Herrscher of Insanity

Twice

Nayeon

Anything for you

Drop-dead Gorgeous

Jeongyeon

Momo

Sana

Jihyo

Mina

Dahyun

Chaeyoung

Tzuyu

___________________

aespa

Karina (Yu Jimin)

Girls, cats, and roommates... oh my!

Enchanted to Meet Yu - Meeting Yu Again

Yours Truly - Love's Compass

One of us is falling

Dating Advice with Jimin!

Unsaid Things

Claiming Hearts

She's not afraid

Web of Hearts - Sticky Situations

Married to Yu

Dress

The Princess and Her Guard: Timeless

Royal Ties

A Christmas Promise

Untitled

Poison Lips - Pt 2

Matching Bruises

In Every Lifetime

Giselle (Aeri Uchinaga)

Winter (Kim Minjeong)

Not the 'meet cute' I expected

Bound by Darkness

Tangled Webs and Heartstrings

Ning Ning (Ning Yizhuo)

End Up Here

___________________

Le Sserafim

Sakura

Chaewon

The Daily Life of a Leader

Yunjin

Kazuha

Ancient Roman Empire

The marble halls were quiet at this hour, save for the soft click of leather sandals. Lady y/n Primus, daughter of Lucius Primus, governor of one of Rome’s most profitable provinces, carried herself with the poise expected of nobility — tall, ethereal, chin held high.

Trailing just a step behind her was Jimin, a young guard enlisted to protect the Primus family’s youngest daughter. The rumors in the barracks were endless — “Too soft,” they whispered. “Shows her too much devotion.” But no one could deny that Jimin moved like a shadow forged specifically to guard y/n.

They had known each other for years now. y/n, with her silks, pearls, and floral perfume — Jimin, with her sword, sunburnt skin, and devotion. What began as youthful fascination (a noble girl too curious, a guard too eager to please) had bled slowly, quietly, into something neither of them was allowed to name.

The heated baths.

y/n sat at the edge of the warm pool, legs dipped in, hair unpinned and falling down her back — a luxury reserved for times when no one else was around. “Come here,” she whispered.

Jimin stood near the mosaic wall, trying to pretend to scan for threats.

“My lady, I shouldn’t—”

“Jimin,” y/n warned gently.

She obeyed, dropped to one knee, close enough to feel the steam from the water. y/n’s hand came up, fingertips tracing the line of Jimin’s jaw. That’s when she said it — for the first time.

“If I were not born Primus… would you have loved me then?”

Jimin swore she felt her knees weaken under the armor. “My lady,” she breathed, voice catching. “I have loved you every day — whether you are adorned in gold or ash. I would love you even if we were nobody.”

That was the first time y/n kissed her.

-----

They were caught when y/n dared to sneak Jimin into her bedchambers one night. Laughter, soft touches, forbidden whispers — until suddenly the door slammed open.

Governors. Soldiers. y/n’s father.

Shock. Disgust. Outrage. Betrayal.

Jimin was ripped away from y/n’s arms by two soldiers. y/n screamed, fighting against her mother’s tight hold. “Don’t take her! She did nothing wrong — I love her!”

Jimin was already bruised, blood at her lip, but she still stood tall.

“You are ruining her, you disgrace!” Governor Primus spat at Jimin. “You will never be seen again.”

They dragged Jimin from the room, sword confiscated, sentenced to exile or worse.

y/n broke free just as Jimin was being marched to the palace gates. She ran, barefoot and sobbing, silk nightdress slipping off her shoulder.

They didn’t have much time.

y/n pressed herself to Jimin’s chest, tears soaking the guard’s tunic. “I will find you,” she swore, voice shaking.

Jimin cupped her beloved’s cheeks, even though soldiers were tugging at her arms. “And if they take me far away—”

“Then I’ll chase you beyond the river Styx,” y/n breathed. “Swear to me.”

Jimin nodded, eyes burning with unshed tears.

“In every lifetime, I will love you.”

y/n’s reply was fierce, raw —

“In every lifetime, Jimin?”

Her guard smiled, even as they chained her wrists.

“In every lifetime, my love.”

They were torn apart moments later. y/n screamed Jimin’s name until her throat felt like glass and blood. She never saw Jimin again in that life.

But that promise — that vow — did not die with them.

It echoed.

It lingered.

It followed them into the next life.

____________________

Victorian Era — The Opera House Affair

Lady Yu Jimin stood in the glittering balcony box of London’s most prestigious opera house — La Florentina. Daughter of a wealthy shipping tycoon, she had everything a young lady could want: beauty, position, marriage offers stacking higher than her pearl chokers.

Then she stepped on stage.

y/n y/l/n, the opera’s dazzling lead soprano — a woman whispered about in every tearoom and ballroom from Mayfair to Paris. Rumors said she came from nothing; a provincial girl with too much voice and too little regard for propriety. They also said she seduced audiences with nothing but a single breath.

Jimin had never believed in gossip. Until now.

From the very first note y/n released into the velvet-draped air, Jimin forgot how to breathe. She clutched her opera glasses tight, pulse climbing with every high C, with every dramatic flourish. And when y/n smiled during her final aria — a slow curl of the lip, almost dangerous — Jimin felt something unfamiliar spiral through her ribs.

Something like… recognition?

Backstage, after the performance.

Jimin’s lady maid warned her it was not proper to go behind the curtain, but propriety had already begun its slow death inside her.

Gold buttons and lace whispered as Jimin stepped into the dim, echoing corridor. Costumes and cigarette smoke floated past as workers scurried by. Then y/n appeared, out of costume now — still radiant, still untouchable — with her long hair tied back and cheekbones catching the candlelight.

They nearly collided.

“Oh—! Pardon me, I—” Jimin’s words tangled.

y/n looked her up and down, noticing the expensive silks, the signet ring, the breeding in Jimin’s posture. “You’re far from the audience box, darling,” y/n murmured, voice low and smoky.

“I…” Jimin swallowed. “I wanted to congratulate you. Your voice — it was unlike anything I’ve ever heard.”

The songstress smiled. Dangerous. Magnetic. Like a woman who had cut her teeth on adoration.

“And you followed me backstage. How bold.” She stepped closer, whispering as though sharing a secret. “Do you often chase girls after dark, milady?”

Jimin felt her cheeks burn. “I-I don’t know what you mean—”

y/n brushed past her gently, letting her arm graze Jimin’s. “Come again tomorrow, then,” she murmured, walking away with that self-assured swagger, “and maybe I’ll sing just for you.”

Jimin stayed frozen long after y/n disappeared into the shadows — heart pounding like war drums against her corset.

And so it began…

Night after night, Jimin returned — “to appreciate the arts,” she lied to her parents. y/n would sing, eyes subtly seeking out Jimin’s box each time, until eventually she began to send hidden notes:

We close the curtain at 11. Stay. I’ll be waiting by the red velvet staircase.

Jimin tried to resist, she really did.

She failed.

One stolen midnight encounter turned into another, pressing deeper into the opera house’s forbidden corners — the costume room, the prop attic, near the orchestra pit where moonlight pooled like liquid silver.

They tasted each other’s lipstick for the first time behind a gilded column while violins were being tuned in the distance.

y/n’s hand was in Jimin’s meticulously coiffed hair.

Jimin’s hands were on y/n’s waist, wrenching her closer with desperation she didn’t understand.

“I… don’t know why,” Jimin confessed between fevered kisses, “but I feel like I’ve… known you before.”

y/n brushed her thumb over Jimin’s lips, wonderstruck.

“Funny,” she whispered, “I feel the same.”

-----

The brewing scandal

Lady Yu’s frequent disappearances did not go unnoticed. Whispers spread. “She’s been corrupted by that opera girl — that temptress.” Suitors withdrew their interest. Her mother cried behind lace curtains. Her father threatened to ship her off to Vienna.

Still — she returned to y/n.

Until one night, they were caught — not by staff, not by noble gawkers — but by the songstress’s own manager, who saw fortune and scandal in equal measure.

“If this ruins me—” y/n began, breath shaky against Jimin’s forehead.

“If?” Jimin echoed, gripping her hand tighter. “I won’t let them burn you for loving me.”

The manager sent a letter to Jimin’s family that very night. “Your daughter is conducting immoral liaisons with my singer. Control her — or I will go public for publicity.”

All hell was about to break loose.

And so, on the eve before everything could crumble in headlines, y/n pulled Jimin into her dressing room and whispered:

“Run away with me. Tonight. No carriages. No jewels. Just you and me.”

Jimin stared at her — heart thunderstruck — knowing that to say yes was to destroy everything she’d ever known…

…but somehow, even without knowing why, she knew she was meant to choose y/n.

She kissed her breathless, tasting dust and desperation.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll find you… even if they tear us apart.”

They fled that night — into fog, into danger, into destiny.

They did not yet remember why their love felt like lightning in their veins — why every touch felt familiar.

But fate did.

And it was already preparing their next lifetime.

____________________

Flapper & Mafia Heiress

The smoke in the air was thick, a swirling mix of jazz, gin, and secrets. The Velvet Lounge was a sanctuary for the city’s most dangerous and dazzling, its floors glimmering under the weight of speakeasy glamour.

y/n Primus — now y/n Devereux on stage — was electric. With well-defined curls, ruby lips, and a body wrapped in fringed sequins, she was the star of the show. The moment she stepped into the spotlight; the entire room stilled. No one could look away. She sang, smooth and sultry, as the band behind her played a soft jazz tune that turned quickly into a fast-paced rhythm.

Every single pair of eyes was on her. Every ear was tuned to the way she breathed her lyrics, like she owned every note, every word, every step she took.

But one set of eyes didn’t just watch her — they burned.

Jimin was there. She was always there, every night, sitting at the same corner booth by the stage, perfectly poised in a black velvet dress, pearls draped over her neck. No one knew her as anything other than the daughter of Don Yu, the notorious mafia boss who ran half of the city’s underground operations. Her father’s empire was built on fear, but Jimin? She was a different breed. Cold on the outside, but fire burning beneath the surface. No one could touch her. No one but the Devereux girl.

The moment y/n’s eyes met hers from the stage, Jimin felt something shift in her chest. Her fingers clenched around the glass of whiskey in her hand, her pulse quickening, as though her whole life had led up to this moment.

That singer girl, with the voice that could shatter hearts — she was a temptation Jimin knew she couldn’t resist.

-----

Later that night, as the show ended, the crowd began to spill out into the cool, foggy street, but Jimin didn’t move. Instead, she stood, her gaze locked onto y/n as the singer made her way toward the back of the lounge, where the performers would retreat to their private rooms.

Jimin followed her, unstoppable, the power in her stride betraying the dangerous pull she already felt.

The singer, sensing someone behind her, turned sharply.

"You want something, darling?" she purred, voice dripping with a boldness she hadn’t yet learned to suppress.

Jimin didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, a playful smile curling on her lips. “I want you.”

y/n’s breath hitched. She should have been more guarded, more composed — but something about the mafia princess in front of her made all the rules feel irrelevant.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” y/n said, leaning against the doorframe of her dressing room, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

Jimin took a step closer, her fingers lightly grazing y/n’s arm, sending a wave of electricity through both their bodies. “I know what I want,” she said, voice low and husky. “And I’ve never been good at waiting.”

The heat between them was immediate, charged with the unmistakable tension of two worlds colliding. Jimin wasn’t a woman used to being denied, and y/n? She had never felt so wanted.

Without another word, Jimin kissed her. Hard. Messy. Reckless.

y/n responded instantly, her hands threading into Jimin’s hair, pulling her closer, savoring the feeling of having her at last. Everything else faded away — the smoke, the sound of the city, the jazz that had once entranced her — all that mattered was the woman in her arms.

-----

But of course, nothing was ever simple.

Jimin’s father, Don Yu, did not approve of his daughter’s unpredictable desires, especially those that endangered his empire. By morning, the whispers were already circulating, people were talking, and those who knew better were shaking their heads.

"You know how dangerous it is to cross paths with a woman like that," one of Jimin’s closest associates warned her, his voice thick with concern. “She’s a Devereux.”

Jimin didn’t care. She never did. And yet, something inside her gnawed at her, a fear she hadn’t known she possessed.

The mafia princess and the flapper queen were like fire and gasoline.

But no one, not even Jimin’s father, would stop her from chasing y/n down again.

-----

It was a week later when y/n found a single rose on her dressing room vanity, the petals a deep red, almost too vibrant for the dim-lit space. Attached was a note — no name, just two words.

“Meet me.”

y/n’s heart skipped a beat. She knew who it was. Jimin. Bold, dangerous Jimin.

She didn’t waste time. That night, she slipped into the same flapper dress from the first night — a daring red this time — and made her way to the address scrawled on the back of the note.

She stepped into a dark alley, only to be met with the cool, smug smirk of Jimin, her silhouette leaning against a brick wall.

“Well, well,” y/n said, her lips curling in a flirtatious grin. “You’ve been busy.”

Jimin didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Before y/n could blink, Jimin had her pinned against the wall, lips claiming hers in a kiss that was all hunger and raw desire.

“I told you I’d have you,” Jimin murmured, voice thick with passion. “And I always get what I want.”

y/n laughed softly, breathless, “I think I want you too.”

And once again, they were bound by that unspoken, inevitable connection — one that could tear their worlds apart, but neither of them could run from.

____________________

Disco Nights & Roller Dreams

The glowing sign outside Electric Eden flickered hot pink and electric blue. Half roller rink, half nightclub — it was the place you went when you wanted to feel alive, reckless, and young forever.

Inside, glitter balls spun from the ceiling, casting shards of light across sweaty dancers and skaters speeding past to the beat of “Take On Me.”

That’s where y/n y/ln crashed into Jimin Yu for the first time.

Literally crashed.

y/n — wild curls, crop top, metallic pink skates laced up to her knees — was trying (and failing) to land a backward spin in the center of the rink. She spun too fast, lost control and—

WHAM! Straight into the chest of a girl in black skates and a leather jacket.

y/n landed on her ass, dazed.

Jimin looked down at her, chewing gum lazily.

“Nice form, bunny,” she smirked, offering a hand.

y/n took it, sparks shooting up her arm the moment their fingers touched. “You should watch where you’re standing,” she teased back, eyes narrowing playfully.

“I was standing still. You just wanted an excuse to fall for me.”

y/n snorted — and that was it. Destiny struck.

--

A few hours and dangerously strong blue cocktails later…

Their skates were tossed aside as they leaned against a neon wall in the club section, bass thudding, sweat-slick bodies pulsing around them.

y/n twirled a strand of Jimin’s dark hair around her finger.

“So… you come here often?”

Jimin smirked, hands settling low on y/n’s waist. “Only when I’m bored enough to toy with pretty girls.”

y/n laughed, bold and fearless. “Good thing I love being toyed with.”

Their lips crashed next — hot, messy, desperate.

Jimin tasted like mint and danger. y/n tasted like cherry lip gloss and chaos.

They didn’t even make it out of the club before Jimin had y/n pressed against a wall near the bathroom corridor, hands tangled in those wild curls as y/n tugged at Jimin’s jacket to pull her impossibly closer.

“I don’t even know you,” y/n breathed between kisses.

Jimin’s grin was wicked. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.”

--

They became inseparable.

Days blurred into nights. Skating, dancing, breaking into closed pools at 2 AM, laughing until their lungs hurt.

