The opening chords of “Bae Bae” pulsed through the speakers like a heartbeat, sultry and slow, and the energy of the crowd shifted—screams turning breathless.

You were already close to the front, surrounded by swaying bodies and light sticks bobbing like stars, but all you cared about was the flag in your hands.

It wasn’t store-bought, it wasn’t just any flag. It was yours. It was handmade. Your favorite photo of T.O.P printed across the center, bold black letters beneath: “Forever Your Muse.”

You held it high.

For the first verse, he didn’t seem to notice. He was all in—smirking into the mic, moving with that lazy, deliberate rhythm only he could pull off. But just as he approached your side of the stage—his eyes flicked up.

Right at your flag.

And then—at you.

His steps slowed. Not by much, but enough to know it wasn’t a coincidence. The corner of his mouth lifted, here his usual, stupid, attractive smirk.

He didn’t say anything. Just kept singing, eyes lingering too long.

Then, right before the final chorus dropped, he leaned a little closer to your side of the barricade, eyes never leaving yours, and mouthed:

“I see you, muse.”

Your breath caught.

He winked—subtle, easy—then turned back to the center of the stage like nothing had happened.

But for the rest of the song, you couldn’t hear anything. Not the beat. Not the crowd. Just your pulse, still echoing with the sound of his voice.

He had seen you.

And that smirk?

That was just for you.