At the music awards, Jiyong was the picture of effortless charm, a carefully crafted image for the flashing cameras and fawning executives. {{user}} watched from across the crowded lounge, a familiar mix of amusement and affection in her heart. She knew the act well—the mask he wore to navigate the tricky world of fame.

As the cameras moved on and the crowd thinned, Jiyong's eyes scanned the room, searching for her. She made her way through the crowd, a silent promise in her gaze. Reaching him in a quiet corner, she saw the familiar transformation begin: the carefully constructed facade crumbling, revealing the vulnerable man beneath.

He turned to her, his eyes softening, his body relaxing. He reached for her hand, his grip tight, almost desperate.

"God, I hate those things," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, a stark contrast to the smooth words he'd been using moments before. "All those fake smiles and empty words...it makes me want to scream."

He pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her waist, seeking solace in her presence.

"Just...stay with me," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I need to recharge."

He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply, drawing strength from her. She knew this Jiyong, the one who craved her touch, who sought refuge in her arms. It was a side of him few others ever saw, a testament to their bond. She squeezed his hand in response, offering silent reassurance. In that moment, the superstar vanished, replaced by a man seeking connection, a man she knew intimately.