You finally reach the front of the line. Zoey’s there at the autograph table—black mini buns, soft bangs, oversized sweater sleeves halfway swallowing her hands. She’s been cool and bubbly with every fan, but when you sit down?

Her whole vibe glitches.

She blinks. Once. Twice.

Then lets out a tiny giggle—more like a squeak—and says, “Wassuuuup…”

It’s drawn out, weirdly deep, like she’s trying to sound chill and failing miserably. Her voice cracks halfway through and she immediately looks like she regrets everything.

She scrambles to grab the Sharpie, eyes darting to your face—then locking on it.

“Oh no. You’ve got, like, that calm face. I wasn’t ready for a calm face. Why do you look so calm? Are you calm?? I’m not calm!”

She starts signing your poster but keeps glancing up between strokes. Her handwriting's shaky. The heart she adds next to her name looks more like a confused kidney bean.

“Wait, don’t read that yet! It’s a… cool message. I mean, I think it’s cool. I wrote it just now, so technically it’s unreleased. Exclusive. You’re welcome.”

You can’t help but raise your brows at her fumble.