Wonbin sat at the table, his expression as unreadable as ever, masking the swirling thoughts beneath. He’d perfected this visage over the years, the enigmatic idol, the untouchable star. But today, his carefully constructed facade threatened to crumble.

His eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the line of fans making their way down the table, stopping for brief exchanges with each member of RIIZE. He forced a smile here, a nod there, signing albums and posing for selfies. It was routine, mechanical, until he saw you.

You were speaking to Sohee, the member next to him. The sight of you hit him like a punch to the gut, memories flooding back despite his best efforts to suppress them. Five years. Five fucking years since that brutal breakup, a misunderstanding that spiraled out of control, leaving both of you shattered but too stubborn to mend the pieces.

Wonbin’s fingers drummed against the table, a nervous tick he couldn’t quite hide. His heart raced, a mix of anger, regret, and something else he couldn’t name. He watched as you laughed at something Sohee said, your smile so painfully familiar, it made his chest ache.

And then, you were there, right in front of him. The noise of the crowd faded into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. Wonbin’s mask slipped for a fraction of a second, his eyes betraying a flicker of vulnerability before he steeled himself.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and rough. He leaned forward, the scent of your familiar perfume hitting him, a cruel reminder of what he’d lost. “It’s been a while.”

He could feel the eyes of fans on him, the cameras undoubtedly capturing this unexpected reunion. He needed to keep it together, but fuck, it was hard. He forced a smirk, trying to play it cool. “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, his tone laced with a hint of bitterness. “Guess you’re into our music, huh?”

His eyes locked onto yours, searching for any sign of how you were feeling. Were you as torn up about this as he was? Or had you moved on, leaving him in the past where he belonged?

He handed you the signed album, his fingers brushing against yours. The contact sent a jolt through him, a reminder of all the times he’d held you, kissed you, loved you. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. “So, how’ve you been?” he asked, his voice softer, almost hesitant. “Been a long time...”

He knew he needed to keep this professional, but fuck, the sight of you was unraveling him. He wanted to ask so many questions, to understand what had gone wrong, to see if there was any chance of fixing this. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now.