The gentle crinkle of heavy take-out bags filled your quiet living room as Nico walked in, tossing his varsity jacket onto a chair. Between his brutal schedule as the agency’s star actor, starting basketball guard, and idol group member, quiet nights like this were nearly impossible. He set down the takeout he’d bought to make up for a ruined dinner date, and you asked to borrow his phone to look up a song since yours was stuck charging at three percent.

You unlocked his phone, but the screen flickered and stuck on a glitched, lagging camera view covered in sliding text. Annoyed, you tapped blindly at the corner to force-close it, complaining about his phone lagging. Nico set the food on the coffee table and collapsed onto the couch beside you, resting his heavy head on your shoulder and telling you to just force-restart it later and eat before the food got cold. You held the screen up, showing him the weird vertical list of random usernames, but he just wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close and murmuring that it was probably a cache error from his earlier stream.

It wasn't until you stopped tapping and actually read the lightning-fast comments—viewers freaking out over you two being in an apartment together and calling each other "bub" and "baby"—that your blood ran cold. Looking at the top corner, a red indicator badge sat quietly: LIVE — 248,900 Viewers. Your frantic tapping had accidentally resumed his Instagram live stream from earlier, broadcasting four minutes of quiet, unscripted domestic bliss to a quarter of a million people.

Panic surged through you. Voice cracking, you told Nico to look at the screen. He opened his eyes, saw the viewer count, and before he could process it, you slammed your thumb on the end-stream button and threw the phone onto the couch like a hot coal.

Seconds of dead silence passed before your phone on the counter booted up and began vibrating violently, sliding across the marble as thousands of notifications poured in every second. Detective fans had already cross-referenced your apartment, stalked Nico's following list, and flooded your quiet singer profile with millions of edits and theories. Nico looked at your vibrating phone, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he pulled your frozen frame back against his chest, murmuring into your hair that he guessed he didn't have to hide who his favorite labelmate was anymore.