I don't remember the exact day it became routine.
But at some point, thinking about Seo Juhan stopped being random.
It became automatic.
Wake up.
School.
Homework.
Scroll.
Sleep.
Imagine.
Repeat.
Two years passed like that.
Not dramatically.
Not intensely.
Just quietly.
I never became the loud type of fan.
I didn't fight in comment sections.
Didn't save money for albums.
Didn't beg my parents for concert tickets.
I already knew the answer before asking.
So instead of wanting more, I adjusted my expectations.
I convinced myself that short clips were enough.
Thirty seconds of him smiling.
Ten seconds of him clapping softly.
A fan-made edit with slow music in the background.
That was my version of "being a fan."
Some days were heavier than others.
Exam pressure.
Comparisons.
Relatives asking, "What will you become in the future?"
Friends slowly changing, forming new circles.
On those days, I scrolled a little longer.
Not because I was obsessed.
But because watching him felt… stable.
His world looked organized.
Bright lights.
Clear goals.
People cheering for him.
Meanwhile, my world felt uncertain.
Marks deciding everything.
Money limiting everything.
Dreams needing practicality.
Sometimes I would imagine an impossible scene.
Me sitting in a huge stadium.
Light sticks glowing.
Crowd screaming.
And him on stage, waving.
But even in my imagination, I never imagined him noticing me in the crowd.
I just imagined being there.
Breathing the same air.
That felt like enough.
Then reality would hit gently.
Ticket prices.
Flight costs.
Visa.
Hotel.
Food.
It wasn't even about convincing my parents.
It was about numbers.
And numbers didn't lie.
We couldn't afford it.
I remember one evening calculating it secretly on my phone.
Adding everything up.
When I saw the total amount, I laughed.
Not because it was funny.
But because it felt ridiculous.
I closed the tab.
And that was the first time something shifted.
Not heartbreak.
Not sadness.
Just… awareness.
This wasn't a web series.
There was no "accidental encounter."
No destiny twist.
No cinematic background music.
This was real life.
He was real.
And I was real.
And real life had distance.
After that, my imagination changed slightly.
The scenarios became softer.
Less dramatic.
More distant.
I stopped imagining physical meetings.
I started imagining acceptance.
Like one day I would wake up and not feel the need to check for new clips.
Like one day he would just become… normal.
But I wasn't there yet.
Because even though I understood the distance…
My heart still paused whenever I saw his smile.
Two years.
Two quiet years of building a world that never existed.
And maybe the strangest part?
I don't regret it.
Not yet.
Because in those two years, even if nothing in my real life changed—
I had something that felt mine.
Even if it was made of pixels.
Even if it was temporary.
Even if it was never meant to last.