Jimin called y/n her troublemaker.

y/n called Jimin her bad habit.

They didn’t remember the lifetimes before — but their souls couldn’t help it. The way Jimin would find y/n’s hand in any crowded room. The way y/n looked at Jimin like she’d searched centuries just to find her again.

They burned fast and bright — reckless, bold, doomed in the way star-crossed things always are.

Because some loves aren’t meant to slow down.

They’re meant to keep crashing into each other.

____________________

Childhood Friends

It started with a pink bicycle and a scraped knee.

y/n y/n, age seven, was the new girl on Sycamore Lane — a shy, wide-eyed girl in sundresses and jelly shoes, freshly moved into the blue house on the corner. The neighborhood kids had already claimed their alliances, their treehouses, their territories.

y/n? She had no one. Except for her bike… and her stubborn need to ride it down the biggest hill in the park.

Which is how she ended up on the ground, tears pooling in her eyes, a long scratch blooming red on her knee.

“Hey! Hey, are you okay?”

y/n blinked through tears to find a girl standing above her — black hair in a messy ponytail, band-aids on her elbows, and scraped palms that said I do this all the time.

“I’m Jimin,” she said proudly. “You fell kinda bad.”

y/n sniffled. “I know.”

“Want me to walk your bike home?”

y/n hesitated. “...You don’t even know me.”

Jimin grinned. “So what? I like you.”

That was it.

y/n decided right then and there that Jimin Yu was her favorite person.

-----

Years passed.

They were always together. Bike rides, shared juice boxes, walkie-talkie calls between their bedroom windows. y/n was dramatic, artistic, always trying to write songs and make tiny plays in the backyard. Jimin was fearless, fiercely protective, and always ready to punch any boy who tried to tease y/n at school.

They were still just kids, but sometimes their parents would smile knowingly when they caught the girls curled up asleep on the couch, y/n’s head on Jimin’s shoulder.

“You two are gonna get married one day,” y/n’s mom teased once.

y/n turned bright red. “Mom!”

Jimin just grinned. “I wouldn’t mind.”

-----

Then came middle school.

Puberty. New friends. Growing pains. A hundred small ways the world starts to change you.

Jimin cut her hair short and started playing soccer. y/n started writing poems in her diary about soft hands and heartbeats she didn’t understand.

One day, Jimin saw the poems by accident.

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t tease.

She just smiled gently, tucked the notebook back under y/n’s pillow, and whispered, “You’re always writing about me, huh?”

y/n wanted to deny it — but instead, she looked at Jimin for a long, long time.

“I think I’ve always been writing about you.”

-----

By high school, they were inseparable again.

y/n still had stage fright but sang in the school talent show because Jimin swore she’d sit front row and cheer so loud it’d drown out everything else.

Jimin picked fights with anyone who said a word about y/n’s growing interest in music, her dreamy disposition, or her preference for holding Jimin’s hand just a little too long.

Everyone knew.

But they didn’t care.

They were home.

They never questioned why being with each other felt so… right.

So familiar.

They didn’t remember a Roman court.

Or an opera house.

Or a roller rink.

But their hearts did.

And when y/n turned sixteen and made Jimin her first kiss behind the bleachers, both girls swore they had never — ever — felt more at peace.

____________________

College Roommates

The first thing y/n noticed when she walked into their tiny dorm room freshman year?

Black luggage, a perfectly made bed, and a girl with sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones already organizing her desk with terrifying precision.

Jimin.

y/n blinked, dragging her own pastel-colored suitcase through the door. “You’re… my roommate?”

Jimin glanced up. Shrugged. “Apparently.”

y/n set her things down, her usual sunny confidence dimmed just a bit. Jimin looked… intense. Gorgeous, but intense.

“I’m y/n,” she said, offering a hand.

Jimin eyed it. Took it.

“I’m Jimin.”

Their fingers touched.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for something buried in both of them to spark.

Neither of them had names for it yet.

-----

Week one: total opposites.

y/n was the walking stereotype of a performing arts major — always humming, always singing, decorating her side of the room with string lights and glitter-covered polaroids. Jimin, meanwhile, was in political science, kept her side of the room painfully minimal, and looked like she hadn’t slept in years.

But they clicked anyway.

Somewhere between 2 AM ramen breaks, shared headphones during library study sessions, and Jimin showing up unannounced at y/n’s recitals — “just to watch” — they became inseparable.

Roommates turned best friends.

Best friends turned... something else.

-----

The shift came in spring semester.

y/n got dumped. Brutally. Tears, mascara, the works.

Jimin sat next to her on the dorm floor with two slices of cold pizza and her hoodie offered up silently like armor.

“He didn’t deserve you,” she muttered.

y/n sniffled. “You always say that.”

“That’s because it’s always true.”

The other girl turned to her, teary-eyed, soft. “You really think so?”

Jimin hesitated.

Looked at her.

Looked at her like she wanted to say something she’d been biting back since move-in day.

“…Yeah. I do.”

y/n leaned in — just a bit.

“Do you think maybe… the right person for me has been in this room the whole time?”

Jimin’s breath caught.

And y/n kissed her.

They never made it official, but everyone knew.

They shared a bed more often than not. y/n always wore Jimin’s hoodie. Jimin always saved her a seat in every class they shared.

They weren’t technically dating.

But when y/n’s childhood friend visited campus and tried to flirt with her, Jimin turned full deadpan and said:

“She’s taken.”

y/n didn’t correct her.

They weren’t in a rush. They didn’t need labels. Because when y/n laid her head on Jimin’s chest at night, she felt like she’d come home — again.

Like this was the thousandth time she’d found her way back.

_____________________

Pop Diva & K-Pop Idol

By now, their names were everywhere.

y/n y/l/n — the world’s reigning pop phenomenon. The voice, the vision, the headlines. Platinum-selling albums, magazine covers, the Met Gala. If she so much as sneezed, the internet caught fire.

Yu Jimin — Karina, top-tier K-pop idol. Fierce on stage, elegant off it. A goddess sculpted in Seoul, with fanbases that could rival armies and performances that left people breathless.

They were icons in their own worlds. Distant galaxies, orbiting millions of fans and endless expectations.

Until one awards show pulled them into the same room.

-----

Backstage. Seoul. Chaos. Glitter.

y/n stood by the catering table in a silver gown that hugged her like a second skin, sipping sparkling water and trying to escape the crowd of execs.

That’s when she felt it — eyes on her. Intent. Unshakable.

She turned.

And there she was.

Jimin.

Dark hair cascading down her back, a subtle smirk tugging at her lips. Their eyes met — and something ancient snapped into place.

Neither of them spoke.

But y/n swore her heart whispered,

“There you are.”

The rumor mill ignites.

They bumped into each other again. And again.

In Paris. In Tokyo. In Los Angeles.

Casual smiles turned into long stares. Short greetings turned into hushed laughter in corners.

Then someone caught a blurry photo.

y/n, with her hand on Jimin’s back.

Jimin, leaning in too close.

The headlines exploded:

“Global Pop Star Linked to K-Pop Idol!”

“Fans Speculate Romance After Steamy Afterparty Moment”

y/n’s team wanted silence.

Jimin’s label wanted distance.

“No more sightings. No more rumors. This could ruin everything.”

But it was too late. The connection had already sunk its teeth in.

Private worlds, hidden love.

They met in secret.

Hotels under fake names. Rooftops at 2 AM.

y/n would send Jimin voice notes with unreleased lyrics that sounded like confessions.

Jimin would write y/n’s name in her journal, circle it in hearts, then rip the page out and keep it under her pillow.

One night, in a quiet Airbnb in London, y/n curled up beside Jimin and whispered:

“It’s crazy. I’ve only known you for a year, and it feels like I’ve loved you forever.”

Jimin smiled softly, tracing y/n’s wrist with her fingers.

“That’s because you have.”

y/n blinked. “What?”

But Jimin just kissed her — long, slow, full of a thousand lifetimes.

-----

They didn’t plan it. It just… happened.

y/n was at her world tour finale. Thousands of people. Fireworks. Tears.

And right there, in the front row — Jimin.

y/n looked down mid-song. Her eyes locked with Jimin’s. The same unshakable pull. The same heartbeat skipping in her chest.

She sang to her. Only her.

When the final note echoed through the stadium, y/n dropped the mic, ran off stage — and into Jimin’s arms.

A fan captured it on camera. The hug. The way they didn’t let go.

And that’s when y/n whispered — not caring who heard —

“In every lifetime, Jimin?”

And Jimin, breathless and smiling like she finally remembered everything, whispered back:

“In every lifetime, my love.”

And maybe this time… they finally get to stay.

No exile.

No scandal.

No tragic ending.

Just two souls who kept their promise.

Lifetime after lifetime.

Era after era.

Always finding their way back.

____________________

A Promise Kept

It’s quiet now.

No screaming fans. No flashing lights. No bodyguards or managers or headlines chasing them.

Just y/n and Jimin, curled up together on a rooftop in the city that gave them everything — and almost took it away.

It’s early. The kind of early where the sky is lavender and the world hasn’t remembered to wake up yet. The air is cool. y/n’s wearing Jimin’s hoodie. Jimin’s got y/n’s legs draped over her lap, hands gently tracing hearts on her shin.

They’re both quiet. For a while.

Then y/n breaks the silence, voice soft, cracked at the edges.

“You know what’s crazy?”

Jimin hums. “Everything?”

y/n laughs. “No. Well, yeah — but also... I saw this painting once. It was of two women — one dressed like royalty, the other like a soldier. They were holding hands in secret.”

Jimin tilts her head. “Rome?”

y/n nods. “I didn’t know why it felt like us. But it did.”

Jimin’s smile falters — just slightly.

“I used to have dreams about an opera house. I could hear you singing. And I’d always be in the audience. Every single time.”

y/n’s breath catches.

“We remembered, didn’t we? Even when we didn’t know.”

Jimin presses her forehead to y/n’s, eyes closed.

“We always knew.”

They sit like that, trembling, smiling through sudden tears. And then they laugh — breathless, overwhelmed, ridiculous laughter.

Jimin wipes her cheeks. “We were so dramatic.”

y/n snorts. “So dramatic. We ran away from home like three times.”

“I nearly got shot for kissing you in a roller rink bathroom.”

“And I ruined a royal dinner crying over you.”

Jimin grins, teary-eyed. “You always do that. Cry.”

y/n pokes her. “You’re the one crying now.”

They both burst out laughing again.

When the laughter fades, it’s quiet again — but softer this time. Safer.

y/n looks out at the pink sunrise. “We made it.”

Jimin pulls her close, arms tightening. “We finally made it.”

No more hiding.

No more reincarnating with empty hands.

This time, they held on.

And the promise?

"In every lifetime?"

"In every lifetime, my love."

Was kept.

____________________

“Jimin… what the hell is that?”

Three pairs of eyes lock on Jimin the moment she waltzes into the practice room, coffee in hand, lipstick way too pretty for 9AM. She's smiling, humming, living her little main character life — until she takes her baseball cap off.

Minjeong gasps like she’s witnessing a murder.

Yizhuo clutches her chest like she’s eighty.

Aeri just points.

Right there, right in the MIDDLE of Jimin’s forehead— a bruise. A massive purple bruise. The kind you only see in action movies or old school k-dramas.

“What happened to your face?!” Minjeong shrieks, already halfway across the room grabbing ice from somewhere no one knew existed.

Jimin blinks. “What? This?” She taps it proudly. “Battle scar.”

Aeri raises an eyebrow. “You tripped again, didn’t you?”

“N—”

Before she can finish her lie, the door swings open.

In walks y/n y/l/n, international pop superstar and apparently aespa’s fifth, unofficial member at this point. She’s wearing sunglasses indoors, looking like she walked off the cover of Vogue.

“Hey girls, has anyone see—”

She takes the sunglasses off.

The room goes silent.

Because OH. MY. GOD.

y/n has the same exact bruise, perfectly matching Jimin’s.

“What in lesbian telepathy…?” Yizhuo whispers.

“Okay,” Minjeong throws her hands up, “someone better start talking or I’m calling SM and TMZ.”

--

Cue dramatic flashback:

Jimin and y/n.

A beautiful sunny afternoon.

They’re by y/n’s pool, being insufferably cute. y/n decides she “simply needs” to teach Jimin how to do a cartwheel (“for TikTok variety purposes”). Jimin claims she already knows how. y/n calls her “grandma.”

That’s all it takes.

They stand side by side on the grass.

One, two, three—GO.

y/n’s cartwheel? Surprisingly… perfect.

Jimin’s? Legs everywhere, arms nowhere, physics said goodbye.

They collide mid-air, both going BONK forehead first into each other like two medieval warriors. They crash. They roll. They lay on the ground in silence, dramatic clouds forming over them.

Seconds pass.

“…ow.”

“…did we die?”

“Baby, if we did, they better build a statue for us.”

They crawl back inside, using frozen peas and ego as first aid.

Flashback ends.

--

Back in the studio, aespa is traumatized but also wheezing.

“So,” Aeri asks slowly, “you’re telling me… both of you got matching forehead bruises because you were… doing couple cartwheels?”

y/n, perfectly serious, “It was a team-building activity.”

“Yes. For our relationship.”

Minjeong throws the ice pack at them. Yizhuo’s already tweeting. Aeri’s wondering if she needs to write a formal report to management or an exorcist.

y/n smiles sweetly. “Anyway! I brought Starbucks for everyone!”

And just like that, the crisis is forgotten — except now SM has twenty new rules including:

“No parkour, acrobatics, or unsanctioned gymnastics while in a relationship with y/n y/l/n.”

It was lunchtime when Jimin’s phone buzzed.

She stared at the screen, her blood running cold.

A notification from PoisonLipz.

The account had posted.

The caption was simple, almost too simple. The words, though? Explosive.

@PoisonLipz

“The Siren we never talk about.

Jimin. The girl who replaced y/n. The one who played the game so well, she forgot to play her part.

What happens when you play too long? You get greedy. You get stupid.

And now, here’s the truth:

Jimin was never supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to win. But she did. And now, here she is—still wearing y/n’s crown. And guess what? She wants it all.

You really think she wasn’t involved in y/n’s downfall?

Guess who’s been feeding me everything all along.

The crown was always y/n’s. But Jimin?

She’s just a pretty face, trying to play a queen.

Enjoy your reign while it lasts, princess.”

Jimin’s heart stopped.

She looked up from her phone, her face pale, and felt every single pair of eyes on her. The whispers started immediately.

“Did you see that?”

“No way, right?”

“She didn’t even—what?”

She couldn’t breathe. Not from fear. Not from shame. Just from the weight of the truth sinking in.

Her mind raced. The lies. The manipulations. Calla had played her.

It was all falling apart.

Jimin shot up from her seat, ignoring the laughter and pointing fingers. She ran out of the cafeteria, desperate to escape. Where would she go?

y/n’s face flashed in her mind—y/n’s smile, y/n’s quiet, calculating gaze. She had known.

y/n knew what was coming. She’d seen the game play out before. And now, Jimin was no better than her.

The hallway felt like it was closing in on her. Jimin’s heart pounded as she pushed through the crowd, but the voices surrounded her. Her phone buzzed again, but she didn’t look at it. The whispers grew louder. People were staring. Judging. Laughing.

