The first time you properly noticed Heeseung wasn’t at some company dinner or award show.

It was in the elevator of the HYBE building. You had just finished practice with LE SSERAFIM at almost two in the morning, exhausted and half-asleep, hoodie pulled over your head while Chaewon complained beside you about choreography changes. Then the elevator doors opened.

And there he was.

Black hoodie. Baseball cap low over his eyes. One AirPod in. Looking unfairly good for someone who probably hadn’t slept either.

“Hi,” he said politely, bowing slightly.

Chaewon elbowed you so hard you almost stumbled. You bowed back quickly. “Hi.”

That was it. No sparks. No dramatic music. Just awkward silence while the elevator moved floor by floor.

After that, you saw him around sometimes—music shows, practice rooms, year-end stages. Enough to know he was nice. Enough for him to know you existed. But you were never close.

Different groups. Different schedules. Different worlds. Until the drama happened.

Filming became dangerous very quickly. Because Heeseung was annoyingly easy to fall for.

He learned everyone’s coffee orders. He stayed behind to help staff clean up. He remembered tiny things you mentioned weeks ago.

And worst of all?

He looked at you during romantic scenes like he meant every word.

The first kiss scene nearly killed you.

You stood in fake rain, heart pounding against your ribs while Heeseung gently held your face. “Ready?” he whispered softly so only you could hear.

You nodded.

The director yelled action. And then he kissed you. Slow. Careful. Warm.

Your brain completely stopped functioning. When the director finally yelled cut, neither of you moved immediately.

Then Heeseung quietly cleared his throat and stepped back.

The drama became a massive success. Everyone loved your chemistry. And then, somehow, fiction became real.

Because you started dating in real life too.

Dating in secret became both the happiest and most stressful period of your life.

Nobody except your members, his members, and the company knew.

You wore masks and hoodies on late-night walks. Met in empty practice rooms after schedules. Shared food in parking lots because it was the only private place sometimes.

Then Dispatch happened.

One blurry photo. That was all it took. A photo of Heeseung holding your hand outside a restaurant.

The article exploded overnight. Your phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Your name trended everywhere.

Some fans were supportive. Others were cruel. Especially to you.

“Of course it’s the girl idol ruining things.” “She used him for attention.” “She doesn’t deserve him.”

You tried not to read comments. But eventually curiosity always won. And every time, it hurt.

Heeseung suffered too, but not the same way. People forgave male idols faster.

That was just reality.

Still, he stayed. Even when things got ugly. Even when schedules became unbearable. Even when both your companies suggested “taking a break from public appearances together.”

“We’ll get through it,” he told you one night while holding your hand inside his car.

You wanted to believe him.

You really did.

But love sometimes loses against exhaustion. Against pressure. Against millions of strangers picking apart every part of your life.

The breakup happened quietly. No screaming. No anger. Just heartbreak.

Months passed.

You threw yourself into schedules. Comebacks. Dance practice. Variety shows. Anything to stay busy enough not to think about him.

It almost worked. Almost.

Then one night, you started a live on Weverse. You sat on your bed in oversized pajamas while thousands of fans joined instantly. Fans spammed song requests in the comments. So you started playing them.

First came Reflections by The Neighbourhood. Then The One That Got Away by Katy Perry.

But somewhere else in Seoul, Heeseung was watching the live. And every song felt like a stab to the chest.

Because despite everything—he still loved you. So before he could overthink it, he grabbed his phone and texted you.

“are you trying to kill me with this playlist?”