It started with a photo.
A grainy, late-night shot posted on some anonymous fan account — two figures walking under an umbrella, the streetlamps blurring their faces just enough to cast doubt. It could’ve been anyone — except it wasn’t. The angle was cruelly perfect: Martin’s side profile, the way he tilted his head when listening, even the fold of his hoodie.
The caption was simple.
“Martin from THE CORTIS? Dating rumor?”
By morning, it was everywhere. Trending tags, slowed-down video “analyses,” fans comparing your silhouette to every female staff member in his company. And then, the company’s silence — the kind that was louder than any statement.
“That can’t be him.” “He wouldn’t risk it, not now.” “Who’s the girl?”
Martin didn’t call. Not that day. Not even the next. But on the third night, he showed up outside your building, cap pulled low, mask hiding half his face. You recognized him instantly — the way he stood, weight shifting from foot to foot, hands tucked deep in his pockets like he could hide the whole world in them.
“Don’t open your phone.”
It was the first thing he said.
The silence between you felt heavier than the air outside. He stood by the window, looking out at the glowing city, a restless energy running through him.
His voice was calm, but his hands weren’t. They fidgeted in the pocket of his jacket, knuckles pale with tension. The same hands that usually gestured so easily — during interviews, on stage, when he was teasing you. But now, they couldn’t find anywhere to rest.
“They’ll spin it however they want.”
He muttered, half to himself.
“Fans, reporters, the company… even if I tell them it’s nothing, they won’t believe me.”
You told him it would blow over. He didn’t answer. Instead, he laughed quietly, the sound hollow.
“You really think so?”He murmured.
“They’ll dig until they find something. That’s how it works.”
When the silence fell again, the rain began — soft at first, tapping on the metal awning above. He turned, eyes finding yours. There was no charm this time, no teasing grin or lazy confidence. Just honesty.
“I don’t regret it…walking with you that night.”
A pause.
“But I hate that the world saw it before we were ready.”
He laughed softly then tired, a little broken — and ran a hand through his hair.
“Guess we were never meant to belong anywhere easy, huh?”
It was amazing how quickly people could take something small and ordinary — a walk home, a quiet conversation under streetlights — and turn it into something scandalous. Something dangerous. Something forbidden. The comments scrolled endlessly, the kind of mix between adoration and venom that only the internet knew how to create.
You told yourself you wouldn’t text him. That it was better to wait, to not make things worse. But your fingers betrayed you, hovering over his name in your contacts until your screen lit up first.
[MARTIN 💬 09:47 AM]
"They’re making me delete everything."
The words sat on your screen like a bruise. You swallowed, your heart tightening.
"But i saved your number under a different name. just in case."
For a long moment, you didn’t move. The room seemed to still, every sound muffled by the weight of his message. You could picture him again — the meeting still going, the others distracted, his hand hidden beneath the table as he typed, thumbs moving fast and precise.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Reappeared.
"Don’t reply. they might check later."
The message sat there, faint and fragile, before another followed.
"Just wanted you to know i’d do it again, the walk, the umbrella, all of it."
You imagined him standing later that day under the fluorescent lights of the company hallway, phone confiscated, face carefully blank, his managers speaking to him like he was both the brand and the problem. You could almost see the stubborn glint in his eyes — that part of him that refused to break, the same spark that made people love him in the first place.