Jimin locked herself in the nearest restroom, pacing, her thoughts spiraling. Her hands shook as she slid down to the cold floor, her back against the door.

How had it happened?

How had she fallen so far?

She thought of the kiss. Of y/n’s vulnerability. Of everything they’d shared. She had tried to convince herself it was all a game, but it wasn’t. It was real. y/n had let her in. And she had betrayed her.

And now, y/n had exposed her, like she always knew she would.

Jimin’s phone buzzed again. It was Renée.

Where are you? We need to talk. Calla’s gone too far. They’re saying you’re involved in everything. y/n’s right there, watching us.

Jimin felt her stomach twist. y/n. She was the one who had set this all in motion. She had allowed this to happen. And now, Jimin was paying the price for her mistakes.

The door to the bathroom slammed open.

Celeste and Renée rushed in, both looking frantic.

“What the hell, Jimin?” Celeste snapped. “What the hell?”

“I didn’t know it was going to happen,” Jimin whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t?” Renée interrupted, disbelief in her tone. “You’ve been so busy playing the victim, you didn’t even see it coming? Calla exposed you—she’s been feeding PoisonLipz all this time! You were the one who helped her.”

Jimin shook her head desperately. “I didn’t! I swear—”

Renée’s face hardened. “You’re lying, Jimin. We all are. But this—this is too much.”

Celeste looked at Jimin with disgust. “You’re just like y/n, aren’t you? You took her throne and wanted it all, but it was never yours to begin with.”

“Don’t say that,” Jimin said, choking on her words. “Please, don’t say that.”

“I think she needs to hear it,” Celeste muttered, almost to herself.

Jimin was already feeling the weight of the school turning against her. Every whispered conversation was about her. The stares. The laughter. The phone cameras. People were snapping pictures, posting them to social media.

And the worst part?

y/n was watching. She was there, at the center of it all.

Jimin stumbled out of the bathroom, her legs shaking. She didn’t know where to go anymore.

And then she saw it.

y/n, standing just beyond the crowd. She was watching Jimin—her eyes calculating, cold, satisfied.

Jimin froze, feeling like her heart had been ripped out. y/n wasn’t angry. She wasn’t fighting. She was just… watching.

“y/n,” Jimin whispered, but the blonde didn’t move.

Jimin’s breath hitched, but she didn’t know how to fix this. She didn’t know how to make it right.

y/n, with a tilt of her head, finally spoke.

“You played the game. You got greedy.”

Jimin felt tears sting her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Please,” she begged. “Please, y/n.”

y/n’s smile was cold. “You think I’m going to fix this for you?” she asked, her voice icy. “You think I’m going to come to your rescue? That’s not how this works.”

Jimin collapsed to her knees, her chest tight with pain. “I didn’t mean it. I never wanted any of this.”

y/n’s eyes softened just slightly, but the bitterness was still there. “You’ve got what you wanted. But it comes at a price. And now, you’ll learn how high the cost is.”

The girl turned and walked away, her back straight, her head held high. She didn’t look back.

-----

The day after the post was unleashed, the school felt like a warzone. Students were divided, cliques splintering. Some supported Jimin, others mocked her. Some whispered that she had always been the one pulling the strings, that she had manipulated everyone into thinking she was just a sweet girl from Korea who had “no idea what she was getting into.”

But then, there were the ones who knew better. They remembered how y/n had once been the queen of their high school world. They remembered the power she wielded—how she could bring you to your knees with just a look, a whisper. And now they saw the exact same thing in Jimin, and they were terrified of her.

But none of that mattered now. Because it wasn’t about Jimin anymore. It was about y/n.

By lunchtime, Celeste and Renée were already at y/n’s doorstep. They knocked repeatedly, but there was no answer.

“Please, y/n,” Celeste begged, her voice shaking. “You have to understand—we never meant for it to go this far.”

Renée was just as frantic, her hands trembling as she clutched her phone. “We didn’t know what Calla was going to do. You have to know—we’re not like her. We didn’t want this. We want you back.”

y/n didn’t open the door. She didn’t need to.

She knew what they were saying. She knew what they were pleading for.

And yet, y/n stayed silent, cold, behind her locked door. She had seen everything. The Sirens had betrayed her—Jimin had betrayed her. They didn’t get to ask for forgiveness now.

Meanwhile, Calla had gone underground. She’d known exactly what she was doing when she posted that content, and now that the dust had settled, she was nowhere to be found.

Jimin knew she had to confront Calla—she couldn’t let her get away with this. Not when Calla was the real puppet master behind everything. But the problem was, Calla had completely disappeared.

It wasn’t just that she was avoiding everyone; she had covered her tracks. PoisonLipz had gone dark. No posts. No updates. Nothing.

Jimin’s frustration grew with each passing hour. She couldn’t believe how easily Calla had played her, how she had let the girl pull the strings. She couldn’t focus on anything other than the burning desire to fix things.

Jimin’s phone buzzed again. She didn’t even have to check to know who it was. It was Renée, sending her the same message as before:

We can’t fix this without y/n. You need to make it right.

Jimin clenched her jaw. She had to make it right.

She couldn’t go back in time and undo everything. She couldn’t change what had happened. But one thing she knew for sure was that she was going to try.

y/n needed to know that Jimin was sorry—that she understood how badly she had hurt her.

Later that afternoon, Jimin found herself standing outside y/n’s house. The air was cool, and the sky was heavy with the weight of what was about to happen.

Jimin wasn’t sure if y/n would even listen. After everything, would she even care? But Jimin had to try. She couldn’t go on like this, feeling like something was missing.

y/n opened the door before Jimin had a chance to knock. She stood there, looking as beautiful and untouchable as always. But there was something different about her now. Something colder.

“You came,” y/n said, her voice flat.

Jimin swallowed. “I need to talk to you, y/n. Please.”

The blonde didn’t respond right away. She just looked at Jimin, her gaze unreadable.

Finally, she stepped aside, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

They sat in y/n’s living room, a space that used to be a sanctuary. Now, it felt more like a battleground.

The younger girl didn’t speak at first. She just watched Jimin, her expression guarded. Jimin felt like a stranger in the place that used to feel like home.

“I’m so sorry,” Jimin said, her voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted this. I didn’t see what I was doing until it was too late.”

y/n’s eyes softened, but only for a moment. “You played the game, Jimin, and you were good at it. You took everything that was mine.”

Jimin’s heart clenched. “I didn’t know. I didn’t understand. I just… I just wanted to be someone who was worthy of you.”

y/n blinked, her gaze flickering with something Jimin couldn’t quite place. “And now? What are you now, Jimin? You’re the girl who stole the crown and lost herself in the process. You’re the one who thought she could play me and win.”

Jimin reached out, her voice desperate. “I don’t care about the crown anymore. I just want you. Please, y/n. Please forgive me.”

For a long moment, the other girl didn’t respond. She just stared at Jimin, her eyes betraying nothing.

But then, slowly, y/n leaned in. She closed the distance between them, her voice quiet but steady. “You can’t just undo what’s been done, Jimin. You can’t just walk back into my life like nothing happened.”

Jimin nodded, tears threatening to spill. “I know. But I’m not giving up. I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. Just please… don’t leave me.”

y/n paused, the silence stretching between them. And for the first time since everything had fallen apart, she reached out and gently cupped Jimin’s cheek.

“You and those other losers better be ready. We’re doing things my way from now on.”

Jimin’s breath hitched as she closed her eyes, relief flooding her chest. It wasn’t a promise, but it was a start. And that was enough.

-----

At exactly 12:01 PM, students' phones lit up all across campus. Notifications from PoisonLipz, the gossip account that had haunted everyone for months, buzzed with a new update.

It didn’t mention y/n.

It didn’t mention Jimin.

It only had one name in bold:

@PoisonLipz:

“Calla.”

Not the villain. Not the mastermind. Not the mean girl.

Just a scared little girl who once tried to kill herself in a motel two towns over because she wasn’t enough for her own mother.

Just a girl who spent her entire sophomore year in therapy, begging someone to tell her she was worth something.

Just a girl who cried to her best friend at 3am because she couldn’t understand why everyone loved y/n more.

That same best friend who sat with her in silence.

That same best friend who held her hand in the hospital.

That same best friend who told her she mattered.

And now? That best friend is done protecting her.

You climbed the ladder Calla, but you forgot who let you climb it in the first place.

You tried to humiliate her.

You tried to be her.

But now?

You’re just the girl who lost her crown and her mask in the same day.

Silence fell over the lunchroom like a slap. No one breathed. No one moved.

Calla was seated near the center, mid-bite into a strawberry she now choked on. Her eyes darted around wildly. Every screen. Every table. The post was everywhere.

“No,” she whispered, face turning ghost-white. “No, no, no…”

The table around her backed away slowly—her supporters, her shadows, her pawns. One by one, they lowered their phones and stared at her with wide eyes.

You spent a year in therapy?

That was about you?

y/n was the best friend?

The realization hit like a slap: Calla had made an enemy out of the only person who ever loved her when no one else would. And now? y/n was done being ‘merciful’.

Calla stumbled to her feet, knocking over her chair, her hands trembling.

“WHO POSTED THAT?” she shouted. “WHO GAVE THEM THAT?!”

But she knew the answer.

She knew.

Her breath caught when her eyes found y/n across the room.

y/n was standing casually near the doors, her arms crossed, phone in hand. Calm. Composed. Untouchable. Her expression was unreadable… until she gave a slow, deliberate smile. The kind you only wear when you’ve just watched someone break.

Calla didn’t make it to the courtyard. She ran—past classrooms, past gawking students, past teachers who didn’t know what to say. She ran to the east stairwell, the one no one used anymore, and locked herself in.

Her breathing was erratic, panic clawing at her lungs.

This secret wasn’t petty. This wasn’t about who kissed who at a party or who lied about being a virgin.

This was her. The real her. The broken, terrified, unlovable version of herself she tried to bury.

And y/n had just dragged her into the light.

Calla sank to the floor, shaking.

Tears poured down her cheeks. And all she could hear was y/n’s voice echoing in her head, from years ago, way before she became a Siren:

"I love you, even when you hate yourself."

That voice was gone now. That girl was gone.

y/n y/l/n was unrecognizable, and she had finally destroyed her.

Meanwhile…

y/n walked out of the lunchroom like a queen returning to her palace. Celeste and Renée flanked her again, heads held high.

Jimin followed a few steps behind, quiet but loyal.

y/n said nothing at first. But when the hallway cleared and they were alone, she turned just enough to glance over her shoulder at Jimin.

“She’ll never come back from that,” she said flatly. “She doesn’t deserve to.”

Jimin looked down, heart heavy. “You didn’t have to go that far.”

y/n’s gaze sharpened. “Yes, I did. She posted about my sister.”

Jimin didn’t argue. Because she knew the pain of that betrayal, too. She had caused it once.

“I just hope…” Jimin said softly, “that one day you’ll forgive me.”

y/n looked away.

And said nothing.

-----

A Few Weeks Later

The halls had quieted. The chaos that had once ruled the school faded into whispers, glances, and subtle power plays. But the throne? The throne was filled again.

y/n y/l/n sat at the center table in the courtyard, a perfect picture of control—silken navy blazer draped over her shoulders, sunglasses perched on her nose, iced coffee in hand. The Sirens flanked her, still stunning, still untouchable, but quieter now. Calmer. Meaner only when they had to be.

And at y/n’s right hand—just slightly behind her, like it had been decided long ago—was Jimin.

Gone were the innocent smiles. Jimin had been forged in fire. And she wore the scars in the way she carried herself now. Elegant. Careful. A touch more dangerous. She still had to earn the blonde’s full trust again, and y/n reminded her of that in a thousand tiny ways every day.

“Are you still mad at me?” Jimin had asked once, curled beside y/n on her bedroom floor, a soft blanket over their legs.

The younger one had turned to her slowly, pretending to think. “Still? No. Mad? Maybe. In love with the drama of making you beg for forgiveness every morning? Absolutely.”

And Jimin, already leaning in, had kissed her anyway.

Calla was a name no one said out loud anymore. If anyone asked, they’d say she transferred. Moved away. Vanished. Some whispered that she’d been completely dismantled by y/n y/l/n and would never recover. Others weren’t even sure she’d ever existed.

The blonde never spoke her name again. Not once.

She had deleted the final PoisonLipz post herself, a soft mercy. But she never said she regretted it.

Jimin had asked, once, in a low voice as they sat outside the old science building.

“Do you ever think you went too far?”

y/n had sipped her drink, staring at the fountain just beyond the window. Then, without blinking, she answered:

“No. I think I waited too long.”

Celeste and Renée were still loyal. Still sharp-tongued and beautifully dressed. But the cruelty they once wielded so recklessly had dulled at the edges. They’d seen how far things could go. Their leader didn’t demand violence the way she once had. Now she demanded precision. Restraint. Power in silence.

“It’s more fun this way,” she’d said with a wink, glossing her lips as Jimin leaned against her locker. “We don’t have to lift a finger. People bow just because we’re in the room.”

Jimin had smirked. “Including me?”

y/n didn’t look at her. “You’re not people, babe. You’re mine.”

It was late in the day, almost golden hour. The quad buzzed with gentle background noise—laughter, feet hitting pavement, someone blasting music from their speaker. The year was winding down. Senior year, their last together.

y/n sat under their usual tree, fingers idly scrolling through her phone. She looked up as Jimin approached, hands in her jacket pockets, eyes soft.

“You’re late,” she said coolly.

Jimin grinned, dropping to sit beside her. “You love me late. It gives you something to complain about.”

The blonde snorted. “You’re confusing annoyance with affection again.”

“Mm. You keep kissing me, so I don’t think I am.”

A beat. y/n glanced at her, and for the first time all day, she smiled. Truly smiled.

“You’re still not off the hook, by the way.”

“I know.”

“I’m still going to punish you.”

“I hope so.”

y/n rolled her eyes and leaned in, lips brushing Jimin’s like a secret. They kissed slow, quiet, like they had all the time in the world. When they pulled apart, Jimin rested her forehead against y/n’s, whispering:

“So… what now, your highness?”

y/n looked out at her kingdom—her school, her legacy, the little empire she’d built from ashes and venom and charm.

She exhaled softly.

“Now?” she said. “Now we rule.”

______________________

Jimin stepped through the front doors of Rosehill Academy, her uniform perfectly pressed, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail that made her cheekbones look even sharper than usual. Her transfer from Seoul had caused a quiet ripple across the student body days before she even arrived.

The new girl.

The girl who danced at national competitions. The girl with perfect skin, intimidating poise, and that unbothered air that made others feel instantly lesser just by standing near her.

By the time she reached her locker, eyes were already following her. Not with malice—not yet, but fascination. Who was she? Where did she come from? And most importantly… was she a threat?

Across the hall, y/n y/l/n watched the scene unfold with the same expression she always wore—half amusement, half boredom, and entirely unreadable. She stood at the center of a small constellation: Celeste and Renée flanking her like perfectly curated accessories, all of them dressed in matching pastel tones like they hadn’t even tried to coordinate. y/n’s phone was in her hand, but her gaze was locked on the new girl.

“She’s pretty,” Renée muttered, chewing on her lip gloss tube. “Like, real pretty.”

y/n smiled faintly. “She’s… interesting.”

The next time Jimin looked up, y/n was already walking toward her.

