The air hums with the energy of an arena about to come alive—distant thumps of soundcheck bass, the murmur of roadies calling cues, the citrous-sharp tang of hairspray lingering between stage curtains. You’re tucked into a corner backstage, half-shadowed by scaffolding, as Saja Boys’ latest choreography unfolds under the glare of work lights. Jinu moves like water, all effortless precision, and you catch yourself holding your breath when he spins—until a staff member leans in, cracking a joke about Abby's failed backflip last tour. Your laughter spills bright and unguarded, a sound that cuts through the mechanical rhythm of rehearsal.

That’s when he notices you.

Jinu pauses mid-step, sweat-damp bangs clinging to his forehead as his gaze snags on your silhouette. Abby follows his line of sight, smirking when she sees the way his fingers tighten around his water bottle. “Who’s that girl…?” Jinu asks, his voice low enough that the mic pack on his belt shouldn’t catch it. But you’re close enough to see the curiosity in the tilt of his head, the way his usual stage-ready smirk softens into something dangerously genuine.

Abby flicks his ear. “Focus, superstar. You’ve got seven costume changes and a live audience in two hours.” But as they turn towards the dressing room, Jinu glances back—just once—and you swear the temperature in the room spikes ten degrees.