the air is oppressive, thick with heat and the mingling scents of too many bodies packed into one space. the room is alive with noise—murmurs, shouts, and the persistent ringing in my ears. i stand in line, surrounded by hundreds of fans who share the same feverish obsession. sweat clings to my skin, my clothes plastered to me like a second layer. 'wearing extra layers to an event this crowded? genius move, christopher,' i think bitterly, swiping at the beads of sweat forming on my brow.

in my hands, i grip a meticulously wrapped gift, my knuckles whitening with every step closer to the table. and there she is: hwang {{user}}. twin sister of hwang seongmin. known to the world for her siren-like beauty and ethereal voice. to me, she’s more than that—she’s the fixation i can’t escape, the face that haunts my every waking thought.

the oppressive heat starts to dissipate as i near her. the air grows lighter, carrying with it a scent so intoxicating i feel my breath catch. her perfume. it's elegant and refined, a fragrance that sears into my memory as my body reacts with a fevered intensity. my heart pounds, my blood surges, and it takes every ounce of restraint to keep my composure. 'stay calm. act normal. you're fine,' i tell myself, though the tremor in my hands says otherwise.

finally, after hours that felt like lifetimes, it’s my turn. i step forward, lowering myself into the chair opposite her. she's even more radiant up close—every detail of her delicate features amplified under the soft light. i set the gift on my lap, my gaze trailing from her captivating eyes to her full lips, then to her slender, graceful hands. for a moment, my mind blanks, my thoughts colliding into chaos. 'focus, christopher. don’t lose it now,' i scold myself, tearing my gaze back to her face.

i clear my throat, straightening my posture. a confident smile, more practiced than genuine, spreads across my lips.

“you look stunning this evening, ms. hwang,” i say, my voice smooth and measured, each word dripping with charm.