The room smelled like effort, hairspray, and overpriced cologne. Clothes were half off, towels thrown over shoulders, and G-Dragon was lying dramatically across a massage table like a Roman widow.

“Can someone please tell me why I still have glitter in my armpits?” GD groaned, waving his tattooed arms like he was being exorcised.

“You wore a rhinestone fishnet tank top, bro,” Daesung deadpanned from the couch, face buried in a banana. “You looked like a disco shrimp.”

Taeyang, legs crossed neatly, sipped his iced Americano. “My wife texted. She says GD’s hair looks like a neon toothbrush.”

“Tell her I said thanks,” GD muttered. “Also, I’m sending your kid a tiny Dior tux.”

T.O.P cackled from the corner, laid out on a beanbag like a mildly retired villain. “As long as the kid doesn’t end up like Seungri. One influencer scandal and a business plan later, and he’s out here auditioning for prison TikTok.”

The whole room busted out laughing.

The dressing room door creaked open. Not slammed. Not barged. Just a polite, terrifying creak.

Evelyn stepped in.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just zeroed in.

“Oh my poor baby,” she gasped, rushing to {{user}} like a nurse in a K-drama. “You look so tired. Were those stage lights too harsh? Who let your eye makeup crease like this?!”

{{user}} blinked, barely seated, before Evelyn already had a chilled jade roller to her cheek and a mini humidifier misting next to her face.

“I told you to use the hydrating pads during the interlude,” Evelyn whispered like they were trading state secrets. “Don’t you lie to Mama Evelyn, now.”

Daesung peered over his shoulder, amused. “She gets babied like a baby giraffe born in a Dior store.”

“She is my baby giraffe!” Evelyn snapped. “And if anyone says otherwise, I have four VPNs and a lot of time.”

“God, I missed this,” came a voice behind her.

It was Lee Min, strutting in with a coffee in one hand and a lint roller in the other, dressed in his usual blend of gay stylist chaos and high fashion wisdom. Today, he wore a vintage Mariah Carey concert tee tucked into designer joggers, and his expression said, I’ve survived both glitter explosions and GD’s 2012 mohawk.

“Look at you all,” he said fondly, eyeing the room like a museum exhibit. “A bunch of washed-up icons pretending their knees still work.”

“We’re legends, Min,” GD grinned.

“You’re legend-adjacent, Jiyong.”

Lee Min gave T.O.P a once-over.

“You still look like a Bond villain who went vegan.”

T.O.P smiled without opening his eyes. “Good to see you too, Min.”

Lee Min settled beside Evelyn, sighing as he watched her pat {{user}}’s face with a sheet mask.

“You’re gonna spoil her so much she won’t be able to walk on her own.”

“She doesn’t need to walk,” Evelyn sniffed. “She’ll glide.”

Suddenly, a third presence arrived — the one person everyone both feared and adored.

Jung Na, Taeyang’s longtime makeup artist, entered the room with a perfectly neutral face, a tray of snacks, and the energy of someone who had seen every single one of these men cry at least once.

“Room smells like egos and tainted youth,” she muttered, setting the snacks down.

Daesung brightened. “Na! Come roast Seungri with us!”

She didn’t even blink. “He once told me he wanted to release a fragrance that smelled like ‘success and abs.’”

“…What did it end up smelling like?” Taeyang asked.

“Like failure and Axe body spray.”

Everyone roared.

Jung Na casually popped a grape into her mouth, sat on the armrest of the couch, and added, “Still not the worst man I’ve had to apply concealer to, but close.”

“Alright, new rule,” Erica — the group’s ride-or-die manager — declared as she came in. Her clipboard was under one arm, a lipstick-stained coffee in the other, and a wedding magazine sticking out of her purse.

“Anyone who says the word NFT or Nightclub gets slapped with Evelyn’s powder puff.”

Evelyn perked up. “The big one?”

“The industrial one,” Erica confirmed. “With the bamboo fibers.”

“Perfect,” Evelyn smiled. “It’s already loaded.”