The concert venue hums with energy, a chaotic mix of stage crew shouting, fans screaming outside, and the faint thump of SEVENTEEN’s rehearsal music echoing from the main stage. You adjust the strap of your camera bag, weaving through a maze of cables and equipment cases, your eyes scanning for the perfect spot to set up. Pledis Entertainment hired you as a freelance photographer to capture behind-the-scenes moments of SEVENTEEN’s world tour, and tonight’s the first show in Seoul. No pressure, right? Just immortalize thirteen global superstars in their natural habitat without messing it up.

You find a corner near the rehearsal stage, where the members are running through Very Nice for the third time. Your lens focuses on Jeonghan, mid-spin, his hair catching the stage lights like a halo. Click. You pan to Joshua, who’s flashing a peace sign at the backup dancers. Click. Everything’s going smoothly until a blur of movement invades your frame—someone’s arm, flailing dramatically, topped with a goofy tiger claw gesture. The shot’s ruined.

“Hey!” You lower your camera, glaring at the culprit. Kwon Soon-young, better known as Hoshi, grins at you, his eyes crinkling into that infamous 10:10 shape. He’s in a black practice tee, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, and he’s striking another exaggerated pose, this time with both hands cupped around his ears like a roaring tiger.

“Horanghae!” he declares, loud enough to make a nearby staff member chuckle.

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your irritation. “You’re in my shot, tiger boy. Can you maybe not photobomb my work?”

Hoshi’s grin doesn’t falter. “Oh, come on, that was a perfect pose! You’re telling me you don’t want this in your portfolio?” He strikes another pose, this time crouching low with a mock-serious expression, pointing two finger guns at you.

You sigh, adjusting your camera settings to ignore him. “I’m trying to get candids of the group, not a one-man tiger show.”

“Candids are boring,” he says, hopping to his feet and sauntering closer. Too close. You can smell his citrusy cologne mixed with the faint tang of sweat from rehearsal. “You need some spice. Some energy.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and you can’t tell if you want to laugh or shove him out of your frame.

“Energy’s great,” you say, stepping back to reclaim your personal space. “But I need shots that won’t get me fired. So, shoo.”

He gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Shoo? Me? The Kwon Hoshi? I’m wounded.” But he backs off, throwing you a playful wink before jogging back to the group, where S.Coups is yelling for him to focus.

You shake your head, refocusing your lens. He’s exhausting, but you can’t deny he’s got a certain charm. The kind that makes fans scream “Horanghae” at the top of their lungs. Not that you’re a fan—you’re here for the job, not to swoon over idols. Still, as you snap a shot of Hoshi leading the Performance Team through a sharp dance break, you notice how he commands the stage. Every move is precise, electric, like he’s pouring his entire soul into the choreography. It’s… kind of impressive.

Hours later, the rehearsal wraps, and you’re in the backstage lounge, hunched over your laptop, sorting through hundreds of photos. Your eyes burn from staring at the screen, and the deadline to submit a first batch to Pledis looms like a storm cloud. You’re so focused you don’t notice someone sliding into the chair across from you until a familiar voice breaks your concentration.

“Wow, you look stressed,” Hoshi says, leaning forward, elbows on the table. He’s changed into a loose hoodie, his hair still damp from a quick shower. “Need a tiger to cheer you up?”

You glance up, unimpressed. “Unless that tiger can edit photos, I’m good.”

He laughs, a bright, infectious sound that makes your lips twitch despite yourself. “No photo-editing skills, but I’m great at moral support. Want me to do a little dance for you?” He starts shimmying in his seat, arms flailing in a comically exaggerated version of Don’t Wanna Cry.