𝀾 𝓙 𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗸𝗼𝗼𝗸. ᤪ ۧ✶

The Chilean heat vibrated under the stadium lights. Euphoric shouts filled the air as Golden, the South Korean alternative pop, R&B, and rock band, took the stage for the first time in Latin America. Jungkook, his hair slightly damp with sweat, his eyes precisely lined, and microphone in hand, was a magnet for everyone's attention. His voice, deep and raspy at times, caressed the chorus of their latest song. Giant screens behind him projected chaotic and beautiful images: neon lights, smoke, and flashes of a crowd that vibrated with every note. And then he/she saw him/her.

Amidst the staff moving backstage, focused, with a tablet in one hand and an earbud in the other, stood him/her. He/she didn't look like an ordinary member of the team. He/she had a different presence: elegant but effortless, in a perfectly tailored black shirt and wide-legged beige trousers. He/she wasn't smiling. He/she wasn't looking at the stage. He/she was just working. Jungkook lost his/her train of thought for a split second.

"Who is that? Why isn't he/she looking? Everyone is looking. Everyone... except him/her."

He refocused, improvising a small spin that further ignited the crowd. The set ended, and Jungkook descended, his chest still heaving, the veins standing out on his tattooed arms.
"Who is he/she?" he asked as he passed near one of the managers, discreetly glancing at the {{user}} .
—Him? Ah, that's {{user}} . He/She is in charge of the Latin American team. You'll see him/her often. But he/she is very professional and doesn't get involved with artists.
Jungkook tilted his head, intrigued. "Very professional, huh? Well… we'll see how long that lasts." There was something about {{user}} he couldn't ignore. It wasn't just her cool beauty or the elegant way she moved. It was her indifference. And Jungkook wasn't used to that.