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To say the man stands out from the crowd is an understatement.
He stands a good head above the flock of fans, but Kim Dokja thinks he would’ve found his eyes drawn to him regardless. Even with the face mask the man has on, Kim Dokja can still tell he looks better than a majority of the fellow idols he’s met and worked with. Broad shoulders, carefully tousled hair, and tight-fitted clothes that leave very little to the imagination would distract a less professional idol than him, but Kim Dokja wills himself to only spare a quick glance before returning his gaze to the entirety of the audience.
(He wants to sneak another peek, but years of discipline help him stay strong.)
However, as he waits for the fansign to start, he can’t help but think about why someone like that would be at this fansign. He knows it isn’t right to generalize, but he was sure his fanbase was made up mostly of young adult women with an unexplainable desire to take care of him and the occasional teenage girl with the same tendencies. It’s partly marketing sure, as his label had definitely leaned into the softer image since his debut, but he’s had multiple comebacks with a darker concept and theme that didn’t change the demographic of his fans at all. Even in dark latex and moody atmospheric lighting, the fans still didn’t hesitate to coo in the comment section of every music video and stage performance.
At this point in his career, Kim Dokja had resigned himself to his fate as a perpetual noona-magnet, and now this tall man in the crowd is an unidentified enigma to him. He finds himself increasingly curious about what the male fan is like, whether he’s a big fan of the music, the persona, or the performances. When he gives himself the opportunity to sneak one more peek, for research purposes only of course, he finds that the other has already sat down and has been swallowed up by the crowd.
WIth nothing else to distract him, he digs through his pockets and finds a receipt from today’s lunch that he forgot to throw away. As he absentmindedly scribbles upon it with a black marker, he thinks of dark, piercing eyes and a perfectly sculpted face.
The fansign starts without a hitch after a performance of his latest title track and a few stages of some fan-favorite b-sides. By now, Kim Dokja is used to the atmosphere of events like these and he gets into a solid rhythm as fans are brought up one by one. Interacting with fans is one of his favorite parts of being an idol, so it really isn’t much of a chore to fulfill a few acts of fanservice and write some notes of encouragement. He’s settled into such a comfortable routine that he’s caught by surprise when he suddenly has to look much higher to meet the eyes of his next fan. He accidentally crumples the small scrap of paper that he’s been fiddling with for the past few minutes as he is quickly reminded about the existence of his enigma.
(He looks even better up close.)
Without wasting a second, he recites a few sentences in a low but steady tone. “I came to this fansign for my younger cousin. He is a big fan. You can write anything, but please address the message to ‘Yoo Joonghyuk’ whenever you sign. Thank you.” He pulls a limited edition version of Guwon’s latest album out of his shoulder bag, carefully placing it in front of the idol to sign.
“Of course! I’m glad you were able to come for him,” Kim Dokja replies smoothly, pulling the album closer to him and picking up a marker. It’s a shame that his unique fan may not be a fan after all, but there are still silver linings. For one, he still thinks the possible non-fan’s words sounded like something memorized straight from a script, which creates a cute juxtaposition when paired with the man’s outward appearance. Even incredibly attractive men aren’t immune to preparing for social interaction.
He flips open to the first page of the album and begins writing a short message on the blank back of the cover. They both remain silent until he signs off with a flourished ‘Guwon’ and snaps the album shut. He returns the album with a smile, sparing a small glimpse to the timer as he does.
“You still have around a minute before your time is up. Are there any questions you’d like to ask, or anything you’d like me to do? Or anything you want me to do for someone else?”
The man is storing the album back into his bag as Kim Dokja offers, and his hands aren’t empty when they come out. Instead, they are filled with an intricately made flower crown that looks incredibly delicate in those rough hands.
“Could you put this on and do the apple heart? For my sister. She wants to see,” he explains roughly.
(Somewhere in Seoul, a teenager with black pigtails sneezes.)
Kim Dokja ignores the red tips of the other man’s ears and tries to ignore the creeping blush coming up his own neck. This is by no means an uncommon request, but it’s the first time since his rookie days that he’s felt so shy about it. It must be something about doing it in front of an attractive man.
He stalls by reaching for the flower crown and simply holding it in his hands for a few seconds, admiring the painstakingly small details of it. Kim Dokja can tell it was clearly made by someone who put a lot of care into it, as each element looks extremely deliberate in its design. It’s adorned with several white gardenias that are accented by smaller red roses and bunches of baby’s breath that weave in between small gaps of the crown. A thin white ribbon trails from the back of the accessory, tickling his ear as he haphazardly places it on top of his head. Before he can adjust its position, he’s startled by a few words from the stoic man in front of him.
“May I?”
After he gives a bashful nod of approval, a firm chest and a pair of muscular arms start dominating his vision. He feels the slight warmth of fingers brushing against strands of his blonde hair and the garland being adjusted against his head. If he wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now. He hears several loud screams from below him and is abruptly reminded with the fact that they have an audience and he should still be playing his role of the perfect idol.
He calms himself with a quick deep breath and reminds himself that this is just a persona, that this isn’t actually him doing all of this. The other man is waiting expectantly for Kim Dokja to move, phone held out in front of him.
(A little too expectant for someone just doing this for his sister, but he isn’t going to call him out.)
Kim Dokja puts his hands in a circle in front of him and takes a bite out of it in dramatic fashion, not forgetting to flash a picturesque smile that shows off his left dimple. There are a bit more screams coming from the crowd below, but it’s just the usual fanfare that he’s used to tuning out.
“Thank you,” the man says stiffly, after putting away his phone and giving a bow that just barely reaches Kim Dokja’s height.
Kim Dokja returns the gesture with another smile, albeit one less saccharine than the previous. There’s something so endearing about the awkwardness of the other man that he finds himself not having to force it out like he sometimes has to. As their time comes to an end,
“It’s no problem! If it weren’t for my fans, I wouldn’t be able to be up here on this stage, or well, any stage for that matter. Give your cousin and sister my thanks as well! They sure are lucky to have such a kind person as yourself to rely on! I hope next time, maybe they could come with you!”
He waves his hand in the air as the man begins to walk off the stage and his manager goes down to bring the next fan up. As his gaze lingers on the leaving figure, his eyes latch onto a small enamel pin on the back of the messenger bag. The bright white is attention-grabbing on its own, but he feels like its design is familiar as well. He finds his suspicions to be correct as the realization hits him seconds later. It’s something he would be able to recognize anywhere, a small cartoon squid that was an album inclusion for the first 500 copies pre-ordered of his vaguely beach related first comeback.
Kim Dokja suppresses a grin as he confirms the existence of his number one most attractive fan and hopes that he’ll hear from him soon.
When Yoo Joonghyuk gets home, he finds a hastily scribbled note written on the back of a receipt for convenience store kimbap pressed between the pages of his album. It reads “text me! xxx-xxx-xxxx,” and well, Yoo Joonghyuk has always been a man of action.