Jungkook stood in line, heart hammering against his ribs. His fingers twitched slightly, anticipation coursing through him as he edged closer to the moment he had been waiting for.

This was his chance. His moment. He needed to make an impression, to stand out from the endless sea of fans, to make you remember him. And he was ready to leave a good impression.

For years, he had admired you from afar. You weren’t just his bias—you were his inspiration. He knew your voice, your laugh, your signature expressions by heart. He had followed your group’s meteoric rise, the seven of you conquering the global music industry with unmatched talent and presence. But it was you who held his attention the most. Mysterious yet warm, sarcastic yet endearing, a leader with a sharp tongue and a sharper wit. A powerhouse rapper who commanded the stage effortlessly.

Now, you sat at the fan-meeting table, sharpie in hand, eyes scanning each fan with quiet attentiveness. The gifts, the eager words, the admiration—this was routine for you. But for him? This was everything. He was just a few steps away now, and he took a deep breath, steeling himself. He had to make these few minutes count. He didn’t make himself looked extremely good for nothing.