Chapter Text
Music floods the room without pause, looping through the same tracks for so many hours that even the opening beats are engraved into your skull. Two devices lie abandoned on the bed, screens glowing against the dim lighting of the room. One streams VTIC's comeback album through Melon while the other tirelessly cycles through Genie Music.
The songs overlap by a fraction of a second, creating an echo that should have been unbearable hours ago, yet now it simply feels natural—comforting, even.
The air smells faintly of instant coffee and fabric softener. Empty snack wrappers are piled beside your chair, long forgotten after being torn open sometime during midnight streaming.
Across the room, an entire wall is dedicated to one person.
Shin Jaehyun.
Or rather—Cheongryeo.
Your eyes drift toward the display unconsciously, softening for a split second.
Shelves lined with albums from every era fill the space from top to bottom, organized carefully by concept and release date. Limited editions are protected behind acrylic covers while signed albums occupy the center like museum artifacts. Photocards sit inside decorated toploaders covered in silver stars and blue rhinestones. Plush dolls wearing miniature stage outfits are propped beside slogan towels and can badges. Large framed fansite photos lean against the wall, each capturing Cheongryeo beneath concert lights like scenes torn directly from a drama.
Even the handheld fans hanging from hooks bear his face.
The room barely resembles a bedroom anymore.
It resembles a shrine.
Your laptop screen reflects against your tired eyes as the comeback MV plays once again. The view count climbs higher in real time while comments race endlessly down the side of the screen. You absentmindedly mouth the choreography timing under your breath after watching it so many times.
“Okay... if we maintain this pace until reset...”
Your fingers fly across the keyboard. Tabs upon tabs are already open—streaming guides, voting schedules, music show criteria spreadsheets, fanbase coordination chats. Numbers are scattered across your monitor like battle plans.
Digital scores.
Broadcast points.
Pre-votes.
Live voting.
Album sales.
You know every percentage by heart.
A sigh leaves you as you crack your knuckles one by one, shoulders stiff from hunching over your desk for hours. Then you continue typing, adjusting streaming rotations while mentally calculating which music shows would be the hardest competition this week.
You already prepared for everything months ago.
Hundreds of albums were pre-ordered the moment links dropped—partly for sales, partly for fansign entries. Your phone is cluttered with voting applications filled painstakingly through purchased points and endless advertisements watched late into the night. Sometimes you think you can still hear the repetitive ad jingles even in your sleep.
But this is normal.
Every TICA knows comeback season is practically war.
And VTIC never loses.
A triumphant grin spreads across your face at the thought. “MuBank should be secured...” you murmur quietly. “Minki too, probably.”
Especially with the fandom moving like this.
Your private group chats have not slept in days. Fanbases coordinate streaming schedules with military precision while larger accounts distribute tutorials every hour to keep engagement high. Even international fans are syncing alarms just to participate in live voting.
It is ridiculous.
Exhausting.
Beautiful.
Hours pass before you finally push yourself away from the desk. Your chair creaks loudly as you stand, stretching both arms toward the ceiling. Your back pops immediately, followed by a groan escaping your lips.
“Ah... my spine's actually dying!”
You sway side to side, rubbing your eyes roughly with the sleeves of your hoodie. Your vision blurs from staring at screens too long, and your ears feel numb from hearing the same album replay for what must be the hundredth time today.
What a blessing. There's no greater satisfaction than watching VTIC succeed with your own efforts contributing to it, no matter how small.
You drop back into your chair and instinctively open your social media account.
cry4cheongryeo.
One of the earliest dedicated fan accounts created solely for him.
Your follower count passed several thousand long ago.
Notifications flood your screen the moment the app opens. Mentions, retweets, quote posts, direct messages—everything moving too quickly to keep up with. Most are from fellow TICAs reposting your streaming reminders or thanking you for organizing comeback projects.
[DON'T FORGET LIVE VOTING TONIGHT!!!]
[Please continue streaming properly!]
[If you can afford albums, now's the best time to buy!]
[VTIC LET'S GET THAT GRAND SLAM!]
Your lips twitch upward as you scroll through the replies. People encourage one another tirelessly despite everyone clearly running on caffeine and three hours of sleep.
A strange warmth settles in your chest.
You refresh your page again, eyes passing over the countless fansite photos you personally took during concerts and public schedules.
Cheongryeo beneath blue stage lights.
Cheongryeo adjusting his in-ear monitors backstage.
Cheongryeo laughing at a member's joke with his head tilted back.
Every image precious.
Every image carefully edited by your own hands.
And the results come quickly.
The first week of promotions ends with VTIC taking first place on every music show they attend.
Every. Single. One.
You still remember nearly screaming during live voting after seeing the scores tighten dangerously near the end. Competing fandoms fought viciously this comeback season, refusing to back down until the final seconds.
