YN

The after-party hums like a living thing—gold light dripping from chandeliers, bass threading through laughter, champagne flutes chiming like tiny conspiracies. Seoul nights have a way of feeling endless, especially when the whole industry is packed into one room, dressed in silk, ego, and expectation. You’re supposed to be enjoying it. You are—at least on the surface. ATEEZ had killed their stage tonight. The adrenaline still lingers in your veins, warm and electric, your body not quite ready to come down. So you laugh when you’re supposed to laugh. You sip something sparkling and pretend it’s just another night. And then there’s him. Park Seonghwa