She didn’t strut—y/n never had to. The hallway parted for her naturally, like she was royalty moving through her court. Jimin noticed her immediately. Anyone would’ve. Her honey-blonde hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights, her eyes sharp and unreadable, and the slight smirk on her lips like she already knew every single thing about Jimin.

“Hi,” y/n said sweetly, like sugar laced with cyanide. “You must be the famous new girl. I’m y/n y/l/n. Welcome to Rosehill.”

Jimin blinked. “Thanks.”

“I know transferring in must be… overwhelming.” y/n tilted her head, her voice warm and breezy. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost. We always take care of pretty girls around here.”

It was flattering. It should’ve been flattering. But Jimin felt the air shift—just slightly—as y/n smiled at her. There was something… off. Something too precise. Like being watched by a snake dressed in Dior.

Before Jimin could reply, a voice whispered just behind her, low and urgent. “Don’t fall for it.”

She turned.

A girl with sharp eyeliner and tired eyes gave her a look like she was handing her the last parachute on a crashing plane. “She’s not what she seems. y/n y/l/n only smiles when she’s planning something.”

Jimin hesitated. “You know her?”

“We all do. She runs this place. Everyone who matters answers to her, whether they know it or not.”

Jimin glanced back toward y/n, who was still standing there, looking entirely unbothered as she scrolled through her phone like nothing had happened.

“She’s already picked you, you know?” the girl said. “Now you have two options. Be her new toy—or help us take her down.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, half amused, half intrigued. “Us?”

The girl handed her a folded piece of paper. A single Instagram handle was written across it.

@PoisonLipz.

“Think about it,” she said. “Before she eats you alive.”

Jimin turned back toward y/n—and saw that the blonde was already watching her again, a glint in her eye like she’d been listening the whole time.

And she smiled.

-----

The Sirens occupied their usual spot on the upper terrace of the school courtyard—a sleek marble table shaded by cherry trees and reserved by unspoken rule. No one else sat there. No one else dared. y/n leaned back in her seat, sunglasses perched delicately on her nose, as she scrolled through her phone with the absentminded grace of someone used to being the sun everyone else orbited.

“She’s got that foreign cool,” Renée said, picking at a strawberry from her perfectly packed lunch box. “Like, ‘I studied ballet in Europe and have a tragic backstory’ vibes.”

“She transferred from Seoul, not a war zone,” Celeste replied flatly, sipping her green juice. “But she is hot. I’ll give her that.”

y/n didn’t speak for a long moment. She was watching a video—someone had already uploaded a clip of Jimin walking down the hallway earlier that day, soundtracked with an indie song and comments flooding in about how the new girl was “mysterious,” “main character coded,” and, most importantly, “might just dethrone y/n y/l/n.”

Her finger paused on the comment.

“She won’t,” y/n said calmly, locking her phone and setting it aside like a knife she no longer needed.

“She’s got eyes on her,” Celeste warned, eyes narrowed. “Weird ones. Not just the usual fanboys. People are curious.”

“Curiosity fades,” y/n murmured, running a manicured finger along the rim of her iced coffee. “Or it gets punished.”

There was silence after that. y/n didn’t need to raise her voice. She never did. Her power wasn’t in volume—it was in control. She knew everything about everyone. She spoke six languages, including fluent sarcasm, and she was the daughter of Veronica y/l/n, the CEO of a luxury conglomerate that owned half the beauty brands their classmates used daily. y/n didn’t threaten people—she erased them.

Last semester, a girl tried to spread a rumor about y/n’s breakup with a model from Milan. She transferred schools a week later. Another student accidentally bumped into y/n at a gala and was mysteriously removed from the committee. No one could ever prove y/n’s hand in anything. That was her gift. She played god like it was a family tradition.

But now… someone new had walked in. Someone untouchable. Not because of wealth or bloodline, but because she didn’t care.

“I think I’ll invite her to lunch tomorrow,” y/n said casually, tapping her nails on the table. “See what she’s made of.”

Meanwhile, the first post from @PoisonLipz had quietly dropped the night before.

A grainy photo. A caption dripping with venom.

“Word is Jamie from Year 11 wasn’t sick last Friday. He was hungover… at Mr. Carter’s apartment? 🔥 We can’t wait to see how fast that chemistry grade climbs now.”

The account barely had fifty followers when it posted, but it doubled overnight. Then doubled again. People whispered about it in the hallways, fingers hovering over the “follow” button.

No one knew who ran it. And that made it worse.

It didn’t touch the Sirens. Not yet. The posts were clever, never outright libelous—just suggestive enough to sow chaos. A photo of a love letter left in a locker. A screenshot of a private message. A carefully timed poll about who cheated on who last semester. The captions always ended with the same phrase:

More tea coming soon. Keep your lips pretty. 💋

Jimin found her again behind the gym, near the overgrown garden the school never maintained. The girl who had whispered to her that first day. She was leaning against a wall, hood up, earbuds in, looking like she didn’t belong anywhere but knew exactly what went on everywhere.

“You came,” the girl said, pulling out one earbud.

“I’m curious,” Jimin replied.

The girl smiled—not warmly. More like a warning. “That’s what she wants. She likes curious girls.”

“Then tell me,” Jimin said, crossing her arms, “what’s your history with y/n?”

The girl paused. “My name’s Calla,” she said, offering her hand like a dare. “We used to be friends. Best friends.”

Jimin blinked. “You were a Siren?”

“No,” Calla laughed. “We were more than that. Before the Sirens existed, before her mom bought her the spotlight. I was there when she got her first taste of power. I watched her destroy her enemies one by one. Not for survival—for fun.”

Jimin studied her face. There was no bitterness, no pleading, just cold remembrance. “Then what happened?”

“She found something shinier,” Calla said with a shrug. “I wasn’t pretty enough. I didn’t fit the aesthetic. I told her the truth too often. So, she made me invisible. In a school like this?” Her mouth curved. “That’s a death sentence.”

She pulled out her phone and showed Jimin something. A screenshot. The @PoisonLipz account.

“I didn’t start this to be petty. I started it because people need to see the truth. And I need someone inside.”

“You want me to spy,” Jimin said flatly.

“I want you to survive,” Calla said. “y/n’s already chosen you. You’re in. You’re either going to be her latest obsession—or her next casualty.”

Jimin looked down at the screen again. The glossy interface. The chaos it could cause. The siren song of control, of choosing which truth to expose.

She didn’t say yes.

But she didn’t say no either.

-----

The next morning, Jimin barely had time to take off her headphones when she noticed her. y/n y/l/n didn’t walk—she glided, flanked by Celeste and Renée like a queen with her handmaids. A hush followed them down the hallway. Every head subtly turned.

And then, just as suddenly, y/n stopped—right in front of her locker.

“Jimin, right?” Her voice was velvet, every syllable calculated to feel effortless.

Jimin looked up, slightly startled. “Yeah?”

y/n smiled, and it wasn’t just beautiful—it was devastating. “I don’t know how it works in Seoul, but around here? You don’t sit alone at lunch on your first week. It’s bad for your reputation.”

“I’m not too worried about that,” Jimin replied smoothly, locking her door. She refused to be dazzled.

y/n tilted her head, intrigued. “You should be. Reputations here are like glass. Beautiful, fragile… loud when they break.”

Renée let out a laugh like it was the most charming threat she'd ever heard. Celeste barely cracked a smile.

Jimin didn’t blink. “Thanks for the concern.”

“Oh, I’m not concerned,” y/n said, her gaze flickering over Jimin like she was mentally measuring her for a dress. “I’m curious. That’s rare.”

Jimin didn’t say anything for a moment. This wasn’t the vapid teen queen she’d expected. y/n’s charm had teeth.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

y/n leaned in, just close enough to be unsettling. “Don’t think too long. We don’t wait.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her ponytail swaying like punctuation at the end of a perfect sentence.

By the time lunch rolled around, Jimin had already made up her mind. Calla’s warning echoed in her head like a ticking clock, but this was the point, right? Get close. Be seen. Play the game until it cracked wide open.

The Sirens’ table gleamed like it belonged in a magazine spread. Every girl there looked effortlessly curated—designer accessories, flawless skin, practiced disinterest. y/n sat in the middle like a rose on a throne of thorns. When she saw Jimin, she smiled like she’d been expecting her all along.

“Welcome,” she said, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. “Don’t worry, we saved you a spot.”

“You say that like I didn’t have a choice.”

y/n handed her a strawberry Perrier and tilted her head. “You didn’t.”

There was a pause as Jimin took her seat. Renée and Celeste exchanged unreadable glances.

“Don’t mind them,” y/n said softly. “They just hate sharing me.”

“I’m not here to steal you.”

“Oh, you couldn’t. But you could be interesting.”

y/n watched her with that signature cool detachment, but her eyes were too sharp to be idle. “Tell me something, Jimin. Do you always lurk in hallways and gardens like a spy, or is that just part of the Seoul aesthetic?”

Jimin tensed just slightly.

y/n smiled wider. “Relax. I like it. Mysterious is in this season.”

Jimin gave her the smallest smirk. “And you keep tabs on everyone?”

“I don’t need to,” y/n said, resting her chin on her hand. “People just show themselves to me eventually. Sometimes without even realizing it.”

The words sat heavily between them.

It was the first real move of their game—and Jimin recognized it for what it was. A warning. A challenge. A promise.

Across the courtyard, someone’s phone buzzed with a new post from @PoisonLipz. Then another. More students glanced at their screens. Whispers stirred like wind through tall grass.

“Guess who’s been sleeping over at a teacher’s house again? Same teacher. Different student. 🎭 Reputation’s a cycle, darling. Round and round we go.”

Still, not a single mention of y/n or her girls.

Not yet.

And y/n, sipping her drink, never once looked at her phone.

But Jimin noticed the subtle twitch of her lip—the faintest ghost of a smirk. As if she knew.

As if she were waiting.

-----

The next few days passed like silk unraveling—slow, smooth, deceptively soft. Jimin didn’t agree to anything. Not out loud. But the Sirens made it impossible to say no.

“Are you seriously going to sit there again?” Renée asked with a dramatic sigh, gesturing at the library steps Jimin had made her unofficial lunch spot. “You’re breaking my heart.”

Celeste, ever deadpan, added, “It’s bad for your image. People are starting to think you don’t like carbs. Or fun.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “And sitting with you fixes that?”

“You don’t sit with us,” y/n said, stepping between her girls. “You sit among us. There’s a difference.”

The way she said it wasn’t a suggestion. It was an offer—one most people would kill for. Jimin didn’t say anything, but when she stood up and followed them across the quad, she knew that was her yes.

And y/n smiled like she’d just won the first round of a long game.

Lunch with the Sirens was something between a performance and a power ritual. Every gesture was measured. Every outfit coordinated like a living editorial spread. y/n reigned over it all like a modern Medusa—people looked, people froze, and she knew it.

She introduced Jimin to their world like a cat dragging a bird in through the window—smiling, graceful, but with teeth always tucked just beneath the gloss.

“Don’t ever wear denim on a Monday,” y/n whispered one afternoon, leaning in close. “That’s Celeste’s thing. Unless you want to start a war.”

“Noted,” Jimin murmured, blinking slowly. “And if I want to start one?”

y/n’s gaze glittered. “Then you’d better make sure you win.”

That was how it went. Lessons laced with daggers. Compliments that sounded like commandments. And Jimin—sharp as she was—couldn’t deny the pull. y/n was alluring in the worst kind of way. A girl you didn’t want to want, but couldn’t stop watching.

Then came the party.

It started with a text.

📍 487 Veridian Lane.

Dress code: ruin someone’s ego.

Don’t be late. You’re not invisible anymore.

—y/n💋

The house looked like something pulled from a music video. Tall gates, violet lights glowing from the windows, bodies spilling from the doors and down the front steps. Jimin had barely walked in when someone handed her a drink in a crystal glass and someone else asked who she was wearing.

“Try to keep up,” Renée said breezily, handing her a second drink and disappearing into the crowd.

Celeste disappeared toward the backyard with a boy already wrapped around her. Jimin wandered, curious. There were neon signs in cursive font, selfie stations, and three separate rooms with their own DJs. It was too much. It was intentional.

And then she saw her.

y/n was at the top of the stairs in a black slip dress, the fabric clinging to her like it was made for her skin alone. She leaned over the bannister as someone whispered something in her ear, smiling lazily before dismissing him with a gentle flick of her fingers. Her eyes locked on Jimin’s from across the room.

Jimin looked away first.

y/n descended the stairs like a scene from a movie. Her heels barely made a sound. Her perfume caught in the air—something warm and expensive. She stopped in front of Jimin, looking her over with a slow, obvious smirk.

“You clean up well.”

“I wasn’t trying to impress you.”

y/n shrugged. “You didn’t. You impressed everyone else though. That’s even better.”

Someone turned up the music. Someone else started filming. But none of it mattered. For a moment, it was just them.

“Come,” y/n said, reaching for her hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Jimin hesitated. Then let her fingers curl around y/n’s. Soft. Warm. Dangerous.

They weaved through the house until they reached a private balcony lit only by moonlight and the distant shimmer of pool lights. The music was muffled now, like a heartbeat behind closed doors.

y/n leaned against the railing, her eyes scanning the city.

“You see that?” she said, pointing out at the skyline. “That’s mine.”

Jimin followed her gaze. “The view?”

Nicole smirked. “No. All of it.”

It was ridiculous. Arrogant. Classic y/n. And yet… Jimin believed her.

“Why me?” she asked suddenly. “Why let me in?”

y/n didn’t look away from the city.

“Because you’re not afraid of me. And people who aren’t afraid of me always end up interesting. Or ruined. Sometimes both.”

Jimin laughed, soft. “And which do you think I’ll be?”

y/n finally turned to look at her—really look at her. And in the dim light, Jimin saw something different. A flicker of vulnerability, maybe. Or danger pretending to be desire.

“I haven’t decided yet,” y/n said, stepping closer. “But I’m enjoying the process.”

Jimin’s heart skipped.

And that’s when it hit her.

y/n was terrifying. Beautiful. Powerful.

And possibly the most heartbreakingly pretty girl she had ever seen.

-----

The gossip account was gaining traction. Fast.

It started with harmless posts: a teacher caught napping in the staff lounge, two juniors spotted fighting over the same promposal idea, a senior caught vaping behind the gym. Funny. Sharp. Easily brushed off.

But then the tone shifted.

“She’s wearing last season’s Balmain and acting like it’s vintage. Sweetie, no.”

“Heard someone bribed their way onto the cheer team. Try flipping that, honey.”

“She said she got into Columbia. Columbia’s admissions office is about to be real surprised.”

Still no names. Just initials. Just photos snapped from angles no one realized were being taken. Everyone in school followed it now—even teachers. The account was anonymous, but the person behind it knew too much. Too close. It made people paranoid.

y/n, on the other hand, was entertained.

She scrolled through the posts one night while lying across her bed, a silk robe sliding off her shoulder. Celeste was painting her nails and Renée sat nearby, flipping through a Vogue.

“Honestly?” y/n said with a soft smirk. “Whoever’s running this account is smart. Strategic.”

“Petty,” Renée countered, though her tone wasn’t fully disapproving.

Celeste shrugged. “No one’s touched us, so who cares?”

y/n tilted her head, her smirk deepening.

“Exactly. They’re circling, but not biting. Makes you wonder who they’re saving their appetite for.”

