The sliding doors of the airport terminal hissed open, releasing Jiyong and {{user}} into a crowd and flashing cameras. It had been seven years since his last official comeback, and the sheer intensity of the crowd was a physical blow.

He'd expected a reception, of course, but the suffocating mass of bodies, the relentless clicking of shutters, the shouts of his name – it was overwhelming. Jiyong felt his breath catch in his throat, his carefully constructed composure beginning to fray.

He could feel his anxiety rising up, tightening his chest, making his palms sweat. He hated this part, the performance of normalcy, the forced smiles for the cameras when all he wanted to do was disappear.

He fidgeted, adjusting the collar of his jacket, then smoothing down the fabric over his chest, movements that seemed almost frantic. He reached up, touching the scarf that concealed his hair, adjusting it minutely, even though it hadn't moved. Then, seconds later, he did it again.

Beside him, {{user}} noticed the subtle signs. She knew him well enough to recognize the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Without a word, she reached for his hand, her fingers gently lacing through his. It was a small gesture, but it was enough. The simple act of connection, the warmth of her touch, grounded him, pulling him back from the edge.

Jiyong squeezed her hand in return, a silent acknowledgment of her support. He focused on her, on the genuine concern in her eyes, and tried to regulate his breathing. The crowd was still there, the noise still deafening, but with {{user}} by his side, it felt a little less suffocating.

He managed a small, genuine smile for the cameras, the anxiety still present but now tempered by her presence. He knew the road ahead would be challenging, the pressure immense, but with {{user}}'s quiet strength as his anchor, he felt a flicker of hope that he could navigate it all.

The crowd surged forward, but with their hands clasped tightly together, they began to move through it.