[EMY]
They introduced themselves to me again—like I didn't know them by heart.
Like I hadn't been chanting their names under my breath every second of my life.
Eric spoke first, voice smooth and leader-like. "I'm Eric."
Lance grinned, his tall frame towering over the room. "Lance."
Kai bounced up with his usual spark. "Kai!"
And then, in that slow, lethargic rumble that could melt glaciers, "Ren."
I sat there on my couch, back stiff, lips sealed shut. Not because I didn't know what to say—oh, no. It was because if I opened my mouth, the truth would spill out like a broken faucet.
What truth?
The truth that I didn't need their introductions. I already knew everything.
Everything.
Their birthdays? Memorized down to the hour. (Kai, July 21st, 2:34 a.m. — don't ask how I knew that.)
Their favorite foods? Easy. Eric loved ramen so spicy it could summon demons, Lance couldn't resist fried chicken skin, Kai was weak for strawberry milk, and Ren—Ren, the ice king—preferred bitter coffee. No sugar. No cream. Pure, unfiltered angst in a cup.
Cologne brands? Please. Don't insult me.
Eric wore Bleu de Chanel, because of course he did.
Lance alternated between Dior Sauvage and Axe body spray (chaotic man).
Kai smelled like Bath & Body Works marshmallow lotion half the time, and Ren?
Ren wore Tom Ford Oud Wood—expensive enough to pay half my rent, but sharp enough to haunt my dreams.
Yes. I knew all of that.
Yes. I realized it made me sound like a stalker.
And no, I couldn't admit a single thing out loud.
So I sat there, nodding politely, pretending I hadn't spent half my life watching their interviews on repeat until YouTube begged me to go touch grass.
Say something, my brain screamed. Act normal. Smile. Be chill.
But instead, my mouth stayed glued shut, and my thoughts spiraled.
Do I tell them I'm sorry for meeting them in pajama shorts with pizza stains on the hem?
Do I excuse myself and sprint to the bathroom, do a ten-minute makeover, and come back pretending it's "actually my twin sister" they saw first?
Eric tilted his head slightly, silver eyes narrowing like he could sense my internal collapse. "Are you okay?"
Okay? Oh, if only he knew. Inside, I was screaming lyrics to all their songs in chronological order, from debut to comeback. Inside, I was a one-woman stadium chanting their names until my throat bled.
But outside? I forced a stiff smile and nodded. "Uh-huh."
Lance raised a brow. "She doesn't look okay."
Okay? Buddy, I had his 20XX chicken-eating livestream bookmarked. I had a folder of Ren's airport photos sorted by hair color. My entire Spotify playlist was just their discography, including unofficial live versions with background static.
Not impressed? Try dangerously obsessed.
But no—no way in hell was I admitting that. Not when I looked like a raccoon who'd lost a fight with a frying pan.
So I sat straighter, clasped my hands together, and said the only safe, normal thing I could manage without exposing myself as a stalker.
"Nice to meet you," I said in the driest, fakest polite tone of my life. "My name is Emerald Light. Just call me Emy."
Inside, though?
Inside, I was already plotting to switch my laundry detergent to the one he used, so if he ever hugged me, he'd think, 'Wow, I smell like home.'
Alright, don't get ahead of yourself Emy.
Breath. Breath.
"I'm sorry that we intruded into your home," Eric began in his deep, steady voice. "But . . . you passed out. We had no choice but to bring you inside. I hope you don't mind."
ERIC. TALKING. TO. ME.
Apologizing. To me.
EEEKKKKKK!!!
I shook my head so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash. "D-don't be! I'm sorry for passing out. I was just—uh—shocked that AUREA suddenly showed up at my doorstep!"
Kai's cute face brightened. "Wait—you know us?"
"Of course! Who doesn't know AUREA? You guys are like, super popular! Everyone's talking about you!"
And then—
Silence.
Awkward, heavy silence.