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It had been one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong for Rafayel. The morning began with a tedious PR lecture — something Rafayel wasn’t unfamiliar with. As a member of one of the most popular boy bands, the importance of keeping a carefully curated image was never lost on him. Still, the relentless suggestions on how to be less blunt, more polished, and less authentically himself didn’t sit well. Rafayel had always believed that honesty was the best policy, but today, he was beginning to wonder if his very nature would need to be edited out of existence. His fingers drummed on the table in frustration as the lecturer droned on about media manipulation and image crafting.
The day only spiraled further downhill when Rafayel decided to unwind with his favorite activity — painting. He loved getting lost in color and texture, and it usually helped him relax. But today? Today, he had somehow managed to get almost half an entire bucket of acrylic paint into his hair when he splashed the paint on the canvas for the base. A full-on catastrophe ensued as he sat, oblivious to his new, somewhat avant-garde hairstyle, until after finishing his latest work.
Panic set in as he stared at the splotches of paint all over his hair. He hadn’t even noticed it until the paint had dried, turning his hair into a lumpy, crusty mess. It was like the universe was in on a joke that Rafayel wasn’t privy to. His hair stylists nearly passed out when they saw the disaster, scrambling to save what little dignity he had left before his evening show. Somehow, with the grace of a miracle, they managed to clean him up just in time for the performance — though they weren't shy about letting him know how much trouble he had caused. Their sighs were filled with equal parts exasperation and disbelief.
By the time Rafayel was backstage with his group, preparing for the evening’s music show, he was mentally exhausted. He exchanged some good-natured banter with his fellow bandmates, their usual camaraderie easing his mind. He tried to push aside the frustration of the morning and concentrate on the performance. His group was next in line to perform after a girl group, and the backstage area was buzzing with activity as everyone wished each other good luck.
As the countdown to their performance ticked down, Rafayel followed his members, preparing to step out onto the stage. But just as they were about to walk out, he collided with someone — a brief, unexpected bump that jolted him out of his pre-show focus.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” The voice was silvery and apologetic, with a hint of nervousness that instantly caught his attention. Rafayel looked up to see a woman, likely from the girl group that had just performed. Your face was marred with the embarrassment of the moment, and you bowed deeply, your words tumbling out in quick succession. “I didn’t mean to — are you okay?”
Rafayel couldn’t help but be drawn to you. You had this graceful presence, your features soft but striking. There was something unpolished yet endearing about you, and a small part of him wanted to just lean in and ask if you were okay, if the collision had hurt you at all. He returned the bow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “No harm done,” he reassured you, his voice smooth, though his heart picked up a beat.
You hesitated for a second before standing upright and offering a quick smile. Rafayel watched as you quickly retreated to your group, and his thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder from his staff. Time to perform.
After the performance, they stayed for an impromptu encore. Rafayel reveled in the way the stage felt like home, with his bandmates laughing and singing along to their fans’ chants. He paced the stage, greeting the audience, his foot brushed against something small on the ground. He paused, crouching down to see what it was. It was a ruby earring, the exact one he had seen dangling earlier in your ear.
A smile tugged at his lips, and Rafayel felt a rush of warmth in his chest. The moment you’d shared earlier flickered in his mind — the way you had tucked your hair behind your ear, the elegance you gave out. Without thinking, he pocketed the earring, already planning how he might see you again.
The night wound down, and after the show, Rafayel was in full-on search mode. He wove through the crowd backstage, his thoughts focused entirely on you. He had no idea where your group’s lounge was, but after a few whispered exchanges with staff, he found himself walking down a hallway toward a door marked with your group’s name.
He knocked softly before entering, his eyes scanning the room. It took only a moment for him to spot you — alone, sitting on the couch, absorbed in your phone. He cleared his throat, and you looked up immediately, your eyes widening with surprise before you straightened. The moment your eyes met, he felt an instant connection.
