The first time he saw her after the fight, it was in Seoul.
Second night of their comeback showcase. His mic was on, his ears were buzzing from the crowd's roar, and sweat trickled down the back of his neck. The lights were blinding, his body moving on instinct – years of muscle memory in every step, every spin.
But his eyes?
His eyes searched the crowd. And there she was.
Second time.
Same soft peach hoodie. Same shy smile.
Same headband, the little blue Stitch doll wobbling with every cheer.
No phone. No signs. Just a lightstick, glowing gently in her grip.
She clapped when they finished "Run BTS," her eyes twinkling under the stadium lights. Not screaming. Not jumping. Just watching.
Really watching. He blinked, just once, and she was swallowed by the crowd again. But she had been there. He knew it.
Third time.
Busan. Right before "Spring Day."
His heart was already heavy. That song always brought out the ache in his ribs, especially now that Minji's ghost still lingered in the chords, in the bridge, in the lyrics he once sang with conviction.
But then, while the camera panned across the fans and the confetti swirled in the air like petals..
There.
She stood at the far right section. In blue this time. A hoodie pulled over her head as the wind blew, but the Stitch plush peeked from the top, bobbing cheerfully. She had her eyes closed, swaying gently. As if listening to the lyrics like a prayer. Like she knew he was hurting, and she hurt with him from a distance.
He sang the last lines with his gaze locked on her section. Not sure if she saw him. Not sure if he wanted her to.
But she was there.
Fourth time.
One of the members teased him backstage after a show.
"You keep zoning out during 'Magic Shop,'" Jungkook said, poking his ribs. "You used to flirt with the camera more."
Taehyung smiled, brushing it off. "Guess I'm just tired."
But in truth, his eyes had wandered again.
She was closer that night. Middle row. Pink hoodie this time, pastel, soft, like cotton candy under stadium lights. That little plush still hanging on her head like a secret symbol meant only for him.
She laughed when Jin made a joke into the mic. He saw it. A hand covering her mouth, shoulders bouncing. Her joy was soft. Real. So different from the love he used to chase.
That was the night he whispered into his mic, almost by accident, "Thank you for coming... every time."
No one thought much of it. Just Taehyung being sentimental.
But he meant it. Not to the crowd.
To her.
Fifth. Sixth. Seventh.
He began to count her.
Even when he told himself not to. Even when Minji's name still appeared on his phone sometimes, unread. Even when he laid in bed and cursed himself for being so fragile.
But then, next city, next stage, she was always there.
He didn't know her name. Didn't know what she did, where she lived, or if she even noticed how often his eyes found her. But somehow, her presence began to replace the memory of Minji's face. The way Minji used to laugh in the crowd. The way she used to wave, loud and proud.
He forgot those images, bit by bit.
Because now all he saw was Stitch Girl, as he decided to call her that.
Soft peach. Baby blue. Dusty pink. That ridiculous Stitch headband.
Always clapping. Always there. She never asked for his attention. Which is probably why she had it.