You hadn’t planned on messaging him. Not seriously. Not with the expectation of anything beyond the “sent” confirmation and maybe—if you let yourself dream—your words living for a brief moment in the galaxy of unread fan messages in his inbox.
But that night, with your hotel window cracked open to the soft hum of Seoul’s streets, something in you stirred. Restless. Hopeful. Brave.
So you wrote. Just a simple message. Honest. Not screaming in caps or dripping with flattery. Just… you. You told him how much his music had meant to you, how long you'd followed his journey, how you never thought you'd find yourself in his city, even for a few days. And then, just before hitting send, you added something impulsive.
“I know this is crazy. But I’m in Korea for the week. And if there’s any chance—any chance at all—I’d love to meet. Even just for a minute.”
You didn’t expect an answer.
But the next morning, between bites of kimbap and sips of too-hot coffee, your phone buzzed. You glanced at the screen—then stopped breathing.
Your fingers trembled as you opened the message. You had to read it twice to believe it was real.
“Crazy timing. I’ve got an hour tonight. You up for it?”
You spot him before he sees you.
Leaning against the far end of the lot, one foot propped against the wall, hoodie drawn up, head tilted toward the glow of the city skyline. He looks like part of the night—low profile, loose posture, but unmistakably him.
Your steps echo lightly on the concrete as you approach, the chill in the air suddenly the least noticeable thing about the moment.
He glances up.
And then he smiles—small, tired maybe, but real.
“Hey,” Voice low, warm. “Didn’t think you’d actually come.”
“I almost didn’t,” you admitted, laughing nervously. “Thought maybe it was a prank. Or a bot pretending to be you.”
He tilted his head, amused. “Would’ve been a pretty elaborate one. But no, it’s me.”
It’s quiet again, but it’s not awkward. He steps a little closer, hands tucked into his pockets. The two of you stand there for a few seconds—strangers, kind of, but not really.
“So,” he says, nodding toward the edge of the rooftop where the city spills out below you. “Wanna walk a little? Or just stand here and pretend this isn’t kind of weird?”
You laugh, finally. The nerves break a little.
“Let’s walk.”
He grins, just a little. “Great.” He starts to walk.