Jimin was drowning in invitations.

After the party, everything changed.

y/n would find her in the hallway between classes, slipping an arm around her waist like they’d known each other for years. She’d text her midday—an address, a time, a wardrobe suggestion. And Jimin, despite herself, showed up every time.

A rooftop brunch with just the two of them.

An art exhibit opening where y/n introduced her to people with last names that mattered.

A night drive in y/n’s convertible, wind whipping through their hair, music low, y/n’s laugh spilling into the darkness like secrets.

And Jimin watched herself being pulled in. Not just into y/n’s world—but into y/n. The way she talked, the way she moved, the way she looked at Jimin like she was a puzzle to be solved, piece by piece, breath by breath.

One night, y/n invited her over. Just the two of them.

Her house was enormous, modern and cold in the way money liked to be. Marble floors, glass walls, not a speck of dust in sight. y/n led her through the house barefoot, two glasses of wine in her hand.

“Parents?” Jimin asked, glancing around.

“Out of town. Always,” y/n replied, handing her a glass. “They trust me. Big mistake.”

They ended up on the couch, legs tucked under them, a black-and-white movie flickering across the screen. y/n rested her head on Jimin’s shoulder at some point. The wine was rich, and the room too warm, and everything smelled like amber and something floral.

“You’re different,” y/n murmured, tracing a pattern on Jimin’s arm with one finger.

“Good different or bad different?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“Dangerous different.”

Jimin’s breath hitched.

She didn’t sleep that night. She stared at the ceiling in her tiny apartment, replaying y/n’s voice, the way she leaned into her like she wasn’t afraid of closeness at all.

The gossip account got a new post that night:

“She’s not falling.

She’s being pushed.

And she doesn’t even see it coming.”

No initials. No name. But Jimin’s finger hovered over the delete button for an hour before she let it stay.

-----

The getaway was invitation-only.

A weekend estate tucked deep into wine country, far enough from the city that the stars looked real and time moved slower—if y/n wanted it to.

Jimin had barely stepped out of the car before someone handed her a flute of champagne. The Sirens were already sprawled across white lounge chairs, sunkissed and glittering like goddesses in a music video. Everything was curated: the outfits, the playlist, the casual posing for candids that would later dominate Instagram feeds.

y/n, in a sheer white cover-up and cat-eye sunglasses, turned to see Jimin arriving. Her smile was slow, deliberate. “There you are,” she purred, as if she’d been waiting just for her.

Jimin tried not to show how her heart jumped.

She shouldn’t care this much. She shouldn’t be thinking this much.

But she was.

y/n was being… warmer, lately. Touches that lingered a second longer than they should, looks that felt like silk dragging across bare skin, and when they talked—late into the night, alone, with nothing but their voices between them—it didn’t feel like a game.

It felt dangerous.

And Jimin liked it.

She hated that she did.

It was later that day when y/n saw it.

Jimin, laughing.

With Calla.

Calla, who used to be a Siren. Calla, who had the audacity to challenge y/n last year and paid the price. She’d fallen out of grace, out of social relevance, out of everything. But there she was, on the edge of the pool, talking to Jimin, touching her arm, leaning close.

y/n’s eyes went cold.

She didn’t say anything, not right away. She just watched. Observed. Calculated. Then she turned to Renée, her voice syrupy-sweet:

“Would you mind switching lounge chairs with me? I want a better view.”

Renée blinked. “Of?”

y/n didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

Jimin noticed the shift.

y/n’s touches were cooler now. Her words—still kind—felt wrapped in something else. Barbed wire dressed in silk. She was still inviting Jimin in, still including her in everything, but it was as if there was a new tension beneath the surface.

And Jimin couldn’t stop thinking about her.

y/n was intoxicating. When she smiled, it felt like the sun came out. When she looked away, Jimin felt cold. And now that warmth was flickering—Jimin wanted it back.

She needed it.

That night, they shared a room.

Jimin wasn’t expecting it—y/n just tossed her a spare silk set of pajamas and said, “You’re not sleeping on the pull-out. You get cold easily.”

She knew that?

Of course she did.

They lay on opposite sides of the bed at first, backs to each other, quiet. The air was heavy with unspoken things.

“You like Calla?” y/n asked finally, voice soft but laced with something sharp.

Jimin blinked at the ceiling. “I… don’t know her.”

“She seems to know you.”

Silence stretched long and thin.

Then Jimin turned toward her, heart pounding. “Are you mad?”

y/n turned too. Her eyes found Jimin’s in the dark. “I don’t get mad, Jimin.”

A beat. Then:

“I get even.”

Jimin swallowed. “What does that mean?”

y/n’s hand moved—slow, elegant—and tucked a strand of Jimin’s hair behind her ear. Her touch lingered at the edge of her jaw, thumb brushing skin.

“It means you should be careful where you give your attention.”

Her voice dropped lower. “Some people don’t deserve it.”

Jimin’s breath hitched. She could feel her pulse in her throat.

And for a second—for one wild, electric second—she thought y/n was going to kiss her.

But she didn’t.

She pulled back. Smiled that knowing smile.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

The gossip account updated at dawn:

“You can’t burn a girl who likes the fire.

But you can choke on her smoke. Careful, new girl.”

-----

They were inseparable now.

The Sirens noticed. The rest of the school noticed. Even the gossip account had started getting DMs speculating about what was going on between the “ice queen” and the “new girl.”

But y/n didn’t care… or at least she didn’t act like she did.

She invited Jimin everywhere. To brunches, to late-night rooftop hangouts, to designer showroom sneak peeks where interns handed y/n coffee and swatches like she was royalty.

And Jimin went. Every time.

Because she couldn’t help it.

y/n made her feel like she belonged somewhere. Like she mattered. Like she was wanted.

Not just wanted. Needed.

“Everyone’s obsessed with you,” Jimin said one afternoon. They were lying side-by-side in the back of y/n’s private car. Her driver had strict instructions not to interrupt unless it was an emergency.

y/n smirked without looking at her. “Obviously.”

“No, I mean it,” Jimin said, turning to face her. “It’s like… you control the room the second you walk in.”

y/n finally met her gaze, lashes low. “Power,” she said quietly, “isn’t about control.”

“Then what is it?”

y/n looked away, her voice soft, almost lost in the hum of the engine.

“It’s about survival.”

Jimin didn’t speak.

y/n exhaled slowly and added, “When people fear you, they leave you alone. They don’t ask questions. They don’t hurt you.”

There it was.

Finally.

A flicker of the girl underneath.

The fortress cracked, just for a second.

Jimin’s heart ached, and she hated that it did.

Later that night, they were at y/n’s penthouse.

It was supposed to be just them. A movie night. Just something casual. y/n had picked the film (“Not another tragic indie lesbian movie, please,” she’d joked), but they barely watched any of it.

They talked.

They laughed.

They drank from y/n’s expensive stash of French soda and dipped strawberries in dark chocolate like they weren’t still in high school.

And sometime around 1 a.m., y/n laid her head on Jimin’s shoulder.

It was innocent.

At least it started that way.

But then she said, voice low, “You smell like cinnamon.”

Jimin froze. “That’s… my shampoo.”

y/n smiled, not moving. “Keep using it.”

Her fingers brushed Jimin’s hand. Not quite a hold. Not quite nothing.

And Jimin thought—this is dangerous.

But she didn’t pull away.

At school the next day, y/n was colder. Not mean, just distant.

Jimin told herself it was nothing. y/n did this sometimes. Hot, then cold. A fire you couldn’t quite hold in your hands.

Still, when y/n looped her arm through Jimin’s during lunch and whispered, “We’re skipping sixth period,” Jimin didn’t hesitate.

They ended up on the roof, sharing music through one pair of earbuds, pressed shoulder to shoulder.

“I trust you,” y/n said, out of nowhere.

Jimin’s breath caught.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

The gossip account was getting sharper. More people were talking. Students whispered in bathrooms and hallways and the back rows of classrooms.

Still no Sirens posts.

But the heat was rising.

And y/n? She’d started checking the account daily. Smirking. Amused. Like she knew something everyone else didn’t.

And Jimin—poor Jimin—was falling. Not just into y/n’s world, but into her, and even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to… she didn’t want to stop.

-----

It started with a name.

“Calla.”

y/n said it like poison.

They were at y/n’s favorite rooftop spot again, mid sunset, the city gold-tipped and humming below. Jimin had just mentioned running into Calla outside chem class. Nothing dramatic. Just a casual hello.

y/n turned to her, head cocked. “She’s not your friend.”

“I didn’t say she was.”

“She’s irrelevant.”

“She was nice to me.”

y/n’s expression sharpened. “People are nice when they want something.”

Jimin blinked, folding her arms. “What, like you?”

Silence. Heavy.

y/n didn’t answer.

Instead, she stepped closer. “You don’t know what she’s said about you.”

“Do you?”

“I know everything.”

Jimin narrowed her eyes. “Is that what this is? You’re keeping me around just to know what I’m doing?”

y/n’s voice dropped. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Then why are you jealous?”

The word cracked the air.

y/n’s gaze darkened. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

The younger girl stepped forward. “And what if I am?”

The question stunned them both.

And in the heartbeat that followed—before either could think—Jimin grabbed her wrist, y/n jerked forward.

And they kissed.

Furious. Desperate. Breathless.

It was all teeth and trembling hands, mouths crashing like waves on rocks. Jimin felt her whole body light up. y/n pulled her closer, fingers tangling in her hair, like she was trying to anchor herself to something real.

Then it ended. Abrupt. y/n stepped back, lips parted, chest rising fast.

“Don’t ever kiss me like that again,” she whispered.

But she didn’t move away.

And Jimin didn’t either.

Later that week, it happened.

They were at y/n’s penthouse again. The city buzzed beneath them, but everything felt distant.

They’d been lying on the couch, tangled in silence. Then, unprompted, y/n sat up and spoke.

“I used to have a sister.”

Jimin stilled.

“She was older. Beautiful. She had this… light. The kind that made people feel seen.” y/n’s voice wavered. “She died in a car crash. Drunk driver. I was thirteen.”

Jimin reached for her hand. y/n didn’t stop her.

“She was everything I’m not,” she said quietly. “Kind. Honest. Good.”

“That’s not true,” Jimin said.

y/n turned to her, eyes burning. “You don’t know me.”

“I want to.”

y/n hesitated. Then added, barely audible, “She died on her way to pick me up from a party. I begged her. I said I didn’t want to be around people who only loved me when I was perfect.”

Silence.

“That night broke my mother. And I—” she choked on it, swallowing hard, “—I learned the only way to survive was to be colder than everyone else.”

Jimin didn’t know what to say, so she held her hand tighter.

That night, they didn’t kiss again.

They just… existed together.

And for the first time, y/n let herself fall asleep on someone’s shoulder.

Three days later, the account posted again.

This time, it wasn’t vague.

It named Celeste first. A cruel post about her weight fluctuations and plastic surgery rumors. She burst into tears in the hallway.

Then Renée. A vicious dig at a cheating scandal involving a boy who never even went to their school.

The Sirens were shaken.

And y/n?

She didn’t flinch.

Not at first.

She just stared at the post, then closed the app. “Cowards,” she muttered. “Of course they’re starting with the easy targets.”

She was calm. Still. Ice.

But Jimin knew her now.

She knew the storm was coming.

And then, the next morning—y/n’s name appeared.

Not just a name.

Not a rumor.

Not a snide remark about fashion or plastic surgery or exes.

The post was about her sister.

The accident.

How y/n had begged her to come.

How y/n had been the reason.

Only one person in the entire world knew that story.

Jimin’s phone buzzed.

y/n had sent one message.

“Meet me. Now.”

-----

The post hit the feed at 6:06 a.m.

No caption. Just a black background, white text. Brutal. Personal. Unforgiving.

@PoisonLipz

“The Queen of Cold has a ghost in her closet—

A sister with a smile too bright for this world. Dead at seventeen. Because y/n y/l/n begged her to come pick her up from a party she didn’t even want to be at. The guilt made her prettier. Colder. Meaner. And that smile she weaponizes?

It used to be borrowed from someone else.

Sleep tight, y/n. We see you now.”

The internet exploded.

Comments came fast and hot. Students gasped in group chats. Someone screen-recorded the post. Everyone whispered.

And y/n?

She read it once.

Then closed her phone.

Jimin barely had time to process what she’d done. She hadn’t meant for it to be that post. That part of the draft was never meant to publish.

It was meant to be saved. Hidden.

But it was too late.

She met y/n at the rooftop above the music building—her usual domain of power, now turned battlefield. The blonde was already there, arms folded, staring at the horizon like it might offer her an answer.

Jimin approached slowly.

y/n didn’t turn. “Took you long enough.”

Jimin’s throat tightened. “y/n, I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” Her voice was calm. Too calm. “Didn’t think I’d figure it out? Didn’t think I’d remember that I’ve only ever told one person that story?”

Finally, she turned. Her eyes were glass—burning, but holding back the tears like they weren’t allowed to exist.

“You think I’m cruel?” she asked, stepping forward. “You think I’m manipulative? Cold? Fine. But I never lied to you.”

“y/n, I—”

“I trusted you.”

The words hit like a slap. Jimin had no defense. Her mouth opened. Nothing came out.

“You kissed me,” y/n said, softer now. “You held my hand. You looked at me like I was more than what everyone else sees.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you—”

“You did hurt me.” The anger cracked now, fury seeping through. “And for what? Calla’s little revenge fantasy? You wanted to ruin me?”

Jimin took a step forward. “It wasn’t supposed to go live. I saved it. I swear. I didn’t want it to be real.”

y/n laughed once. Bitter. Sharp.

“‘Didn’t want it to be real.’ That’s cute.” Her voice dripped poison. “But it is. Congratulations. You finally did it. You gave them what they always wanted—a reason to say I’m not human.”

Her shoulders trembled for half a second.

And then—

The mask slid back on.

y/n straightened, smoothed her shirt, and brushed a nonexistent strand of hair from her cheek.

Her eyes turned to ice.

“You want to play games, Jimin?” she said, voice cool, almost amused now. “Then let’s play.”

Jimin froze.

“You think I was mean before?” y/n smiled. “Sweetheart, that was me being kind.”

She took a step closer. Her lips near Jimin’s ear.

“I let you in. That was your biggest mistake. And mine.”

Then she turned and walked away. Graceful. Devastating.

A queen reclaiming her throne.

-----

y/n’s revenge started quietly.

No explosive accusations. No public confrontations.

Just whispers.

The kind of whispers that crawled into ears and burrowed under skin.

It began with small things—rumors that no one could place, stories that seemed to fit too perfectly.

The first one came through the gossip account, of course.

@PoisonLipz

“A new leader of the Sirens?

A new queen of high school?

Funny how Jimin’s rise happened just after someone fell from grace.

Funny how Jimin was the only one untouched.

Funny how a single kiss can ruin everything.”

Jimin stared at her phone, breath hitching. The post was a soft jab, nothing outright damaging—but it echoed the truth. It was too perfect. Too easy.

Jimin shook her head, closing the screen.

This wasn’t like before. Back when she thought she was playing the same game. She hadn’t thought the stakes would rise this high. She hadn’t thought y/n would rise up from the shadows to twist the knife herself.

Next came a subtle shift in the social currents.

