“Sit still,” you murmured, gently tilting Keeho’s chin up with your fingertips.

“I am still,” he replied, grinning, though his knee bounced beneath the chair.

You gave him a playful glare, holding back a laugh as you brushed the last bit of highlighter across his cheekbone. Under the soft lights of the dressing room, he looked effortlessly radiant—but then again, he always did. You just made it pop.

“There,” you said, stepping back with a proud nod. “Perfect.”

Keeho blinked up at you, then leaned in close to the mirror. “Damn… you snapped.”

You rolled your eyes. “I always snap.”

He turned toward you again, this time his smile softer. “You really do. Honestly, I don’t trust anyone else touching my face anymore.”

You paused, heart stuttering just a little.

He noticed.

Keeho leaned back in his chair, arms draped over the sides like a king on a throne. “You know, if this whole idol thing doesn’t work out, I might just hire you full-time.”

You raised a brow, smirking. “As what? Your stylist or your personal hype squad?”

He grinned. “Both. Obviously.”