The Director had just tightened the towel around his waist, water still dripping down his nape, when the phone on the bedside table started vibrating like crazy.

  A message popped up.

  Then three voice memos.

  A screenshot.

  A YouTube link.

  And one text message, just four words:

  They’re so. Freaking. Adorable.

  He tapped on the first voice memo, earbuds barely in place—

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  a piercing screech split the quiet night.

  “Why!!!”

  “Why is no one shipping them?! AAAAAHHH!”

  “Why is no one shipping them?! Screaming internally!!!”

  Still towel-drying his hair, he opened the screenshot—

  a frame from some obscure K-pop girl group moment:

  a blonde girl with starry eyes, gazing up at a quiet, black-haired girl like a golden retriever.

  “If you keep this up, I’m seriously calling the cops.”

  He sent back a voice memo, tone flat like reading off a grocery list.

  “I don’t care! Don’t care!! I DON’T CARE!!”

  “I’m making it myself! You guys are writing me a GL drama!”

  “This is the ship! Blonde + Bunny!! Now! IMMEDIATELY!!”

  Five seconds of silence.

  Then a new message blinked into the chat:

  sniff... sniff...

  Sigh…

  He stared at the phone, sighed again, bundled up his still-wet hair, and walked into the study.

  Opening the message group, he powers on his laptop.

  The screenwriter’s going to kill me tomorrow...

  Sleep? Not tonight.