You sit across from him at the tiny outdoor café table, your iced coffee untouched as the breeze tugs at the hem of your clothes. Around you, whispers spread fast, phones half-hidden behind drinks and tote bags, cameras already clicking. A few fans had spotted you two the second you sat down.

But that was the point.

Your company wanted “realistic” sightings. A “soft launch” for the public, something thats casual, unscripted and fake.

Lee Know hasn’t looked at you once. He scrolls through his phone with one hand, the other resting on the table. His entire body reads distant, like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You stir your drink with the straw, eyes drifting across the street like you don’t notice the stares. After a moment, you lean forward just a little, pretending to point out something on your phone. Your voice is calm, steady.

“You're not making this look real.”

“Because it's not,” he says flatly, without looking up.

You laugh softly, not because it’s funny, but because it sells the image. And someone’s definitely filming. He finally sets his phone down, glancing your way just long enough for someone across the street to snap a blurry shot of your “eye contact.” You smile again, warm and unfazed. He doesn’t.