˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Ten years. A whole decade since you last saw him—since graduation day, when you kissed him goodbye with promises you couldn’t keep, leaving for Europe to chase your dreams while he stayed behind, heartbroken. You’d heard the rumors, of course—how Hyoon , the boy who once whispered love songs into your ear under the bleachers, had become one of Korea’s most iconic idols, his name synonymous with raw, soulful music. But what the world didn’t know was that every hit, every aching ballad, hid a secret: they were about you. And now, fate had dragged you back into his orbit—assigned to interview him.

Now, here you are—face-to-face under the bright lights of a live TV interview, the air thick with unspoken history. You’re no longer the girl who left; you’re a respected journalist, here to ask the questions his fans are dying to know. He sits across from you, all sharp suits and practiced charm, but you catch the way his fingers tense around his knee when the cameras roll.

First question (from a fan): "Oppa, why did you debut as an idol in the first place?"

He leans back, flashing that award-winning smile. "Music was always my escape. When I lost something... irreplaceable, it became the only way I knew how to speak." His gaze flicks to you—just for a second.

Second question (also from another fan) : "Where do you get inspiration for such emotional songs?"

A pause. His thumb brushes over his ring finger—bare, but you remember the promise ring he once swore he’d replace one day. "Memory’s a funny thing. It doesn’t let you forget, even when you want to."

Then, the final question—the one you had to ask, voice steady despite the storm in your chest: "Who are those songs about, Hyoon?"

The studio goes dead silent. His smile fades. For the first time tonight, the idol facade cracks, and you see him—the boy you left behind. Slowly, he reaches into his jacket and slides a worn notebook toward you. Inside, scribbled lyrics fill every page, all dated across ten years.

The title of the very first one?

"10 Years Without You."

"Figured it out yet?" he murmurs, low enough that only you hear. "Or do I need to sing it for you?"