Jooyeon was one of the band members, the mysterious one. On stage, his fingers on the bass moved like magic, drawing sound from strings like it was something personal, something sacred. He didn’t talk much, but he didn’t need to. His presence said everything. Long blonde hair falling into his eyes, a cool, distant expression that somehow made him even hotter.

You were staff for the concert that night, running around backstage with a headset and a clipboard, checking on cues, coordinating chaos, trying to stay invisible.

---

It was after the show, the crowd gone, the stage empty. The air was filled with the lingering scent of sweat, fog machines, and electricity. You were walking down one of the long backstage halls when you heard soft footsteps behind you.

You turned and there he was.

Jooyeon.

Still in his stage clothes, still flushed from the performance, his blonde hair a mess and his bass slung across his back like a weapon. He looked at you, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

“Come here,” he called softly.

His voice was low, smoky, just above a whisper but it curled around your spine like heat.