Watching his partner laugh with another idol sends Baby Saja spiraling into self-doubt.

Baby leaned against the mirrored wall of the rehearsal room, arms crossed tightly, pretending not to watch.

But he was. He watched every second.

His partner, his light in this mess of flashing lights and fake smiles, was laughing. That kind of laugh where the head tilts back, and the sound rings free, unguarded. But it wasn’t meant for him. It was for another idol, some tall, smirking backup dancer with too-perfect teeth and too-long arms draped casually around their shoulders.

Baby’s jaw tightened. His blue bangs shadowed his eyes as he stared down at the floor, scuffed sneakers unmoving.

They hadn’t even noticed him slip in. Maybe they wouldn’t have cared if they had.

He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. That they were just being friendly. That he wasn’t some jealous brat with horns buried under perfect skin and stage eyeliner. But it did matter. It mattered too much.

Because when his partner laughed with him, it used to feel like something sacred. Like they chose him, bratty, broken, barely holding it together. And now, what was left for him to hold onto?

The next time they approached him, smile wide and energy warm, Baby just turned away without a word.

No teasing. No pout. Not even a snarky comment.

Just silence.