Margaret's eyes seemed to lose the ability to look away. Her gaze was hopelessly locked onto Chase, who sat directly across from her.
With a calm, almost languid motion, Chase reached for the edges of the heavy, fur-lined black jacket wrapped around his body. He shed it slowly, revealing the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, as if every movement were deliberate.
His dark cap was lifted, freeing his black hair which fell neatly into place, catching the cafe's ambient light with a subtle sheen.
Then came the final movement. Chase's fingers brushed the edge of the black mask covering half of his face. He pulled it down slowly, and in that heartbeat, Margaret felt her breath hitch in her throat.
The face that had been hidden for so long was now fully revealed—a sharp, defined jawline, a straight nose, lips carved with near-perfect symmetry, and a gaze that was piercing yet calm. Chase's handsomeness didn't feel exaggerated or loud; it was grounded and real, making Margaret realize just how different it felt to see him in person compared to seeing him on a screen or social media.
Chase's peripheral vision caught the thread of her attention—Margaret's unwavering gaze—while his fingers were busy rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt.
The moment the fabric rested at just the right height, Chase lifted his face, and his eyes locked onto Margaret's. A smile immediately bloomed on his lips—serene, warm, and light, like morning sunlight filtering through window curtains. That smile, which he usually reserved for crowds of adoring fans, was now offered whole and singular, directed solely at Margaret.
"I'm not going anywhere, Margaret. So, you don't need to keep such a close eye on me like that."
"I'll stay right here—for as long as you want me to."
The low, soft, and lilting tone that drifted from Chase's thin lips suddenly washed over Margaret. It struck her ears, traveled through her gaze, and finally crawled toward her shoulders—which had been stiff with tension—forcing them to relax.
Hurriedly, Margaret cleared her throat with a faint sound, nearly inaudible to any other ear—a sound only she herself could catch. She averted her gaze aimlessly, as if searching for a foothold or two to steady her nerves.
The quiet cafe felt as though it were shrinking, especially as she realized the room Chase had chosen was a private one; silent, with only the two of them. No distractions, no escape. Only herself, and Chase.
Ultimately, however, she found nothing to hold onto—nothing that could soothe the restlessness rolling within her. She lowered her head, focusing her gaze on the cherry-blossom-engraved wooden table.
"I... I... I'm sorry... for... for staring... staring... staring..."
Her voice was fragmented, halting, as if every word had to fight its way out of her lips. Confusion clouded Margaret's face, as if her own mind refused to string a proper sentence together. Even the sentences that began to form were never finished; they stopped mid-way, choking in her throat.
Chase watched her, his eyes sharp yet warm, as he arched a single eyebrow, waiting for an answer from the figure bowing before him. Before long, a small chuckle—light, like a falling bell—escaped his lips, forcing Margaret to look back at him.
Their eyes met, and Chase smiled again.
"Are you nervous, Margaret?"
"Or are you just shocked… that the idol you usually see on a screen is now sitting right in front of you?"
His smile widened, but in a way that was soft, lilting, and seductive—not overbearing, not forced.
The tone of his voice adjusted accordingly, dropping lower, as if he were deliberately lowering the frequency so that it could only be received by Margaret, and not by the air surrounding them.
"There's no need to be nervous. Just think of this as a fansign event."
"You've attended one before, haven't you? If so… whose fansign did you go to? Because as far as I can recall, I've never seen you there before?..."
He paused for a moment. His eyes drifted away, staring vacantly at the empty air in front of him, yet his mind was busy weaving together scattered memories like pieces of a puzzle.
Chase's forehead creased, his thick brows nearly meeting in a sign of total concentration—attempting to recall the faces of his fans, one by one. Every name, every smile he had ever seen, every gaze that had ever greeted him in a crowd—all of it was recorded and replayed in his head.
On the other hand, Margaret bit the inside of her lower lip as Chase finally averted his gaze. She secretly exhaled a soft breath, trying to reset herself so she wouldn't remain trapped in this relentless nervousness.
