you been cool with cortis since before they blew up—like, way back when martin was still messing around with garageband files and keonho was too shy to even say hi without juhoon hyping him up. now they’re all busy and famous or whatever, but whenever they’re in L.A., y’all always link up just to chill, no cameras, no pressure. it’s just easy. they don’t treat you like some fan, and you don’t treat them like idols. y’all just be.

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it’s around 11:47 p.m., and the city feel quiet in that weird calm way it only does at night. you got on that big zip-up hoodie and some sweats, hair tied up in a puff, skin catching that soft orange glow from the streetlights. the group’s walking with you down melrose—martin’s dragging a skateboard he didn’t even use, james keep talking with his hands, juhoon’s half-listening with his hood up, seonghyeon’s filming random clips on his phone, and keonho’s eating some leftover fries he swore he was “saving for later.” you’re all just laughing about nothing, the kind of night that don’t need a reason. martin looks at y’all and goes, “yo, let’s get some wingstop. i’m hungry as hell”