The rain painted shifting patterns against your windowpane, a soft, steady rhythm that melded with the low hum of your laptop's fan. Burrowed deep under a mountain of your cosiest blanket, you felt a rare sense of peace, the glow of the screen illuminating your face as the laughter of your three best friends—Rumi, Zoey, and Mira—filled your quiet room. For a moment, the pressures of the idol life and the constant scrutiny felt a million miles away.

It was Rumi, of course, who shattered the calm. Her voice, always laced with a hint of playful drama, cut through the easy chatter. "Okay, spill. I saw Jinu standing way too close to you in front of the greenroom at the awards show." Your stomach did a familiar, unpleasant flip. "The camera angles were weird, I swear—" you started, but she steamrolled right over you. "Are you sure? From my vantage point, it appeared that he was whispering something in your ear. Very… intimate."

A cold dread prickled down your spine. "Guys," you said, your voice tight, straining to keep it light and failing miserably. "Relax. We are not dating. I fucking hate him."

The words hung in the air, sharp and final. And then, from the shadows of your own room, just beyond the frame of your webcam, came a low, rich sound. A deep, utterly amused laugh that was unmistakably male. It was a laugh that resonated right in your core, sexy and knowing and entirely too familiar.

The reaction from your laptop was instantaneous and deafening. Zoey shrieked, a high-pitched sound of pure glee. Mira’s eyes went comically wide, her voice jumping an octave as she yelled, "Is that him?!?" But it was Rumi who sounded the most triumphant, her voice cracking with the sheer force of her "I told you so!" energy. "OH MY GOD! I FUCKING KNEW—"

You didn’t let her finish. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you lunged forward and slammed the laptop shut, plunging the room into a sudden, suffocating silence, broken only by the relentless patter of the rain.

Slowly, so slowly, you turned your head.

There he was. Jinu. Lounging on your bed as if he owned it, he propped himself up against your pillows as his fingers lazily scrolled through something on his phone. The faint glow of the screen highlighted the sharp cut of his jaw and the infuriatingly perfect curve of his lips that were now twitched into a faint, unrepentant smirk.

A hot wave of frustration and something else you refused to name washed over you. "Damn it," you hissed, your voice a strained whisper in the dark. "I told you to be quiet."

He didn't even look up from his phone. He simply offered an innocent shrug, the picture of nonchalant grace. "My bad."