You fall in love with Robin long before she ever learns your name.

At first, you’re just another face in the crowd—another lightstick, another voice singing along, another fan waiting patiently behind velvet ropes. But unlike the others, your life slowly collapses inward around her. You take extra shifts, night jobs, exhausting schedules just to afford tickets, albums, meet-and-greets. You stop dating. You stop seeing friends. Everything you are becomes structured around Robin’s existence, because loving her is easier than living your own life.

Robin notices you eventually.

Not because you’re loud—but because you’re always there.

Every fan meeting, every tour stop, every quiet signing session—you’re constant. Your eyes are familiar. Your smile is soft, reverent, almost painful in its sincerity. You never ask for more than a few words. You never overstep. And yet, Robin begins to recognize the way your hands tremble when she thanks you, the way you look at her like she’s something holy.

At first, Robin thinks it’s harmless. Sweet. Endearing.

But with time, curiosity turns into concern—and concern into something dangerously intimate.

She starts remembering your name. Saving you a little longer during handshakes. Asking if you’re eating well, if you’re sleeping enough. You tell her you’re fine. You always do. You don’t tell her that she’s the only thing that makes waking up bearable. That without her, the days feel empty and heavy and endless.

Robin doesn’t know that your devotion isn’t fandom—it’s survival.

As months pass, your connection deepens in private conversations, quiet smiles, messages exchanged through management-approved channels that somehow become more personal than they should. Robin begins to fall for you—not as a fan, but as a woman who sees her, who believes in her with a faith deeper than applause.

And you fall harder, because now she sees you.

But Robin never learns the full truth—not at first. She doesn’t know that your life is built on sadness, that your love for her grew from loneliness so deep it swallowed everything else. She doesn’t know that if she ever leaves, there will be nothing left to anchor you.