But VTIC wins regardless.
As expected.
The victory announcement still replays inside your head vividly—confetti falling across the stage while Cheongryeo stands at the center holding the trophy, breathless and smiling despite having experienced moments like this countless times already.
To celebrate the successful comeback, fanbases immediately begin organizing support events. Subway advertisements, café events, birthday-style exhibits despite it not even being a birthday—everyone wants to contribute something.
Your inbox fills rapidly with messages from organizers.
Most of them are asking for one thing:
Permission to use your photos.
“We'd like to feature your fansite images for the Hongik Station ad project.”
“Can we use your Cheongryeo concert photos for printing?”
“Your edits fit the concept perfectly...”
You agree almost instantly every single time.
How could you not? Soon enough, Hongik Station practically transforms into Cheongryeo's territory.
Large digital displays loop videos of him endlessly while massive printed advertisements line the walls. One organizer handles Gangnam Station for another member while others claim stations across Seoul for group promotions.
But Hongik belongs entirely to Cheongryeo.
Exactly as it should.
Your laptop screen glows late into the night once more as editing software fills the display. Carefully, you adjust lighting on a photo taken during a fansign—softening shadows beneath his jaw, sharpening the sparkle in his eyes beneath stage lighting.
Then you move to video editing.
Transitions.
Effects.
Typography.
Everything needs to be perfect before tomorrow's submission deadline.
Thankfully, you booked the advertising slot months in advance the second comeback rumors surfaced. The entire week belongs to your project now.
Expensive?
Absolutely.
Your bank account nearly cried blood after the payment went through.
Yet even while staring at the terrifying numbers, satisfaction outweighed regret almost instantly.
Because the thought of Cheongryeo possibly seeing the advertisements himself someday makes it worth every cent.
You lean back slowly in your chair, exhaustion heavy in your bones as the comeback MV begins replaying again from the start.
Onscreen, Cheongryeo appears beneath flashing lights, expression sharp and impossibly composed like he was born to stand at the center of the stage.
Your tired eyes soften immediately.
A small smile tugs at your lips.
“For you?” you murmur quietly toward the glowing screen. “I'd do this a hundred more times!”
The violent buzzing of your phone drags you out of sleep long before the sun even rises.
Still buried beneath your blanket, you groan softly and reach toward the nightstand blindly, knocking against a water bottle before finally grabbing your phone. Your eyes barely open as you pull it closer, face pressed against the pillow while the screen brightness nearly blinds you.
“Hngh...” your thumb lazily unlocks the screen and then your entire body freezes. The exhaustion vanishes instantly.
Notifications flood your screen so quickly that they continue stacking on top of each other before you can even process the first few.
[WAKE UP!]
[OH MY GOD!!]
[CHEONGRYEO VISITED THE ADS.]
[YOUR PHOTOS ARE THERE!!! CONGRATULATIONS!!!]
Your sleepy eyes widen so abruptly that they begin stinging. “What?” you immediately sit upright in bed, blanket falling into your lap as your pulse jumps violently.
With shaky fingers, you press one of the tagged posts from your mutuals.
The photo loads.
And there he is.
Cheongryeo stands beneath the glowing advertisements at Hongik Station with the other VTIC members surrounding him. One member points excitedly toward another display while laughing, but your eyes remain glued to the center.
To him.
Cheongryeo poses calmly in front of the giant subway advertisement with a half-heart pressed against his cheek, expression relaxed despite the crowd around him. The bright digital screens behind him cycle through the fansite photos you personally took during concerts and public schedules.
Your photos.
The edits you spent hours perfecting.
Your watermark sits quietly at the bottom corner of the screen behind him.
A strangled scream tears out of your throat. “Oh my god—!”
You nearly fall off the bed trying to stand. Your legs stumble against discarded albums on the floor while you clutch your phone to your chest like your life depends on it.
“This isn't real. This isn't real.”
But it is.
The next few posts only make things worse.
There are videos now. VTIC members taking pictures at each station. Another clip shows Cheongryeo glancing up toward the advertisement with a faint smile before taking another selfie beneath it.
Your hands fly to your mouth.
You genuinely feel dizzy.
The comeback is already going absurdly well. VTIC has been sweeping music shows all week, dominating charts exactly as everyone predicted. Fanbases are celebrating nonstop. Every timeline is filled with victory photos, encore stages, and clips of members thanking fans during ending speeches.
And now this.
They personally visited the advertisements.
The advertisements you helped organize.
The ones displaying your photos.
You drop face-first onto the bed and scream into your pillow for a solid minute.
Hours later, while your sanity is barely recovering, another notification appears on your screen.
[Congratulations! You have won a slot for the VTIC comeback fansign event.]
