Multi since 180917

The noise inside the hall was a total blur. Between the constant clicking of camera shutters, fans clapping, and the loud echo of everyone talking at once, it was completely overwhelming. It was hour three of the event, right in the middle of a brutal comeback schedule, and the air felt heavy and hot.

You shifted your weight, sliding your album along the smooth wooden table as the staff signaled for you to move down the line. You had just spent the last ten minutes talking to the other members. They were great—super sweet, energetic, and perfectly professional—but the whole thing always felt a bit like a fast-moving conveyor belt. Everyone had their script down.

Then, you reached the final seat at the end of the line.

Euijoo was leaning back in his chair, wearing a soft, oversized light blue cardigan. His vibrant red hair was perfectly styled into soft curls that framed his face, but if you actually looked past the bright stage lighting and makeup, you could see how exhausted he was. His eyes looked heavy. He had been smiling non-stop for three hours straight, giving every ounce of his energy to a room full of strangers. He looked amazing, but he also just looked really tired.

When you slid into the chair across from him, you didn't pull out a page of translated script or practiced compliments. You just took a breath and pushed the open album toward him.

Euijoo looked up from the paper, his shoulders dropping just a tiny bit as he gave you a polite smile. "Hi," he said. His voice was a little raspy, way softer than the loud, bright voice he used when talking on the mic. "What's your name?"

You told him, watching his long fingers carefully write out the characters. Up close, you could really see the physical toll of the schedule in the way he slumped. You didn't start talking about the new album choreography or freeze up. You just looked at him.

"Are you holding up okay?" you asked softly, keeping your voice completely normal and calm. "You guys have been going non-stop today."

Euijoo paused, his marker hovering just over the page. He looked up through his lashes, looking genuinely caught off guard, his mouth slightly open. "Ah. Yeah. It's a bit busy today, but it's okay."

"It looks exhausting," you said gently, giving him a small smile. "Make sure you actually take a second to breathe, okay? You're doing really well."

Euijoo just stared at you for a second. There was no intense idol-worship in your voice. You weren't acting like he was some untouchable celebrity on a screen; you were just talking to him like a regular guy who had been working a massive, draining shift. You could almost see the invisible wall of pressure melt off his shoulders.

He let out a quiet, breathy laugh—not the loud, bright one he used for the content cameras, but something completely real that crinkled the corners of his eyes into warm crescents.

"Honestly?" he murmured, leaning forward a bit, resting his elbows on the table to get a little closer. His voice dropped into a quiet whisper. "I think that's the first time someone's just asked me that today."

"Really?" you said softly. "That's a shame. You're working hard, you deserve a regular check-in."

"Thank you," he said. This time, he wasn't using his professional idol voice at all. It sounded grounded and completely sincere. "It really means a lot to hear that. Everything moves so fast during promotions that you kind of forget what day it is. You just keep going."

"I can only imagine," you said. "Just make sure you actually eat something real after this. Not just those random snack boxes backstage."

"I'll try," he smiled, his whole face softening. "The members usually steal my food anyway, but I'll fight them for the meat tonight. I promise."

Before you could say anything else, a firm hand tapped your shoulder. The staff member stood right over your chair. "Time is up, please move along to the exit."

You nodded, not wanting to make things difficult for him. "Take care of yourself, Euijoo."

As you started to slide your album back, Euijoo’s hand moved on its own. His fingers lightly pressed down on the edge of the cardboard, keeping you from pulling it away for a split second. You looked down, surprised, and saw him looking up at you with a quiet, lingering look. He clearly didn't want the conversation to end.

"Will you..." he hesitated, his ears turning a faint, endearing shade of pink. He quickly pulled his hand back, gripping his marker a little tighter to hide his nerves. "Will I see you at the next one?"

You blinked, a warm feeling hitting your chest at how genuine he looked. "If I can get a ticket, yeah. I'll be there."

"Okay," Euijoo nodded, that soft eye-smile returning, but this time it felt entirely personal. "I'll hold you to that."

Three weeks later, the promotions were at their absolute peak, and the group was holding a much bigger fansign in a sleek auditorium. The room was twice as loud, the crowd was massive, and security was everywhere.

