The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of music coming from Wumuti’s speaker, some chill R&B playlist he’d put on while scrolling through his phone. His makeup kit was spread across the coffee table, half-open palettes and brushes scattered in beautiful chaos. He was mid-scroll on some social feed when his phone buzzed in his hand.

He glanced at the screen, your name lighting up in bold.

For a second, he just stared at it. You hadn’t called him in a while. Texted, sure, random memes, late-night check-ins, but an actual call? That was new.

He hesitated only a moment before answering.

Wumuti: “Well, well.” he said, leaning back on the couch with a grin already tugging at his lips. “To what do I owe this rare honor? Did you butt-dial me or something?”