ׂ╰┈➤ 𝙏𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙤𝙣
Synopsis: A heartfelt, moonlit long-distance love story between Martin Edwards and Y/N, inspired by Bruno Mars’ “Talking to the Moon.” Amid grueling idol schedules and oceans apart, they find solace in late-night messages, stolen moments, and the shared sky, proving young love can endure fame, distance, and time.
Warning: This is a wholesome, emotional fanfiction with mild romantic themes (kissing, longing). For readers 13+.
The city lights of Seoul blurred into streaks of neon as Martin Edwards stared out the window of the dorm’s practice room. It was well past midnight, and the rest of the group, James, Juhoon, Seonghyeon, and Keonho, had finally crashed after another grueling rehearsal for their upcoming comeback. At eighteen, Martin carried the weight of leadership on his broad shoulders, the tallest among them at 190 cm, his Korean-Canadian features often catching the light in a way that made fans scream. But right now, none of that mattered.
He slipped on his hoodie, grabbed a mask, and quietly left the building. The cool night air hit him as he walked toward the Han River. In his pocket, his phone buzzed with a single notification, a message from Y/N that had come hours ago, now buried under a flood of group chat pings and schedule reminders.
I miss you too. The moon looks bright tonight.
He smiled faintly, heart twisting. Y/N. Nineteen years old, with a laugh that could cut through the exhaustion of his idol life. They’d met a little over a year ago, before debut, when she was visiting Seoul on a student exchange program from Canada. She wasn’t famous. Just a regular girl studying literature, writing poetry in hidden notebooks, and somehow becoming the one person who saw Martin, not the leader, not the producer, not the performer, just Woojoo, the boy who still got nervous before big stages.
Their time together had been short but intense. Late-night walks, shared earbuds listening to old songs, stolen kisses under cherry blossoms. Then cortis debuted on August 18, 2025, and everything changed. Schedules swallowed him whole. Tours. Practices. Fan meetings. The pressure to “color outside the lines” while staying perfectly within the company’s expectations. Calls became texts, texts became delayed replies, and eventually, the distance felt like an ocean.
I know you’re somewhere out there, somewhere far away…
Martin found a quiet bench by the river, tilting his head back. The moon hung low and full, silver light spilling across the water. He pulled out his phone, opened the voice memo app, and started recording like he did almost every night now.
“Hey, Y/N… it’s me again. I know it’s late there too, but I can’t sleep. The comeback preparations are killing us. Choreo’s insane this time, Keonho keeps messing up the bridge, and I’m trying to keep everyone motivated, but… I miss you. God, I want you back.”
He paused, the words echoing the ache in his chest. Neighbors in the dorm probably thought he was crazy, whispering to himself in the dark or staring at the sky like a fool. But they didn’t understand. She was all he had outside this whirlwind. The one person who didn’t treat him like an idol or a project.
At night, when the stars light up his room, he sat by himself, replaying memories. Her hand in his, tracing the lines of his palm. The way she teased him about his height, calling him “giant Woojoo.” The promises they made before he left for the final pre-debut evaluations.
Talking to the moon… trying to get to you…
He whispered the words aloud, voice low and rough from hours of singing. “In hopes you’re on the other side, talking to me too. Or am I a fool who sits alone, talking to the moon?”
A soft breeze rustled the leaves. He imagined her in her small apartment back in Vancouver, or wherever her studies had taken her now, maybe sitting by her window too. Did she look up at the same moon? Did she feel the same pull? Longing across distances. Hoping against hope that love could bridge the gap.
Weeks blurred into months. Cortis’s first EP Color Outside the Lines blew up. “What You Want” dominated charts, and Martin threw himself into the work, songwriting late into the night, producing tracks that channeled his unrest. But every victory felt hollow without her to share it. One night after a sold-out concert in Tokyo, he slipped away from the after-party, finding a rooftop with a clear view of the sky. The moon was waning now, a slim crescent, but it was enough.
He dialed her number, heart pounding even though he knew she might not pick up. Time zones were brutal.
“Woojoo?” Her voice was sleepy, warm, cutting through the static like a lifeline.
“Hey,” he breathed, leaning against the railing. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“You didn’t. I was… actually looking at the moon. It’s the same one, right?”
He laughed, the sound cracking with relief. “Yeah. Same one. I’ve been talking to it every night, you know. Like an idiot. Hoping you’re doing the same.”
