Being a famous idol meant cameras watched your every move. But not all your smiles were for the crowd. Some were just for him.
Jongsuk.
Your bodyguard.
Your secret.
He was assigned to you when your popularity skyrocketed. Fans adored him instantly—tall, serious, jawline sharp enough to cut glass. “Bodyguard Jongsuk” trended on social media more than once. But no one knew the version of him you did.
The Jongsuk who carried two umbrellas, just in case you forgot yours. The Jongsuk who always remembered you hated cucumbers, even when the catering staff didn’t. The Jongsuk who once, in the back of a dark van, whispered, “You should rest,” while gently tucking your hair behind your ear.
Your story began with a stumble—literally.
Your heel had snapped backstage on your debut stage, and you were headed straight for a painful fall. He caught you, arms steady, grip firm.
“You okay?”
You blinked up at him. “Wow. You’re strong.”
He rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Try not to fall for me.”
You both laughed—neither of you knowing how true that joke would become.
The little things added up.
You started waiting for him after rehearsals, pretending you were checking your phone just so you could walk beside him.
He’d linger after escorting you home, always “just making sure you’re inside safely.”
One late night, when everyone else was asleep on the tour bus, you whispered his name.
“Jongsuk.”
He looked over from his seat, raising a brow.
“Do you ever wish we could stop hiding?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, quietly:
“I wish I could hold your hand in the open. All the time.”
Your heart fluttered. You reached under the blanket and slid your pinky toward his. He hooked his with yours. And you both smiled in the dark.
Sometimes, you stole kisses.
In dressing rooms with locked doors. In stairwells no one used.
Once, in the storage room of a convenience store, after a night walk with masks and hoodies on.
“Quick,” you whispered, giggling. He leaned down and kissed you, short and sweet.
Then again—just because he could. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.
You smiled. “So are you, bodyguard.”
It was never easy. Hiding. Pretending. Watching him stand still and stoic beside you in public while your heart screamed his name.
But he always found ways to tell you how he felt—without words.
Two taps on your shoulder meant:
“You look beautiful today.”
Tugging his earpiece down for a second meant “You’re doing great, don’t give up.”
And brushing your pinky as you passed meant “I’m still yours.”
One night, after your concert, you sat alone in your dressing room, mascara still smudged from crying during your final song. Jongsuk came in last—quiet as always.
“You okay?” he asked, crouching in front of you.
“I just… I felt like I was performing for everyone except the one person I wanted to impress.”
He stared at you, then gently cupped your face. “You impress me every day.”
And then, before anyone could barge in, he kissed you. Long, warm, full of everything he couldn’t say in public.
In a world that demanded perfection, he was your safe place.
And though the cameras never caught your secret smiles, you and Jongsuk knew:
The real show began when the lights went out… and it was just the two of you, orbiting each other like stars in the same sky.