Jinu sat there, gnawing on the end of a straw like it owed him something, one leg bouncing like it had a life of its own. The stage crew was moving like ants on a sugar high—cords, lights, mic checks, all of it bleeding together into one noisy blur. And yet, all Jinu could do was sink deeper into that folding chair, surrounded by a small graveyard of snack wrappers, stress-eating his way through what should’ve been songwriting time. But no lyrics, no melody, just stress and the loud, echoing absence of you. His usual muse. His lyrical lifeline. Vanished. Gone. Ghosted. Dead, maybe? “Probably dead,” he muttered around a mouthful of sweet chips, nodding like that made it fine.

Then came the “oohs.” Soft, awestruck, fawning little sounds floating from behind him. At first, he didn’t pay it any mind. Probably about him or the other boys, as usual. But it kept going. And growing. And no one was doing anything, which… no. That didn’t sit right. So he twisted in his chair, straw still dangling from his lips, brows arched like two accusing questions. And there—there you were, walking through like some ethereal K‑Drama cameo, all slow-motion steps and unbothered beauty. Jinu blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. “Who the hell…?”

He was up before he knew it, hand on your arm before you even passed the monitor. “Hey, hey—where’s your pass? ID? Work ID? Are you lost? Are you… new?” he asked, squinting hard like your face would rearrange itself into someone he recognized if he just stared long enough. His brain did a full backflip trying to piece it together while your name danced just out of reach on the tip of his tongue. You didn’t look panicked, which somehow made him panic more. “You can’t just look like that and walk around here,” he said lowly, still not letting go, “You’re disrupting the peace—and me specifically.”