Celeste, normally aloof, started giving Jimin colder looks. Renée’s usual over-protectiveness began to wear thin, and a small comment here and there pointed toward the question: Why hadn’t Jimin been targeted by PoisonLipz yet?

Was she in on it?

Is she the one who caused the fall?

Jimin began hearing it everywhere.

In whispers on the walkways. In the bathroom mirrors where her reflection looked too fragile.

She was being watched. But not with admiration. Not with jealousy.

With suspicion.

And Jimin knew who was behind it.

The last straw came one afternoon when Jimin found herself standing in front of her locker. There was a note in her bag. Scratched in hurried ink, a single line:

“You can only keep what you kill.”

She read it once. Twice. Three times, like a sick chant. The words had the same sharpness as everything y/n ever said—and the same absence of warmth.

Jimin’s heart pounded. She looked around, but the hallways were empty.

“y/n…” she whispered.

The next day, Jimin found her moment of peace shattered in an unexpected place.

She walked into the student lounge, her head heavy with the weight of not knowing. What was y/n’s game? How had she turned her own victory into a prison?

And there—sitting at a table behind Celeste and Renée, minding her own business—was the last thing she expected.

y/n.

Alone.

Not with the Sirens. Not with anyone. Just sitting there with her phone in her lap. No one even noticed. They were too distracted by whatever drama had unfolded in the last five minutes.

Jimin couldn’t help it. She walked closer, instinctively, drawn toward her. y/n hadn’t looked up. Not yet.

When Jimin was just a few feet away, y/n’s voice cut through the noise.

“You missed me.”

It wasn’t a question.

Jimin stopped in her tracks.

y/n looked up, her gaze soft but cold. “I’m not mad at you, Jimin. You just made a mistake.” She leaned back, stretching her legs out with that familiar, effortless grace.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. But here’s the thing. You can’t play games if you don’t know the rules.”

Jimin’s breath caught. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

y/n let out a soft laugh, dark and sweet. “Of course you didn’t, but look at you now. You’re their queen.” She made a dismissive gesture toward Celeste and Renée, who were still talking behind her. “You’re better at this than you think.”

“I’m not. I never wanted to—”

“Sure you didn’t.” y/n’s voice was quieter now, a dangerous whisper. “But I don’t play games to lose. And right now, Jimin? You’re the game.”

Jimin’s heart thudded painfully in her chest. She hated how right the blonde sounded. She did feel like a pawn in a game she didn’t even know was being played.

y/n finally stood, brushing invisible dust off her outfit. “You’re right about one thing. I’m not mad at you. But when you have the crown, you play to win.”

y/n’s gaze softened for a second—just a brief flicker of something. And then it was gone. Just like that.

“I miss you,” Jimin whispered.

The younger girl paused, her lips twisting into a small, sad smile. "I know. But you have to understand..." She stepped closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "We can never go back to what we were."

Jimin's heart clenched, but she didn’t know how to answer.

y/n walked away, leaving Jimin standing there, feeling the loss more deeply than she'd ever expected.

The next few days were a blur of confusion, desperation, and growing tension. The rumors had gotten worse. Jimin had been questioned in the hallways. Her trust with Celeste and Renée felt strained.

And the whispers only grew louder.

But through it all, one thing stayed constant—y/n’s absence.

She had disappeared again, but Jimin could feel her watching. Like a shadow that never left.

-----

Jimin hadn’t been sleeping well.

Every night, it was the same—her mind racing, turning over y/n’s words, the silent whispers in the hallways, the weight of the crown she never asked for. The paranoia had settled in like a quiet poison. y/n’s absence was palpable, like a shadow she couldn’t shake. Jimin kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it never did.

Until the morning she found Calla leaning against her locker, a smirk on her face.

“Jimin,” Calla greeted her, an edge to her voice. “We need to talk.”

Jimin froze. “About what?”

Calla’s smirk deepened, her eyes glinting with something dangerous. “You’ve been quiet lately. I guess you're finally realizing what you’ve done.”

Jimin frowned, feeling the unease creep up her spine. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Calla’s laugh was cold. “Come on, Jimin. The Queen isn’t stupid. You know what I mean.” She stepped closer, her voice lowering. “It’s cute that you think you’re in charge now. But we both know how quickly power can slip through your fingers.”

“What are you talking about?” Jimin’s stomach tightened. She hated how easily Calla could make her feel small.

“You’re worried. You’re paranoid.” Calla took a step forward, closing the gap between them. “And you’re right to be. Because you didn’t just take y/n’s throne. You took her life, too.”

Jimin felt her breath catch. “What?”

Calla’s smirk didn’t waver. “You really don’t know, do you? You think you’re the only one who’s been playing games?” She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, opening up PoisonLipz.

Jimin’s heart skipped a beat. She didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t stop herself.

There, at the top of the feed, was the post. The one about y/n’s sister.

Jimin’s blood ran cold. “You… you posted that?”

Calla’s smile twisted. “I didn’t want to. But I couldn’t help myself. You think I don’t know the weight of those secrets? I found the draft. The one you kept hidden. y/n told you, didn’t she? She trusted you. Funny, I was her best friend for years, yet she never told me.”

Jimin’s mind spun. It was you. Calla had posted it. Not because she needed to, but because she wanted to watch the destruction unfold.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Jimin said softly, almost to herself. “I didn’t want to hurt y/n.”

Calla stepped closer, her voice sweet with malice. “You didn’t? But you did. And now you are the one in the spotlight. y/n is gone, and you have everything you wanted.”

Jimin took a step back, her chest tightening. “What do you want, Calla? What is this about?”

Calla’s eyes narrowed. “I’m tired of being second. I’m tired of you pretending like you’re the good girl who didn’t ask for any of this. You wanted her to fall. You wanted everything she had, and now you have it.”

Jimin’s fists clenched. “I never wanted this. I never wanted any of it.”

Calla’s face twisted into a smile. “It doesn’t matter what you want. What matters is who controls the game.” She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “And right now, Jimin? That’s me.”

Jimin felt the weight of Calla’s words settle deep into her chest. She had been so caught up in the game—so caught up in everything she hadn’t realized that Calla had been playing it, too. All along.

Then, as if the situation couldn’t get worse, Calla dropped the bomb.

“You think you’re safe from PoisonLipz?” she asked, her tone almost mocking. “You think you’re untouchable? You’re the next target, Jimin. You just don’t know it yet.”

Jimin froze, her breath caught in her throat. “What do you mean?”

Calla raised an eyebrow. “I mean you’re about to be exposed. For everything. The truth is, you’re just as guilty as the rest of us. You’re no different than y/n. Hell, maybe you are different. At least y/n knew she was a bitch.”

Jimin felt like the world had been ripped from under her. She wanted to scream, to punch Calla, but something inside her told her it was already too late.

“You’re lying,” Jimin whispered, but even she knew it wasn’t true.

Calla’s grin widened. “Am I? Wait for it, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you’re next. You’ll be just as much of a joke as she was. You’ll fall. Just like y/n.”

And with that, Calla turned and walked away, leaving Jimin standing in the hallway, her heart pounding in her chest.

That night, Jimin could barely breathe.

Her thoughts were consumed with Calla’s words—you’re next. She couldn’t shake the image of y/n, sitting there, broken and alone. The girl she had kissed. The girl she had hurt. The girl who had trusted her.

The guilt gnawed at her.

But it wasn’t just the guilt. It was the fear.

y/n wasn’t finished with her.

y/n was still playing the game.

And now, Jimin wasn’t safe.

______________________

Jimin stepped through the front doors of Rosehill Academy, her uniform perfectly pressed, her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail that made her cheekbones look even sharper than usual. Her transfer from Seoul had caused a quiet ripple across the student body days before she even arrived.

The new girl.

The girl who danced at national competitions. The girl with perfect skin, intimidating poise, and that unbothered air that made others feel instantly lesser just by standing near her.

By the time she reached her locker, eyes were already following her. Not with malice—not yet, but fascination. Who was she? Where did she come from? And most importantly… was she a threat?

Across the hall, y/n y/l/n watched the scene unfold with the same expression she always wore—half amusement, half boredom, and entirely unreadable. She stood at the center of a small constellation: Celeste and Renée flanking her like perfectly curated accessories, all of them dressed in matching pastel tones like they hadn’t even tried to coordinate. y/n’s phone was in her hand, but her gaze was locked on the new girl.

“She’s pretty,” Renée muttered, chewing on her lip gloss tube. “Like, real pretty.”

y/n smiled faintly. “She’s… interesting.”

The next time Jimin looked up, y/n was already walking toward her.

She didn’t strut—y/n never had to. The hallway parted for her naturally, like she was royalty moving through her court. Jimin noticed her immediately. Anyone would’ve. Her honey-blonde hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights, her eyes sharp and unreadable, and the slight smirk on her lips like she already knew every single thing about Jimin.

“Hi,” y/n said sweetly, like sugar laced with cyanide. “You must be the famous new girl. I’m y/n y/l/n. Welcome to Rosehill.”

Jimin blinked. “Thanks.”

“I know transferring in must be… overwhelming.” y/n tilted her head, her voice warm and breezy. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost. We always take care of pretty girls around here.”

It was flattering. It should’ve been flattering, but Jimin felt the air shift—just slightly—as y/n smiled at her. There was something… off. Something too precise. Like being watched by a snake dressed in Dior.

Before Jimin could reply, a voice whispered just behind her, low and urgent. “Don’t fall for it.”

She turned.

A girl with sharp eyeliner and tired eyes gave her a look like she was handing her the last parachute on a crashing plane. “She’s not what she seems. y/n y/l/n only smiles when she’s planning something.”

Jimin hesitated. “You know her?”

“We all do. She runs this place. Everyone who matters answers to her, whether they know it or not.”

Jimin glanced back toward y/n, who was still standing there, looking entirely unbothered as she scrolled through her phone like nothing had happened.

“She’s already picked you, you know?” the girl said. “Now you have two options. Be her new toy—or help us take her down.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow, half amused, half intrigued. “Us?”

The girl handed her a folded piece of paper. A single Instagram handle was written across it.

@PoisonLipz.

“Think about it,” she said. “Before she eats you alive.”

Jimin turned back toward y/n—and saw that the blonde was already watching her again, a glint in her eye like she’d been listening the whole time.

The school gym is packed.

It’s the end of the day, and the student council is setting up for some kind of fundraiser — a bake sale, a raffle, something y/n y/l/n had excitedly pitched with sparkles in her eyes and a hundred volunteers too afraid to say no. Minjeong isn't even sure why she’s here, crouched awkwardly behind the snack table in her hoodie, pretending to fix the paper banner even though she’s mostly just watching y/n from a distance.

She tells herself it’s purely coincidental. Totally accidental. Not at all because y/n looks extra pretty in her student council sash, or because she’d smiled at Minjeong earlier and said, “You’re helping too? Cute.”

Nope. Not because of that.

Minjeong fiddles with a roll of tape to distract herself. She’s not Spiderwoman right now. She’s just… Minjeong. Ordinary. Invisible. Safe.

Then, as if summoned by karma itself, she hears it:

“Ow—! Whoa—!”

She looks up just in time to see y/n — up on a bench trying to pin the final banner over the gym door — lose her balance.

Minjeong gasps, the world slows, she doesn’t think — just moves.

By the time y/n blinks, Spiderwoman is already there.

She swings in through the high gym windows, landing with a soft thwip of web. She catches y/n mid-fall, bridal-style, one arm around her back and the other steadying her knees.

y/n stares.

Spiderwoman blinks.

“…Hi?” Minjeong says, her voice just a little too high-pitched behind the mask.

y/n arches a brow. “You again?”

Spiderwoman gently sets her down on the ground. “You, uh, twisted your ankle. I think. I mean—I saw—well, not like I was watching you—I just—was passing by! Over the gym. You know. Swinging.” She gestures vaguely upward. “Air.”

y/n bites her lip, clearly fighting a smile. “You really do show up every time I so much as sneeze in public.”

“I—it’s not just you,” Spiderwoman mutters. “I save lots of people.”

“Right, sure.” y/n grins, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “You wouldn’t happen to be stalking me, would you?”

“I—what? No! No, I—who would do that? That’s crazy. So crazy. Like, unhinged, even.”

y/n leans in just a little. “You’re kind of cute when you panic.”

Minjeong makes a sound like a squeaky toy and nearly trips over her own web.

“I—I should go. You’re safe. Mission accomplished. Okay. Bye.”

She fires a web to the rafters, nearly misses, and stumbles as it catches. y/n watches, fully amused, as the masked hero flails for a second before swinging off, muttering to herself about "stupid gravity" and “why now of all times.”

y/n tilts her head, watching her disappear through the window.

She rubs her ankle, then glances down at her wrist.

Wrapped around it is a thin strand of web — almost like a ribbon. Almost like a calling card.

y/n smiles to herself. “Spiderwoman, huh?” she says under her breath. “Interesting.”

-----

Minjeong’s Room – 8:42 PM

Minjeong groans and drops face-first onto her bed, still wearing her Spiderwoman suit from the waist up, mask thrown to the floor in dramatic shame.

“Why am I like this,” she mumbles into her pillow.

She rolls over and stares at the ceiling, arms flopped out like a starfish. Her cheeks are still burning. She replays it in her head — the twist, the save, the bridal carry, the flirting.

“She called me cute,” Minjeong groans, grabbing a pillow and smacking herself with it. “She called me cute, and I ran away like a complete loser.”

The small radio on her desk buzzes to life with police chatter. She glances at it, then looks away.

“Nope. Not going out again tonight. The city can survive one night without me. I almost tripped on my own web… in front of her. I have no dignity left.”

She picks up a crumpled notebook and opens it. Inside are quick sketches — little doodles of Spiderwoman and a mysterious girl with a sash and a mischievous smile. She stares at it, then hurriedly shoves it under her pillow like it might explode.

“She definitely suspects something. I need to stop showing up every time she breathes.”

Pause.

“…She has a really nice smile though.”

--

y/n’s Room – 8:43 PM

y/n sits cross-legged on her bed, ankle wrapped in a soft bandage, phone in hand, and a suspiciously giddy look on her face.

Across from her, Ryujin lounges with a face mask on, peeking up from her book.

“Okay,” Ryujin says slowly, “what’s got you smiling like that? Did another freshman confess their love again?”

y/n snorts. “No, not this time. Though that was hilarious. No, today’s chaos was… new.”

She taps her screen and holds it up. It’s a blurry photo someone caught in the gym — Spiderwoman, mid-swing, cradling y/n in her arms like a rom-com hero. The caption: “She came flying in out of nowhere???”

Ryujin laughs. “Okay, that’s amazing. But also? She’s totally into you.”

y/n raises a brow. “She is?”

“y/n, be serious. You’ve been rescued, what, four times now? And somehow, it’s always you. That girl’s got a spider crush.”

y/n hums, not denying it. “She’s… interesting. I think I get why people like the mystery. But here’s the thing—” she leans forward, eyes glittering with mischief, “I think I know who she is.”

Ryujin lowers her book. “Wait, what?”

y/n smiles to herself and says nothing more. But in her head, she’s already thinking of the quiet girl in the hoodie, the way Minjeong panicked when their hands brushed last week, the way her voice trembled when she said y/n looked nice at the last student council meeting.

Too many coincidences.

And maybe… just maybe… y/n kind of wants it to be her.

