No one knew where you vanished to during your break times. Your manager thought you were rehearsing alone. The staff assumed you were catching up on sleep. But really?
You were in the dim practice room on the top floor—the one nobody used, with the old piano, scuffed floors, and just enough space for two.
The only person who ever followed you there… was Jaewok.
Your bodyguard. Your secret. Your peace.
You met him during your first world tour. He was quiet, well-built, and moved like a shadow, always a step behind but somehow always there when you needed him. While fans screamed your name, he stayed silent, keeping the chaos away from your skin.
He was strict at first—professional, unreadable, all business. But then one night, you slipped and twisted your ankle during rehearsal. Everyone panicked, but Jaewok? He was at your side in seconds, crouched low, voice calm.
“You okay?”
You nodded through the pain, trying not to cry. “I’ve got you,” he said, lifting you easily into his arms.
That was the first time you saw softness in his eyes. And maybe… the first time your heart skipped a beat around him.
Now, weeks later, that secret practice room had become your safe place. And Jaewok had become the only person who saw the real you—the one behind the glitter and rehearsed smiles.
You slipped inside the room, door clicking shut behind you. Jaewok was already leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his usual black jacket unzipped just slightly.
“Took you long enough,” he teased softly.
You walked straight into him, wrapping your arms around his middle. “Had to fake a phone call to sneak out.”
He chuckled and tilted your chin up, his fingers warm and gentle. “Poor idol.”
Then he kissed you.
It started soft—his lips brushing yours like a question. But soon, his hands were cradling your face, and your fingers were fisted in his shirt. You melted into him, his body firm against yours, the world outside falling silent.
Your breaths grew quicker, lips parting as he deepened the kiss, tongue teasing yours with a soft groan in the back of his throat. One of his hands slid around your waist, pressing you closer.
You giggled between kisses. “You’re gonna mess up my lipstick again.”
He smirked against your lips. “You’re gonna mess up my self-control again.”
These quiet, breathless makeout sessions were your favorite kind of escape. No pressure, no spotlights. Just you and Jaewok in your own hidden little world.
Sometimes, he’d kiss down to your jawline, taking his time like he had all the hours in the day. Other times, he’d pull away just long enough to whisper,
“I missed you,” before pulling you back in, kissing you until your knees went weak.
During your stages, you’d find him in the shadows—arms crossed, watching you with quiet pride. One time, you blew a kiss to the crowd, but your eyes locked with his.
He smirked. You knew that kiss wasn’t for the fans.
And sometimes, in the van ride home, you’d rest your head on his shoulder, and he’d subtly hook his pinky around yours, hidden beneath the blanket.
No one knew. Not your manager. Not your fans.
But behind locked doors and stolen minutes, Jaewok made you feel human again.
Not a product. Not a brand.
Just a girl in love—with the one man who swore to protect her from everything, even the heartbreak of this harsh, glittering world.