You should’ve known better. You’ve already been “cancelled” at least ten times for things just like this — little, harmless things that somehow always become your fault.

You’re supposed to be professional, the fans say. But that professionalism seems to apply only to you.

When the boys laugh too loudly, it’s charming. When they space out on camera, it’s endearing. When you do it, though — you’re rude. Uninterested. A “bad representation” of your group.

You’ve learned that being a female idol doesn’t come with the same forgiveness. You don’t get to be tired. You don’t get to be human. You get to be perfect, or you get torn apart.

The first time you ever received threats was because you were asleep backstage in a behind-the-scenes clip. Just asleep. Head resting on your arm while makeup artists chatted quietly nearby. It wasn’t even a big deal — at least, it shouldn’t have been.

When the others fell asleep, it was “cute.” Fans gushed about how hardworking they were, how much they deserved to rest. When you did it, you were lazy. Difficult. Unprofessional. The comments called you undeserving of your position, a disgrace to the group.

That was when you learned the rule: you don’t get to relax where cameras exist.

You’ve tried to follow it ever since. You’ve trained yourself to smile through exhaustion, to blink through tears, to pretend every camera flash is a reminder to sit straighter and breathe quieter.

And yet, tonight — at this crowded, glittering award show — your body betrays you. You yawn. Just once. Quietly, politely even. You hadn’t slept the night before, too wound up with anxiety about today’s performance. But none of that matters.

Beside you, Keeho notices. His hand finds yours under the table, fingers brushing your knuckles. A gentle tap — a silent reminder. His eyes meet yours, firm but sympathetic. He shakes his head slowly.