-----

Minjeong stands at her locker, staring into it blankly like the answers to life are hidden behind her math books.

She hasn’t slept much — her dreams were full of red sashes, crooked smiles, and falling out of the sky into y/n y/l/n’s arms instead of the other way around. The memory of yesterday's disaster still burns under her skin.

She exhales sharply and mutters, “Just act normal. Be cool. Avoid eye contact. Maybe move to Canada.”

“Morning, Minjeong!”

Minjeong jumps so hard she almost drops her books.

y/n y/l/n is right behind her, glowing like the sun, hair done up in a lazy ponytail, sash off for the day but still carrying herself like royalty. Her ankle is wrapped but she walks just fine — too fine, if you ask Minjeong. Suspiciously fine.

“Oh,” Minjeong says, voice cracking. “Hi! Hello! You’re here.”

y/n raises an amused brow. “Well, yeah. School. I do go here.”

“Right! Of course. Obviously.”

y/n leans a little closer, her voice lower now. “You look tired.”

Minjeong stares at her. “I slept. I mean—yes. I do that. Sleeping. At night. Regular hours. Normal human stuff.”

y/n grins like a cat who’s found a very entertaining mouse. “You know,” she says, twirling a strand of her hair, “Spiderwoman saved me again yesterday.”

Minjeong chokes on air.

y/n continues, voice sweet and casual. “She always shows up just in time. It’s weird, right? Almost like she’s watching me.”

Minjeong blinks. “That is weird. Super weird. Creepy, even. You should… maybe install cameras?”

y/n hums thoughtfully. “Or maybe I should just pay closer attention to the people around me.”

Minjeong lets out a high-pitched laugh. “Why would you do that?”

y/n just smiles and walks away, leaving a short-circuiting Minjeong frozen in front of her locker, fully broken.

-----

y/n didn’t plan to go get ice cream, but she’s finished her student council duties early, it’s a sunny day, and frankly, she feels like causing minor mischief. So, she heads out alone, takes a stroll, and ends up at her favorite spot near the park.

She's halfway through ordering when the universe intervenes.

A kid on a skateboard comes out of nowhere, careening down the sidewalk. y/n steps back just a little too late — her foot catches the curb, and she stumbles backward.

“Oh come on—”

Before she can hit the pavement, Spiderwoman drops down from above in an absolute flourish of limbs and webbing, catching y/n around the waist like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

y/n ends up dipped backward like its prom night.

Spiderwoman blinks.

y/n smirks.

“…This is getting suspicious,” y/n murmurs, looking up at the masked girl who’s clearly blushing under that suit.

“I was just… around,” Spiderwoman squeaks.

“Of course you were.” y/n twirls a strand of her hair. “Let me guess. You were swinging over the ice cream parlor?”

“I was, um… craving strawberry?”

y/n laughs — full, bright, genuine. “You’re ridiculous.”

Spiderwoman helps her upright again, awkward and bashful. “You’re okay though, right?”

y/n nods, brushing off her skirt. “I always am when you’re around.”

That definitely short-circuits Spiderwoman, who nearly stumbles over her own feet trying to swing off again. y/n watches her disappear into the sky, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’ve got to figure out who you are,” she says under her breath. “Because this? This is fun.”

-----

“I’m gonna die. This is it. This is how I go. Death by flirting. At least she’s hot.”

Minjeong drops her head onto the cafeteria table. Jimin gently pats her back like she’s in mourning. Aeri sips her drink, unimpressed. Yizhuo is already halfway through her bag of chips, eating with the energy of someone watching a reality show.

“What happened this time?” Aeri asks dryly.

“She almost fell at the ice cream shop yesterday,” Minjeong groans, still face-down. “And I just happened to be around. Again.”

“You mean,” Jimin says carefully, “you were stalking her.”

“No! I was just—okay yes, but lightly. I was passing by!”

“You swooped in and cradled her like a rom-com lead,” Yizhuo adds, tossing a chip into her mouth. “That’s not casual. That’s soulmate behavior.”

Minjeong lifts her head just enough to pout. “She’s onto me. I can tell. She kept looking at me weird this morning, and she keeps teasing me about Spiderwoman. I think she’s playing with me.”

“She probably is,” Aeri says bluntly. “And you’re letting her.”

“She smirked, Aeri. She smirked and said ‘you’re always around when I’m in trouble.’ Like—like I don’t try to save everyone. Like I’m her personal superhero.”

“Which you are,” Jimin says, beaming.

“I’m gonna get exposed,” Minjeong whimpers. “She’s going to unmask me and then laugh and say ‘wow I really thought you’d be taller.’”

“Honestly,” Yizhuo says, “if she finds out and still flirts with you, it’s a win.”

“IF!?”

--

y/n leans back in her chair, one leg crossed over the other, sipping an iced coffee like she owns the school. She taps her pen against her planner and smiles to herself.

Across the room, Ryujin raises a brow. “What are you plotting now?”

“Me?” y/n says innocently. “Nothing, just thinking.”

Ryujin doesn’t even blink. “Don’t lie to me, you’re glowing. That’s your mischief face.”

y/n sighs dramatically. “Fine. If I were plotting, hypothetically, it would be… a light social experiment.”

“Which means?”

y/n smiles wider. “I’ve narrowed it down. Spiderwoman is definitely someone from this school, and I think she might be Minjeong.”

Ryujin blinks. “The tiny one who blushes when you say ‘hi’?”

“The very same.”

“…y/n, be serious.”

“I am,” she hums. “Think about it. Spiderwoman’s voice? Nervous. Awkward. Like she’s trying to be confident and only halfway succeeding. She always shows up where I am, which is honestly flattering. And yesterday, Minjeong looked like she saw a ghost when I teased her about it.”

Ryujin stares. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

y/n leans forward, eyes glinting. “Oh, I’m thriving. And now… we test the waters.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m going to be somewhere ‘dangerous’ after school.”

“y/n—”

“I’m not going to actually fall off anything,” she says with a scoff. “I’m just going to see if she shows up.”

Ryujin pinches the bridge of her nose. “You’re such a menace.”

y/n grins. “She started it.”

-----

y/n stretches her arms as the afternoon sun casts a warm glow over the rooftop. She leans over the edge just a little, enough to look dramatic but not enough to trigger a real emergency.

She’s counting down in her head.

3… 2… 1…

Thwip.

“Hey! That’s not safe, y’know!”

y/n bites back a smile and turns, as if surprised. “Oh? Spiderwoman? What a coincidence.”

Minjeong — Spiderwoman — swings down from the rooftop ledge and lands in a little tumble-roll, clearly trying to appear cool despite the fact that she nearly faceplanted. “Wh-what are you doing up here? It's, uh… dangerous.”

y/n blinks innocently. “I just wanted to watch the sunset.”

Minjeong panics. “You could’ve fallen!”

“I had faith you'd catch me.”

That makes Spiderwoman stammer. “Wh— I mean—of course I would! I-I’m always around. Y’know. Just… protecting people.”

“Really?” y/n steps closer, eyes twinkling. “Because you seem to be protecting me a lot lately.”

Silence.

Spiderwoman lets out a nervous laugh, clearly glitching. “Haha… well, you… just have very bad luck, that’s all!”

y/n tilts her head. “Or maybe you like me.”

Spiderwoman makes an inhuman squeak. “W-what?! N-no— I mean yes— I mean no— I mean—!”

y/n walks past her, casually brushing her shoulder as she heads to the exit. “Thanks for the save, Spidey.”

Minjeong is left rooted in place, mask slightly askew, heart pounding. What she didn’t know was that the most stressful week of her life was about to start.

--

Day 1 – Monday:

y/n is standing beneath a ladder that a janitor is using. A bucket of paint just so happens to tilt from the top—

Thwip!

Spiderwoman catches it mid-air with a web, flinging it safely aside.

“You have the best timing.”

“You have the worst luck! Why were you just standing there?”

“Maybe I was hoping you'd show up.”

--

Day 2 – Tuesday:

y/n is carrying a suspiciously tall stack of books down the library stairs. Of course, she trips.

Spiderwoman catches her bridal-style.

“We really have to stop meeting like this.”

“Or you could just—like—not fall off things?!”

--

Day 3 – Wednesday:

y/n stands under a tree during lunch. A bird decides to attack her hair.

Spiderwoman appears out of nowhere, shooing the bird off like some chaotic fairy godmother.

“I feel like a Disney princess with a superhero guardian.”

“You need a leash, is what you need!”

--

Day 4 – Thursday:

y/n reaches to get a soda from a vending machine. The machine glitches. y/n shakes it. The machine teeters.

Spiderwoman swings in, literally kicks the machine to save y/n.

“That was hot.”

“THAT WAS DANGEROUS.”

--

Day 5 – Friday:

The week ends at the school theater. y/n is helping with stage decorations, she’s standing on a wobbly chair.

Of course, it tips.

And of course—Thwip!

y/n falls right into a web… and Spiderwoman’s arms.

She looks up, grinning. “You always catch me.”

Spiderwoman is quiet for a second. “Yeah… always.”

-----

y/n is sprawled on her bed, legs kicking behind her as she scribbles in a pink glittery notebook. At the top of the page in bubble letters:

“Reasons Why Minjeong is Spiderwoman”

Weird bruises she can’t explain

Always disappears before Spiderwoman shows up

Same height, same awkward voice

Adorably clumsy in both identities

I’ve fallen into her arms five times and it’s been the exact same hug every time

Minjeong’s ears turn red just like Spiderwoman’s mask does when she’s flustered

I just know okay???

y/n taps her pen against her lips, grinning to herself. “Time to poke the bear.”

-----

y/n corners Minjeong by her locker, leaning against it casually, smiling like she knows something.

“Hey, Minjeong.”

Minjeong, half-choking on her own spit: “O-oh! H-hi! Good morning! H-how are you!?”

“I’m great, actually. Bit of a weird week though. I’ve been rescued by a superhero like five times.”

Minjeong’s smile falters. “H-ha. That’s… haha… yeah, weird. Really… strange.”

y/n leans closer. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Minjeong is frozen. “Me? Know about what?”

y/n lifts a brow. “Spiderwoman, of course.”

Minjeong nearly drops her books. “Wh-WHY WOULD I— no! I mean no! I mean why would you think I know her? I’m— I’m just—” she gestures vaguely at herself, “Minjeong.”

The other girl hums, eyes twinkling. “Sure you are.”

-----

During lunch, y/n is sitting with Liz, Ryujin, and Yeji at lunch, eyes locked across the room where Minjeong is poking at her food, clearly paranoid.

Yeji leans in. “So, uh… is it working?”

y/n smirks. “She’s one panic away from crawling up the wall.”

Liz smirks right back. “You’re playing with fire.”

Ryujin lets out a laugh. “Honestly? I’m rooting for the flames.”

y/n grins, “I just want her to admit it. And maybe kiss me after.”

--

Minjeong whispers across the table to herself as if in prayer. “I’m so doomed. I’m so, so doomed. She knows. She’s toying with me.”

“Is she flirting or threatening you?” Jimin asks carefully.

“Yes.”

-----

It’s a rare cloudy afternoon in the city, and school let out early due to some power outage. y/n, of course, decided to casually take a stroll toward her favorite boba shop. Alone. In a questionable alley shortcut. With her phone conveniently at 3%.

It was all part of the plan.

What wasn’t part of the plan was the sound of tires screeching way too close.

A reckless driver had hopped the curb just as y/n stepped off it—she froze. For real this time.

Before she could even blink, a blur of red and blue swung down and scooped her up bridal-style, soaring them both safely onto a nearby rooftop.

y/n’s arms are still wrapped tightly around Spiderwoman’s neck when she finally speaks.

“You came,” she whispers, wide-eyed and breathless for real this time.

Spiderwoman, trying to play it cool but visibly trembling, replies shakily, “Y-yeah, of course. You were—um—danger. Dangerous. In—no, wait. In danger.”

y/n doesn’t let go. In fact, she gets more comfortable, her voice going soft and sincere. “You’ve saved me so many times this week. I think it’s time I thanked you properly.”

Minjeong’s voice cracks through the mask. “Th-that’s not necessary! I-I mean, your safety is thanks enough—”

y/n leans in slowly, her fingers brushing the edge of the mask. “Just one kiss. For all the times you caught me.”

Before Minjeong can fully short-circuit, the girl in her arms lifts the mask just enough to reveal her lips—and kisses her.

It’s soft. Sure. But it sends Minjeong’s brain into a system reboot. Her hands, still holding y/n, stiffen like she’s forgotten how to human. Her knees buckle. Her heart stops.

And when y/n pulls back, grinning like the cat that caught the spider, she whispers right against Minjeong’s lips.

“Hi, Minjeong.”

Minjeong gasps. “W-WHAT?!”

“Told you I’d figure it out.”

Minjeong’s voice goes high-pitched. “You—You KISSED me to REVEAL ME?! That’s—that’s cheating! That’s emotional sabotage! That’s—”

y/n just laughs, cupping her cheek. “You looked cute in the suit. I had to know if you tasted sweet too.”

Minjeong genuinely collapsed.

-----

Two weeks had passed since The Rooftop Incident.

And Minjeong had not known peace.

Every time she turned a corner, y/n was there — smirking, tossing her hair, leaning against lockers like she was starring in her own rom-com, and absolutely thriving in the knowledge that she’d cracked the biggest secret in school. The one person who hadn’t been fooled? Of course, it was the girl who practically lived in Minjeong’s head.

Minjeong, meanwhile, had barely survived.

She had walked into four poles, missed two stair steps, and accidentally called her chemistry teacher “Your Majesty” once.

And now here they were, on the school rooftop again. This time, no mask, no excuses. Just them.

y/n sat with her legs dangling off the ledge, sipping from a strawberry juice box like she didn’t just alter the course of Minjeong’s entire life.

“So,” she said casually, “how does it feel to be exposed?”

Minjeong groaned beside her, flopping dramatically onto the concrete. “Humiliating. Debilitating. Traumatizing.”

y/n laughed. “You’re so dramatic. You got kissed by a pretty girl on a rooftop. That’s basically fanfiction-level romance.”

Minjeong covered her face with both hands. “You tricked me!”

“You kissed me back,” y/n shot back smugly.

“I panicked!”

“You cupped my waist.”

“…Nervous muscle memory!”

y/n leaned over her, face inches away, eyes soft now. “You can admit it, y’know. That you like me.”

Minjeong peeked through her fingers. “That obvious, huh?”

y/n nodded. “Like, painfully. I think even the pigeons knew.”

Minjeong sat up slowly, still pink from head to toe. “Fine. I like you. I’ve liked you forever. Since… before I even got bit, honestly. I was gonna tell you, eventually. Maybe. After graduation… or on my deathbed.”

y/n giggled, nudging her shoulder. “You’re lucky I like awkward nerds with superpowers.”

Minjeong blinked. “Wait—wait, you like me too?”

y/n scoffed. “What do you think the kissing was for? Science?”

“…That would’ve been less stressful, actually.”

y/n rolled her eyes affectionately and stood, dusting off her skirt. “Come on. Walk me home?”

Minjeong scrambled to her feet. “You want me to swing you?”

“Nope,” y/n said sweetly. “I want you to walk me. No suit. No excuses. Just my girlfriend.”

Minjeong choked. “Girlfriend?!”

y/n grinned, already heading for the stairs. “I kissed you as a thank you. You kissed me back. I’m just accepting your proposal.”

