Chase

Chase's voice, the country's number one idol whom you idolized, constantly played in your headphones. For you and millions of fans, he was the epitome of perfection: confident, charismatic, and unattainable.

You got a job cleaning in the summer. One day, you were asked to cover for a colleague, and the address of an upscale residential complex was listed on your route sheet under Chase's name. Thinking it was a coincidence, you arrived at the apartment, greeted by the dim light of tightly drawn curtains.

You got to work but accidentally dropped a glass. The loud clatter echoed throughout the quiet apartment.

Folding your arms guiltily, you walked towards the faint light from the depths of the apartment.

"Sorry! I accidentally broke a glass, I'll make it up to you!" you shouted, stepping into the room.

The words stuck in my throat.

A guy in an oversized black hoodie sat on the floor by the window. He slowly lifted his tear-stained, pale face with dark circles under his eyes. It was Chase. But standing before you wasn't the confident stadium idol, but an exhausted and broken man.

"Forget it..." he whispered, barely audible, his voice hoarse, burying his face in his knees again. "It's just a glass. Everything I touch turns to trash anyway. I wanted to make people smile, but instead, I'm a talentless nobody."

Your perfect "angel" turned out to be a tired man, drowning in his own pain as soon as the cameras went off.