"Sit," you point at the makeup chair. He sits down after removing his mask, his cap and even his hoodie. The ordinary black t-shirt and loosely fitted jeans would have made him blend well into the crowd. He's rather lean. Sitting back in the chair, he takes off his shoes and crosses his legs.

"I said sit, not get comfortable," you mumble ever so softly.
"What?"
"Nothing. So. What happened?" you ask, returning to your sofa.

But this time you sit down gently. And instead of taking the entire cake in your lap, proceed to cut a slice.

"Um - I was near the stage," he speaks very slowly, "some fans saw me. I - escape."

His emphasis on the last word gives you an odd sense that he's proud of using such a complicated English word. You bite back the urge to laugh.

"Right. Cake?"
"No, thanks."
"Okay," You wanted to devour half the slice at once, but feeling conscious, only eat a tiny spoonful.

"What happened to your - leg?" he suddenly asks. He must have noticed you limping slightly.
"It's nothing, I think I pulled a muscle up there - while dancing," you tap your injured thigh with a finger.
"Ah." He leans back into the chair, fidgeting with his thumb.
"Why are you here? I mean, haven't you had enough of these festivals?" you ask.

He just stares at you.

"Ah, shoot." You open a translation app on your phone. You've been using it a lot last week to get by. The software lady reiterates your question in Korean. Suga laughs.

"Funny translation. Can I?" he stretches out his hand for your phone.

You hand it over. He types in something, and the lady relays it back in English, "Sometimes I like to watch new groups perform."
He types in something again.
"But I'm not here officially. Don't tell anyone."
He gives you a look and types a little more.
"Please."

You snort at the last addition.

"Okay. I won't tell. But you have to do me a favour."
"What?" There's a trace of amusement in his voice.
You tell him, unsure if he will agree to it or not. "There's a twelve-year-old fan of yours. She's sick right now and could use some motivation," the translator lady speaks for you.

To your surprise, he nods instantly.

You put down your empty plate on the table, and open the camera of your phone. "Her name's Rhea. She's my manager's daughter - do you want to stand against the white wall? That way they won't know you made the video here..."

His vibe changes the moment you start recording. It's as if he's suddenly facing an old friend.

"Hi Rhea. I'm Suga..." he talks in half English and half Korean.

Towards the end, he makes what you mentally refer to as the Korean heart with his fingers, and gives a wide smile. You've only seen him do that on camera. It's on camera even now. You've been in the show business long enough to know that contrary to what people interpret, it isn't fake. In fact, the camera is, ironically, a place you're oddly honest with when it comes to emoting. And the love you offer to your fans is more unconditional than any love you offer to someone right in front of you. Fans can't break you and leave you bleeding after all.

"Okay, it's done," you smile inadvertently while replaying the video. You don't see him watching you, glad that you're satisfied with it. Suddenly, you look up at the real Suga. You were so busy imagining how happy Rhea would be to see his video that for half a second you forgot he was there. The Poker face is back. You return to your sofa, and him to the makeup chair.