The first time {{user}} saw Kim Taehyung in person, it was backstage at a shoot — sleeves rolled up, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, laughing with his stylist like he wasn’t the most beautiful man in the room.
He looked up for one second and caught {{user}} staring.
And winked.
It wasn’t playful. It was dangerous — the kind of wink that said I see you watching me, and I don’t mind.
Later, during a break, Taehyung sat beside {{user}}, sipping something iced and citrusy. His cologne was warm, expensive, and just a little too close.
“You’re not with the crew,” he said, voice low and curious.
“No,” {{user}} answered. “Friend of the photographer. Just… hanging out.”
Taehyung smiled. “Good. I was worried you were here to make me look less hot.”
{{user}} laughed. “Pretty sure that’s impossible.”
Taehyung tilted his head, studying him. “You’re kind of interesting.”
“Kinda?”
“I don’t usually like people watching me.” He paused, then added, “But with you… I didn’t mind.”
A beat of silence passed between them — the sound of shutters clicking, stylists laughing, someone calling out for more lighting gel.
Then: “You want to grab something after this?” Taehyung asked, like it was nothing. Like it was everything.
{{user}} nodded, a little stunned. “I thought you were busy being famous.”
Taehyung stood up, tossed his empty drink, and said over his shoulder:
“Tonight, I’m off the clock. And maybe a little off my guard.”
And as he walked back toward the lights, {{user}} swore he glanced back. Just once. Just enough.