He smiled warmly. “I believe this belongs to you,” he said, holding up the earring with a playful glint in his eyes.
Your face lit up with recognition, your expression a mix of disbelief and relief as your eyes locked onto the earring in his hand. “Oh my god! You found it? I’ve been searching for it everywhere,” you exclaimed, your voice practically dripping with gratitude. You moved to take the earring from him and grabbed it, and Rafayel couldn’t help the tingling sensation that had sparked from the contact.
“Yeah,” he said, dusky eyes flickering over your face as he handed it over. “Found it during my group’s encore.”
He extended his hand, introducing himself, “The name’s Rafayel and you?”
You raised your hand up to his for a handshake after you introduced yourself and Rafayel surprised even himself when he brought your hand up to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss on your knuckles. He studied you for a second, watching how your lips parted slightly, how the wind blew a strand of hair away from your face — a movement that made him notice the faint blush on your cheeks.
Before Rafayel could respond, the door to the lounge opened, and your group members walked in. They greeted him warmly, and you gave him an apologetic look, mouthing a quick “thank you” as you stood up to join them.
He didn’t miss you glancing over your shoulders a few times and the shy wave you gave him when he caught you, his chest felt oddly light at that knowledge.
He learned your name and how flustered you became whenever he bit his lips. Especially when he pulled his lip ring between his teeth and he wondered if you’d like to do the same.
He hoped there would be a next time when he could find out.
The award show was as glamorous as ever — blinding lights, velvet carpets, camera flashes, and a sea of idols dressed like gods and goddesses. Rafayel had been to plenty of these, enough to know how it went: walk in, smile, clap politely, lose a few awards, win a few, and most importantly — don’t trip on your own feet.
But tonight felt different.
He knew it the second he caught sight of you across the grand hall. You were seated at a table directly opposite his, laughter spilling from your lips as you chatted with your group members, completely unaware of the stare burning into your profile from across the room.
You looked... divine.
Dressed in an ethereal white gown that shimmered faintly because of its chiffon material, with subtle pearl accessories dotting your hair and neck. The cherry color of your lipstick, the way you tilted your head to meet the gaze of whoever was speaking to you — it all had Rafayel caught somewhere in a daydream.
“Bro,” his bandmate, Kay, whispered beside him, nudging him with an elbow. “You’re literally zoning out into another dimension.”
Rafayel blinked rapidly, caught mid-thought. “Huh? No, I’m just — listening.”
Kay raised an eyebrow. “Listening to what? Her breathing? You’ve been looking in the same direction for fifteen minutes. Be subtle, at least.”
Rafayel muttered something incoherent and turned his gaze back to the stage, pretending to be deeply interested in the upcoming performances, though he couldn’t resist sneaking glances now and then. The more the night went on, the harder it got to ignore the fact that you were right there, just a few tables away, as though the universe had decided to throw him a second chance on a silver platter.
Soon, he got roped into one of his bandmates' mid award show games — something they did every time the shows made them too sleepy. It was exactly the kind of thing Rafayel usually enjoyed: his bandmates being idiots, playful bets, and fans screaming in amusement. And for a moment, he let himself get pulled into the silliness. He laughed at his own horrifically bad charades and lost a bet when Kay actually pulled off the word “unicorn” by galloping across the carpeted floor with a bottle cap on his head.
Just as he was wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, Xiang leaned across the table, gripping Rafayel’s shoulder. “Hyung,” he said, grinning mischievously. “Look. Left screen and then the right screen.”
Rafayel spared a glance towards the massive screen on the left side of the venue and saw that he was being projected on it. Then he turned to the right screen and nearly choked on his breath. You were on it.
Not smiling. Not laughing.
Looking at him.
Your head was tilted to the left, lips parted slightly, gaze locked onto his projection on the screen opposite yours. You were completely unaware of the camera catching your reaction — and he saw the faintest shimmer of admiration, awe, and... something else he couldn’t quite name in your eyes.
