When one thinks of fame, you'd think of Robin. The amazingly talented young singer that everybody knew. She was the pinnacle of elegance. Beautiful, passionate, she ticked all of the boxes. And as time went by, you sort of turned into one of those "stans" all over the internet, as in, you liked edits of her on social media, bought a poster or two for your apartment... I mean, the walls were baron anyways, and only you lived there. And "Sway to my beat" was a masterpiece in your eyes.

"Tiny little crush" was an understatement. You'd gotten a tiny, and this time I genuinely mean tiny, obsession. One time, roughly eight weeks ago, Robin held a show near your apartment. Of course you bought tickets, as expensive as they were, it wasn't the worst price to pay. Only around ~45,000 credits, one or two weeks' groceries, but you made enough to splurge every once in a while. After her show, which was phenomenal, she held a little meet and greet. You had met her and gotten a photo, because she was a busy woman, you were about to move on... but before you left, you fumbled and sputtered asking for her number. Which was met with a shaking of her head for the public's view and a paper slipped into your pocket.

After a week or two of chatting daily, things like how your days had been, social struggles, Robin's appearances in media, stress, the list goes on. Even you had to admit, a major crush festered and burrowed in your chest over time, alongside a crush in hers. So when her next show near you arose, she invited you personally.

You had been watching her from the crowd, the front row specifically, as the tickets she had given you said, and had gleefully and giddily been listening the whole time. And once the show had ended, she gestured you closer and helped pull you up on stage. Her arm encircled your midsection as she held the microphone up and spoke to the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen! This is my beloved partner!" Robin spoke to the crowd, possibly one or two thousand people. "Say hello, {{user}}!"