There was a pause, and he could picture her smile, the one that made her eyes crinkle. “I am. My roommates think I’m losing it, standing on the balcony muttering about a K-pop idol who’s too busy saving the world with his killer dance moves.”
“I’m not saving the world,” he murmured. “Just trying to make it through the days without you. You’re all I had, Y/N. Still are.”
They talked for over an hour, voices overlapping with stories of her classes, his chaotic members, the pressure of being leader at such a young age. She was nineteen now, balancing part-time work and studies, dreaming of becoming a writer. He was eighteen, living a dream that sometimes felt like a cage. The distance hurt, but the moon made it bearable. A silent witness to their promises.
Tryna get to you…
Life pulled them in different directions again. Cortis flew to Europe for promotions. Y/N’s exchange ended, and she returned to Canada full-time. Messages grew sporadic. Martin poured his feelings into a hidden track, lyrics scribbled in his notebook during flights.
One particularly rough night in Paris, after a long rehearsal where nothing clicked, he escaped to the hotel balcony. The Eiffel Tower glittered in the distance, but his eyes were on the moon, half-full, indifferent to the city’s glow. “I want you back,” he said into the night. “My neighbors, well, the members, think I’m crazy. They don’t understand. You’re the only one who ever did.”
He recorded another voice memo, singing snippets of the song softly, his deep voice carrying the ache. Fans would kill for this side of him, but it was only for her.
Back in Seoul, months later, the group was preparing for their second EP GREENGREEN. Martin’s schedule was merciless, but a rare free weekend aligned with Y/N’s break. She flew in secretly, risky, but worth it. They met at a quiet park near the river at dusk, masks on, hoods up. When she pulled hers down, revealing that familiar face, time stopped.
“Woojoo,” she whispered, stepping into his arms. He hugged her tight, inhaling the scent of her shampoo, feeling the world narrow to just them.
They walked along the path, fingers intertwined. “I’ve been talking to the moon about you nonstop,” he admitted, voice husky. “Every city, every hotel room. Wondering if you hear me.”
“I do,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Even when it’s hard. Even when weeks go by without a proper call. I sit by myself at night, stars lighting up my ceiling like yours, and I talk back. Hoping you’re on the other side.”
They found a secluded spot and sat, backs against a tree, looking up. The moon was nearly full again, bathing them in soft light
I know you’re somewhere out there…
Tears pricked his eyes. “Being an idol… it’s everything I wanted, but it takes so much. I don’t want to lose you to it.”
“You won’t,” she promised, turning to face him. At nineteen and eighteen, they were young, but the connection felt timeless. “We’ll make it work. Write our own story, color outside the lines like your group name.”
He kissed her then, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that spoke of all the missed nights and lonely moons. When they pulled apart, foreheads touching.
They weren’t fools sitting alone anymore. The moon wasn’t just a distant listener; it was a bridge. A reminder that love, even stretched across continents and demanding careers, could endure.
The next few days were stolen moments, late-night drives, her cheering him on quietly during a rehearsal (hidden in the back), cooking simple ramen in the dorm when the others were out. Y/N helped him with lyrics, her writer’s touch adding depth to a ballad he was producing. For the first time in months, the weight on his shoulders felt lighter.
But goodbyes came too soon. At the airport, disguised and hearts heavy, he held her close. “I’ll keep talking to the moon until you’re back with me for real.”
“And I’ll answer every time,” she replied, kissing his cheek.
As her plane took off, Martin stood at the observation deck, watching the sky. The moon was there, faint in the daylight, but present. He smiled.
Back in the dorm, the members noticed the change. “Hyung’s glowing again,” Keonho teased. Martin just laughed, ruffling his hair. They didn’t need the full story yet. One day, when the time was right, he’d share it, the girl who kept him grounded, the moon that kept their hope alive.
Nights still brought the ache, the long practices, the endless travel. But now, when he sat by himself as the stars lit up his room, he didn’t feel alone.
“Talking to the moon… trying to get to you… In hopes you’re on the other side, talking to me too…”
And somewhere far away, Y/N looked up at the same sky, whispering back the words. Their love wasn’t perfect. It was young, challenged by fame and distance. But under that silver light, it was real. Enduring.
Martin Edwards, leader of cortis, songwriter, performer, and boy in love, kept reaching for her across the night. And the moon listened, carrying their voices to each other, one quiet conversation at a time.
(Word count: 1,478)