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You hated how predictable you were.
Every comeback.
Every live.
Every performance.
There you were.
Phone in hand. Heart ready to betray you.
Kim Taehyung wasn't just your bias. He was your comfort place. The kind of person you'd never meet but somehow felt close to. The kind of delusion every fangirl swore she didn't have.
You weren't crazy.
You knew the rules.
Idols and fans lived in two completely different worlds.
You were just... another face in a crowd. And you were okay with that.
Or at least you thought you were.
The concert was your graduation gift to yourself. You stood in the stadium surrounded by purple lights and screaming fans. The energy was overwhelming. It vibrated in your bones.
When BTS came out, the air changed.
And then he stepped forward.
Taehyung.
The crowd exploded.
You didn't scream at first. You just stared. He looked unreal in person — taller, broader, more intense. Cameras didn't do him justice.
You sang every lyric. Not to impress anyone. Not to get noticed. You sang because you loved the music.
Midway through the show, during a slower song, the stage platform began to move closer to your section. Your heart started racing — not because you thought he'd notice you.
But because he'd be close enough to see.
And that terrified you.
He walked lazily across the extended stage, mic hanging loosely in his hand. He looked relaxed. Almost distant.
Then his eyes lifted.
And scanned.
Your section.
Your row.
You swallowed. His gaze brushed over you.
Kept going.
Your chest loosened. Of course. Why would he stop?
Then —
It came back.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
And this time it didn't move on. Your heart skipped so violently it almost hurt.
No.
You were imagining it. There were thousands of people here.
But he didn't look away. His brows furrowed slightly — like he was trying to figure something out.
You suddenly felt exposed. Like he could see every thought in your head.
You looked down first. Because that's what fans do.
You don't hold eye contact with someone who lives in another universe.
The song ended.
The moment passed.
But for the rest of the concert, you felt it.
That strange pull.
Whenever he came near your side of the stage, his attention lingered longer than before.
It was subtle. So subtle no one else would notice.
But you did. And it made your pulse unstable.
After the show, your friend wouldn't stop talking.
"He kept looking at you."
"He did not."
"He did."
You brushed it off. Because believing it would be dangerous. Because believing it would mean hoping.
And hope was cruel.
The next morning, you went alone to a small café near your hotel. You were leaving tonight.
Back to your normal life.
Back to reality.
You were stirring your coffee when someone entered.
You didn't look up at first. But your body reacted before your brain did.
The air shifted.
A presence.
A low voice ordering at the counter.
You froze.
No.
That wasn't possible.
Slowly, you looked up.
Black cap.
Mask.
Broad shoulders.
Hands in hoodie pockets.
Your stomach dropped.
It was him.
Not stage Taehyung.
Not idol Taehyung.
Just... a man buying coffee.
He hadn't noticed you. And you didn't want him to. Your heart was beating so loudly you were afraid he'd hear it.
You grabbed your cup quickly, deciding to leave before you did something embarrassing.
But as you turned—
You collided with someone.
Strong hands caught your arms.
"Sorry," you blurted automatically.
"It's okay."
Your entire body went still.
That voice.
You looked up slowly.
And there he was.
Up close.
Much closer than a fan should ever be.
His eyes widened slightly.
Recognition.
"You were at the concert."
Not a question.
A statement.
You felt heat rush to your face. "Yes."
Your voice sounded smaller than usual.
He studied you. And for a moment, you saw something you didn't expect.
Curiosity.
Not flirtation.
Not amusement.
Curiosity.
"You were in the third section. Near the extended stage."
Your breath caught.
He remembered.
"I... I was," you admitted.
Silence stretched between you. And suddenly you felt embarrassed. Of course he'd remember some faces. It didn't mean anything.
You stepped back slightly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you." But his hand was still lightly around your wrist.
He hadn't let go yet. When he seemed to realize it, he slowly released you.
"Are you leaving today?" he asked.
It surprised you.
"Yes."
He nodded once. Then looked away briefly, like he was debating something internally.
You expected him to leave. To walk away and forget this ever happened.
Instead, he said quietly—
"Can I sit for a minute?"
Your heart skipped.
This was dangerous territory.
For him.
For you.
But you nodded.
He sat across from you. And suddenly, the world felt too small.
You didn't know what to say. You didn't want to embarrass yourself by fangirling. So you stayed quiet.
He seemed to appreciate that.
"You weren't filming much," he said after a moment.
You blinked. "I wanted to watch with my own eyes."
Something shifted in his expression.
A faint smile.
"That's rare."
You shrugged slightly. "It feels more real that way."
His eyes held yours. And for the first time, the tension wasn't fantasy.
It was real.
But not romantic yet.
Just... electric.
And confusing.
A staff member suddenly entered the café.
Taehyung's posture changed instantly.
Professional.
Guarded.
The invisible wall returned.
He stood up.
"I should go."
Of course. What were you expecting?
He hesitated.
Then—
"It was nice meeting you."
Formal.
Polite.
Safe.
You nodded. "It was nice meeting you too."
And just like that, he left.
No phone number.
No dramatic wink.
No destiny.
Just a brief encounter.
Something small. Something you'd probably overthink for months.
You sat there long after he left. Trying to ignore the strange ache in your chest.
Because this—
This was how it was supposed to be.
Fans and idols don't cross lines. They brush past each other.
And move on.
But as you walked back to your hotel later, your phone buzzed.
A DM.
On Instagram.
From a verified account.
Your hands were shaking.
It's not his personal account.
It's not the official one either.
It's a private account.
No profile picture.
Username: "vante_____"
One message.
"Did you get back safely?"
Your heart stops. How did he find you?
Then you remembered.
During the concert, when the camera was on your face, your username was visible on the fan banner you were holding.
Your small art account.
The one where you posted paintings inspired by his songs.
He must have looked.
He must have searched.
He must have found you.
And that realization? That he noticed enough to look?
That hits harder than randomly giving your number.
Now it's intentional.
Now it means something.
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