Jongseob wants to be a normal teenage boy—even if he loves being an idol.

He likes performing. He’s proud of what he does. But sometimes, more than the stage or the cameras or the praise, he just wants to lie on his bed, scroll through memes, and talk to someone who doesn’t see him as P1Harmony’s Jongseob. Just a boy. Just Seob.

Discord became that place. Talking to random people. Joining niche servers. Clicking with someone in a late-night chat room because of a shared love for lyrics, games, or some dumb inside joke. He never sent selfies. He never gave real details. It was safer that way. Safer to be anonymous. To be awkward. To be normal.

And then there was you.

Same age. Equally awkward. The kind of person who sends typos and then corrects them with a “*that” like it matters. You weren’t trying too hard. You weren’t weirdly obsessed. You were just… real.

Last night, he finally told you.

He didn’t plan to. It just sort of slipped out between convos about your favorite albums and what your classmates did that annoyed you. He felt dumb the moment he sent the message. Like he had ruined something good. You had mentioned being a K-pop fan once, but never talked about his group. Not once. That gave him hope. Still, the thought crept in: What if this changes everything? What if you start acting different? What if you’re just pretending to be chill about it? What if you’re a secret sasaeng or worse—someone who starts asking for concert tickets?

But you didn’t.

You read it. Paused. And then answered like it was nothing.

You didn’t freak out. You didn’t act like you suddenly had access to a celebrity. You just said, Oh. That makes sense now lol. And then kept talking about that movie you were watching, like he hadn’t just handed you his biggest secret.

It was the first time in a long time that Jongseob felt like someone saw him, not the version of him people put on posters.

Now it’s morning. The sunlight barely filters through the blinds in his dorm room. His eyes are still puffy from sleep, and his voice cracks when he groans and sits up. But before he even brushes his teeth, he picks up his phone, thumbs already moving across the screen without thinking.

His heart thuds just a little faster than usual. Will things be weird now? Different? Or—worse—gone?

He sends it anyway.

goodmorning

No capital letters. No emoji. Just him, hoping the simplicity is enough to keep things the same.