You stare at the message blankly.
Then reread it.
Again.
And again.
Your brain refuses to process it properly.
“...No way.”
A second later, another horrified scream echoes through your room.
The rest of the morning becomes complete chaos.
Your bedroom is transformed into a battlefield of merchandise and accessories. Carefully decorated toploaders are spread across the desk beside ribbons, stickers, and acrylic keychains. Your itabag lays open on the bed while you rearrange everything for what feels like the hundredth time.
“No, this looks weird here...”
You remove a Cheongryeo photocard holder before attaching it somewhere else. Can badges are arranged according to color palette while plush dolls from different eras sit perfectly inside the clear display pocket. Tiny VTIC charms jingle whenever you move the bag around.
You step back to inspect it.
Pause.
Then immediately adjust something again.
Meanwhile, your camera charges nearby.
Every few minutes, you pick it up just to double-check the battery percentage and remaining storage despite already clearing nearly everything from the memory card.
“What if I run out of space?” you mumble nervously.
You check again anyway.
The hardest part comes when you begin practicing possible conversations in front of the mirror.
“Thank you for working hard this comeback.”
Too formal.
You clear your throat awkwardly.
“I really liked the album—”
Too boring.
You try again.
“The subway ads looked really beautiful today...”
You stop midway and cover your face in embarrassment.
“No. Absolutely not.”
You spend almost an hour practicing only to realize you'll probably forget your own name the second Cheongryeo looks directly at you.
Unfortunately, that prediction turns out to be painfully accurate.
The day of the fansign arrives quicker than expected.
A colored wig styled to suit your disguise sits snugly atop your head, paired with a black mask that obscures most of your face. Layers of makeup sharpen and soften your features where needed, while colored contact lenses hide the familiar gleam of your eyes.
You spend an embarrassing amount of time perfecting every little detail, fussing with the wig yet again and checking your reflection from every angle. By the time you're finished, the person in the mirror looks like a complete stranger—a necessary precaution when you're trying to attend your bias's event without getting recognized yourself.
If someone—especially another fan—recognizes you at a VTIC fansign event, your life as you know it is over. One picture posted online, one viral tweet, and your carefully constructed disguise will amount to absolutely nothing. By the next morning, your name will be trending alongside grainy photos of you clutching VTIC merchandise like your life depends on it. Your company will find out, your groupmates will never let you live it down, and the internet will immortalize your embarrassing secret forever. As far as you're concerned, this isn't just a risk to your career—it's a risk to your dignity.
The venue is already crowded when you arrive. Fans gather outside clutching albums tightly against their chests while staff members guide people into organized lines. Excited chatter fills the air alongside the distant sound of VTIC's songs playing through the venue speakers.
Your heartbeat becomes unbearable the closer you get to the entrance, each step making you question every life choice that led you here. The excited chatter of fans and the sight of VTIC banners only make your nerves worse.
At the verification table, a staff member greets you with a polite smile and asks for your identification.
Your fingers nearly fumble the card as you pull it from your wallet.
It's the fake ID you painstakingly prepared for this very occasion, complete with an alias, a different birth date, and a photograph altered just enough to match the person your disguise has created. Countless hours went into making sure every detail lined up—the wig, the contacts, the makeup, and the identity printed on that tiny piece of plastic. If anyone compares it to the face hidden beneath your mask, all they'll see is another ordinary fan eagerly waiting for the event.
You silently pray that the staff member doesn't look at it for more than a second.
“T-thank you...” you stammer as they hand it back.
The card disappears into your wallet almost immediately, and you force yourself not to bolt for the exit. One hurdle down. Several more opportunities for your carefully crafted disguise to spectacularly fall apart remain.
Here comes the number draw! You stand in front of the small box with both hands clasped together tightly.
Please.
Anything from one to ten.
Please.
You inhale deeply before reaching inside.
The folded paper feels strangely heavy in your fingers.
Slowly, you unfold it.
Your eyes widen immediately.
You shut your eyes tightly while fighting the urge to scream on the spot. “Oh my God...”
Number seven.
Close to the front. Close to the stage. Close to Cheongryeo.
The event begins smoothly afterward. Fans line up according to their assigned numbers while staff members constantly guide everyone forward. Cameras click endlessly around the room while excited voices blend together into noise.
At the far end of the table sits Cheongryeo.
Even from a distance, he stands out effortlessly.
His hair is styled neatly while the soft lighting overhead sharpens his already striking features. He listens attentively to the fan in front of him, smiling politely while signing an album.
Your stomach executes a spectacular series of somersaults, and you're fairly certain you're about to pass out.
You immediately look away before your brain short-circuits. Instead, you focus desperately on rehearsing your prepared lines internally while waiting.
Don't embarrass yourself.
