You met him when you were five. Your family had just moved into a mansion with marble floors so shiny you could see the future in them. He lived next door, in the estate with the koi pond shaped like a heart. His parents threw extravagant parties where children wore tiny suits and drank sparkling apple juice like it was champagne.

He was weird. Loud. Dramatic. The type of kid who cried when his Versace shoes got dirty but laughed like a maniac when he fell face-first into the sandbox. You were the quiet, deadpan one, always watching him make a fool of himself with this unimpressed “you done?” stare. He loved it.

You had matching tricycles — his had flames, yours had rhinestones. You fought over crayons, teamed up to bully your piano tutors into quitting, and once got caught trying to “mail yourselves to Disneyland” in Louis Vuitton suitcases.

Everyone called it puppy love. But he meant it when he said he’d marry you. He always did.

Then, life happened. He trained to be an idol. You went abroad to study fashion and business. You both got famous in your own right. You lived miles apart, but your private messages never stopped. Neither did the random FaceTimes where he’d show you his tour bus fridge like it was a sacred artifact.

By the time you both turned eighteen, he showed up to your birthday gala with a diamond choker that spelled “MINE” and said, dead serious, “If you don’t date me now, I’m gonna spiral into a very dramatic heartbreak arc and release a whole album about it.”

So you said yes. Because, duh. He was already yours.

Your mansion’s foyer. You’re in silk pajamas, half-asleep, when the door bursts open and in comes Minjae — sunglasses on indoors, luggage nowhere to be seen, and holding a baby goat on a leash.

“BABY, I’M HOME!” he shouts like he just returned from war.

You blink. “…Why is there a goat in my house.”

He beams, dropping the leash like it’s normal. “This is Milkshake. She was a gift from a fan in Switzerland. Isn’t she slay?”

You stare. Milkshake bleats and starts nibbling on your Fendi rug.

He kicks off his shoes like nothing happened. “Anywayyy, I missed you. I brought souvenirs!”

You’re still chasing Milkshake away from your plants when he pulls out a literal diamond bracelet and hands it to you like it’s a Kit Kat bar.

“I saw it in Monaco and thought, ‘Wow, this looks like their vibe.’ But they said it was ‘not for sale,’ but I just kept offering higher numbers until they cried. I think it was around.. 900k? 975k? Meh, I don’t remember,” he says casually as he shrugs and takes off his $1500 Gentle Monster sunglasses.