Walking down the street after school is always a pleasant feeling, Aiden feels that exactly.
Except today, there's something different. His face is visibly frustrated, his steps heavy with regret.
"Why did I even sell that?" he mutters, questioning his entire existence.
It's an understandable thought. After all, it was a missed opportunity, especially after Jaeho mentioned Minji would likely be at her most radiant tonight.
"Life happens… I'll just watch it live online," he says, gaslighting himself into thinking it's fine, even though deep down, he knows it isn't.
"Ugh, I'm such an idiot." He stomps the pavement with all his might, a quiet burst of frustration against a world that won't stop moving.
Sure, watching a concert online isn't bad, but the difference between being there live and seeing it through a screen is like heaven and earth. Singing along with the crowd, feeling the bass vibrate through your chest, sharing the moment with people who feel exactly the same thing, it's an irreplaceable kind of magic.
He exhales slowly and slaps both cheeks to calm himself down.
"Okay. What's done is done. Chill, Aiden," he tells himself.
"…That kinda hurt," he chuckles, breaking into a small grin despite everything.
After his own personal meltdown, he continues walking until he comes across a playground. The sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, and the sky transitions into a majestic shade of orange, painting everything with a warm, fading glow.
Aiden gazes up at the sky, his breath slowing, heart steadying. For a brief moment, the anxious thoughts vanish.
"This is… pretty," he says softly, stunned. He might be entering adulthood, but some things, like the beauty of a sunset, never lose their wonder.
He wanders into the playground, drawn by the view and the quiet. Approaching the swing set, he grabs one of the chains and gives it a strong shake. The creaking sound of rusted metal fills the empty space.
"It'll hold," he thinks.
He sits down. The air stills.
Looking up at the sky again, a heavy sigh escapes him, an unspoken sadness lingering in the air.
"I haven't done much in my 20 years of living…"
And yet Lunae, the idols he admires, are his age, and so much more accomplished.
It's human to compare. To wonder. To feel left behind.
"Maybe I should stop comparing myself… but I can't."
The fear of staying stagnant, of being forgotten, gnaws at him.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" he screams suddenly, letting it all out into the open sky.
Then silence. Again.
"There's no point thinking about useless stuff," he says, trying to console himself.
The sky is a glowing orange now, golden hour. And Aiden, still on the swing, pulls out his phone.
A sudden realization.
"Oh right… Minji's number is saved here."
Under the alias Mirae, he finds it quickly. His thumb hovers over the contact.
"What do I even say?" he mumbles, hesitating. Lunae's preparing for the show, he knows that.
"…Would she even read it?"
Still, something pushes him to try.
He starts typing:
"Ryu-ssi, I know you're preparing hard for the event so I just want to say good luck to you and to the rest of the mem—"
He pauses. He almost typed out the entire Lunae fan chant.
"That's too long… and we're not even friends," he says with an awkward laugh.
He deletes it and rewrites:
"Ryu-ssi, good luck for tonight. To all of LUNAE, fighting!"
"Hm. This sounds better."
But once again, he stops. "Should I really be the one to message first? Maybe I should wait for her…"
Then it hits him.
"…Wait. OH MY GOD. I'M SUCH AN IDIOT. HER NUMBER'S IN MY PHONE,NOT MINE IN HERS. WHAT AM I EVEN THINKING?!"
A sarcastic laugh bursts from him, echoing across the empty playground like he's mocking his own stupidity.
"Whatever. This message is fine."
Before sending it, he stands up, places the phone gently on the swing seat, then leans forward dramatically. With a single, hesitant push of his index finger, he taps 'Send.'
Message sent.
A jolt of adrenaline runs through his body. Embarrassed, he turns away from the phone and begins pacing the whole playground like a security guard, hands clasped behind his back, staring straight ahead.
Time slows. Every second feels like an hour.
After five minutes, he walks back, picks up the phone, and presses the power button, eyes closed, bracing himself.
Nothing.
The message is still there, unopened.
"She's probably busy," he mutters.
Of course she is, Aiden.
Still, he repeats his routine, walking away again to distract himself.
Ten minutes. Nothing.
Fifteen minutes. Still nothing.
Thirty minutes pass.
Silence.
No reply.
Just like countless other fans who've sent heartfelt messages to their idols, Aiden is met with reality. No matter how sincere, romantic, sad, or funny the message, most go unread, unnoticed. It's a quiet heartbreak, but one many understand that they are still a fan.
Aiden looks like a fool… but there's one thing for sure:
Somewhere above him, the stars are watching, and they're entertained.