You had managed to get a seat right in the middle rows, sitting quietly with your album in your lap. When the members came out onto the stage, waving and bowing to the screaming venue, Euijoo took the microphone to greet everyone with his usual dependable leader energy. But as the first person in line walked up, his eyes casually drifted past the front row, scanning the seats.

You were just sitting there, fixing the strap of your bag, when his eyes stopped moving.

Right through the crowded rows and flashing cameras, Euijoo looked directly at you. You froze, completely shocked that he actually found you in a room of over a hundred people. The second he recognized you, his whole professional composure broke. A huge, unprompted grin hit his face, his red hair catching the lights as his eyes crinkled completely. He didn't wave wildly, but he gave you a distinct, tiny nod of recognition—a private moment that lasted only a second before he had to look down to greet the fan sitting in front of him.

Your heart gave a heavy thud. He actually remembered.

The fansign moved slowly. Because Euijoo was in the middle of the long table this time, you had to pass a few other members after him, but your mind was totally stuck on his seat. When your row was finally called, you walked up the steps, your fingers gripping your album a little tighter than usual.

The second you sat down in front of him, he didn't even wait for you to slide the book over. He leaned across the wide table, his broad chest pressing against the edge as he looked at you, a soft, breathable laugh escaping his lips.

"You actually came," he said, his voice instantly dropping into that quiet, private tone that completely shut out the loud music playing over the speakers.

"I told you I would if I got a ticket," you said, your normal, easygoing attitude coming right back the second you saw how relaxed he looked. "I don't break promises."

"I'm glad," Euijoo murmured, taking the album and opening it straight to his page without even checking your name sticky note. He started writing it out completely from memory. "I was actually looking for you during the opening talk. I was worried you didn't make it."

The casual admission made your throat go dry. An idol was actively scanning a massive crowd just to see if you were sitting there.

"You were looking for me?" you asked softly.

Euijoo’s pen paused. He looked up through his red curls, his cheeks flushing a faint pink under the bright lights. He clearly realized how honest he had just been, but instead of backing up into a safe, standard idol answer, he just kept looking at you.

"Yeah," he admitted quietly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "The fansigns have been really loud lately. Everyone wants me to do challenges, or wear funny hats, or... play a character. But when you sat down last time, it just felt like I was talking to a friend. I haven't stopped thinking about it."

The sheer honesty in his eyes was dizzying. He was completely dropping his celebrity persona, just straight-up telling you that you made him feel safe.

"Well," you said, your voice softening as you reached out, your fingers lightly tapping the table near his hand. "I'm here now. No challenges, no funny hats. Just a regular conversation. How have you been sleeping?"

Euijoo let out a long sigh of relief, his entire posture relaxing. "Better. We got a day off last Monday. I slept for twelve hours straight. The members tried to wake me up for food, but I locked my door."

"Good for you," you laughed. "You need to protect your sleep. You look much less like a zombie today."

"Hey," he pouted a bit, a soft grin breaking across his face. "I didn't look that bad last time, did I?"

"You looked like you were being held together by hairspray and pure willpower, Euijoo."

He burst into a wide, genuine laugh, the sound rich and loud. Down the table, one of the younger members looked over in absolute surprise—clearly not used to hearing their leader laugh like that during a formal event. Euijoo didn't care. He just leaned closer, picking up the conversation like you were two old friends catching up at a quiet café rather than strangers at a massive media event.

You talked about the weather, a specific tea he finally got to try, and how his dog was doing back home. It was completely normal, totally mundane, and absolutely intoxicating.

"Time to move," the manager's voice cut in from behind you.

Euijoo’s smile dropped instantly, replaced by a clear look of frustration. He looked at the manager, then back at you, his fingers tightening around the edge of your album. He hadn't finished writing his message yet. He didn't want to let you go.

"Wait," Euijoo said to the staff member, his voice suddenly holding a firm, authoritative leader tone that made the woman pause. He quickly turned back to your page, scribbling something down fast before closing the book and handing it over. His fingers lingered against yours for a beat, his skin warm. "See you at the final show next week?"

"I'll try my best," you whispered, pulling the album to your chest as you stood up.

He didn't look away from you until you had completely walked down the steps of the stage.

