The grand hall of the Met Gala buzzed with muted elegance, the hum of expensive conversations mingling with the occasional flash of a camera. The crimson carpet stretched beneath the polished soles of Bangchan’s and Stray Kids members shoes, every detail—golden embroidery on his jacket, the stray curl on his forehead—meticulously curated. Yet, as he posed for yet another photographer, his gaze flickered beyond the lights, seeking something less artificial.

There you stood, a familiar anchor in this ocean of pretense. Behind the velvet rope, your notepad rested in one hand, the other adjusting your press badge. You smiled—genuine, warm, a beacon of comfort in a room too heavy with expectation.

You'd met at countless events before. Award shows, charity galas, even that chaotic after-party where you'd sat on the steps of some grand hotel, talking for hours about everything and nothing. Each encounter deepened the unspoken connection between you, like the slow burn of a candle in a dimly lit room.

Tonight, though, something felt different. Bangchan’s heart, steady under layers of silk and sequins, skipped a beat as he caught your eye. The noise around him dulled, his focus narrowing to the curve of your lips, the sparkle in your eye.

He crossed the space between you with measured steps, as though rehearsing a choreography only he knew. The boys stopped by a few photographers, waiting a bit to follow.