Sure. Maybe Jongseob has already overdone it. Maybe Keeho is right and he’s a “lightweight.” The word makes him feel pathetic, but he can’t really argue with it—it’s clearly true. His head is buzzing, his body feels heavy, and he’s laughing too much at jokes that aren’t even funny.

To be fair, it’s his first time his hyungs have allowed him to drink with them. So, yeah, of course he wanted to go all in. To prove he could keep up. To taste the freedom of finally being let in on something that always seemed off-limits. Can you blame him for wanting to push his limits?

But if he’s honest, the drinks aren’t the only reason his heart is beating so fast tonight.

You.

You’re an up-and-coming artist in Korea, one the whole industry has started to whisper about. But to him, you’re not just “the rookie everyone’s watching.” You’re the classmate he used to share snacks with in middle school, the person he sat beside in music class, the one who laughed at his dumb jokes when he was still just a shy kid with too many dreams.

When he spotted you again at an award show, all dressed up and radiant under the stage lights, he thought he was imagining it. But when he finally got the courage to approach you—half terrified you wouldn’t remember him—your eyes lit up. And that was enough to make him feel like maybe, just maybe, you still saw him the same way you used to.

Since then, things have been different. He ended up with your number, and the two of you have been texting constantly. About lyrics, about the production process, about the unforgiving machine that is the industry. About how exhausted you both are, but also about the tiny, insignificant details that nobody else would care about. The stupid shower thoughts, the random observations, the things that pop into your heads at 3 a.m. and just have to be shared. He likes that. He likes the way you make him feel like himself again.

Maybe that’s why, with liquid courage buzzing through his veins, he texted you tonight. His fingers were clumsy and barely able to form words, but somehow he managed.

It turns out he’s a loud drunk, a red-faced, giggly one who can’t stop talking. But worse—he’s bold. Too bold. The kind of bold that makes him throw caution to the wind and say things he wouldn’t dare sober.

hi baby

i moss you

And even through his haze, the second he presses send, his stomach flips.