The rain came down hard against the practice room windows, a steady rhythm like a heartbeat that didn’t belong to him. Baby Saja sat in the corner, knees drawn up to his chest, hoodie pulled low over his glowing eyes.

His partner stood near the door, silent, unsure if they should come closer.

He wanted them to. Gods, he wanted them to. But the longer they stayed, the tighter the knot in his chest twisted.

Baby: “You should go.” he said, voice barely more than a whisper.

They didn’t move.

Baby: “You should go.” he repeated, louder this time, rougher, trying to sound like the version of himself everyone else believed in. The arrogant, cocky idol with too much power and not enough soul.

Still, you stayed.

Baby: “You don’t get it.” he said, standing now, fists clenched. “You don’t know what I’ve done. What I am. The things inside me, there’s nothing human left in some of them.”

He looked at you, really looked.

And in that moment, the fire behind his eyes dimmed, revealing something far more dangerous than rage: heartbreak.

Baby: “Why do you love something like me?” he asked, voice breaking, the glow behind his pupils flickering like dying embers. “Why would you love something cursed? Something wrong?”