The final event of the promotion cycle was a closed-door fansign held at a private luxury hall. It was exclusive, reserved for only a handful of people. The atmosphere was a bit more intimate, but the exhaustion radiating off the group was intense. They had been performing on music shows at 4:00 AM every single day, and you could see it in the sluggish way they walked out.

Euijoo looked completely spent. His shoulders were slumped, and he kept discreetly rubbing his temples between fans, trying his best to keep his eyes bright.

You sat in the front row this time, right in his direct line of sight. Every single time he looked up from signing an album, his eyes would immediately find you. He didn't even try to hide it anymore. When you gave him a small, encouraging smile, you could see the physical tension leave his frame. He was completely using you as an anchor.

When it was finally your turn to walk up, your chest felt incredibly tight. You moved down the table, greeting the other members, but your eyes kept tracking Euijoo at the very end. He was watching you progress down the line, his pen tapping restlessly against the wood, completely ignoring the fan who was currently walking away from his station just to watch you get closer.

The moment you took the final seat, the whole room seemed to go quiet.

"You look exhausted," you said immediately, skipping any small talk. The genuine concern in your voice made his chest tighten.

He didn't say a word. Instead, he dropped his marker onto the table, reached out, and completely bypassed the album sitting between you. His large, warm hands moved forward, his palms sliding over the smooth wood until his fingers gently, deliberately slipped over yours. He didn't just touch your hand—he enclosed your fingers inside his broad grip, holding onto you with a quiet, desperate intensity that made your breath catch.

His hands were slightly shaking from fatigue, but his grip was solid.

"I am," Euijoo whispered, his big eyes looking up into yours, completely raw and unprotected. He looked like a guy who had been running a marathon for weeks and finally found a place to sit down. "I'm so tired, it feels like my head is spinning. But... the second you sat down, it stopped hurting."

Your heart hammered violently, your fingers naturally curling back against his palm, returning the firm pressure. "Euijoo..."

"I don't want this cycle to end," he said, his voice dropping into a fierce, quiet tone meant only for you. His thumb traced a slow circle across the back of your knuckles. "If it ends, I won't have an excuse to see you anymore. You'll just go back to your life, and I'll go back to being an idol, and I... I don't think I can just let you disappear. I don't want to go back to how it was before."

The sheer weight of his confession hung in the air. He was crossing the professional line completely, shattering the boundary between idol and fan because he couldn't handle the thought of losing the one person who treated him like a human being.

"I'm not going to disappear," you said softly, your voice steady and reassuring. "Even if there are no more fansigns, I'm still going to be here. I'm not going anywhere, Euijoo."

A heavy, breathless silence fell over the two of you. Euijoo stared at you, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before rising back to your eyes. The intense pining that had been building over the last month was suddenly right out in the open.

"Moving along, please," the security manager's voice boomed, his hand already coming down to guide you out of the seat.

Euijoo didn't let go of your hand. He kept his fingers locked around yours for three seconds longer, forcing the security guard to hesitate. With his free hand, he flipped your album shut, sliding it toward you.

"Read the back cover," he whispered fast, his voice cracking slightly with nerves as the guard finally forced you to stand up. "Please. Read it as soon as you leave."

You pulled your hand from his grip, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving your skin cold. You clutched the heavy album to your chest, looking back at him one last time. Euijoo was sitting back in his chair, his face flushed a dark, beautiful crimson, his wide eyes tracking your every move.

The moment you stepped through the heavy glass doors of the auditorium and into the quiet, cool evening air, your hands were shaking. You sat down on a stone bench near the entrance, away from the crowds of fans, and slowly turned the album over to the back cover.

Right on the blank white space at the very bottom was Euijoo's neat, elegant handwriting. It wasn't a standard fan message.

*There's a quiet coffee shop called 'Glow' two blocks away from the venue. It stays open late, and nobody goes there. I have two hours before our manager takes us back to the dorms. Please. I want to talk to you without a table between us. — Euijoo.*

Beneath the note was a string of numbers—his private phone number, written hastily in silver ink.

You stared at the page for a long, breathless minute, your heart beating so loudly you could hear it in your ears. You closed the album, pulling your jacket tighter around your shoulders, a real smile breaking across your face as you stood up and started walking down the street toward the quiet coffee shop, leaving the idol world behind to go find the boy who was waiting for you.

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