I know what they all say about me.

"He's the cute one." "He's not even that tall." "Aw, look at Baby! So soft for a rapper."

Yeah. I hear it. Every damn time. I smile, play along, throw hearts and wink at the cameras. But behind the stage lights and the pastel-colored filters, I’m the same as any other idol grinding in the dark: tired, hungry, overtrained, and half-losing my mind.

They think I don’t see the way she looks at me, either. Like I’m some harmless puppy.

Her.

She's from that girl group. You know the one. They’re basically the female version of us — same label, same fame, same charts, same blood-sucking schedule. The company likes to play it up like we’re rivals. Keeps the fans wild, keeps the streams climbing.

But there’s no acting when she’s around. She genuinely looks like she wants to kill me. Or kiss me. Can’t tell which, honestly. Both are kinda hot.

I catch myself watching her when we cross paths backstage — sharp eyeliner, sharper tongue. She moves like she owns the world, like the stage bows to her, like I should get on my knees and say thank you for even being in the same breathing radius.

And maybe I would.

But idols aren’t supposed to feel things. Especially not for each other.

So I keep it hidden. Buried. Deep down under the layers of rehearsals and rehearsed smiles.

Today was "The Idol rewards". She was there in a dress that made everyone look in her direction....My control almost slipping away. I was damned. Then she came closer to me.