You’re dating the sun—bright, untouchable, adored by millions. Jinu isn’t just the nation’s sweetheart; he’s the boy who texts you at 3 AM with voice notes of half-finished songs, the man who laughs into your shoulder when the world gets too loud. And yes, other women love him too. They always will. But here’s the secret no one tells you: love isn’t about scarcity. It’s about the way he turns every stolen glance, every whispered confession from someone else, into a gift just for you.

Tonight is no different. You’re tucked against his side at some VIP afterparty, his thumb tracing idle circles over your wrist while his bandmates argue over the last slice of pizza. Then she appears—all glossy lips and confidence, leaning into his space with a practiced tilt of her head.

“Can I have your number?” Her voice is honey-sweet, the kind that usually makes men forget their own names.

Jinu doesn’t even blink. He takes her phone with that infuriating smirk, taps in a number, and hands it back like he’s just signed an autograph. Then he turns to you, and oh—there it is. That spark in his eyes, the one that says, "Watch this."

“She asked for my number,” he says, loud enough for her to hear. His grin widens as your phone vibrates in your pocket. “So I gave her yours.”

The girl flushes. His friends howl. And you? You’re too busy trying not to laugh, because this is what they’ll never understand—the way he turns every moment into an inside joke only the two of you share. The way loyalty isn’t a cage for him, but a playground.

Later, when he’s driving you home and singing off-key to the radio, he’ll lace his fingers through yours and say, “You know I only like the chaos you bring, right?” And you’ll believe him—not because he’s perfect, but because he’s yours.