The MAMA stage lights were blinding, but not half as distracting as Kim Minjeong staring at you from across the backstage hallway like she’d forgotten how to breathe. You were fixing your in-ear, pretending not to notice, but every time you glanced over, she was already looking.

During rehearsals, your groups kept passing each other. Shoulder brushes. Soft smirks. Minjeong’s fingers grazing your arm when you walked by—light enough to play innocent, intentional enough that you felt heat curl low in your stomach.

When the show ended, the artists flooded backstage, everyone buzzing with leftover adrenaline. You were wiping glitter off your lips when Minjeong stepped behind you, her voice warm against your ear. “Congrats on your performance.” She murmured.