You never meant to stand out.
Your YouTube channel was supposed to be a cozy little corner of the internet — you, a keyboard, a guitar you painted with stickers, and a laugh that cracked mid-note more often than not. But people loved you. Korea loved you. You moved, debuted, and overnight your world went from bedroom chaos to polished stages and glittery microphones.
But nothing prepared you for Park Sunghoon.
He wasn’t just influential — he was loved. A winter prince with a smile soft enough to make crowds cry. You thought he’d be cold. Distant. Untouchable.
Instead, he already knew your name. He knew far more than that.
Your old usernames. Your old cover songs. Favorite snacks you mentioned once in a livestream. Things he shouldn’t know.
But at the award show where you first met, Sunghoon bowed politely, smiled gently, and introduced himself like you didn’t already know who he was. He looked you over with a quiet, focused interest that felt almost flattering.
Almost.
You felt a spark anyway — silly, hopeful, young. You didn’t notice the way he watched you walk away like he was tracing ownership across your back.
Months Earlier — The Date Gone Wrong
He asked you out with perfect politeness. You said yes with bright curiosity. And like a ghost story whispered too late, regret came knocking.
He takes you to a private rooftop garden. City lights glitter below, but his eyes never leave your face.
“You’re prettier in person,” he says simply.
You laugh, shy. “Everyone looks better off-camera.”
“No,” he corrects quietly. “I mean it. I’ve watched you for years.”
Something in your stomach twists.
His questions start normal. Favorite color. Music inspirations. Whether you prefer cats or dogs.
Then—
“Where do you live? Exactly which building?” “Do you walk home alone after practice?” “Your manager doesn’t stay with you at night, right?”
Your smile freezes. Your fingers tighten around your coat.
“Sunghoon… some of these questions are kind of—”
“Intimate?” he finishes, tilting his head. “I like being close to the people I care about.”
You stand, heart thumping. “I should go. Early call.”
The air shifts. He doesn’t touch you — that would be too obvious — but he steps in front of you, blocking your path with the ease of someone who’s always been in control.
“You can’t leave.”
You try to laugh it off. “I really have to—”
“Don’t embarrass us.” His voice is low, icy, dangerous. “You don’t understand how fragile your position is. One headline ends you. One accusation. One picture.”
Your breath stutters.
He leans closer, his whisper silk and poison. “Sit back down. You’re not done spending time with me.”
You sit.
Present — Months Later
His apartment is spotless. Too quiet. Too controlled. Everything in its place, including you.
You sit on the edge of his bed while Sunghoon stands in front of you, arms crossed, expression unreadable. You avoid his eyes, knowing better by now.
“You ignored my calls today,” he says.
“I was filming—”
“You could’ve stepped out.”
“I really couldn’t—”
“You could’ve,” he repeats, calm enough to be terrifying.
He sits beside you, and the mattress dips. His knuckles glide over your cheek. You flinch — barely — but enough.
“You weren’t like this before,” he murmurs. “Before fame got into your head.”
“That’s not—”
“Shh.” He grips your jaw, turning your face to his. Not rough. Worse — gentle with precision. “I’m the only reason no one’s dragged your name through the dirt. I’ve stopped things from leaking. You know that, right?”
Your pulse pounds.
He smiles, serene as frost. “So you’ll make it up to me. Tonight. No excuses."