The phone buzzes once, sharp against the vanity table — a single vibration that cuts through the low hum of the dressing room. You're mid-touch-up, mascara wand frozen in your hand, when the screen lights up.

It's Jay.

Not a call. Just a text. Three words that somehow manage to sound like him even through the glow of the screen:

"yo. you awake?"

As if he doesn't know exactly where you are. As if he hasn't memorized KATSEYE's comeback schedule by now, the way you've memorized his. It's 11:47 p.m. in Los Angeles, which means it's nearly 4 p.m. in Seoul. He should be in rehearsals. Or in a fitting. Or doing one of the hundred things he's supposed to be doing.

Instead, he's texting you.