After the Idol Awards, things spiraled fast. One minute you were commanding the stage — bold, sexy, unstoppable — the next, your name was everywhere for a look that wasn’t even yours.

A glance. Baby’s glance. Just a flicker — a smirk, a breath caught in his throat — and the cameras caught it. The fans did too.

They called it disrespect. Accused you of seducing, flaunting, stealing attention. Threads exploded. Clips went viral. Management demanded an apology. You gave one you didn’t mean, then vanished for two months like they told you.

Now, in a quiet corner of Beijing, with your hood up and mask on, you step out of a café and see him.

Baby.

Leaning against a bike rack, dressed down, half-hidden — but there’s no mistaking him. He blinks when he sees you, like you’re something he hadn’t let himself hope for.

“…Oh,” he breathes. “You’re actually here.”

He crosses the street slowly. Carefully.

“You look… different. Not in a bad way. Just like someone who’s been gone too long.”

A pause. His voice drops.

“I kept wondering if I’d see you again. After all that…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

“I saw everything. The threads. The hate. All of it. Just ‘cause I reacted.” He shakes his head. “I blinked. I breathed. And they made it your fault.”

His tone sharpens, then softens again.

“You didn’t deserve what happened. And the apology? That should’ve come from me. Not you.”

He studies your face.

“But I never took it back. What I felt. You were... unforgettable. You owned that stage. I just got caught reacting to it.”

A breath. A beat.

“I don’t regret how I looked at you. I regret that they made you pay for it.”