𝓙𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝓙𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤

The Seoul stop of the tour had been supposed to be uncomplicated. At least, as uncomplicated as anything could be when your band was playing to a sold-out crowd on the other side of the world. The venue had been vibrating since soundcheck, its backstage corridors filled with the familiar mixture of hot equipment, hairspray, sweat, coffee, and the faint metallic smell of cables warming beneath the stage lights. Outside, thousands of people had been waiting for hours, dressed in your band's shirts and carrying handmade signs, posters, and whatever else they had managed to bring through security. Seoul was loud before the first note had even been played, and standing behind the stage, you could already feel the energy pressing through the walls.

You had grown accustomed to this part of touring. The cities changed, the hotel rooms changed, the languages changed, but there was always something comforting about the ritual. The guitar in your hands was familiar. The weight of it against your body, the slight sting left on your fingertips after hours of playing, the roar that came whenever you stepped onto the stage—it was almost enough to make everywhere feel like home. You had learned to stop thinking too much about the size of the crowds years ago. Thinking about it only made your stomach twist.

So when someone from your management casually mentioned that an important Korean celebrity had requested a private VIP box for the show, you barely looked up. Apparently, he was a very big deal. You nodded politely, asked who it was, and then immediately forgot the name. Your band had never been particularly invested in the world of K-pop. You knew the obvious things, of course. You knew there were groups capable of filling enormous stadiums, you knew some Korean artists had become global celebrities, and you knew BTS was apparently on another level entirely. Even so, knowing a name and actually knowing the person behind it were two completely different things. To you, they existed in that distant category of celebrities whose faces appeared on advertisements and whose songs seemed to be playing everywhere, but whose actual lives had nothing to do with yours, so the information barely registered.

Until the next morning.

Your phone had been vibrating relentlessly before you had even managed to properly wake up. At first, you assumed it was your band's group chat. Then you saw the number of notifications: messages, mentions, follows, comments, and an alarming number of people you didn't recognize trying to get your attention.

The first post you saw was a photograph taken somewhere inside the venue. It wasn't particularly clear. Whoever had taken it had obviously been trying to be discreet, probably zooming in from the audience toward the private skybox rather than openly photographing him. The image was grainy around the edges, but there was no mistaking the oversized hoodie, dark pants, sunglasses, and familiar profile of the man sitting behind the glass. He had a drink in one hand and appeared to be watching the stage with an attention that looked almost too focused for someone who was supposedly there just to enjoy a concert.

The caption was simple:

Jungkook spotted at (your band's) Seoul concert yesterday!

You stared at it for several seconds. Then you stared at the name again.

Jungkook.

A few minutes later, someone from your band sent another screenshot into the group chat. Apparently, the internet had noticed something else. It wasn't simply that he had attended, it was his behavior.

More specifically, his face whenever you appeared on the enormous screens surrounding the stage.

The videos had already begun circulating. Short clips filmed by concertgoers, shaky recordings captured from phones, photographs of the skybox taken from absurd distances and zoomed in until the quality practically disappeared. In one, the camera had originally been focused on the stage when you appeared on the screen during one of your solos. The person filming had noticed Jungkook in the corner and immediately zoomed toward him. His face changed almost unconsciously the instant he saw you. His smile widened, his attention snapping toward the screen with an interest that was difficult to mistake. In another clip, one of the people sitting with him noticed and gave him an encouraging pat on the back. Jungkook laughed, ducking his head as though embarrassed to have been caught, before looking toward the stage again.

That was apparently enough.

The comments were multiplying by the second. Some were amused, excited, convinced that their favorite idol had simply discovered a new musician he liked. Others were already making edits, slowing down the clips and putting romantic music behind them. There were people trying to identify you, digging through old interviews and concert footage, translating things you had said years ago. There were fans insisting that Jungkook had been staring at you all night. Others argued that he was simply enjoying the show and appreciating a musician whose work he liked.

Then there were the less pleasant comments. People calling you an attention seeker. People accusing your band of using Jungkook for publicity. People insisting you were deliberately trying to get close to him. People making comments about your appearance, your clothes, your music, your entire career based on a handful of seconds of blurry footage. Some seemed genuinely angry at the mere possibility that their favorite idol might find someone attractive.

You scroll for a while, your expression slowly becoming more incredulous than offended. It was ridiculous. You hadn't even known he was there. You certainly hadn't been performing for him. And the idea that thousands of strangers could watch a few clips of a man smiling at a concert and somehow turn that into a possible relationship was almost funny.

Almost.

Because there was one detail you couldn't quite dismiss: you had no idea who Jungkook actually was. You knew he was in BTS now, obviously. You had looked him up after seeing the posts, discovering that the group was considerably more enormous than you had realized. His face was everywhere once you knew what you were looking for. Interviews, performances, magazine covers, airport photographs, advertisements. You had even learned enough to understand why his appearance at your concert had caused such a reaction, but that only made the entire situation stranger.

You had never met him. You didn't even know whether he was single! There was no way he had actually found you attractive. The internet was simply doing what it always did—turning nothing into something because something was more interesting.

You lock your phone and toss it onto the bed, deciding that the internet can entertain itself. Eventually, the excitement will move somewhere else. There is always another celebrity, another rumor, another photograph taken out of context. You have another concert to play and that's all that matters.

The second Seoul show comes and goes in a blur of heat, sound, and adrenaline. By the time the final song ends, your ears are still ringing beneath the roar of the audience. The stage lights burn against your skin as you take your final bow with the rest of the band, sweat cooling gradually along your neck as the last notes disappear into the enormous venue. The crowd seems reluctant to let you go, their voices following you even after you disappear behind the curtains.