And you were watching him like no one else in the world existed.
For a suspended moment, he was watching you watching him, while you were watching him on the screen not knowing he was watching you watch him.
And the venue was dead silent — aside from the rapidly rising volume of fans slowly realizing what was happening. He heard a collective swoon go up from the audience.
Your girl group members noticed before you did. One nudged another, and within seconds, they were all giggling like kids in the back of a classroom, whispering things into each other’s ears while pointing at the screen. You were still blissfully unaware, eyes lingering on the left screen until—
One of your members reached over and gently turned your chin toward the right screen after taking pity on your situation.
And your soul practically left your body.
You froze. On the massive screen, in front of thousands of fans, you saw yourself being displayed. Your expression. The one that had been fixated on him earlier.
You quickly turned toward the left screen again — and there he was, staring right back at you. Through the screen. Meeting your eyes with the softest smirk and the faintest tilt of his head that said, ‘Gotcha.’
Your hands flew up to cover your face, your face planting itself on the table top. Your group was losing it — they clutched each other in laughter while you sank behind them, trying to make yourself invisible.
Back at Rafayel’s table, the chaos wasn’t any better.
“Are you blushing?!” Xiang gaped at him. “He’s blushing. Oh my god, someone get this on camera.”
Rafayel’s ears were visibly red as he tried to keep a straight face, failing spectacularly. “I’m not blushing. Shut up.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, off you, still hiding your face behind your hands as your group tried to calm their laughter. The fans were screaming now, some already flooding social media with clips. The whole thing was unintentionally perfect, embarrassing in the best kind of way.
And somewhere in the middle of all the chaos, Rafayel found himself thinking that this won’t be the last time he sees you.
Rafayel glanced at his phone for the umpteenth time in as many minutes, his finger scrolling through the screen in an almost compulsive rhythm. His heart beat with a nervous anticipation that wasn’t helped by the fact he’d triple-checked the details of your visit. His background dancer, engaged to one of your stylists, had casually mentioned that you and your group would be stopping by this particular restaurant for a quick break during a music video shoot. The moment he’d heard that tidbit, everything else had faded into the background. It was a perfect chance to see you again.
He had prepared meticulously, dressing to the nines in a sleek, tailored outfit that complemented his usual boyish charm. Every detail had been calculated. The seat he’d reserved had an unobstructed view of the entire restaurant. He’d even gone so far as to bring a bouquet of red roses, a gesture that, in his mind, felt equal parts romantic and dramatic.
He was sure of one thing: today, he would finally admit to you what had been growing inside him for weeks now. Since that moment, every encounter, every glance between you two, had only deepened the pull he felt toward you. He’d spent the last few days practicing what he’d say and now he was here.
His hands fumbled slightly as he tapped on a game on his phone, trying to act casual as the minutes stretched on, his heart drumming in his chest. Then, just as he was beginning to lose himself in the game, the clinks of chairs scraping against the floor interrupted his thoughts, and his eyes immediately darted to the entrance. His pulse quickened as your group walked in, their footsteps echoing faintly in the restaurant. You, with half your hair wrapped in rollers and your face hidden behind a mask, were unmistakably the same woman he’d thought about day and night.
He removed both the cap and mask and discarded his low profile, hoping you'd notice him at some point. It didn’t take long before you looked up — your gaze casually flicking over the restaurant before landing on him. Rafayel lost the air in his lungs as he made eye contact with you.
Rafayel’s heart thudded in his chest, the tension thick in the air as he hoped against hope that you would recognize him. But before he could make his move, your gaze flicked downward — directly to the bouquet of red roses sitting on the table beside him. The subtle shift in your expression caught his attention immediately. Your brows furrowed just slightly, and your posture stiffened as if something had unsettled you.
Did you hate red roses? Were you allergic to them? Did red roses kill your parents? It was just his luck that he’d pick the one flower that the love of his life hated.
