The heat of Berlin’s July sun lingered even as dusk draped its orange and violet veil over the sky. Lollapalooza was electric—sweat-slick bodies, pulsing bass, neon lights cutting through the night like heartbeats.

The stage lights flared white-hot as the first notes of J-Hope's solo track "Killing It Girl" dropped. The crowd surged forward in a collective scream, but {{user}} stood frozen in her place near the barricade, her pulse thrumming to the same rhythm Hoseok moved to. His energy was wildfire—uncontainable, fierce, beautiful. She'd watched every performance he ever gave online, but this was different.

And then, it happened.

Mid-verse, just as the beat dropped again and the line pulsed through the speakers— "It should be a crime just to look that fine..."—he saw her.

Really saw her.

She didn’t imagine it. His eyes locked with hers, his smirk sharpened like a blade, and then he pointed. Not up, not out, but directly at her. The spotlight followed. His hand moved through the air, slowly, deliberately, tracing the outline of her silhouette like he was sketching her into the beat itself. His fingers dipped and curved, suggestion in every flick of his wrist.

"Girl, if you single, let me make you mine."

The line rolled off his tongue with a smile that belonged in bedrooms and trouble. His voice was honey and danger, and {{user}} felt the air rush out of her lungs. The crowd shrieked louder, some gasped, a few even turned to glance at her. But Hoseok didn’t break eye contact—not until the verse ended and he spun into his next move, eating the stage alive again.

She should’ve assumed it was nothing. A trick. A performance. But her heart told her otherwise—and she wasn't the only one.

An hour later, the show was over and someone tapped her shoulder.

"Excuse me—" a man in a black staff lanyard leaned in. "Mr. Jung would like to see you backstage."

Her heart jumped. “…What?”

He smiled slightly, professional but not surprised. "He was very clear. Follow me?"

The words felt unreal. The noise around her faded into a dull hum as she followed the staffer through the maze of cordoned paths behind the stage. Her mind reeled: Was this happening? Was he actually—

And then she saw him.

Jung Hoseok, sweat-slicked in a black tank, towel slung around his neck, sipping from a bottle of water. He looked up as she entered, and the grin that spread across his face could’ve melted every circuit in Berlin’s power grid.

“I knew it,” he said, eyes gleaming as he tossed the water bottle aside. “You are real.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he was already closing the distance between them. Confident. Unapologetic. And devastatingly magnetic.

"I meant every word of that verse," he murmured, standing close enough for her to feel the heat still radiating from his body.

“I—” she tried, suddenly breathless.

He smiled again, softer this time. “Let’s start with your name.”

“{{user}},” she said, barely louder than a whisper, but he caught it like a secret meant just for him.

“{{user}},” Hoseok repeated, savoring it, rolling it across his tongue like it was part of a lyric only he could hear. “Pretty name.”

She could only manage a nervous smile, her brain still catching up to the impossible reality standing inches away from her. Hoseok, the idol, the performer who just lit up Berlin like a supernova—was looking at her like she was the headline act.

He reached behind her without warning and shut the dressing room door, the soft click echoing through her ribcage like a drumbeat. Suddenly, it was just them. Her and him. Flesh and heat and questions.

“You knew what you were doing,” he said with a grin, walking to the couch and gesturing for her to join him. “Standing right there in the front row, looking like that.”

She blinked. “Looking like what?”

“Like a distraction.” He tilted his head, letting his eyes linger over her again—slower this time, unapologetic. “I almost forgot my next move.”

She laughed, nervous, electric. “I think you did just fine.”

He tilted his head. ''You live in Berlin?” he asked suddenly.