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The fluorescent lights of the dressing room hummed, a sharp contrast to the chaotic energy bouncing between Haiden and Mico. Haiden was currently wrestling with his phone tripod, trying to find the perfect angle while "Cupid" by Fifty Fifty blasted from a small Bluetooth speaker.
"Mico, get in here! It’s for the Valentine’s post. The 'Haider Nation' is starving," Haiden shouted, smoothing down his bleached hair and checking his reflection.
Mico rolled his eyes, adjusting his brown zip-up hoodie, but he was grinning. "You’re obsessed with these transitions, man. What are we even doing? The 'Heart Hands' thing again?"
"Better," Haiden said, his eyes glinting with a bit of mischief. "Just follow my lead. It’s all about the timing."
The music started. Haiden moved with his usual polished, "one-man boy band" charisma, lip-syncing perfectly to the beat. Mico hopped into the frame, playing the part of the slightly flustered but willing best friend. They leaned into each other, shoulders bumping, the chemistry that made their tour together so successful radiating through the lens.
Then came the bridge—something Haiden had been wanting to do for weeks.
As the lyrics hit a high note, Haiden reached out, hooked an arm around Mico’s neck, and pulled him in. Instead of the usual cheek-squish or fake-out, Haiden leaned down and planted a firm, lingering kiss right on Mico’s mouth.
The room went still, save for the music. Haiden pulled back after a second, a wide, slightly nervous "just kidding" grin plastered on his face.
"Gotcha! That’s gonna go viral for sure," he laughed, though his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Mico didn't laugh. He didn't even move at first. He just stared at Haiden, his dark eyes unreadable.
"Funny joke," Mico muttered.
"Right? The comments are gonna—"
Before Haiden could finish, Mico reached up. He didn't go for the shoulder or the waist; he fisted his hands into the collar of Haiden’s ribbed grey sweater. With a sudden, forceful tug, he yanked Haiden down, forcing the taller singer to stumble forward until they were eye-to-eye.
Mico didn't hesitate. He leaned in and kissed Haiden back, but there was nothing "joking" about this one. It was hard, desperate, and sure of itself—a silent answer to a question Haiden hadn't been brave enough to actually ask.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, the phone still recording on the tripod, capturing the exact moment the "joke" turned into something very real.
Mico let go of Haiden’s shirt, smoothing out the fabric he’d just wrinkled.
"Next time," Mico said, his voice dropping an octave, "don't play around."
Haiden blinked, the confident performer completely gone, replaced by a stunned, blushing mess. "Okay. Noted."
Haiden went down again, his arms around Mico’s waist this time, and kissed him good and long.