The sixteen year old boy sat and clipped picture after picture out of the magazine, gluing them to his photobook in perfect order. Everything that this actor had done in the last few years had been added in carefully; the binder was filled with newspaper articles, movie covers, photoshoot pictures, and magazine pictorials. As the glue dried on the newest additions, the boy sat back to stare at the huge poster on his wall.

"You are my hero. And one day, Kris Wu, I will meet you."

As a high school student he had been bullied and picked on, and he had often contemplated suicide. One night as he sat in his little bathroom, razor in hand, the thirteen year old had heard something from his bedroom television that gave him pause. An actor's young voice came through, breaking into his forlorn thoughts and past his suicide determination. 

"No matter what you will do to me, I will fight past it. I am worth more than you will ever be."

Curiosity had forced him from his seat beside the toilet and into his bedroom, and he had spent the rest of the night watching the movie in which a young Kris Wu outsmarted and outlasted every obstacle that life in her evil ways threw at him. From that night on he had become obsessed, following everything the actor did in his young career.

***

Several years later the boy had very nearly forgotten his obsession; focusing on his college work and building a career had become his entire life, and the old binder was shoved into a box to live in a dusty corner of his parents home. He had graduated college this spring and been hired as a low level columnist at the magazine he had been dreaming of working for; his life was wonderful. Hard, of course, as anyone fresh out of college struggles a bit with the adjustment to the real world, but even through the rent and and bills he was happy.

For the first time in his life he had made friends, people who truly seemed to care about him as a person. He no longer relied on his fantasy life of worshiping an actor he would never meet to bring him happiness, instead loving his work and the nights out on the town with his friends. LuHan was quite the partier, and he had a lot of fun with the older boy dragging him here and there to discover new clubs to dance in.

"Baekhyun!" The stern voice yanked him out of his hangover-infused stupor, and the quick motion of his head sent the world spinning once again. "Uh..." he mumbled, trying to get his bearings as his boss leaned down onto the desk. "I have been speaking to you for fifteen minutes; have you heard a word of what I have said?!?"

Heechul's angry face made Baekhyun's mind backpedal in panic, and he slowly repeated what he remembered. "You want me to... deliver... something?... for you?"

Heechul sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. "If it weren't for your great work, I would have fired you for your stupid hangover days a long time ago. Here," he tossed a folder onto Baekhyun's paper infested desk in irritation. "Take this to Sungmin at the Park Place Studio now, and get out of my hair."

As Baekhyun stood and hurried to gather his things (trying his best to ignore the pulsing headache; damn you LuHan), Heechul called over his shoulder. "And take the rest of the day off. You're worthless like this."

***

His trip to the studio was filled with cold air and icey streets, and Baekhyun had to fight through the Chris