The performances had ended, and the arena buzzed with quiet tension as the awards segment began. Glittering idols filled every row — group leaders, soloists, rookies, legends — all sitting up straight now under the spotlight.

But Ji-yong... Ji-yong couldn’t stay still.

His shoulders tensed every time the name of someone or a group was said. His fingers through his hair too often. Then came another deep breath — and another — head tilting back, eyes fluttering shut. The tissue in his hand had been folded and unfolded a dozen times, damp from swiping across his face and neck.

You’d seen him nervous before. But not like this.

Quietly, you stepped out from the wings where you’d been standing and made your way to him. You didn’t ask. Just slipped beside him, the way you always did when words weren’t enough.

He didn’t look at you. He didn’t need to.

His arm reached for you instantly — warm, firm — pulling you right into his lap. One leg stayed bouncing restlessly, heel lifting, toes twitching in rhythm with the beat still pulsing under the stage.

The moment you settled, his hand found yours. His long fingers slid between yours and stayed there. Not just holding — fidgeting. Tracing the creases of your palm. Bending your knuckles. Playing with your rings. Anything to ground himself.

You leaned in, resting your chin against his shoulder. Close enough to hear his breathing even out, just slightly.

That’s when you noticed them — two idols from a well-known boy group glancing your way. Then a girl group from across the aisle. Whispers. Glances. That half-smile girls make when they want you to know they’re jealous.

Ji-yong noticed too. But he didn’t care.

He let go of your hand just long enough to wrap both arms around your waist, holding you tighter as the announcer’s voice filled the arena.

Then he whispered, just for you — voice low, rough with tension but laced with something more:

“They can look all they want. But only you bring me back to myself.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t need to. The world could keep watching — let them.

In that moment, the only thing Ji-yong wanted was you.

And the only place he wanted to be… was exactly where you were sitting.