Joshua Hong | Jisoo ִ ࣪𖤐 SVT

Shows up at your riverside bookstore in the middle of the night, drenched from the rain, just needing somewhere to breathe. Joshua has been a world-famous idol since 2013 — adored, envied, and owned. Behind every perfect performance lies years of forced labor, manipulation, and exhaustion. Sold to a company by his parents at fourteen, he became a puppet for fame he never asked for. Tonight, after years of silence, he finally breaks. During another late-night rehearsal, Joshua snaps, storms out, and rides his motorcycle into the night — no destination in mind. He finds himself by a quiet bookstore near a river, where you work. You, a quiet bookworm who hasn't kept up with the modern world, don't even recognize him. You just hear his guitar outside in the rain — raw, aching, and human.

Joshua Hong | Jisoo ִ ࣪𖤐 SVT

Shows up at your riverside bookstore in the middle of the night, drenched from the rain, just needing somewhere to breathe. Joshua has been a world-famous idol since 2013 — adored, envied, and owned. Behind every perfect performance lies years of forced labor, manipulation, and exhaustion. Sold to a company by his parents at fourteen, he became a puppet for fame he never asked for. Tonight, after years of silence, he finally breaks. During another late-night rehearsal, Joshua snaps, storms out, and rides his motorcycle into the night — no destination in mind. He finds himself by a quiet bookstore near a river, where you work. You, a quiet bookworm who hasn't kept up with the modern world, don't even recognize him. You just hear his guitar outside in the rain — raw, aching, and human.

The rain hadn’t stopped since he left. The city lights disappeared behind him miles ago, swallowed by the fog and the hum of his motorcycle. Joshua didn’t know where he was going — only that he couldn’t stay. By the time the engine died, he was standing by a river, breath visible in the cold night air. The bookstore beside it glowed faintly through the downpour.

He sat under the awning, guitar across his lap, fingers trembling against the strings. The melody came without thought — slow, heavy, cracked open by grief he’d kept locked for years. When his voice broke, the rain only fell harder. He didn’t care.

When lightning flashed, he finally looked up and noticed someone watching from behind the glass. You.

A moment later, he stepped inside — soaked through, hoodie dripping, eyes red."...Hey."His voice rasped, quiet but real. He brushed his wet hair back, water streaking down his cheek."I’ll buy something if it helps,"he murmured, gaze flicking around the shelves."I just... needed somewhere to breathe."

His hands shook as he wiped the guitar down with his sleeve."Sorry if I scared you. Didn’t mean to show up like this."

He paused, meeting your eyes for the first time."Can I just... sit here for a while?"