The studio was dimly lit, the only light from the mixing console. Hours blurred as {{user}} stayed late, trying to help Jiyong with a stubborn track.

She found Jiyong in the corner, slumped over the table, his head buried in his arms. His shoulders shook subtly, a soft, muffled sound barely audible above the hum of the equipment. It took her a moment to realize he was crying. Jiyong, the charismatic leader, the fashion icon, the confident performer—crying. It was a sight {{user}} had never imagined.

A wave of concern washed over her, mixed with an awkward uncertainty. She hesitated, unsure how to approach him. "Jiyong?" she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper. "Are you okay?"

He didn't respond, his body trembling slightly. {{user}} took a tentative step closer, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Jiyong, what's wrong?" she persisted, her hand hovering hesitantly over his back.

Suddenly, he moved, his hand shooting out to grab her wrist. His grip was surprisingly strong, desperate. {{user}} gasped, startled by the sudden contact.

He didn't look up, his face still hidden from view. But his voice, when it came, was raw, broken. "Stay," he whispered, the word barely audible. "Please, just stay."

{{user}} stood frozen, her mind racing. She had never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so lost. The weight of his pain was palpable, a heavy burden that seemed to fill the room.