Please don't embarrass yourself.
“Number 7.”
You briefly see the light and consider walking toward it. Wait, wait, wait! Now is not the time for this!
Taking a deep breath, you step forward. Your legs tremble so badly that each step feels unsteady, while heat creeps across your face and your heartbeat thunders in your ears.
Unfortunately, your elaborate disguise does absolutely nothing to hide the decorations hanging from your bag.
More specifically, the fan account handle you've proudly attached to it.
A decision you are beginning to regret with every fiber of your being.
Chaeyul's gaze drops to the keychain, and his eyes brighten in recognition. “cry4cheongryeo, huh?” he reads aloud. He tilts the bag slightly for a better look before glancing back at you. “Wait... you're that cry4cheongryeo?”
Your blood runs cold.
“You take really nice photos of our leader,” Chaeyul continues with a giggle. “Seriously, how do you do it? Half the time, we're standing right next to him and somehow you're the one getting the better shots.”
A few of the nearby members perk up at the conversation.
“Oh, I know that account!” one of them chimes in.
“The airport photos?” another asks.
“The fansign ones are crazy,” someone else adds. “Our leader looks like he walked out of a magazine.”
Your brain promptly ceases all higher functions.
Of all the things you prepared for today, being recognized by the idols themselves for your fan account was decidedly not one of them.
You fidget under the growing attention, desperately trying to remember how human conversation works. “Uh, um...” you manage eloquently. “I-I just... have a decent camera?”
The answer earns another laugh from Chaeyul.
“No way,” he says, shaking his head. “That's definitely a trade secret. You'll have to teach us sometime.”
Against all odds—and several near-fatal bouts of embarrassment—you make it to the final seat.
Cheongryeo.
Up close, he looks even more unreal.
Cheongryeo lifts his gaze immediately and smiles warmly at you. “Hello. Thank you for coming today.”
His voice is calm and smooth, exactly like during livestreams.
Except now he's speaking directly to you.
You smile back so stiffly it almost hurts. “O-of course,” you blurt out quickly. “Anything for you, Cheongryeo...”
The instant the words leave your mouth, regret slams into you immediately.
Why would you say it like that?
Meanwhile, Cheongryeo simply lets out a soft laugh before lowering his gaze toward your album. His fingers move carefully as he signs across the page featuring his concept photo.
You stare at his hands for a second too long before forcing yourself to speak again.
“Um...”
Your voice nearly disappears.
“If you don't mind... could you write my username too?”
Cheongryeo looks up immediately.
“Yes, of course.” He nods lightly. “cry4cheongryeo, right?”
“...Yes.” you internally shrivel into dust.
However, instead of laughing, Cheongryeo pauses slightly. “I appreciate your hard work.”
“...Pardon?” The response escapes weakly from your throat.
Cheongryeo smiles faintly while continuing to write. “The photos you take are beautiful,” he says calmly. “I enjoy seeing them.”
Your breath catches completely and your mind goes blank.
I enjoy seeing them.
I enjoy seeing them.
I enjoy seeing them.
WHAT.
Hold on—
He knows your account.
Not only that—he recognizes your photos.
The countless pictures you edited late at night. The ones displayed across the subway station he personally visited.
Warmth blooms in your chest. “I...” No coherent sentence forms.
Cheongryeo leans slightly forward afterward. “I hope you'll continue supporting us for a long time. Ah, you've been a fan since debut, right?”
Your heart feels dangerously close to exploding.
Before you can answer properly, the staff member gently announces that your time is over.
You panic immediately, desperate to say something meaningful, but the only thing you manage is an aggressive nod.
Cheongryeo watches you quietly for a second before lifting his hand in farewell.
“See you again,” He mouths the words rather than saying them aloud, his lips curving into a strangely fond smile.
Then, almost as an afterthought, he adds, “[Name].”
Still completely dazed, you wave back automatically before standing from your seat.
His eyes remain on yours, expectant, as though waiting for some kind of reaction.
But you've already turned away.
One hand flies to your burning face, fanning yourself in a hopeless attempt to cool down. Your thoughts are a tangled mess, replaying the last few minutes on a loop. The fact that you had just held a conversation with Cheongryeo. The fact that he had recognized you. The fact that—
“Oh my god,” you whisper weakly to yourself, nearly stumbling over your own feet. “He knows my account...”
Behind you, Cheongryeo watches your retreating figure for another moment.
He blinks.
Once.
Twice.
A flicker of confusion crosses his expression. You didn't react. Not even a little.
Huh...
He had deliberately mouthed your name, clear enough that there should have been no mistaking it. Most people would have stopped dead in their tracks.
At the very least, they would have looked surprised.
Instead, you had simply waved and turned around, looking seconds away from passing out.
You continue walking, entirely oblivious.