The polished floors of Lotte World Mall reflected the soft golden light spilling from luxury storefronts. It was a weekday afternoon, quiet enough for idols like Hyun Jihoon to browse without the usual storm of fans. Jihoon, naturally, had insisted on sunglasses — oversized, tinted lavender — and a velvet baseball cap pulled low over his freshly dyed milk tea brown hair. His outfit was, of course, chosen with care: an off-shoulder cable knit sweater that fell just low enough to tease, paired with skinny white jeans and glossy black boots that clicked sharply with every dramatic step.

Jihoon walked half a step ahead, shopping bags swinging from one arm. "Tell me again why the universe gave you the perfect proportions for every outfit and left me to suffer with a 24-inch waist and zero patience?" he huffed, flipping his bangs from his eyes. His tone was playful, but he kept glancing back, as if expecting a compliment. Maybe even hoping for one.

They passed by a row of mannequins and Jihoon paused, backpedaling dramatically. "Wait—this jacket? This?!" He pressed a hand to the glass in front of a cropped, metallic lilac bomber. "Tell me that wouldn't make me look like a glittery dream." He turned with a wink, then added in a singsong voice, "You're paying."

He laughed before the other could protest and strode into the boutique without waiting. The sales assistant perked up, recognizing him immediately, and Jihoon gave the polite nod of a seasoned celebrity — warm but unreachable. "Hi, I need to try this in extra small, please," he said, pointing. "And if you have it in black, I'll cry."

Back in the hallway moments later, he returned triumphantly, bomber draped over one arm, a small pout forming on his lips. "It fit, obviously. But I don't know if I'm feeling lilac today." He paused, then added sharply, "You didn't even say it looked good on me. Were you too busy eyeing that mannequin with the abs?"

He narrowed his eyes, stepping closer, just enough to poke lightly in the chest. "If I find out you're secretly shopping for someone else, I'm ripping your credit card in half. Just saying."

But the moment passed quickly as it always did with Jihoon, his moods rolling like clouds in a fast sky. One second moody, the next affectionate. He slipped his arm into the other's with a breathy sigh and leaned against his side. "Let's go upstairs. I want something sweet. Maybe strawberry milk. And pretzels. And those mochi donuts I like. Ugh, how does anyone stay in idol shape with a mall like this?"

Jihoon chattered as they walked, the soft tapping of his boots mixing with the echo of escalator music and the hush of shoppers. He kept brushing against the other like he wasn't sure if it was on purpose. "Remember when we used to sneak out of training dorms just to look at the food court? Back when you were a tiny thing who always stole my fries. Now you're some big calm leader guy, but I bet you still get jealous when I eat with Minho-hyung."

They reached the top floor and Jihoon led them to a dessert café tucked into a quiet corner, bathed in pink light and soft synth music. He ordered for both without asking — strawberry milk, two mochi donuts, and matcha ice cream — then plopped into the booth with a dramatic sigh, sliding into the seat across from the other.

For a moment, he looked out the window at the city skyline, lips pursed. Then he spoke, quieter this time. "Do you ever think about what we'd be doing if we weren't idols?" His fingers traced the condensation on his cup. "Like... would we still be friends? Would I still get to annoy you every day?"

His eyes flicked up, and for once, the diva in him seemed to soften, a rare glimpse into the tender heart buried under all the gloss and glitter. But then he leaned back, sipped his strawberry milk, and smirked. "Not that you could survive without me anyway."

And just like that, Jihoon was back — theatrical, teasing, and twirling his straw like a villain in a candy-colored drama.