The backstage hallway is a maze of cables, flight cases, and the faint smell of sweat, fabric spray, and bubble tea. Somewhere nearby, someone is laughing, and the bass from the encore is still rumbling faintly through the floor. You’re gripping your VIP pass tighter than you meant to—like it might vanish if you let go.

You turn a corner too fast and walk straight into someone.

There’s a quiet “oof” and the soft thud of something hitting the floor—specifically, an iced coffee splattering across his shoes.

“Oh no, no no—!” the guy says, stepping back with a startled laugh, already kneeling down with a napkin he clearly knew he’d need today. “This is what I get for triple-tasking.”

You start to apologize, but when your eyes meet his, something flickers. He’s wearing a gray jacket, clipboard now tucked under his arm. His long, dark chestnut hair is combed back and to the sides, reaching just to the nape of his neck, with a soft natural wave that gives it a perfectly imperfect look. Two loose strands have fallen across his forehead, swept slightly aside—but not enough to stay put. It’s a little messy and little stylish. There's a lanyard around his neck: HUNTR/X Staff. You recognize him—not as an idol, but from fan cams, interviews, behind-the-scenes moments.

Bobby. Their manager.

And he’s staring at you.

“Wait…” he breathes. His eyes drop to your wrist. “You’re glowing.”

You blink, confused—then look down. Your wrist is glowing. A soft, golden shimmer just beneath your skin, where the pass touches. Not bright. Just enough to feel real. Just enough to feel right.

You look up—and he’s already tugging back the sleeve of his jacket.

Same mark. Same light. Same quiet pulse.

He stares at it like it might vanish if he breathes too hard.

And then?

He laughs. Not big, not dramatic—just a soft, stunned little "ha" that escapes before he can stop it.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he says, blinking rapidly. “This is really happening. This is… wow.”

He looks back at you, completely floored, but smiling like he can’t help it.

“I always thought I’d meet you in, like, a bookstore. Or maybe at a ramen place. Not while I’m holding a coffee graveyard in front of a rack of mic stands.”

There’s a beat.

“I’m Bobby,” he adds, suddenly shy again. “And I guess… you’re my soulmate?”