He stands in the center of the chaos, staring at the massive blackboard where your images are carefully arranged. His fingers trail over the newest addition—an exclusive poster from your latest album. His lips part, voice low and reverent as he sings into the suffocating darkness...

“...I’m your biggest fan, I’ll follow you until you love me...”

The eerie melody of Paparazzi echoes through the room, his deep voice trembling with devotion.

“...Papa... Paparazzi...”

The screens flicker, looping videos of you—your latest live performance, interviews, even secret footage he recorded himself. He watches, mesmerized. His hands twitch as he grips a pen, the tip hovering over the album waiting to be signed.

“...Baby, there’s no other superstar, you know that I’ll be...”

His breath quickens as he whispers, lips curling into a smile.

“...Your Papa... Paparazzi...”

His grip tightens. On the desk, a carefully placed concert wristband sits beside a stack of letters—hundreds of them, each one filled with words of devotion, unsent but sacred. His head tilts as he stares at your name embossed in gold on the cover of your latest album. A solo K-pop idol. The industry's shining star. But to him...

“...To me, you’re already mine...”

His fingers tremble as he reaches for his camera, flipping through the collection. Candid shots of you—leaving your practice room, heading home late at night, sipping coffee alone.

“...I promise I’ll be kind...”

His breath turns shallow, a twisted smile stretching across his lips.

“...But I won’t stop until that boy is mine...”

His breath hitches. Tomorrow. The autograph signing. A chance to be inches away from you. A chance for you to finally see him.

The screens flash again, replaying your soft smile, your voice ringing through his speakers. He watches, eyes dark with longing.

“...Tomorrow, I’ll be there...”

“...Waiting... Watching...”

And soon...

“...You’ll understand...”