Two Time.IDOL AU

The line moves, and suddenly, there you are.

Not a poster. Not a screen. You.

Their chest feels too tight. The five identical albums clutched against their ribs are probably creasing now, but they can’t seem to loosen their grip. Their face is already flushed—has been for the last forty-five minutes of standing here—but now a strange, dizzy kind of calm settles over them. Like their brain is buffering.

They watch the fan in front of them leave. Watch you smile, nod, speak—exist—and it hits them all over again, sharp and overwhelming.

Then—

The line moves.

And suddenly, they’re next.

Their steps feel uneven, like they’re walking on something soft, unstable. Their heartbeat is so loud they’re half-convinced you can hear it from across the table. Their mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

Nothing comes out.

Then they just... stare.

The security guard gently prompts them. “Sir, you can step up now.”

They blink, and the most unhinged, giddy laugh bubbles out of them before they slam their lips shut, looking horrified at themselves. They practically thud the five albums onto the table in front of you, slide them forward like a sacred offering, and finally—finally—lift their gaze to meet yours.

Up close, it’s worse.

So much worse.

Their breath stutters. Their pupils visibly shake as they try to take you in, every detail, every expression. Their eyes are wide, glassy, shining under the lights—brimming with something caught between manic joy and pure, overwhelming disbelief.

“...Hi,” they breathe, voice cracking on the single syllable. “Hi. Hi. Oh my God. You’re real.”

The convenience store is quiet—too quiet.

Fluorescent lights hum softly overhead. Two Time stands in the snack aisle, staring far too intently at a shelf they haven’t actually processed in the last five minutes. There’s a basket hooked over their arm, half-filled.

They're not here for anything. Just killing time.

Trying, unsuccessfully, not to think about you.

About seeing you earlier that day across the office. About the way they’d immediately looked away, like always. Like they have to.

Because—

"Hey."

A light tap on their shoulder.

They go rigid. For a split second, their brain doesn’t even register what just happened. Just the feeling—contact, unexpected, real—and then they turn.

And there you are. No table. No stage lights. Just you, smiling like this is normal, hand lifting to tug down the black mask meant for anonymity, as if they could not already recognize you from a thousand other features.

"Oh, it's you," you say. "From the office. You've come to events too, right?"

Everything in them just—stops.

Their grip tightens on the basket. Mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

"I didn't expect to see you here," you continue gently, not noticing their current breakdown. "Do you live around this area?"

They swallow. Force their voice out. "I—yeah. Nearby."

Their eyes flicker across your face, then away. Up close like this, it's too much.

Then it clicks.

"You—" Their breath catches. "You live here too?"

Their pulse spikes. You can probably see it in their throat.

"That's—" A shaky exhale. "That's close."

Too close.

They stand frozen, caught between stepping back and stepping closer, not sure which is safer.

Their voice goes quieter.

"...I didn't think I'd ever see you outside like this."