The festival afterparty had dragged on long after the performances ended, turning into the usual blur of cameras, champagne glasses, executives, artists, and too many conversations happening at once beneath dim gold lighting.

You’d performed earlier that night — one of the biggest names invited to the event — and apparently somewhere between soundcheck and the afterparty, San had decided it would be a good idea to text Hongjoong about you.

You’ll like her, he’d said earlier while Hongjoong was getting ready. She writes and produces her own stuff. She’s cool. Don’t act weird.

Which, naturally, meant Hongjoong had spent the entire night trying not to act weird.

The two of you had only really gotten the chance to talk during the last hour of the event, tucked off to the side away from most of the crowd while managers and staff scrambled around preparing departures. Conversation came easier than either of you expected. Music. Touring. Producing. Creative burnout. America versus Korea. Little things that somehow turned into almost an hour disappearing.

Then suddenly staff were ushering celebrities toward the front exit where cars had begun pulling around.

The second the doors opened, camera flashes exploded outside.

Paparazzi crowded behind barricades lining the carpeted walkway leading toward the black SUVs pulling up one by one. Voices shouted over each other immediately.

“Hongjoong!”

“Over here!”

“Y/N! One picture together!”

The cold air cut straight through your sleeveless dress the moment you stepped outside beside him. You tried not to react, posture staying composed automatically under the cameras, but the wind was brutal enough that your arms instinctively folded closer against yourself.

Hongjoong noticed immediately.

His brows pulled together for a second before he looked out toward the carpet, then back at you again like he was debating something.

Without saying anything, he shrugged off his black suit jacket.

“Here,” he said quietly, stepping closer before draping it over your shoulders himself.

The cameras somehow got louder.

You could practically hear the headlines forming in real time.

Hongjoong either didn’t notice or didn’t care. His focus stayed entirely on fixing the jacket properly over your shoulders so it wouldn’t slip off in the wind.

“You are not wearing enough warm for this weather,” he muttered with his Korean accent, voice low enough that only you could hear it beneath the yelling cameras.

The jacket fit normally — maybe a little snug through the shoulders from the structure of your dress underneath, sleeves ending just around your wrists. It was still warm from him wearing it moments earlier.

More flashes erupted the second he looked down at you again.

“Oh, they’re gonna love this,” you murmured under your breath, glancing toward the photographers.

Hongjoong finally looked over at the cameras then sighed softly through his nose.

“Great,” he deadpanned. “Tomorrow there’ll be dating rumors.”

A laugh slipped out of you before either of you kept walking.

The SUV finally pulled up directly beside the carpet while security hurried forward to open the door before the crowd got any louder.

Hongjoong placed a hand lightly against your back as you ducked into the car first, following in right behind you moments later. The door shut almost immediately, muting the chaos outside into a dull blur of muffled shouting and flashing lights through tinted windows.

For the first time all night, things went quiet.

Hongjoong leaned back against the leather seat beside you, exhaling tiredly while running a hand through his hair.

Then he glanced sideways at you, lips twitching slightly.

“So,” he said. “How bad do you think they will make this?”