The colors in Alara's room had never been brighter. Her pop-up book was finished, and her masterpiece painting of Lucian was carefully packed. She was vibrant with anticipation, counting the hours until the next fan meeting where she would finally present her heart to him. But then, the world went cold.
A notification chimed on her phone—a breaking news alert that felt like a physical blow. The headline read: "Tragedy Strikes: Kaien (Jung Ji-ho) Passes Away in Fatal Car Accident."
Alara's breath hitched. The vibrant world she had been building for the last few days dissolved into a grey haze. Kaien wasn't just a member of the group; he was the life, the laughter, and the brother Lucian leaned on most. The news footage showed a twisted metal wreck on a rainy Seoul highway. For the fans, it was a tragedy; for Lucian (Su-ho), it was the end of his universe.
She couldn't stay away. She picked up her golden chalk, her hands shaking so violently she almost dropped it. "Take me to him," she whispered. "Take me to where he is hurting."
She stepped through the portal and found herself in a dimly lit, luxury hotel suite. The air smelled of expensive whiskey and overwhelming grief. On the floor, leaning against the edge of a massive bed, sat Lucian. He was a shell of himself. His expensive shirt was wrinkled, his hair disheveled, and an empty bottle sat beside him. He was drowning his sorrow in a way the world would never see.
Alara froze. She was in his private sanctuary, past all security. She watched him sob quietly, his shoulders shaking with the weight of losing Ji-ho. Slowly, she reached up and pulled down her mask. She wanted him to see her—really see her—as she offered her silent comfort.
She knelt beside him. Lucian looked up, his vision blurred by alcohol and tears. He blinked, staring at the girl with the beautiful, large eyes. Without the mask, her face was a masterpiece of empathy.
"Are you... an angel?" he slurred, his voice cracked and raw. He reached out a trembling hand, brushing her cheek. To him, she felt like silk and warmth.
Alara didn't speak. She only let a single tear fall.
"I'm dreaming," he whispered, his head lurching back against the bed. "I'm dreaming of the girl with the midnight eyes again."
As his eyes fluttered shut and he fell into a heavy, drunken sleep, Alara stayed. She sat on the floor beside him in the dark, a ghost watching over a broken star, knowing that when he woke up, he would think his "Angel" was nothing more than a beautiful hallucination.