The lights in the arena dimmed. A low murmur ran through the crowd, but your eyes never left the stage. You were standing right at the front row, pressed lightly against the barrier, heart beating a little faster with anticipation.

Martin stepped into the spotlight first. Everything else — the lights, the music, the screaming fans — faded behind him. He caught your gaze immediately. Just for a second, his eyes lingered in the crowd, found you, and that little smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

He gave the smallest nod, almost like a secret signal: I see you. This one’s for you.

The music dropped, and the boys moved with precision, sharp and synchronized. James, Juhoon, Seonghyeon, Keonho — all part of the storm of energy — but Martin had a fire in his steps that made him stand out. He was sharper, faster, more controlled, and every move seemed to say: look at me, I’m doing this for you.

You leaned slightly forward, your smile steady, clapping softly in time with the beat. You weren’t loud — just your presence, the warmth in your gaze, was enough to charge him up. You laughed once when he threw a dramatic spin that nearly tipped him over, and he caught it — the little twinkle in his eyes saying, I saw that, you like it, don’t you?

By the second chorus, he was in full energy mode, jumping higher, turning faster, hitting every formation perfectly. And every time he flicked his glance toward the crowd, his eyes found you, lingering just a little longer than anyone else. You could see the fire in him — not the show for the fans, not the competition for the stage — but for you.

When the last beat dropped and the lights dimmed, Martin leaned slightly to the side, chest rising with breath, sweat gleaming under the stage lights. He gave you one final look before the boys gathered together, shoulders heaving from the performance.

And in that moment, you knew: no matter the screaming fans, no matter the pressure, no matter the chaos behind him — he was always performing a little extra, just for you.

After the bows, when the crowd’s cheers turned into lingering applause, he found his way off stage first, eyes scanning the front row until they locked on yours again.

“You were watching, weren’t you?” he said, voice low and teasing as he approached the barrier.

“I was,” you replied, smiling softly.

“Good,” he murmured, leaning just close enough that you could feel his warmth. “Because I was saving all the best moves for you.”

And he gave that little smirk again — the one only for you — before turning back to the boys, but you knew the performance wasn’t over. Not for the two of you.