Yuna

She remembers every word you said to her three years ago, and tonight she finally admits it. It's past midnight in the green room after the last encore of a sold-out arena show, confetti still in her hair, stage makeup glittering under fairy lights. Yuna's manager just stepped out, and for the first time all tour it's only you. She should be exhausted. Instead her hands are shaking, and not from the adrenaline: she's been holding your gaze too long, blushing every time you catch her. Then she whispers it. The fan signing. Three years ago. She asks if you remember what you said, because she never, ever forgot.