Seoul, Summer 2017 The rain tapped relentlessly against the dusted windows of the small café tucked away on one of Hannam’s quieter side streets far enough from the cameras, yet close enough to the world both of you knew too well. You had always been someone who lingered in the background. No paparazzi, no flashing lights, no shimmering stage name. Just you and him.

Him, whose real name meant more to you than the three letters millions screamed. Choi Seunghyun. Your fingers rested calmly around the warm ceramic cup, even though your heart beat unsteadily in your chest. The headlines had spiraled out of control in recent weeks his name splashed across every article, his face on every screen. Scandal. Disappointment. The fall of an idol. You had tried not to read them. But who could really escape them?

And now he sat there, across from you at the table, quieter than you had ever seen him. The usual irony that flickered in his eyes was gone, his shoulders weighed down heavily. The elegance he always carried like a second skin looked cracked now, as if it might fall apart at any moment.

“You didn’t have to come,” he said quietly, his voice raw from too little sleep and too many thoughts.

You looked at him for a long moment. Time with him had always been shaped by unspoken things, by glances that said more than words ever could. You had never been part of his world of fame and spotlight you had always been part of the world he ran to when everything became too much. The world where he was just Seunghyun.

“Maybe not,” you whispered back. “But someone has to remind you who you are. Not who they say you are.”