It all rested in an atmosphere of enforced quiet.
I heard the double wristband check happening in the corridor. Staff sealed phones in tamper-resistant bags. They cross-referenced names against pre-approved lists. The machinery that allowed twenty-four strangers to occupy the same breathing space as us for exactly ninety minutes.
Jinwoo stood near the door, speaking with a handler. Taemin stretched against the wall, loose and ready. Minjae sat, knees bouncing, fingers tapping a rhythm against his thigh.
I ran through my internal checklist. My posture must be open, not rigid. I presented a version of relaxed that photographed as welcoming without suggesting availability. Eye contact would be direct but not prolonged, and my smile would appear genuine. The tone of all interactions was to be warm and grateful.
I'd been doing fan meets long enough that my calibration for the event happened without significant conscious thought. It was like adjusting my face when a camera got ready to snap.
The system called this fan service. I called it the cost of being heard.
The doors to the room opened. I took my seat between Jinwoo and Taemin, the order we always used. Minjae was on the end, where his youth read as approachable, not vulnerable.
Griffin positioned himself near the back corner. He didn't watch me. He watched the space.
His presence had become as consistent as my pulse, automatic and steadying. I didn't have any other words to describe it.
Last night's text exchange still sat in my phone:For us to make a mistake.He'd been right. Someone was watching how careful we were. Whether we'd give them something to use.
The fans filed in with choreographed uncertainty, moving too carefully, trying not to seem too eager or too restrained. All of them had been told the rules multiple times: no touching unless initiated by a band member and no recording devices.
The handler gave the opening remarks in English, then Korean. Welcome. Gratitude. Reminders about respect. It was the architecture of managed intimacy.
Jinwoo spoke first. He always did. His voice was steady and warm, thanking everyone for their support. I'd heard the wordsmultiple times, and he meant them. His sincerity was not in doubt.
Taemin made them laugh. Minjae smiled, but it didn't fill his face. I noticed that and filed the information away.
Next was my turn. I spoke in English first, then in Korean. Thanking them. Telling them that their support made our work possible. I delivered it as performed truth.
I felt Griffin's attention from across the room. Not watching me directly, he was too professional for that, but aware. Tracking me the way he tracked everything else. My skin was too warm under the recessed lighting. I shifted in my chair and forced myself not to look back.
The handler opened the floor for questions. The first few were familiar. What are your favorite songs? What inspired the latest album? Are you homesick?
We answered in rotation, a conversational rhythm honed over time through repetition. The handler gestured to a girl in the second row. She was sixteen, maybe seventeen, and wore an oversized hoodie with hands folded in her lap.
She didn't raise her hand with desperate energy. She lifted it carefully, almost reluctantly.
"Go ahead," the handler said gently.
She stood and spoke clearly, in English, with an accent that suggested it wasn't her first language. "I wanted to thank you," she said. She looked at me, only me. "For helping me survive coming out."
Everything stopped. "I'm sorry," she continued after a beat. "I know that's personal, but I needed to say it while I could." She chose her next words with visible care. "Seeing you being gentle helped. You don't show fear. It made me think I could be like that, too."
The recognition caught me off guard. She wasn't thanking me for the lyrics or my performance. She was thanking me for something underneath. Something I'd tried to keep hidden.
She'd seen Yoon-jae. She was grateful for it.
The handler nearest me tensed, calculating whether an intervention was required. Taemin's awareness sharpened, ready to redirect if needed.
I smiled. It was the one I'd carefully honed to represent sincerity. "Thank you for trusting me with that." My voice was steady and warm. "I'm honored that anything I've done could help you feel safer being yourself."
My response was correct. She smiled back.
"You didn't have to be braver," she said in a low voice. "You just had to be what you already are."
The handler moved on quickly. Someone asked Jinwoo about his workout routine. The room's energy rebalanced into familiar territory.
Inside, something slipped out of alignment. The fan didn't ask me to be anything. She thanked me for already being something I didn't remember ever showing.
