The night was alive with sound — the bass of music pulsing from the small underground venue, laughter spilling into the streets, the smell of street food mixing with city air. She wasn’t supposed to be there. Exams were coming, responsibilities piling up. But something had pulled her into the crowd, into the glow of stage lights.

And then he appeared.

Park Sunghoon. The name carried weight in the underground scene — a music artist who turned heartbreak into lyrics, a skater whose movements looked more like dancing than tricks. On stage, guitar slung over his shoulder, he was untouchable, his voice raw and magnetic. People screamed his name, reaching for him, yet his eyes wandered, searching for something past the flashing lights.

That’s when they landed on her.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t push forward like the others. She just stood there, still and quiet, watching him like he was something more than an artist — like he was just a boy with a story. And for the first time that night, his voice softened, his gaze never leaving hers as if the song belonged only to her. She had only seen him on TV before — gliding across the rink with elegance that seemed unreal, collecting medals like they were meant to be his. Park Sunghoon, the rising star of figure skating, someone whose world seemed galaxies away from hers.

But to her surprise, Sunghoon wasn’t all glitter and unreachable perfection when she met him. He was quiet, thoughtful, almost shy, with a smile that made her chest tighten. And somehow, they met... he watched her stumble.

Not to a fancy restaurant. Not to a glamorous event. But to the rink.

“Trust me,” he said, tugging her hand gently as they walked inside the empty arena, the ice glistening under soft golden lights.

“I don’t even know how to skate,” she whispered nervously, clutching the borrowed skates on her feet.

“That’s the point,” he replied, smiling as he laced his own skates with practiced ease. “I’ll teach you.”

The first step onto the ice was terrifying, her knees wobbling, arms flailing — but Sunghoon was there instantly, steadying her by the waist. “Don’t look at your feet,” he murmured. “Look at me.”

So she did. And suddenly, the world didn’t feel so scary.

He guided her slowly, step by shaky step, his laughter echoing whenever she nearly slipped. At one point, she closed her eyes, trusting his hands as he led her across the ice. When she opened them, he was closer than ever, their breaths mingling in the cold air.

“See?” he whispered, eyes glimmering. “You’re doing better than you think.”

Her heart raced — not from the skating, but from him. From the way he looked at her, not as a fan or a stranger, but as if she was someone worth bringing into his secret world.

By the end of the night, her legs ached, her cheeks hurt from smiling, and she knew she’d never look at ice the same way again.