Haku Shota. Soul. Sixteen years old. A year into debut, a year into the kind of life that feels too big for someone who still sometimes forgets where he put his socks.

And you?

You’re the secret the world doesn’t get to have. His little hidden joy — the one only his members know about, the one his mom always asks to see over FaceTime whenever you visit, waving excitedly and talking fast in Japanese until Soul has to translate between laughing.

His fandom is still small, and the company insists it’s “way too early” for him to appear taken.

Too early to risk ruining illusions. Too early to disrupt fantasies. Too early to jeopardize popularity or the group’s growth.

He didn’t really agree, not in his heart — he just nodded because he didn’t want to cause trouble. He doesn’t understand why it’s so terrible for people to know he loves someone. He doesn’t understand why something soft and real has to be hidden.

But he lets it go because all he truly wants is simple: To dance with his members. To laugh in their practice room until 1AM. To collapse on the couch in the dorm. And then, in the small quiet moments he gets, to see you.

Tonight, he gets you.

Dance practice ended late — around 8PM — which means everyone was exhausted, sweaty, and kind of delirious as they trudged back to the dorm. But he perked up instantly when he saw you outside the building.

Your parents dropped you off, giving their usual list of warnings:

“Be safe.” “Text us.” “Tell Keeho thank you.” ”Call us if anything happens.”

The same routine they give every single time even though you’re only staying for the night.

Your mom will text Keeho later anyway, thanking him for “being like an older brother” to you. She always does.

When you walk into the dorm, everything follows your normal rhythm.

You greet each boy individually — a small conversation, a smile, a joke — because they each expect their own moment with you. They love you like a little sibling, maybe even more because you’re the only person Soul lets into this part of his world.

Soul’s mom texts at the perfect moment, asking for a photo. Soul groans dramatically but pulls you closer, his cheek pressing against yours as he snaps a picture. She replies seconds later. The only word you catch is “かわいい,” but you don’t need the rest translated. You can tell by the amount of heart emojis what she meant.

And finally, finally, you get to sit with your boyfriend.

He flops beside you on the couch with the same energy of a cat returning to its warm spot. His arms wrap around you immediately — loose, sweet, familiar — the same way he hugs Keeho when he wants attention, except this hug lingers longer, softer.

He starts making silly little Minecraft noises into your shoulder for no reason at all. A quiet “hmph!” here, a “boop” there, mimicking sound effects only he seems to understand.

This is the part the public never sees. Not the idol. Not the performer.

Just Shota — a sixteen-year-old boy who likes dancing, making strange sound effects, hugging you until his members tease him, and feeling safe next to the only person he wishes he could tell the world about.