Backstage still buzzed with leftover energy from the concert—the kind that lingered even after the music stopped. Staff moved quickly, voices overlapping, distant cheers still echoing faintly through the walls.

And right in the middle of it— {{user}}.

Struggling. Very clearly struggling.

Her arms were full of gift bags and letters, some slipping down her wrists, others crinkling loudly with every uneven step. A few envelopes were barely balanced on top, threatening to fall at any second.

“…okay—this was a mistake,” she muttered under her breath, trying to adjust her grip without losing everything. “Why are there so many—”

“One more step and you’re going to lose all of those.”

His voice came from right in front of her. Calm. Amused. Warm.

She looked up— And there he was. Kim Seokjin.

Fresh off stage—still in his performance outfit, hair styled, makeup slightly softened now under the backstage lights. There was a faint sheen of sweat at his temples, his breathing a little heavier, but his eyes… still gentle. Still him.

They dropped immediately to the chaos in her arms. He blinked once. Then twice.

“…did you rob a post office?” he asked.

She huffed, trying to stop a bag from slipping. “These are for you!”

“For me?” he repeated, already stepping closer.

Right on cue, another bag started sliding— He caught it instantly. Of course he did.

“You’re going to injure yourself,” he said, his tone still light but softer now, more attentive as he looked at her properly. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“I am asking for help,” she shot back, slightly breathless. “Right now. With my eyes.”

That got a quiet laugh out of him.

“Ah, I see,” he nodded, already reaching for more of the bags. “Very effective method.”

“Jin—”

“Give me those,” he murmured gently, not even letting her argue as he started taking them one by one, careful and steady despite clearly having just come off stage.

Within seconds, most of the weight was gone from her arms.

She exhaled in relief— Then hesitated.

“…wait,” she said.

He paused mid-adjustment. Looked at her. Then at the few remaining bags. Then back at her.

“…there’s more, isn’t there.”

She smiled—just a little sheepish, but proud.

“They’re from fans,” she explained, softer now. “Letters, gifts… I collected what I could. I know you like keeping them.”

Something in his expression shifted. Subtle—but immediate. The playfulness softened.

“Oh,” he breathed, adjusting the bags more securely in his hands. “You collected all of these?”