Your POV -The Show
Later that day you stood in front of the mirror, phone abandoned on the bed, music low in the background.
Your heart was already racing. Today was different.
It wasn't nerves. It was anticipation. The kind that crackled just beneath the skin—the kind that made you feel yourself.
You pulled your outfit from the hanger slowly, almost reverently.
Tonight's look had a mission.
A deep crimson corset-style crop top, structured with gold clasps that gleamed with every shift of light. Paired with high-waisted black cargo pants, cinched at the waist and perfectly fitted to your curves, with pockets that balanced edge and sex appeal. Black boots, laced tight. Your hair, tousled and full of subtle waves. And for makeup—a bold wing, glowy skin, and a striking deep red lip that matched the corset perfectly.
Gold hoops. Nothing else. Clean. Fierce. It was bold. Intentional. The kind of outfit that said: I'm here for you, and I'm not hiding it.
You stepped back and looked at your reflection. Power. Poise. Presence.
You weren't dressing for attention. You were dressing for him—for the man who had seen you behind the curtain, in his arms, under the sheets—and now... would see you right there in the crowd, cheering him on.
You grabbed your bag, tucked his note safely into your pocket like a charm, and whispered to your reflection:
"Let's burn this place down."
At the venue the air was electric—fans swarming in excitement, light sticks waving, signs flashing in every direction. But you barely noticed any of it.
Your pass had placed you at the center barricade. Right in front. No obstruction. The exact place where he'd see you.
The crowd pressed in as the lights dropped. Screams echoed. The energy soared.
And then, he walked out.
Chan. Hair styled back. Sleeves rolled. Confidence in every step. His gaze swept over the sea of people—until it landed on you.
He froze.
And everything around you melted.
His expression cracked mid-stride—eyes widening, jaw tightening, lips twitching into the kind of smirk that made your stomach twist in all the best ways.
You saw it. So did everyone around you.
And then— He made his way down to PIT.
The crowd screamed louder, hands flailing toward him. But his eyes were on you.
He crouched down near the barricade, fingers brushing the edge of it, and with that signature little tilt of his head, he pointed—at you.
You tried to hold it in, but your smile betrayed you.
Chan winked. And the crowd exploded.
Then—one by one—the others came over.
Felix made a heart with his hands and threw it your way, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Han gave you a playful double-take and shook his head like he knew. Lee Know pointed at Chan and then you, then just raised his eyebrows like he was calling the whole thing out. Hyunjin mouthed, "Wow," dramatically and twirled away. Even Jeongin paused mid-verse to lean down and shout, "She's real!"
You covered your face, laughing so hard your cheeks hurt.
Someone next to you whispered, "Wait... are you the girl from the video?"
You didn't answer. You just looked back at the stage and let their imaginations run wild.
Because the way Chan looked at you? There was no mistaking it. He wasn't just performing for the crowd anymore. He was performing for you.
And when he lifted his shirt halfway during a dance break—slowly, teasingly, smirking while doing it—your jaw dropped.
He saw your reaction. And smirked harder.
Chan's POV - The Show
The stage lights hit hard—but nothing blinded him like the sight of you at the center barricade.
He almost missed his cue when he spotted the red corset. He recognized it instantly. You were standing there like a flame in a sea of starlight—strong, unshaken, glowing.
And God... the look in your eyes. The way you smiled just for him.
This show felt different. Because you were in it.
During "Venom," he dipped into the PIT for fan service. But all he really wanted was to be closer to you. When he crouched down and pointed—when your lips parted in surprise—it hit him like a punch to the chest.
You weren't just here to be seen. You were here to see him. Not as an idol. Not as Bang Chan. As him. And that did something to him.
He started teasing more than usual. Lifting his shirt just a bit higher. Smirking at you between lines. Shooting you looks that no one else could really decode—but you could.
He could feel the tension ripple through the crowd. People were noticing. He didn't care.
Because for the first time, the person he loved wasn't behind the curtain. She was front and center. And he was going to give her a show.