Before Foca could fully drown in the teeth-rotting sweetness saturating the air, he mercilessly yanked both Bobby and Lili back to reality.
"So," Foca deadpanned, eyebrow arched so high it nearly reached the clouds, "should I give you two a moment alone?"
Bobby promptly inhaled wrong, choked on his own spit, and spun away coughing like his life depended on it.
Lili, meanwhile, slapped a hand over her face, cheeks blazing a violent red while fanning herself with the other hand like she'd just been hit by a heatwave.
"Let's get down to business, shall we," Foca said flatly, already turning on his heel and walking toward Lili's residence.
Translation: I am one second away from gagging.
Bobby and Lili scrambled after him, but somehow—somehow—they ended up walking just a little too close.
Shoulders brushed.
The backs of their hands touched.
Neither of them pulled away.
Instead, they stole glances at each other.
Caught said glances.
Immediately giggled like idiots.
Absolutely zero shame.
Were they moving fast?
Abso-bloody-lutely.
Did this kind of thing happen in real life?
Rarely—but when it does, it hits like a freight train with a rom-com soundtrack.
Sometimes the stars align. Sometimes the universe just says, "You. You. Now kiss—emotionally."
And before you start doubting it because you're single and bitter—stop. This shit does happen. Touch grass.
Anyway.
Foca walked ahead, getting emotionally pelted by invisible flying hearts, sighing like a man who had aged at least thirty years in the past five minutes.
Still, he let it be.
Because what Bobby and Lili had?
It was soft.
It was genuine.
Painfully innocent.
And just because he had been sandblasted by the brutal realities of life didn't mean he needed to stomp all over theirs.
Sure, he had reservations.
Bobby was a freshly debuted artist.
Lili had a slight head start—but she was still green herself.
The industry was ruthless. Timing was tricky. Stakes were real.
But Foca wasn't careless.
He was being lenient—with intent.
Because if things ever went south?
He already had fail-safes stacked like chess pieces.
For now though?
He'd let the kids have their pink, giggly, stupid little moment.
Even if it shaved years off his life.
****
The moment they stepped into Lili's house, Bobby's eyes practically popped out of his skull.
The interior was the very definition of old-world elegance. Marble floors gleamed beneath their feet, mahogany walls and staircases rose with quiet authority, and for a split second, Bobby felt like he'd been violently yeeted back a few centuries—straight into the Victorian era.
A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, crystal prisms catching the light and scattering it across the grand foyer like stardust.
Then they entered the living area.
And Bobby nearly dislocated his jaw.
A grand piano sat proudly in the room, polished to perfection, commanding attention without saying a single word.
Lili, of course, noticed.
And she loved it.
Every widened eye. Every stunned pause. Every soft, awestruck inhale. Bobby's reactions were downright adorable, and she soaked them all in like a cat basking in sunlight.
Foca seated himself gracefully on a plush velvet chaise lounge facing the fireplace, entirely at home. Bobby and Lili settled onto the velvet loveseat to the right, with a crystal glass coffee table centered between them. To the left of Foca—looming elegantly—stood the grand piano, like a silent witness to everything about to unfold.
At first, Lili had been heading toward the chaise lounge.
Toward her cousin.
She paused.
Struggled internally for approximately half a second.
Then promptly plopped down beside Bobby instead.
And just like that, Foca had the entire chaise lounge to himself.
He stared at Lili.
The look was a devastating cocktail of betrayal, disbelief, and I-am-so-over-this.
He hadn't seen his cousin in ages, and the moment she laid eyes on a hot, nerdy, baby-girl-coded young man? Boom. Priorities rearranged.
Lili simply smiled at him—sweet, apologetic, and absolutely unrepentant.
Was she truly sorry?
Not really.
Did Foca forgive her instantly?
Unfortunately, yes.
They'd grown up together. He'd always treated her like a younger sister. One smile from her, and his resolve crumbled every damn time.
The housekeeper entered quietly, distributing refreshments and delicate pastries. All three murmured their thanks, and once the room settled again, focus finally shifted to business.
"So," Foca began, voice soft with fondness, "you've been trying to enter Euroversion for two years now. And you finally made it."
He remembered it clearly—two kids, barely taller than the piano bench. Lili, eyes blazing with determination, promising him that one day she'd stand on that stage. And when she did, she wanted him to write her song.
Back then, he'd smiled, indulgent, thinking it was just childish dreaming.
And yet—here they were.
"You have no idea how hard it was zhis year," Lili groaned. "Zhey did an internal selection instead of a zelevised national final. Zhankfully, zhey chose me. I guess zhey saw my determination after zwo years of zrying."
"We take those," Foca nodded, pride unmistakable. "You have undeniable talent, Lili. They'd be idiots not to choose you. Your credentials speak for themselves."
"Aww, little bread," she teased, "I didn't know you zhought so highly of me."
"I'm simply stating facts," Foca replied calmly.
And for once, it wasn't glazing. Not even a little.
Lili had competed—and won—in multiple international competitions throughout her school years. She ate, slept, and breathed music. Every note, every breath, every sacrifice had led her here.
And before anyone dared question her credibility—she earned this. Every single time.
No shortcuts. No family money. No favors pulled.
She was stubborn to the core.
Possibly even more stubborn than Foca himself.
Everything she'd achieved had come from relentless effort, scraped knuckles, and refusing to quit.
And now?
Her hard work was finally bearing fruit.
"You're really amazing."
Bobby said it so simply, so earnestly, with a smile so soft it could've melted glaciers.
Lili short-circuited.
"Staaaaphhh!" she whined, lightly shoving him with zero force and a whole lot of embarrassment. "I'm not zhat great—little bread just makes it sound zhat way…"
"No," Bobby said immediately—firm, unwavering, convicted. "I really think you are amazing. You never gave up on your dream. You worked for it, fought for it, and now you're here. If that's not bloody amazing, then I honestly don't know what is."
Lili blinked at him.
"You really zhink so?" she asked, genuinely—vulnerable, hopeful.
Bobby nodded without a single second of hesitation.
"Yeah. I really do."
Her lips curved into a soft, radiant smile. The kind that felt like it was meant just for him.
"Zhank you," she said quietly. "Zhat… really means a lot."
And just like that—if Bobby hadn't already fallen for her?
Congratulations. He was now irreversibly fucked.
No rope. No ladder. No emergency exit.
Meanwhile—
Foca sat there.
Existing.
Barely.
His eye twitched.
His fingers flexed.
He stared at the crystal glass coffee table like it had personally wronged him.
He could feel it—the urge. The temptation. The violent need to flip the entire table just to remind these two love-drunk idiots that HE WAS ALSO PRESENT IN THE ROOM.
But no.
They were already gone.
Mentally transported into their own pink, sparkly, rom-com bubble where Foca did not exist.
He didn't want much.
Just not to be the third wheel.
For this particular situation?
Apparently, that was asking for the impossible.
So yeah.
F in the chat for Foca.