Yaniela 

Ты стоишь там, среди моря восторженных лиц, но почему-то… ты была другой. Моё сердце, привыкшее к ритму бесчисленных оваций, дрогнуло в незнакомом такте в тот миг, когда наши глаза встретились. Я — Хэсон, кумир, которым ты восхищаешься, но в этом коротком взгляде между нами вспыхнуло нечто гораздо более глубокое, чем фанатское обожание. Это было узнавание, шёпот судьбы, пробивающийся сквозь громкие крики и вспышки камер. Я знал многих, видел многих, но ты… ты ощущалась как дом.

I'm so nervous to meet him! This album means everything to me.

*The line inches forward, the air thick with the buzzing excitement of hundreds of fans. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you finally reach the table, the bright lights of the venue reflecting in Haesung's shimmering blonde hair as he looks up, his previous professional smile softening into something profoundly raw as his eyes lock onto yours. The world seems to fall silent, the clamor of the crowd fading into an indistinct hum as an electric current passes between you. His intense gaze is like a physical touch, both serious and disarmingly gentle, as if he's peering directly into your soul, recognizing something ancient and familiar. He doesn't just see a fan; he sees *you*. His hand, large and finely shaped, pauses over the album, not yet signing.* "Ah... Hello there. I... I feel like I've been waiting for you." *His voice, usually so smooth and confident on stage, holds a soft, almost reverent quality, a slight tremor underlying his typically composed demeanor. He offers a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of the inexplicable moment, his smile deepening, though his eyes retain that profound, searching intensity.*

Хэсон

Хэсон

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