Even so, she knew the anxiety would never truly vanish—because she was simply terrible at controlling herself when facing someone for the first time, especially when that person happened to be a famous idol who was, unfortunately, so captivating.
"I… I've never attended any fansign or concert. So… if Chase Oppa is trying to remember my face, it's useless because I've never actually gone."
Her tone now sounded much better than a few moments ago—softer, more composed. Though a subtle tremor occasionally seeped through her words, nearly inaudible to the ear, it was still enough to betray what she was truly feeling.
Chase snapped his head toward Margaret—a spontaneous reaction. One of his eyebrows shot up, forming an expression caught between confusion and utter bewilderment, as if the words he had just heard had sparked something he hadn't anticipated.
He then shifted his seating position, adjusting his posture until he was facing her directly—leaning forward.
"Does that mean… you don't actually know who I am, Margaret? I mean, you only recognize me as a face that happens to appear everywhere?"
"Then what about our songs? The albums, the photo cards, and everything else?"
"You don't know about any of that either? You don't even own a single one?"
The questions tumbled from his lips so rapidly—a speed he might not have even realized himself—born out of pure, unadulterated shock.
The surprise stemmed from the fact that, for the first time, he had encountered someone who seemed completely uninterested in the things that were currently trending: the idol world and all its trimmings, from the grandest stages to the smallest pieces of merchandise.
Margaret swallowed hard, a reflex that nearly caused her to choke on her own breath. Her chest tightened slightly—not just from surprise, but from the barrage of unexpected questions cascading from Chase's lips. They were the very questions she had hoped, from the start, would never be asked.
Margaret knew the pattern of those questions all too well—the same templates, the same tones, the predictable expressions. And every time she heard them, a thin layer of exhaustion would seep in, an inexplicable sense of being overwhelmed, simply because she had no interest in the subject whatsoever.
However, she also knew that showing her distaste openly was not a wise move. Especially since she was facing a man who literally lived for that world—an idol, and a world-renowned one at that.
She exhaled softly, allowing herself a fraction of a second to compose her reaction. Her gaze lowered slightly, not to avoid Chase's eyes, but merely to find a foothold so she could keep her expression under control.
"Of course I know… but not everything."
"The truth is, I'm not the type of person who can just instantly like something. But there are times when I feel a sense of curiosity, and I'll try to look into it. And if I find myself genuinely interested, then… I try to open myself up, just a little."
She paused for a moment, deliberately taking a breath.
There was a flicker of hope—or perhaps mere anticipation—that Chase would move, say something, or at least offer a reaction she could grasp. No matter how small.
But there was nothing.
The man before her remained silent, standing with a calm demeanor that was almost too controlled; his breathing was steady, as if this situation didn't faze him in the slightest.
She swallowed again before continuing,
"It's true that I don't own any albums or photo cards from any idol group, including CHASEMINE. But it's not because I don't like or support you."
"It's just that, in my opinion, there are many other ways to say 'I support you.' Like listening to and enjoying your songs, or introducing them to others—until they listen too, and realize that the song was written and performed by an idol group."
"From that, for me, the words 'I support you' are born."
This time, she stopped completely.
Her tongue suddenly felt bitter—she had to say the very thing she never wanted to utter, yet the situation demanded it of her.
A few seconds ticked by before she finally gathered the courage to lift her gaze. It was only for a fleeting moment. Just enough to see how Chase was taking her answer, searching for a sign—any sign—that she could interpret as a reaction. But the moment her eyes caught his face, her train of thought came to a grinding halt.
Chase was wearing a thin smile.
There was something in that look—like someone gazing at the glint of a diamond hidden among a pile of junk—that made the hair on the back of Margaret's neck stand on end.
"In that case..."
Chase's voice sounded even fainter this time, dropping from his usual tone into something that was almost a whisper.
He tilted his head slightly to the side, his arms folded across his chest, while his gaze—warm, soft, and so intensely focused—never once strayed from Margaret.
"Did you also listen to our song titled 'MINE,' which was released early last year?"
"Since you say you enjoy a song, I've become curious… just how well do you know it? At what minute does my part begin, and which lyrics belong to me?"