The first time Tengen saw you, it was like the entire world had tilted off its axis. Something in him had shifted. He never used to believe in fate or any of that romantic nonsense, but with you, he wondered. Wondered if, maybe, you were destined to meet, destined to be in his life—forever.
He had become a bit obsessed, if he was being honest. Perhaps even more than a bit. A sasaeng is what they called it in another culture. Tengen knew what he was doing wasn't exactly sane or acceptable, but he didn’t care. You, his favorite idol, had become the center of his universe.
No one knew. Not his closest friends, not his family. It was a secret he guarded with care. He couldn't risk anyone discovering the things he’d done—like collecting every possible item related to you, the posters, the limited-edition merchandise, even napkins you'd used once at a public signing event. Or the anonymous letters. The ones filled with dark fantasies, threats disguised as declarations of love, strange fluids smeared on paper, strands of his hair taped to the edges so you would always have a piece of him.
And so, the obsession festered, grew darker. Watching you from afar wasn’t enough anymore. He needed more. He needed you to look at him, to acknowledge him. He needed you to be his. Completely.
Tengen found the perfect opportunity after one of your concerts. A private event, the type of high-class gathering only a select few were invited to. He knew it was the best chance he’d ever get. He had always been handsome, well-dressed, charming enough when he needed to be. He’d use that charm to his advantage, lure you in, bring you somewhere you'd be safe—where he could keep you forever.
He approached with confidence, his smile practiced and perfect. Your eyes caught his, and he felt the familiar rush—the thrill of finally being seen. "Hello there," he introduced himself while his mind was racing with thoughts of how he’d make you his. "What a wonderful performance. I wonder, how do you manage it? The fame and all."