He watched, helpless, as you glanced away from the flowers, your expression now unreadable as you blatantly ignored him. For a brief moment, Rafayel felt a deep sense of dread, like the very thing he had been building toward was slipping away before it had even begun. The uncertainty of your feelings — had he misread the signs all along? — hung over him like a dark cloud.
The realization that he might have ruined everything before even speaking a word made him sink back into his seat, mind whirling in a hundred different directions. He absently picked at the food on his plate, no longer tasting it. How long had he been sitting here, frozen in this awkward limbo?
But then, something caught his eye — your group was standing up, moving toward the door, and with it, the chance to speak with you was slipping through his fingers. Panic surged in his chest, and without thinking, he grabbed the bouquet, stuffing it under his arm and hurrying out the door. He cursed under his breath as he rushed outside, hoping he hadn’t missed his moment.
By the time he reached the street, your group’s van was already pulling away. The sinking feeling in his gut intensified, and Rafayel found himself muttering curses, kicking at a stray rock on the pavement in frustration.
He sat down on a nearby bench, holding his head in his hands, and letting out a tired sigh. His mind wandered, lost in a world of “what-ifs” and missed opportunities, when he felt a sudden shift beside him. He glanced up and blinked in surprise. There you were. Sitting right next to him on the bench, casually sipping on an iced tea. Rafayel’s breath hitched in his chest as he tried to process how you were here. He definitely saw your van leave a few minutes ago.
Before he could voice the question, you gestured toward the crew’s tour bus parked nearby, your eyes never quite meeting his. “I’m joining the crew,” you said nonchalantly, “One of my group members is coming with me. We’re all heading to a different location.”
Your eyes were now trained ahead, focused on something in the distance, but there was a certain edge to your voice. Your brows furrowed, and your lips pressed together into a tight line. There was something oddly serious in your gaze, and for the first time, Rafayel noticed a subtle tension in your body.
“Who’s the lucky lady?” you asked, the words coming out almost too abruptly, as if the question had been brewing for a while.
Rafayel’s heart skipped a beat. His breath caught, and then, all at once, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. The aloofness earlier that he’d sensed — it wasn’t what he had assumed.
You’d thought...
The thought made him smile. He let out a small laugh, his shoulders relaxing as he finally understood. With a soft, almost self-assured smile, he leaned toward you, his voice low but warm. “You,” he said simply. “The lucky lady is you.”
Your eyes widened in shock, and for a split second, Rafayel wondered if he had said too much too soon. But then, as if you were processing the words, your lips parted in disbelief. “For me?”
He nodded, his smile growing sincere, running a hand through his hair. He held out the bouquet, watching you take it with tentative hands, running your fingers over the petals like you were unsure of their significance. Your face, flushed with surprise, was a picture of something between wonder and uncertainty, and Rafayel couldn’t help but admire how your usual coolness was now replaced by a softness that made his heart flutter.
“I thought it was for someone else,” you murmured, voice soft and almost embarrassed.
He shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “Well, now you know you were wrong. You lack imagination if you can’t imagine me wanting you forever.”
The words slipped out before he even had a chance to second-guess them, and seeing the bashful look on your face was worth it.
“My crew’s still going to be here for fifteen more minutes,” you said, trailing off as if to signal something unspoken.
Rafayel, understanding the invitation in your tone, stood up, offering his hand with a playful smirk. His confidence was back now, the uncertainty of the earlier moments slipping away as he met your gaze with a spark of warmth. “Wanna grab a quick dessert with me?” His voice was gentle, laced with genuine interest of wanting to get to know you.
You hesitated for a second — just long enough for Rafayel to think he might have overstepped or something. But then, you coyly placed your hand in his, and Rafayel felt like the weight of the world had just shifted.
“Yeah,” you said sweetly. “I’d like that.”
And at that moment, Rafayel felt that three times really does work a charm.