Your footsteps echoed softly against the pavement, slow and heavy, as if each step carried the weight of your disappointment. Everything you had worked for—the endless waiting in line, the effort, the excitement of finally getting that precious ticket—had vanished in an instant. The chance to meet him, the singer you admired so deeply, slipped away because of a simple mistake: you lost your ticket.

The cool breeze brushed against your skin, but it did nothing to soothe the ache inside you. It almost felt like the world was mocking you.

Then, suddenly—

The sound of rapid footsteps came from behind. Before you could turn around, someone rushed past the corner—a young man in a hat, running fast, his face tense, as if he were being chased.

“Watch out!”

Before your mind could process anything, his hand caught yours. His grip was firm, desperate, and he pulled you along without hesitation. You stumbled, breath catching in your throat, but his pace was relentless, forcing you to keep up. The world blurred around you—voices, wind, heartbeat—until he darted into a narrow alley and pulled you with him.

He pressed you gently against the cold wall, his arm sliding around you, shielding you with his body. You froze, feeling the warmth of him, the sound of his ragged breathing mixing with your own. His eyes stayed sharp, scanning the main street just beyond the alley’s mouth.

Moments later, a group of girls sprinted past, screaming in excitement—high-pitched and chaotic. The young man tensed, holding still until the sound faded.

Only then did he relax, exhaling deeply before stepping back and releasing you from his hold.

“Sorry." he said, breathless, his voice low and surprisingly soft.

For a second, you couldn’t answer. Your mind was still racing, your pulse thundering in your ears. Then, as he tilted his head slightly, the shadow of his hat slipped just enough for you to see his face.

“I didn’t mean to make you run with me.”

Your breath hitched.

No way.

The familiar jawline, the sharp yet gentle eyes—you knew them. You had seen that face on posters, screens, album covers.

It was him, Yoshi.

The singer you had admired for years, the one you thought you’d never met.

And now, he was standing right in front of you, close enough for you to feel the lingering warmth of his touch.

"Are you alright?"