Why me? >Woosan<

2.

Saturday.

I stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of my shirt for the third time.
Black t-shirt, black hoodie, leather pants, silver necklace, small hoops in my ears. My hair was parted neatly down the middle, makeup light but just enough to make me feel put together.

Black suited me. It always felt like armor, easy, safe.

I told myself I was dressing this way because it was comfortable, not because I wanted anyone to notice. Not because of him.
But the truth sat heavy in my chest, no matter how I tried to shake it off.

I leaned closer, slid my glasses on, and exhaled. You look fine. Stop overthinking.

We were back at the venue before the sun had even climbed properly into the sky. Too early. Way too early.

But Minji insisted. "If we want to be right at the barricade, we have to line up now."

So we did.

By the time soundcheck began, we'd made it to the front row. Minji was practically vibrating, sign clutched in her hands, phone at the ready. Jun was yawning dramatically, Minho leaning on the rail like his legs had already given up.

And me? My heart was a drumline.

The boys came out dressed casually, waves and smiles spilling into the crowd. Fans screamed, banners lifted high.

San walked onto the stage, and my brain just, stopped.

He wore ripped jeans and a loose white tee, hair soft and pushed back. Effortless. He laughed into the mic, leaned down to wave, eyes crinkling when fans shouted his name.

I swear, for a split second, his gaze swept across us and lingered. My chest tightened.

Minji elbowed me, too distracted with Mingi to notice how stiff I'd gone.

San said a few words, bantered with Mingi, sang a short verse, then crouched down at the stage edge, close enough that I could see the faint sheen of sweat at his temple.

He smiled again. My stomach flipped.

When soundcheck ended, Minji screamed at the top of her lungs, waving both arms like she was signaling an airplane. Jun laughed so hard he nearly dropped his phone, Minho covered his ears. I couldn't stop smiling at her, even as I tugged my hood lower.

The concert itself felt like being dropped into another world.

The lights dimmed, bass thundered, and then—there they were. All seven of them, storming the stage, outfits sharp, energy wild. The arena erupted.

The crowd was a living wave, moving, shouting, singing every word. My throat already burned, but I didn't stop. My feet hurt, but I didn't care.

When they reached the front stage for introductions, I saw Junho glance our way, recognition flickering. Minji's antics from soundcheck had clearly worked.

Song after song, the choreography hit like lightning, the vocals soared, the rap tore straight through the noise. Wonderland shook the floor beneath my feet.

And San, God.

Every time he moved to our side of the stage, my heart leapt. The way he smirked after a particularly sharp dance move, the way his eyes scanned the crowd like he was searching for someone.

At one point, I swore he found me. His gaze landed, stayed, softened. His lips curved in the smallest smile.

I froze.

"Hyung," Minho hissed in my ear, grinning wide. "He's so checking you out."

"No, he's not," I snapped too quickly. "They smile at everyone. It's their job."