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 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.

Opened the group chat.
Opened his laptop.

The screen glowed back at him.

The screenwriter’s going to kill me tomorrow…

Sleep? Not tonight.