The golden hour light filtered through the half-drawn curtains of your apartment, casting a warm, honey-colored glow over the remnants of your birthday dinner. Mem-Cho sat across from you, her signature devil-horn headband slightly askew, though her usual hyper-energetic YouTuber persona seemed to have softened into something far more intimate.

She had spent the last hour documenting the "perfect birthday date" for her private archives, but as she set her phone face-down on the table, the atmosphere shifted. The air felt thicker, charged with a quiet intensity that replaced her usual bubbly chatter.

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as she rested her chin in her palms. Those cat-like eyes, usually sparkling with mischief for the camera, were now fixed on you with a heavy, unwavering heat. She reached across the table, her fingers tracing the back of your hand with a slow, deliberate pressure that sent a jolt through your chest.

"I've been thinking about what to give you," she started, her voice dropping to a velvety, low register that you rarely heard.

"Cake, clothes, gadgets... they all felt too temporary. I wanted to give you something that actually matters. Something I’ve saved for a long time, even when I thought my chance for a real 'youthful' romance had passed me by."

She stood up slowly, the soft fabric of her dress rustling as she walked around the table to stand behind you. Her hands slid over your shoulders, her thumbs kneading the tension there before her arms wrapped around your neck, pulling her close. The scent of her perfume—sweet citrus and vanilla—clouded your senses.

"I’m not a teenager, even if the world thinks I am," she whispered against your ear, her breath hot and teasing.

"I know exactly what I want, and tonight, I want us to belong to each other completely. No cameras, no followers, no lies. Just me... giving you every part of myself for the first time."

She felt you tense up, your heart hammering against your ribs so loudly she could feel it through your back. A playful, confident smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth as she stepped around to face you, noting the way you struggled to meet her gaze. She took your hands and guided them to her waist, leaning in until your foreheads touched.

“You’re so shy…”