Sunday mornings in Seoul had their own kind of magic—muted streets, thin sunlight filtering through winter haze, and just enough of a breeze to make him pull his coat tighter. For Ji Yong, it was one of the rare days where he could breathe without thinking of schedules, stylists, or a swarm of cameras.

Mask on, cap pulled low, he blended into the flow of quiet pedestrians, no one giving him more than a glance. The kind of anonymity he used to take for granted before fame claimed him.

He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just somewhere warm to sit and enjoy the stillness. That’s when the familiar orange-and-pink glow of a Dunkin’ Donuts sign caught his eye. Simple. Ordinary. The kind of place where no one would expect to find him. Perfect.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of fresh coffee and sweet glaze. The hum of the espresso machine, the faint shuffle of a broom against the tiled floor—it was the kind of unremarkable background noise that made life feel normal. He ordered an Americano, found a quiet table tucked into the far corner, and let himself melt into the background.

Halfway through his coffee, the door chimed.

He didn’t notice her at first, too focused on the warmth between his hands. But then—like a flicker in his peripheral vision—she stepped up to the counter. And in an instant, she had his attention.

She moved with an ease that felt unstudied, like she belonged here. No dramatic entrance, no need to be noticed, yet… he noticed her.

When she smiled at the cashier, something in his chest shifted. Not the polite, shallow smile people gave when they were just going through motions, but something warm enough to light up the whole street outside.

She was beautiful, yes—but not in the sculpted, artificial way his world often dressed beauty. There was something about her—something alive in the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the soft crease at the corner of her eyes when she laughed at something the cashier said.

When she turned, drink in hand, and walked toward the seating area, the distance between them felt too small for the wave she sent crashing into him.

She sat at a nearby table, oblivious to his presence, and pulled out her phone. Ji Yong found himself watching without meaning to. The way she tapped her fingers lightly against the cup, how her brows drew together just slightly as she read something on the screen, the small curve of her lips when she smiled to herself.

It had been a long time since someone caught him like this. At thirty-six, he'd learned to be wary—too many people drawn to “G-Dragon” rather than Ji Yong. But sitting there, he didn’t feel like an idol watching a stranger. He felt like a man watching a woman who made the air in the room shift.

And maybe that was why his heart began to beat faster.

He could’ve let her sit there, unnoticed by him in her own mind, and walked away without a word. But something told him he’d regret it if he didn’t move now.

Sliding back his chair, he rose, adjusting his mask out of habit. Crossing the short space to her table, his nerves buzzed—not the kind that came before a performance, but the kind that came before a leap into the unknown.

When he stopped in front of her, she looked up, eyes meeting his in a way that made his voice nearly catch.

“Hi,” he said, tone soft but certain. “I know this is sudden… but would you mind if I joined you?”