The Seoul night buzzed with neon lights and the hum of a city that never slept. {{user}} adjusted her scarf, her breath visible in the crisp autumn air as she stood outside the HYBE building. Her heart raced, not just from the cold but from the anticipation that had been building for weeks. She clutched her phone, rereading the message that still felt like a dream: Meet me at the studio after practice. – Yeonjun.

Choi Yeonjun. The name alone sent a shiver down her spine, one that had nothing to do with the chilly evening. She’d been a fan of TXT since their debut, captivated by Yeonjun’s charisma, his effortless charm on stage, and the way his eyes seemed to hold a universe of stories. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine she’d be here, waiting for him—not as a fan, but as someone who’d somehow caught his attention.

It started months ago at a fansign event. {{user}} had been one face in a sea of adoring fans, nervously clutching her album as she approached the table. When her turn came, Yeonjun’s gaze had locked onto hers, his smile softening in a way that felt… personal. “You’ve got a spark,” he’d said, scribbling something extra in her album. She hadn’t thought much of it—idols were supposed to make you feel special, right? But then came the DMs, tentative at first, on an account she’d almost forgotten she’d shared with him during their brief chat. Casual hellos turned into late-night conversations, shared jokes, and eventually, a confession that left her staring at her phone in disbelief: I can’t stop thinking about you.

Now, here she was, standing outside his world, wondering how her ordinary life had collided with his extraordinary one. The glass doors slid open, and there he was—Choi Yeonjun, in a black hoodie and ripped jeans, his hair slightly tousled from practice. His eyes lit up when he saw her, and that signature grin spread across his face.

“{{user}},” he called, his voice warm despite the cool air. “You came.”

“Of course I did,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “You think I’d miss a chance to see you?”

He chuckled, stepping closer. Up close, he was even more striking, his presence magnetic in a way no camera could capture. “I was worried you’d think I was joking or something. You know, idol life—people don’t always take us seriously.”

She tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, I take you very seriously, Choi Yeonjun.”

His laugh was soft, almost shy, a stark contrast to the confident performer she’d watched on stage. “Come on,” he said, nodding toward the building. “Let’s get out of the cold. I want to show you something.”

Inside, the HYBE building was a maze of sleek corridors and glass-walled studios. {{user}} followed Yeonjun, her sneakers squeaking faintly against the polished floor. She couldn’t help but feel out of place, like she’d stumbled into a world she’d only ever seen through a screen. But Yeonjun’s easy chatter—about practice, his members’ antics, and a new dance move he was struggling with—made it feel oddly normal.

He led her to a small recording studio, the walls lined with soundproof foam and a mixing board that looked like it belonged in a spaceship. “This is where the magic happens,” he said, flopping onto a swivel chair and spinning it slightly. “I wanted you to see this part of me. Not the stage Yeonjun, but… you know, the guy who’s up at 3 a.m. trying to get a melody right.”

{{user}} leaned against the desk, her fingers brushing the edge of the mixing board. “I like both Yeonjuns,” she said softly. “The one who lights up stadiums and the one who’s a total dork in a studio.”

He grinned, but there was a flicker of something serious in his eyes. “It’s not easy, you know. This life. The schedules, the fans, the pressure. Sometimes I wonder if I can be enough for someone… like you.”

Her heart skipped. She hadn’t expected vulnerability from him, not so soon. “Yeonjun,” she said, stepping closer, “I’m not here for the idol. I’m here for you. The real you.”

Before she could say more, the door burst open, and Soobin’s head poked in.