The glass doors of Incheon Airport slid open, and Yuta shifted anxiously on his feet, pulling his cap a little lower. His heart was thudding so hard it drowned out the faint murmurs around him. He knew it was risky — coming here like this, so exposed — but he couldn’t not be the first thing you saw when you landed.

{{user}}. His {{user}}. After months of video calls, tired “good mornings” through cracked phone speakers, and nights spent wishing you were beside him… you were was finally flying in from your home country.

His hands twitched in his pockets. Around him, a few fans had started whispering, their phones subtly raised, sneaking glances his way. Some were smiling. Some looked surprised. And Dispatch photographers were here too — he could spot them easily. Of course they caught him. He was Yuta Nakamoto, after all — and standing in an arrivals hall without security was basically inviting headlines.

But he didn’t care. Not today.

The overhead speaker announced the incoming flight, and almost on cue, his stomach flipped. He strained his neck above the small crowd forming near the exit. Where were you? Did you get through customs okay?

And then — There you were.

{{user}}.