As the other artists handled their packed schedules—ad campaigns, podcast guest appearances, interviews, and more—Foca and Bobby had already reached their own destination.
Nestled in the Upper East Side, where old money slept soundly behind iron gates and centuries-old brick, Foca parked in front of a stately townhouse that looked like it had more history than both of them combined.
The moment Foca stepped out of the car, two strong, overly enthusiastic arms wrapped around him, nearly tackling him straight to the pavement—saved only because Bobby was right behind him.
"Oof—" Foca wheezed as the air was brutally knocked out of his lungs.
"Whoa!" Bobby exclaimed, quickly steadying him.
A loud, excited squeal rang through the quiet street. The culprit? A stunning young woman with wavy brunette hair, clinging to Foca like an anaconda and tackling him like a linebacker at the Super Bowl.
(« Petit Pain ! Tu es vraiment là ! Ça fait tellement longtemps que je ne t'ai pas vu ! » — "Little Bread! You're really here! It's been so long since I've seen you!")
Lili practically vibrated with excitement, as if powered by several Red Bulls and zero self-control.
(« Ugh… Lili, c'est vraiment agréable de te revoir aussi… mais s'il te plaît, lâche-moi. » — "Ugh… Lili, it's really nice to see you too… but please, let me go.")
Foca said breathlessly, dignity barely intact.
(« Oh… bien sûr ! » — "Oh… of course!")
Lili released him immediately, stepping back with a bright grin.
That's when Bobby finally got a proper look at her.
And suddenly—boom.
The world went cinematic.
Time slowed.
The sunlight sharpened.
Every sound faded into a soft, meaningless hum.
Cliché? Sure.
But it was absolutely love at first sight.
His heart started pounding way too loud for its own good.
Nope. Absolutely not.
Bobby shook the thought away violently.
"Are you bloody mental, Bobby?! Falling in love this early in your career? What are you, an idiot?!"
The internal battle was so intense he slapped his own face out of nowhere.
SMACK.
Both Foca and Lili snapped their heads toward him.
(« Euh… Petit Pain, ça va ? » — "Uh… Little Bread, is he okay?")
Lili asked, concern softening her tone.
(« Honnêtement… je n'en suis pas sûr moi-même. » — "Honestly… I'm not sure myself.")
Foca replied, brow furrowing.
"Are you okay, Bobby?" Foca asked aloud.
Reality hit Bobby like a truck.
He had just slapped himself in front of his CEO… and the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He straightened up immediately.
"Er—yes, sir. I'm fine. There was just… an insect."
"Uh-huh…" Foca replied, very clearly not buying it.
Lili giggled.
And Bobby swore—swore—it sounded like soft chimes carried on a gentle breeze.
Yeah.
He was done for.
Boys really do get poetic when they fall in love.
Or maybe it's just the beginning of a few screws coming loose.
Love's a bitch like that.
(« Il est vraiment adorable… et charmant aussi. » — "He's really adorable… and charming too.")
Lili said, smiling sweetly at Bobby.
(« Il a ce côté intello un peu maladroit… c'est totalement mon genre. » — "He has that nerdy, awkward energy… that's totally my type.")
Foca rolled his eyes hard enough to see his ancestors.
(« Tiens-toi bien. » — "Behave yourself.")
He lightly scolded her.
Bobby blinked, still smiling but clearly lost.
"Um… is everything okay?"
Because the entire time—
They'd been speaking French.
And Bobby?
Bobby was already hopelessly, dangerously cooked.
"No, everything's fine," Foca said, waving it off like nothing emotionally catastrophic was unfolding two feet in front of him.
"By the way, Bobby—meet Lili, my cousin."
"Lili, meet Bobby. One of the artists who just debuted under my company."
The introductions were made.
"P-pleasure to meet you!" Bobby stuttered adorably, extending his hand while actively turning the color of a strawberry.
"Zhe pleasure's all mine!" Lili replied, flashing a smile so bright it should've come with a warning label, and took his hand.
And oh.
Oh no.
Bobby swore—swore—he had never touched a hand so soft in his entire life. Her skin was velvet. Literal velvet. Meanwhile, his own hand suddenly felt like it belonged to a medieval blacksmith.
Neither of them let go.
They just… stood there.
Hands clasped.
Smiling shyly.
Staring at each other like two idiots who just discovered love exists.
If Foca hadn't very pointedly cleared his throat—subtle in the way a gunshot is subtle—they would've stayed like that until marriage.
"Erm… sir," Bobby finally asked, reluctantly releasing Lili's hand like it physically pained him, "may I know why we're here?"
He'd been too scared to ask earlier. The entire car ride had been dead silent. No music. No talking. Just Bobby's thoughts betraying him every five seconds.
"Oh—did I not tell you?" Foca asked, genuinely confused.
"No-no, sir," Bobby said, shaking his head slowly.
"Zhere you go again, Little Bread!" Lili laughed, clutching her stomach. "Do forgive him—he's always been zhe kind of person who forgets to give context."
She laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear from her eye.
"Well," Foca sighed, "I do admit my shortcomings. Apologies."
And he said it so casually, so sincerely, like apologizing was as natural as breathing.
"Oh no, it's quite alright!" Bobby rushed to say, panicking slightly. "I trust you, sir Foca!"
Lili watched this exchange like she was witnessing a rare and precious woodland creature.
"Anyway," Foca continued, "we're here to help create a song for Lili."
Bobby blinked. "A… song?"
"Yes. She happens to be France's representative for the upcoming Euroversion."
There was unmistakable pride in Foca's voice.
"Really?!" Bobby gasped, whipping his head toward Lili like she'd just revealed she was royalty.
Lili nodded bashfully.
"That's bloody amazing! Congratulations, Miss Lili!" Bobby said, genuinely thrilled, eyes sparkling like he'd just found treasure.
"You can drop zhe miss, Bobby," Lili said softly. "You can just call me Lili."
"Is… is that okay?" Bobby asked, cheeks heating up like a faulty toaster.
Lili nodded, smiling shyly—blushing just as hard.
And just like that?
They were gone again.
Lost in their own little world.
The air practically turned pink. Hearts, sparkles, and soft piano music vibes everywhere.
Foca stood there.
Watching.
Existing.
Third-wheeling so hard he could feel his soul leaving his body.
He exhaled slowly.
He was so over this shit.