Backstage is considerably calmer. Not quiet (it's never quite quiet after a concert) but different. The frantic energy has begun to settle. Crew members move through the corridors collecting equipment and checking cases, staff speak into headsets, and members of your band drift between the dressing rooms, exchanging comments about the show while still riding the high of the performance. Your guitar has already been left onstage with the rest of the equipment, where your crew will take care of it. For now, your hands feel strangely light without it.

You walk farther backstage, distracted by the conversation around you, barely paying attention to the unfamiliar person sitting comfortably on one of the couches near the wall.

Jungkook has been there for a while.

After the concert, he had been talking casually with some of your band's staff, asking about the tour and complimenting the performance with the kind of genuine enthusiasm that makes it obvious he isn't simply being polite. He had seen the band live once already, but somehow being backstage feels different. More personal. Less like watching something through a screen.

He had considered leaving several times. Then stayed.

He tells himself it's because he doesn't want to interrupt anyone immediately after the show. That's partly true. Truth is that he knows you're going to walk through that door eventually, and he might not be so ready for it.

When you finally do, he looks up.

For a second, his expression goes completely still. The person he had spent the last two nights watching from a distance is suddenly standing only a few steps away, no enormous stage behind you, no screen projecting your image twenty feet high, no thousands of people between you. You look tired from the concert, still carrying some of its energy with you, and somehow that makes you feel more real than any photograph or performance ever could. Jungkook straightens slightly on the couch.

One of the staff members notices you first and greets you, and the conversation naturally shifts. Your bandmates begin filtering into the room, exchanging casual words with the people already there. Jungkook stands when introductions begin, polite and slightly reserved, and when his turn comes, he simply gives his name.

"Jungkook." Nothing more, no mention of BTS. No explanation of who he is. He doesn't assume you know, and he doesn't seem particularly interested in making a point of it.

The conversation continues naturally. He asks questions about the show, about the tour, about how long the band will be in Seoul. He listens more than he speaks, occasionally laughing when one of your bandmates makes a joke. When the conversation turns toward the music itself, however, something changes. He becomes noticeably more animated, admitting that he's been listening to the band for longer than you expected, mentioning songs and performances with the ease of someone who actually knows their work rather than someone who skimmed through a playlist before attending to the concert.

"I've been hearing your music for a while," he admits, almost casually.

Then his eyes flick toward you. "And you play really good."

It's a simple compliment, but there is something sincere about it. He doesn't say it like someone trying to impress you. If anything, he seems slightly embarrassed by how much he means it.

The conversation eventually begins to break apart as staff members return to their work and your bandmates head toward the dressing rooms. For a brief moment, the space becomes less crowded.

Jungkook remains. He looks toward you again. There is a strange hesitation in his expression now, one that wasn't there when he was talking comfortably with everyone else. His shoulders shift slightly, his fingers brushing against one another as though he's trying to decide whether he should say something.

He has performed in front of tens of thousands of people without thinking twice, but this somehow feels harder.

"I actually wanted to say hi yesterday," he says eventually, a small laugh escaping under his breath. "But I didn't know if you'd think it was weird."

His smile is almost sheepish. "I mean, you probably didn't even know who I was."

There's a pause. Then, after a moment of gathering what little courage he seems to need, he looks at you properly.

"I'd like to talk to you again." His hand slips briefly into his pocket, then comes back out with his phone. He looks almost as though he's reconsidering the entire idea, his eyes flicking away before returning to yours.

"Can I—" He stops himself, breathes out a quiet laugh, and tries again. "Could I get your number?"

The question comes out softer than everything else he's said tonight. His expression immediately shifts, as though he realizes how forward it might sound coming from someone you've only just met.

"It's fine if you don't want to," he adds quickly. "Really. I just thought..."

He trails off, glancing down for a second before looking back at you with that same nervous, genuine smile.

"I'd like to get to know you."

Seoul was the second-to-last stop of your band’s world tour, and by now the routine was familiar: hours of soundchecks, interviews, screaming crowds, and barely enough time to sleep before doing it all again. Your band didn’t know much about the Korean music industry, but you knew BTS was practically unavoidable. They were huge. Still, when your manager casually mentioned that a BTS member had requested a private VIP skybox for your first Seoul concert, the name Jungkook barely registered.

The next morning, however, his name was everywhere. Fan accounts had posted blurry photos of him watching from the skybox, dressed in an oversized hoodie, loose pants, sunglasses, and a drink in hand. People had noticed that he seemed especially interested whenever you appeared on the giant screens, and videos showed his friends nudging him and laughing about it. By the time you looked him up, you understood exactly why the internet had gone insane. Some fans were amused and supportive; others were convinced there was something going on, with a few even directing unnecessary hate toward you.

You mostly ignored it. There was no way a globally famous idol had actually become interested in you just because he watched one concert. Besides, you assumed someone like him probably wasn't even single. You had a tour to finish, and he had an entire career constantly watched by millions of people.

Your second Seoul concert went just as well as the first. Hours later, after the last song and the crowd had finally begun to disappear, you made your way backstage. Some of the band's staff were still moving equipment around when you noticed someone sitting casually on one of the couches, talking with them as though he'd been there for hours.

Jungkook.

He looked much more ordinary without a stage or cameras around him. When he noticed you, his expression immediately changed with recognition. He stood, gave a small smile, and introduced himself simply as Jungkook, without mentioning BTS. Conversation came easily enough. He talked about the band, admitted he'd been listening to your music for a while, and complimented your guitar playing with enough specificity to make it obvious he wasn't just being polite.

Eventually, when the others gave you a little space, he hesitated. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve before he looked at you again.

“I actually wanted to say hi yesterday,” he admitted with a quiet laugh. “I just didn't know if you'd think it was weird.”

He paused for a moment before adding, a little more nervously, “Can I—could I get your number? It's completely fine if you don't want to. I just thought… I'd like to get to know you.”