The limousine stopped right in front of Junho's favorite designer clothes store. It was already packed with fans in front and he sighed deeply. This was the price that came with being one of South-Korea's biggest popstar. Pulling up a mirror to make sure that his hair was presentable, Junho still thought it was a bit odd. Going shopping had been a spur of the moment decision, and not many people knew about it. Maybe it was the new driver, he could have leaked the information. Though, before Junho started firing people, maybe he should consider the possibility that the fans had just guessed. It was his first time in Seoul in months so it was quite likely his fans would have predicted that he would go shopping. He usually did.

At least there was nothing he could do about it now, so he just put up his new sunglasses, which he bought in New York and were big enough to hide his jetlag. Then he made his bodyguard guide him through the crowd.

His fans were well-behaved this time, nobody pulling at him or screaming their lungs out for an autograph. Mostly they were quiet, though some photos were snapped. They seemed to be mainly new fans, since he didn't recognize any of their faces, but maybe his most extreme sasaengs had been banned from the community, or were waiting elsewhere.

Either way, it was a relief to get inside. As much as he loved shopping in general, this store was his absolute favorite. It was pricey enough to be exclusive and it looked so classy and stylish, bright and big, and with tinted windows so the fans couldn't watch him shopping. And it was huge, and only special clientele was allowed inside it, making him feel like a real star. Most importantly, it featured all of Korea's top designers, who only sold items in very limited numbers, so he wouldn't have to worry about going to dinner or a film premier and clash with some young starlet wearing the same thing.

It didn't take him long to pick out a pair of shoes, five shirts and a couple of pants, and he felt the buyers rush wash over him. Sure he had done his share of shopping over the last four months on his world concert tour, but that was different. This was home turf, and it was his duty as a Korean superstar to promote Korean designers and merchandise.

One thing Junho could never have enough of was accessories, so he was walking towards the back where they were stored when he noticed a long winter coat placed prominently on a rack in the middle of the floor. It was like time stood still and the perception of light changed, making the coat shine like a diamond in a midst of coal. This was the one. It was perfect, made of fur with leopard print, something only a true star would wear. It felt like it was screaming his name. Junho could just picture how wonderful he would look, how glamorous, strolling around the airport wearing it. Everyone's eyes would be locked on him. It would be marvelous!

Like being pulled by a magnet, Junho approached, everything else disappearing from sight. Goosebumps trailed down his spine, throughout his entire body when his fingers ran down the sleeve. It was so soft. So unbelievably, amazingly soft. Perfect fur and the leopard pattern was gorgeous. Stunning. Unbelievably classy and beautiful. Stomach turning upside down in excitement, Junho prepared to grab it, when suddenly, rudely it was snatched away from the other side.

“Excuse me.” He said frustrated, still holding onto the sleeve. Looking angrily at the criminal, he added accusingly: “I had my eyes on this one.”

“So did I.”

To Junho's annoyance, the impudent bastard was slightly taller than he was, also well-built and handsome. Judging from his chic designer clothes he was obviously rich, but in this store that was hardly surprising.

But fame had some pull, even among rich people. This person probably just hadn't recognized him because of the big sun glasses. Slowly taking them down, Junho looked at him again, and smiled this time. Tact wasn't his strongest point, but now he needed it, he couldn't do anything that would tarnish his reputation (it was too soon since that incident at the jewelry store, his manager would lose it). If, however, he would subtly offer an autograph, or to pose on a photo with him, everything would turn out fine. Heck, he could even help him pick out a different coat, anything other than this. He needed this one.

But before he could put his thoughts into words the other guy suddenly butted in:

“Don't you know who I am?”

“Ehm...” What the hell. That was his line. “Eh... no.” How should he know who this nobody was, just because he (presumably) had a rich dad, that didn't make him famous.

“Ah...” There was a sudden understanding in the other's face. “I guess you're not a person who follows music.”

“Eh. What?” Korea's biggest pop star a guy who doesn't follow music. Junho was fuming.

“It's okay,” this guy send him a sympathetic smile, “...not everyone has a sense for the fine arts.”

Junho was speechless. For possibly the first time in his entire lifetime he had absolutely no idea what to say.

“I'm Wonho.” The other guy stated like that should ring a bell. It didn't. “Don't worry, I will change your mind about music.”

Say what?

“I have an upcoming concert next Saturday, sold out within the minute, but I'll put you on the guest list.”

Again. Say what?

“If you don't like the concert, I will give you the coat free of charge. Okay, so we have a deal?”

In his stunned state, Junho barely noticed when Wonho rudely pulled the coat from him, and put it directly on, and then called his assistant and asked her to deal with the rest. Then he turned to the shop keeper, arrogantly saying: “Put this on my tab,” before turning around without so much as a goodbye and walking outside, the crowd going wild when he opened up the door.

Jaw glued to his chest Junho had no idea what the hell just happened. Was this a prank? A hidden camera? What. The. . Who was this person to talk about sold out concerts, when only two days ago Junho had been performing in New York in front of twenty thousand people? Nobody. Absolutely nobody.

“Excuse me... Excuse me sir.”

It took him a moment to realize that the assistant was trying to talk to him. “Can I have your name please?”

“Are you serious?” Junho still felt like he was being made fun of.

“Ehm... yes... For the guestlist please.” The assistant blushed and stuttered, so it was quite obvious that at least she knew who he was, but was just following orders. Since this horrid incident was clearly not her fault, he just sighed, and muttered:

“Lee Junho. The name is Lee Junho.”