She sighed to herself as she lay in bed alone trying to fall asleep, when her phone buzzed next to her head. She smiled bittersweetly to herself as she picked it up to check what new piece of art he had posted to his instagram account, but by the time she unlocked her phone, he had already deleted it. She tossed the phone back down and it buzzed again. "Gah! Tabi! You are such a goof sometimes."

     She was disgusted and disappointed in herself, that as a grown woman, she had a crush on an idol in a fandom she didn't even follow, who lived halfway across the world, and didn't even speak her language. She didn't even really like pop music. She didn't hate it. It just wasn't something she went out of her way to listen to. She prefered music from the early part of the twentieth century, like Cab Calloway and Buddy Holly. She thought about how she even found this strange and wonderful man...

     One day, she had mentioned to a coworker, that as a former dancer, she would like to get back into it for fitness reasons, but that she didn't know where to find routines. The girl answered her by saying that, apparently, K-Pop is a thing lately and that they had a lot of interesting dance numbers in their videos. So, when she got home from work, she took to youtube.

     She played roulette with the videos, clicking one, watching a few seconds to see if she could take anything away from it, and then clicking another random clip from the suggested videos on the side. All she learned was that she liked two or three of T-ara's routines and that she felt like the FBI was going to break down the door while she was viewing scantily clad teen boys gyrating around and arrest her for illegal, underaged video viewing. "Nope! Nope! Maybe I should just give up on this."

     She got up for a drink and when she came back the next video had auto played. The guys were singing, "I wanna dance, dance, dance...." "You and me both, kiddos," she sighed as she took a swig of her soda.

     She watched the video and contemplated what she saw and heard. It was somewhat catchy but she didn't think she'd ever listen to it without the accompanying visuals. A man with mint ice cream hair appeared dressed in costumey, modified military type clothing. She laughed because she had a similar outfit to the red velvet coat uniform, albeit a more feminine one of course. He rapped? She wouldn't have pegged him as a rapper, not to mention she was surprised at how his dark, deep voice didn't quite match his visual either.

    The next video came up. 'Doom Dada?' Hmm... Does he even know what that means? The vocals started and she realized it must have been the guy from the other song. T.O.P, huh? That's a silly name. She shrugged. She had a ridiculous stage name too, so who was she to judge? She sat through it, mouth slightly agape, utterly hypnotized. By the time she watched him running in a giant zoetrope, she knew she had to know all about him. She also knew that he definitely knew what the title he had chosen meant.

     She poked around the internet and realized that the general concensus among his female fans was that he's cute but crazy, and that a lot of people are disturbed by his instagram posts but that they endure it for his selfies. She perused his account and noticed that although their taste in art differed his pictures made her think. As she delved deeper she found hidden gems. Fleischer cartoons, a Jan Svankmajer clip, Ella Fitzgerald songs....things generally considered obscure these days, but that she herself had loved since childhood. He lit a spark in her like nothing and no one had in many years, and the deeper she dove into him, the more her heart ached for him. Which brings us back to the present.

     She knew she was pathetic. Everyone she loved was either dead or had left her long ago. She had lost touch with the few family members that were left and didn't know how to reach out to them. Her friends were long gone, and she wondered if they had been her friends at all. The only romantic relationship she ever had been in ended years earlier. Badly. She couldn't be bothered with finding anyone else to be in her life. Didn't care enough, and so she remained alone. But, then, she always preferred it that way. She didn't leave the house except for work, and she probably drank too much absinthe and wine at night to get to sleep. Her permanantly overclocked brain didn't allow her to rest without outside help. A lifelong problem she suffered nightly.

     And so, now, the closest thing she had to what felt like a friend was a man she had never met or talked to and who she knew she never would. She liked that, because of their thirteen hour time difference, he usually posted when she was trying to get to sleep. Around six in the morning or so for her. His were the only notifications she , so, when her phone would buzz, it would feel like an old friend or sweetheart sharing their day and saying goodnight. She knew she was pathetic.

     She didn't know what to call herself. She wasn't really a fan. Although she admired what he did for a living, it had no bearing on her interest in him. In some ways she wished that he wasn't famous, or that she didn't actually know that he was, so that she would feel less strange about the whole thing. She also wasn't there for his face or figure. She never did relate to how people rated each others appearance based on the chemical reactions of their biological urges toward each other. She always had a colder stance towards people, as she viewed them as objects of art rather than as potential partners, and, in that regard, she found him beautiful. The VIPs could keep T.O.P, and theater goers could continue to swoon over the movie star. She was there for Choi Seunghyun. Plain and simple. She ignored all of the flashy camoflauge and delved into the dark facets in between. When she heard how people described him, she wondered if they actually paid attention to him at all. She knew she herself could be completely wrong as well, but she had always been good at reading between the lines and she saw parts that she could relate to in there. It made her sad for him.

     His selfies were actually her least favorite part. He always looked so exhausted and haunted. Like there was a fragile lost little boy under the facade. She related to this as well, and this too made her sad. She wanted to scoop him up in her arms like a child, and sing softly to him until he fell asleep. So, she would try and leave him deep or insightful words of encouragement. She didn't know just how much English he could actually speak or understand, so she just hoped that by sending out positive energy, he could at least grasp the intent of her words.

     She didn't like how selfish and overly critical his commenters could be. He posts in Korean, and they complain he needs to post in English. He posts in English, and they complain about his spelling and grammar. Its like he's wrong no matter what he does, even though she thinks that he really does try. She did voice her concern over the matter, standing up for him without directly attacking anyone, and was happy when several other commenters commended her on this.

     Even though they didn't share a language, she did her best to translate his words. A difficult feat sometimes, since he too liked wordplay. As a rapper, he did have a poet's soul after all. So, instead of telling him that he's crazy or drunk, or that he needs more pictures of himself and nothing else, she politely addresses him as Mr. Choi out of respect and tries to share either words of encouragement, or leave really cheesey jokes. She addressed him in regards to what he said instead of just telling him that its so "cool." She tried to treat him as if he really were an old friend.

     She contemplated trying to tell him why she follows him and how he saved her from herself, but she is afraid to and doesn't know how to go about it. There is no way she'd post it as a comment. She sees other people doing that. Spamming huge blocks of text on his every post, all playing a competition of "notice me oppa" and it made her sick. She also didnt want to cheapen the sentiment. She felt that such personal words toward him, were for him alone. She didn't seek gratification or acknowledgement, she just wanted him to know how special he truly is and that he really does genuinely help peoples lives.

     She thought about sending him a direct message but figured he might be afraid of those and ignore them all together. Who knows what disturbing things teen girls hopped up on hormones  would send him. Still, she tried to compose a letter a few times, but always deleted it. She thought this whole thing was stupid and that she should stop commenting all together. The odds of him even seeing her comments were slim to none due to the lightning quick, non stop barrage of comments he receives, and the chances of him actually reading and understanding them were even less. So, even though her heart pounds and she jumps on the phone when she hears him, she is trying to lessen her responses to him. No witty coments, no fighting spirit, not even wishing him a goodnight, because she always felt like a fool when she did. She KNEW she was pathetic.

    When she tapped on his name again, she smiled. His post this time was of him and his nephew. This is when he came off as purest, sweetest, and happiest. One can't help but feel the love and pride he absolutely radiates at these times. It was during these times that he bore the expression of someone enlightened. She put the phone back in sleep mode and buried her face in her pillow. She softly cried herself to sleep, wondering what it would be like if he ever actually did post just for her.