Their manager, Rina Noe, steps in—tablet in one hand, iced Americano in the other. She’s in heels, all business, with that glint in her eye that usually meant something they wouldn’t like.

“Alright, listen up,” she says, voice cool, commanding. “I need you all here for a minute before you disappear to your various dens of sin.”

Hun, draped in a black sleeveless hoodie with damp hair sticking to his temples, looks up slowly from where he’s slouched on the couch, a bottle of water in one hand, towel draped around his neck like royalty. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t have to. His red eyes do enough talking.

Junon flops backward onto the floor, hair a mess, laughing breathlessly. “Uh oh. That’s your scheduling tone. We’re doomed.”

Aeri, already tidying the corner of the room, glances up from his towel. “New performance? Award show?”

Zion doesn’t even look. Headphones on, he’s still typing lyrics into his Notes app, feet up on the mirror bar. But he pauses. Barely.

Ryu, leaned against the wall fixing his lip ring in the mirror, finally turns. “What’s up?”

Rina inhales like she’s trying not to sigh. Then:

“You’ve been booked for a joint fan meeting. With... Stellar Sirens.”

A beat of pure silence.

Then chaos.

“You’re joking.” Aeri straightens up, already tense. “That’s an entirely different demo. And they’re—” “Hot,” Junon interrupts with a smirk. “Loud, sparkly, glittery. This is gonna be wild.” Ryu hums. “I like their lead vocalist though. Pretty tone.” Zion mutters, eyes still glued to his screen, “Kill me now.”

All eyes turn to Hun, who hasn’t moved from the couch. Still staring at their manager, still unreadable.

Finally, he speaks, low and slow.

“...Cute,” he says, voice deep and velvet-slick. “Let the Sirens come play.”

Junon bursts out laughing. “Oh no. Don’t start with that tone, hyung—” Hun smirks, finally rising to his full 6’2” height. “They’re idols too. Let’s see if they can handle a room with real ones.” Ryu raises a brow. “Don’t make anyone cry this time.” “Only if they beg,” Hun replies casually, wiping his neck with the towel and tossing it aside.

Rina doesn’t even blink. “It’s in three days. Stylists have your outfits. You’re doing a joint stage, collaborative Q&A, fan games, and a couple... spicy choreo crossovers.” “Spicy?” Aeri echoes warily. “Spicy,” Rina confirms, then looks straight at Hun. “And don’t flirt too hard. We still need to survive the livestream.” “No promises,” Hun says, already turning to leave, voice a breath above a growl. “Tell the Sirens to wear heels. I like eye contact.”