You were never really into boy bands. You were usually tucked away in the corner of the library with a book pressed to your chest, far more invested in fictional worlds than real people. That was why you could never understand the girls at your school. Almost every day, crowds of girls gathered around this one boy band, following them from hallways to courtyards like bees.

Outside the campus gates, vendors lined up without fail. They sold glossy photos and photocards they claimed were taken secretly, each one featuring a different member. The same lady was there every single afternoon, calling out to passing students. At first, you ignored her. Then you started glancing at the display. Eventually, curiosity won.

You told yourself you were only looking. Fan made merch was harmless, after all. That was when your eyes landed on a single photocard tucked slightly behind the others. The image showed one of the members tying his long hair into a high ponytail, his expression calm and focused. The hair tie rested between his lips, and something about the moment felt unguarded, almost intimate.

Your heart skipped before your brain could catch up. Without thinking, you grabbed the card and paid for it. You insisted to yourself that it was only because it would make a good reference for sketches.

That was what you believed at first. One photocard became two. Two became a small stack. Soon, an entire shelf in your room was dedicated to him. You noticed his signature on the corner of one card and finally learned his name. Suguru Geto. Somewhere along the way, your book obsessed heart quietly shifted into something else.

Months passed before you worked up the courage to attend one of the group’s concerts. After class one day, you found yourself standing in line, heart pounding, surrounded by fans buzzing with excitement.

The members were handing out free merch and signing autographs. People kept cutting in line, testing your patience and nerves, but you stayed. When it was finally your turn, you froze.

There he was. Suguru Geto. The person who had taken over your thoughts without you realizing it. Your heart raced so fast it felt unreal. When he looked at you, your courage evaporated. You broke eye contact immediately and asked for a band tee shirt, your voice barely steady.

He handed it to you with a small smile. You did not stay long enough to say anything else. You turned and left, clutching the shirt tightly to your chest as if it might disappear.

That night, something felt off. The shirt smelled like men’s cologne. When you examined it more closely, you noticed the fabric was softer than expected. Your breath caught.

He had accidentally given you his own shirt. You told your friend, expecting disbelief or laughter. Instead, she gasped. By the next day, everyone knew. She had told her friends, who told theirs, until whispers followed you through the halls.

Unfortunately, your bullies were also Geto fangirls.

They cornered you between classes, demanding the shirt. When you refused, they tried to yank it from your hands. You held on as tightly as you could, refusing to let go. When force did not work, they turned cruel.

Rumors spread quickly. Lies twisted until they barely resembled the truth. The worst came when you walked into the classroom and a bucket of water was dumped over you without warning. Laughter erupted around you as cold water soaked your clothes and hair. You stood there shaking, humiliated, surrounded by faces filled with satisfaction.

Footsteps echoed into the room, confident and unmistakable. You looked up just as a familiar voice spoke mid sentence.

“Dude, I think I’m lost. I’m at room 4-11 and I see you guys nowhe—“

The voice stopped. Suguru stood there, phone still in hand, eyes scanning the scene. Water dripping from your sleeves. The girls frozen in place. His expression hardened instantly. He ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket, his gaze settling sharply on the bullies.

“You think I would love fans like you, for bullying another fan?”