A Backstage Love I Han Jisung x Reader

Nightfall

My eyes began to drift close. Before I knew it, I was out cold—surely just the way Han would have wanted it now. His soft humming and the warmth of his arms had worked their magic, and my body finally surrendered to the comfort of sleep. It wasn't the deep, peaceful rest I'd hoped for, but it was enough to put some distance between me and the nightmare that had haunted me.

The night passed quietly, and when I woke, the soft glow of morning light streamed through the window. I stirred slowly, the drowsy haze still lingering, but as I turned, I felt Han's presence beside me, his arm still draped protectively across my waist. For a moment, I let the warmth of his embrace wrap around me, the comfort grounding me as I gathered my thoughts. I didn't want to move, not yet. The peace felt fleeting, but I knew I had to face the reality of the day ahead.

The morning light spilled through the windows, painting the apartment in soft gold. I sat at the kitchen counter, my hands wrapped around a warm mug of tea. The quiet felt heavier than usual, as though the weight of everything was pressing down on me. I scrolled through my emails, skimming over updates from the agency—choreography workshops, mentoring roles, and other opportunities waiting for me to find my footing again.

But nothing felt as urgent as the storm brewing in my chest.

"Up early?" Han's voice pulled me from my thoughts. He shuffled into the kitchen, his hair adorably messy and eyes still soft with sleep. He reached for the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup before leaning against the counter.

I managed a small smile. "Couldn't sleep much."

He took a sip, watching me closely. "What's on your mind?"

I hesitated, my thumb brushing the edge of my phone. "What isn't? The sasaeng, my contract, my career...you." The last word slipped out before I could stop it, and I bit my lip, avoiding his gaze.

Han set his mug down, moving a little closer. "You don't have to figure everything out all at once, Y/N. It's okay to take your time."

"I know," I said quietly, looking up at him. "But I can't keep sitting still, waiting for the next bad thing to happen. I need to do something—focus on what I can control."

His jaw tightened, the easygoing warmth in his expression replaced with something more serious. "Like what?"

"My recovery. My work," I said, my voice growing steadier. "And figuring out who's behind all of this."

Han's shoulders stiffened, his grip tightening on his coffee mug. "About that..." He trailed off, a hesitant look crossing his face.

"What?" I asked, my stomach tightening.

He set his mug down completely, pulling out his phone and swiping through it. "I've been doing some digging," he admitted cautiously. "I didn't want to overwhelm you, but it's starting to look like this person's been keeping tabs on you for a while. Longer than we thought."

I froze, his words sinking in like cold water. "How long?"

He held his phone out to me, showing a series of screenshots—forum threads, vague social media posts, snippets of what looked like obsessive fan chatter. My blood ran cold as I scanned the text, seeing my name interwoven with Han's, dissected and scrutinized by strangers.

"They've been tracking everything," Han continued, his voice low but steady. "Your interactions with me, your schedule, even moments I didn't think anyone could've seen."

The knot in my stomach tightened, but I forced myself to stay calm. "So, they're leaving breadcrumbs," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "Then we follow them."

Han blinked, caught off guard. "Y/N, this isn't—"

"Safe? Easy?" I interrupted, meeting his eyes. "I know. But I can't just wait around for them to decide what happens next. If they're watching me this closely, they'll slip up eventually. And when they do, I want to be ready."

His gaze softened, though his jaw still twitched with tension. "You're incredible, you know that? Most people would shut down, but you're...ready to fight back."

I felt a flush creep up my neck but shrugged it off. "I've been through too much to let someone like this take over my life."

Han reached out, brushing his hand lightly against mine. "Then we'll fight back. Together."

The warmth in his touch steadied me, his quiet conviction reminding me that I wasn't facing this alone. We had a long way to go, but in that moment, I felt something I hadn't in weeks: hope.

After careful consideration and hours of discussing how to deal with the saesang for good, we finally landed on a plan. The idea of luring them out was risky—dangerous, even—but it was the only option that made sense. Han was against it at first, his immediate reaction one of frustration and concern.

"Why does it have to be you?" he had asked, pacing back and forth in my apartment. His protective instincts flared like a second nature, and while part of me wanted to let him take the lead, I knew it had to be this way.

"Because they're not watching you, Han," I'd said, keeping my tone calm even as my heart hammered in my chest. "They're obsessed with me. If we want them to slip up, I have to be the bait. You know it's the only way."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't argue further. Instead, he looked at me with a mix of worry and reluctant understanding. "Fine. But I'm staying close. I'm not letting you face this alone."

We filed a formal report at the police station that same day, finally involving the company as well. As much as I had dreaded that conversation, it felt like a weight had been lifted when they agreed to help. After all, I was still part of their dancers. My safety mattered to them too.

Together with the police and the agency, we pieced together the trap. It wasn't overly complicated. The plan was for me to leave the apartment for the first time in weeks, stepping into a carefully monitored setup designed to draw the saesang out.

The timing was crucial. I had to appear vulnerable—calm on the outside, even if my insides felt like a live wire. It was like choreography, I told myself. Just another performance.

And like any performance, it required the perfect setting.

Nightfall brought shadows that swallowed the streets, painting the city in muted hues of black and gold. It was the ideal backdrop—isolating, but public enough to deter any immediate attack. The police had positioned themselves discreetly nearby, while Han lingered just out of sight, a safe distance behind me.

The café we'd chosen was familiar, a place I used to frequent before everything turned upside down. Its soft yellow glow spilled onto the sidewalk, the warm light contrasting with the cold tension in my chest.

I stepped inside, the familiar jingle of the bell above the door sending a shiver through me. It was quiet—almost too quiet. The hum of soft music and the occasional clink of ceramic mugs were the only sounds.