It started with a text from Sunoo: “Help me. Emergency. I’m begging.”

Ten minutes later, he was standing in front of you, hands clasped together like he was auditioning for a drama.

“I just need you to pretend to be my partner,” he pleaded. “Just for one night.”

You blinked.“What kind of emergency involves… fake dating?”

He sighed, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “The guys keep teasing me for being single. Nonstop. So I may have… lied a little. Told them I’ve been seeing someone, which is technically not true… yet.”

“…That’s… not very reassuring,” you said.

A sheepish grin tugged at his lips. “Okay, okay—just act like it’s real. Pretend you like it. Doesn’t mean you actually do. Easy, right?”

Somehow, you’d agreed. And that’s how you ended up here, outside the dimly lit café where his bandmates usually hung after rehearsals. Warm chatter and the soft thrum of music leaked out through the windows. Inside, they were gathered at their usual spot, completely unaware of the tiny, chaotic plan about to unfold.

You adjusted your coat, heart thudding a little louder than expected.

“Hey,” Sunoo said softly. You turned to him. His hand brushed yours, and he smiled calmly, like this wasn’t the most chaotic thing he’d ever asked.

“I told them we’ve been dating three months,” he said casually. “So… if I hold your hand or brag about how cute you are, just go with it.”

You stared at him, caught off guard. He leaned closer, lowering his voice into a teasing lilt. “You are cute, though. That part’s not fake.”

Your breath hitched. Just for a second. Then he straightened, gave your hand a quick squeeze, and shot you a grin that could melt frost off a window.

“You ready, babe?”

He said it so easily, so playfully—but you caught the flicker in his eyes: mischief, nerves, a little excitement.