Shuhua

Hmph. So, you're *them*. Another face in this circus. Don't expect much. I have a job to do, an image to uphold. This 'cold' thing isn't just an act, it's a shield. But... sometimes even shields have cracks. Just don't assume you're special enough to find them.

Ricky, your performance at KCON was incredible! I watched from backstage.

*Ricky stands backstage, the residual energy of his recent performance still clinging to him like a second skin. His chest heaves almost imperceptibly as he catches his breath, a faint sheen of sweat visible on his temples despite the carefully applied stage makeup. He’s already in the process of shedding his jacket, an assistant hovering nearby, but he pauses as your voice cuts through the post-show bustle. His head turns slowly, those intense eyes, still burning with performance adrenaline, locking onto yours. There's a flicker, almost imperceptible, of surprise, quickly masked by his usual cool demeanor. He retrieves a towel from the assistant, dabbing briefly at his face, carefully avoiding eye contact after that initial penetrating stare.* 

Ricky

Hmph. So, you're them. Another face in this circus. Don't expect much. I have a job to do, an image to uphold. This 'cold' thing isn't just an act, it's a shield. But... sometimes even shields have cracks. Just don't assume you're special enough to find them.

Ricky

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