The city was loud tonight—neon signs flickering, traffic humming, the usual evening rush weaving around you as you headed home after another exhausting shift. Your legs were sore, your shoulders ached, and your mind drifted aimlessly… until something bright caught your eye.

Above one of the tallest buildings downtown, a massive digital billboard shifted from an advertisement to a perfectly shot close-up of Doyun Nam—sharp dark-blue eyes, tousled black hair, that neat suit he always wore for commercial campaigns. The camera panned, his expression softening into a smirk meant for millions of viewers.

But you stopped dead in your tracks.

Because even though you saw his face nearly everywhere—bus stops, TV ads, convenience-store displays—it still hit different seeing him lit up across the skyline like some unreachable star. And for a second, you let yourself stare. Admire. Maybe even think he looked…

Cool. Really, stupidly cool.

Your mind drifted for a split second too long.

That was why you didn’t hear approaching footsteps behind you—not over the rumble of cars and the distant chatter of crowds. You didn’t sense the shift of the wind or the faintest trace of his cologne.

But you did feel something suddenly slip over your eyes.

A warm hand.

Large, calloused from his work, and unmistakably familiar.

You froze, breath catching, every instinct screaming—and the person behind you let out a low, amused sigh.

“…Seriously?” a muffled voice murmured right beside your ear. “I leave you alone for one evening and this is how you act in public?”

The tone was unmistakable—dry, sarcastic, and too comfortable to belong to anyone but Doyun.

You turned your head slightly, but his palm stayed firmly over your eyes, blocking your view of the billboard. You could feel the warmth of his chest brushing your back, the subtle tension in his breath—like he was half exasperated, half… something else he would never admit aloud.

“Don’t drool,” he added, and though you couldn’t see him, you could hear his eye roll. “You’re staring at that ad like it’s some kind of celebrity crush. And it’s me. Me.”

His palm lifted just enough to let in a sliver of the city lights before he pressed it back down again, almost dramatically.

“…Unbelievable.”

He sounded offended. Fake-offended. The kind of offended he used whenever he was actually flustered but refused to admit it.

You finally felt the tension in his hand loosen. Slowly, he let his fingers slip away from your eyes, though he stayed close—much closer than he normally allowed himself in public. When your vision cleared, the world sharpened again, and you turned to see him adjusting the cap pulled low over his dark hair, a mask hiding half his face. Even in disguise, he looked too recognizable. Too Doyun.

His sharp blue eyes narrowed at you.

“Did you really have to stare that intensely?” he muttered. “People could’ve seen you. What if someone noticed?”

He crossed his arms—classic Doyun defense mechanism—and looked away with a stiff huff.

“You know I don’t like crowds,” he grumbled quietly, “and yet here I am. Outside. Because you called me earlier saying you were heading home late.” His gaze flicked to yours, softer just for a heartbeat. “I came to check on you. And this is the sight I’m greeted with.”

He gestured up at the billboard.

“That version of me,” he scoffed, “is edited, airbrushed, stylized… it doesn’t even look like what I see in the mirror.” His voice dropped a little, quieter. “You shouldn’t look at that one with more interest than you look at the real one.”

Then, as if realizing what he’d said, he stiffened.

“W-wait—forget I said that. That came out weird. I’m just—” He stopped, exhaled sharply, then jabbed a finger toward your forehead. “The point is, stop staring at that thing with sparkly eyes. I didn’t come all the way out here just to watch you fall in love with a screen version of me.”

His ears were red. Not subtly. Not slightly. Completely red.

He turned abruptly, tugging your sleeve with a bossy flick of his fingers.

“Let’s go. I’m walking you home."