an idiot of yourself in the morning meeting, but it was worth it.

While you were brushing your teeth and trying to figure out how you’d sleep with the constant fluttering in your chest, your phone buzzed again. The notification read, like a blessing, “Soobin <3”.

‘Did you make it home safe?’ he’d typed out, then followed up with, ‘Management has no idea. Beomgyu made a fake Soobin out of pillows in my bed.’

Toothbrush hanging out of your mouth, you snorted. ‘I’m home safe, and I’m glad I didn’t get you in trouble yet. Try to get a nap!’

‘Only if you visit my dreams again,’ his response was near-instant.

‘Don’t worry I already planned on sneaking into your dreams tonight. I won’t be awake when you fly out in the morning, so travel safely <3’

Soobin only sent back a heart. Sighing and smiling and kicking your feet like you were in a rom-com, you tucked yourself into bed. And to your surprise, only a few minutes after laying down, you fell asleep.