Minjeong stared after her, stunned. Then, with a dreamy little smile pulling at her lips, she jogged to catch up.

--

y/n leaned on the railing, watching the skyline, sipping another juice box. Behind her, a thump — the soft sound of someone landing.

“You’re late,” she said without turning.

Spiderwoman chuckled softly. “Some jerk locked himself out of his apartment five floors up. Had to help.”

y/n turned, arms crossed. “Mmm. Classic excuse. Got your priorities all out of whack.”

Spiderwoman stepped forward, mask half-off already. “But I made it, didn’t I?”

y/n softened instantly, walking up to her. “You always do.”

They stood there for a beat. Close, quiet.

y/n reached out, brushing a bit of hair from Minjeong’s face.

“You know,” she said softly, “I fell for both versions of you. The dork and the hero.”

Minjeong took her hand. “They’re the same girl, you know.”

“I know.” y/n smiled. “That’s why I’m keeping you.”

Minjeong leaned in, voice gentle. “Then I guess I’m yours.”

y/n pulled her close. “About time.”

--

One Week Later – Group Chat: [Jimin, Aeri, Yizhuo, y/n, Minjeong]

Jimin:

sooooo you two are finally official huh

Aeri:

thank god. i was about to lock you in a closet until you kissed

Yizhuo:

the lesbian rooftop superhero romance is real… we won

y/n:

you’re welcome for the entertainment

Minjeong:

I feel so attacked

y/n:

you’re dating me now. get used to it.

Minjeong:

…okay

Yizhuo:

…Minjeong get up

_____________________

Bonus:

Six months later...

The morning sun poured through the half-open blinds, casting streaks of golden light across the tangled sheets. In the middle of the bed, Minjeong lay on her stomach, one leg hanging off the side, her face buried into the pillow. Her hair was sticking up at odd angles — clearly a victim of the night’s tossing and turning.

On the other side, y/n sat cross-legged, fully awake, brushing her teeth with a lollipop in her mouth.

“Minjeong,” she said through the candy stick. “You’re going to be late.”

Minjeong groaned. “Spiderwoman doesn’t do mornings.”

y/n poked her. “Spiderwoman also has physics first period and a quiz on friction.”

“…Friction is my enemy.”

y/n’s eyes sparkled. “I dunno, you didn’t seem to hate friction last night when—”

Minjeong launched a pillow at her with deadly precision.

y/n collapsed into giggles, hands up in surrender.

Later, in the kitchen, Minjeong, finally upright and conscious, munched on toast while leaning heavily against the counter.

y/n was in front of her, poking through a box of labeled gadgets Minjeong had been tinkering with. “What’s this one do?”

“Glows in the dark. Kind of useless but cool.”

“And this?”

“Explodes glitter.”

Pause.

“…That one’s for emergencies only.”

y/n’s eyebrows wiggled. “Define emergency.”

Minjeong deadpanned, “If I ever forget your birthday.”

y/n smiled wide, leaning up to kiss her cheek. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Minjeong smiled down at her, eyes soft behind her glasses. “Lucky I’ve got you.”

--

Spiderwoman crouched on the edge of a building, surveying the city below.

Behind her, a voice crackled through her communicator. y/n’s voice.

“You know,” y/n said teasingly, “I think I liked you better when you were mysterious and broody. Now you’re just a soft little nerd with a grappling hook.”

Minjeong grinned under the mask. “You loved me when I was mysterious. You’re in love with me now.”

A pause.

Then her girlfriend replied, voice warm. “Yeah. I really am.”

Spiderwoman stood, wind brushing past her, and smiled out at the world.

She was awkward, nerdy, still tripped over her own feet half the time — but she was loved. Fully, completely, and fearlessly.

And with y/n in her corner?

She felt like she could do anything.

--

A Newscast Playing on a Shop Window:

“—and once again, Spiderwoman swooped in to stop a carjacking near the downtown plaza. Eyewitnesses say she seemed… embarrassed to take credit—”

y/n passed by the window, sipping her iced coffee, wearing Minjeong’s oversized hoodie. She glanced at the screen, smirked, and whispered to herself,

“Dork.”

Then she walked off down the street — texting one-handed.

y/n:

Miss you already.

Don’t fall off a roof.

I want cuddles when you’re back.

And my hoodie. Maybe.

Spiderwoman:

saving the world. brb.

but yes. cuddles.

and you can try to take the hoodie back.

____________________

It happens late at night.

Jimin is finally back in y/n’s city after weeks apart, and they’re supposed to be spending time together. But instead, Jimin is out—again. With him.

y/n knows she shouldn’t check the internet, but she does. She always does. And there it is… pictures of Jimin and Jeno at a restaurant, laughing, looking comfortable. There’s even a video, one where Jimin reaches out to playfully push Jeno’s shoulder as they joke about something. The comment section is filled with fans gushing about their chemistry, about how good they look together... about how maybe there’s something real there.

y/n throws her phone onto the bed and runs a hand through her hair, trying to breathe. She doesn’t want to be this person. She doesn’t want to be jealous. Jimin deserves to have friends.

But damn it, why couldn’t she have spent that time with her?

Her hands shake as she texts.

Are you coming over?

Fifteen minutes pass. No reply.

Twenty.

Thirty.

y/n grabs her phone again and presses call. It rings. Once. Twice. Five times. Voicemail.

And that’s it. That’s what breaks her.

By the time Jimin walks into y/n’s apartment, it’s past midnight. She’s tired, wearing a hoodie and a cap, her usual disguise to keep away prying eyes. She expects y/n to be asleep or waiting with that familiar, knowing smirk.

Instead, her girlfriend is standing in the living room, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Jimin pauses, sensing the tension instantly. “Hey,” she says, voice soft, like she knows something is wrong.

The younger girl doesn’t return the greeting. “Did you have fun?”

Jimin sighs, running a hand through her hair. “y/n—”

“I waited for you.”

That stops Jimin in her tracks. “I told you I was going out tonight.”

“You didn’t tell me it was with him again.” y/n’s voice is sharper now.

Jimin exhales, already frustrated. “Why does it matter?”

y/n scoffs. “Why does it—? Jimin, are you serious? Do you have any idea how it looks? How it feels?”

Jimin shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter how it looks. We know what’s real.”

y/n laughs bitterly. “Do we? Because to me, it looks like you’d rather be with him than with me.”

Jimin’s eyes darken. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is me sitting here like a fool, waiting for you, while the whole world thinks you belong to someone else.”

Jimin clenches her jaw. “You’re the one who wanted this to be a secret, y/n. You’re the one who said it would be better this way. That it would protect me.”

y/n falters. “I—”

“No.” Jimin steps closer, eyes burning. “You don’t get to be mad at me for doing exactly what you asked me to do, for being careful, for not making this harder than it already is.”

y/n swallows, her heart pounding. “You think this isn’t hard for me?”

Jimin exhales sharply, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Then why are you making it worse?”

y/n lets out a shaky breath, her chest aching. “Because I love you.”

Jimin freezes.

y/n’s voice cracks. “Because I love you, and it kills me that I can’t even act like it. That I have to sit here and watch people talk about how perfect you’d be with someone else while I have to stay silent. That I have to watch you go out with him and just—what? Pretend it doesn’t bother me?”

Jimin’s expression softens for a second, but she doesn’t reach for her. She doesn’t close the distance between them.

And that’s when y/n knows.

That hesitation is enough to shatter her.

“Do you even want to be with me anymore?” The question comes out before she can stop it.

Jimin’s breath catches. “y/n—”

“Just tell me the truth, Jimin.”

Jimin swallows, her throat tight. Her silence stretches between them, suffocating, painful.

y/n’s vision blurs, but she refuses to cry. She refuses to be the first to break.

She takes a step back, and the distance between them feels like miles. “If you’re not going to choose me, then don’t string me along.”

Jimin’s entire body stiffens, panic flashing in her eyes. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

y/n’s voice wavers. “Then tell me you love me. Tell me I’m the only one.”

Jimin’s lips part—but the words don’t come.

And that silence? That’s all y/n needs to hear.

She nods slowly, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Jimin’s eyes widen, panic setting in. “Wait—”

“No.” y/n’s voice breaks this time. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Jimin steps forward, finally reaching for her, but y/n flinches back.

Jimin stops dead in her tracks, her hands trembling at her sides. “Baby, please—”

But the younger girl shakes her head, blinking back tears. “I love you, Jimin. But I’m not going to beg you to love me back.”

And then she turns away.

Jimin watches her go, watches as the person she loves walks out of the room, out of her life.

She could call out. She could stop her.

But she doesn’t.

And that’s the worst part.

Because the moment the door closes behind y/n, Jimin realizes—too late—that she’s just lost the best thing she’s ever had.

____________________

Los Angeles

y/n stared at her phone, her fingers hovering over the call button. The message from her manager still lingered on the screen, glaring at her like a cruel reminder:

"The Christmas charity concert is non-negotiable, y/n. It’s the biggest event of the season. You’re the headliner."

It wasn’t just about the concert—it was about her image, her fans, and the responsibility she carried as a so called “household name”. But this wasn’t just any Christmas; it was supposed to be her first real holiday with Jimin. A private, intimate celebration after months of stolen moments, late-night phone calls, and whispered "I love yous."

With a deep breath, she pressed the call button. The phone rang twice before Jimin’s familiar, warm voice answered.

“Hey, sunshine,” Jimin said, her tone instantly brightening y/n’s mood.

“Hi, babe,” y/n replied softly, though her usual spark was missing. She heard Jimin pause, as if sensing the shift in her tone.

“What’s wrong?” Jimin asked, her voice laced with concern.

The younger girl closed her eyes, wishing she could say anything else. “I... I can’t come to Seoul for Christmas.”

The silence that followed was deafening. y/n could imagine Jimin gripping her phone tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she processed the words.

“You promised…” Jimin finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” y/n replied, her voice trembling. “I tried to push back, but it’s the charity concert. I have to be there.”

Jimin’s silence stretched again, but when she spoke, she forced her voice to remain steady. “I get it. Your fans need you, and this is important. It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine, and they both knew it.

“Jimin—” y/n started, but the older girl cut her off gently.

“It’s okay, sunshine. Really,” Jimin said, though there was a tightness in her voice. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe next year…”

y/n felt her heart crack. “I’ll make this up to you, I promise.”

“I know you will,” Jimin replied softly, before adding, “I should go. The girls are waiting for me.”

“Okay,” y/n said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Merry Christmas, angel.”

“Merry Christmas, sunshine.”

As the call ended, y/n stared at her screen, guilt gnawing at her. She had never hated her career more than in that moment.

-----

Meanwhile in Seoul…

Jimin sat on the dorm couch, staring blankly at the Christmas lights twinkling on the small tree the group had decorated earlier that week. The room was filled with the smell of gingerbread and hot chocolate, the warmth of the season radiating from every corner, but to her, it all felt hollow.

She barely noticed Aeri plopping down beside her, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. “Hey, what’s with the long face? I thought you’d be buzzing with holiday spirit.”

Jimin tried to muster a smile, but it fell flat. “y/n can’t come home. She’s stuck doing a charity concert.”

Aeri frowned, setting her mug down. “That sucks. I know how much you were looking forward to seeing her.”

Aeri doesn’t point out the fact that Seoul has never been home to y/n. She understands Jimin is referring to herself.

“Yeah,” Jimin said, her voice barely audible.

From across the room, Minjeong looked up from the gingerbread house she was decorating—or rather, destroying. “Wait, she canceled on Christmas? That’s rough, unnie.”

Yizhuo, ever the nice one, chimed in. “Let me guess, you’re pretending you’re okay but secretly dying inside?”

“Yizhuo!” Aeri scolded, but Jimin let out a weak laugh.

“She’s not wrong,” Jimin admitted, running a hand through her hair. “I just... I really wanted this. Just one Christmas together.”

Minjeong walked over and plopped down on the other side of Jimin, looping an arm around her shoulder. “She’ll make it up to you. y/n adores you, you know that.”

“Yeah, but it still hurts,” Jimin confessed, her voice cracking.

The three girls exchanged glances. Aeri reached out and squeezed Jimin’s hand. “We’ll get you through this, okay? No moping around. We’ve got cookies to bake, movies to watch, and—”

“Hot chocolate to spill on each other,” Yizhuo added, smirking.

“Hey!” Minjeong shot back, glaring at the youngest.

Despite herself, Jimin smiled faintly at their antics. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

-----

y/n stood backstage at the sprawling venue, the air buzzing with energy as staff members rushed around with last-minute preparations. The massive Christmas charity concert was only hours away, and she was the headliner. It was everything she’d worked for—but tonight, her heart wasn’t in it.

Her manager walked up to her, clipboard in hand. “y/n, the soundcheck’s in five minutes. You good?”

She forced a tight smile and nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. She could barely focus, her mind wandering back to Seoul. She pictured Jimin sitting by the tree, sipping hot chocolate, her smile dimmed by disappointment.

Her chest tightened as she adjusted the microphone in her hand. This was supposed to be their first real holiday together, and she had ruined it. She glanced at the bouquet of lilies resting on her dressing room table, originally meant for Jimin. It felt like a cruel reminder of what she was missing.

As the soundcheck began, y/n pushed through the motions, her usual passion absent. When her manager finally gave her a break, she retreated to her dressing room and pulled out her phone.

Her thumb hovered over Jimin’s contact. She wanted to call her, to hear her voice and apologize again. But she hesitated, unsure if she deserved to interrupt Jimin’s night with yet another reminder of her absence. Instead, she typed a quick message:

“I miss you, more than words can say. Merry Christmas, my love.”

She stared at the screen, debating whether to send it. Before she could second-guess herself, she pressed send.

-----

Jimin lay sprawled on the dorm couch, her phone resting on her chest. The girls had tried their best to cheer her up with a night of baking, board games, and Christmas karaoke, but the void in her heart remained.

She stared at the twinkling lights of the tree, the colors blurring together as tears threatened to fall. Her phone buzzed, and her heart leapt. She grabbed it, hoping it was y/n.

It was.

“I miss you, more than words can say. Merry Christmas, my love.”

Her lips trembled as she reread the message, the pain of missing her girlfriend mixing with the warmth of knowing she was thinking of her.

“Who is it?” Yizhuo asked, peeking over Jimin’s shoulder.

“No one,” Jimin said quickly, clutching the phone to her chest.

The youngest rolled her eyes. “It’s your wife, isn’t it?”

“Leave her alone, Yizhuo,” Aeri called from the kitchen. “Let her pine in peace.”

“I’m not pining,” Jimin protested weakly, earning a chorus of laughter from her members.

She sighed and sent a reply:

“I miss you too. I hope tonight goes well. Merry Christmas, sunshine.”

As soon as she hit send, she placed the phone face down and stared at the ceiling. She wanted to be happy for y/n’s success, to support her as a good partner should, but the ache in her chest made it hard to focus on anything else.

-----

y/n’s phone vibrated, and she grabbed it immediately, her heart racing.

“I miss you too. I hope tonight goes well. Merry Christmas, sunshine.”

She smiled faintly, though the sadness lingered. She wanted to believe those words were enough, but deep down, she knew Jimin was hurting as much as she was.

Her manager’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “y/n, you’re up in five.”

“Right,” she said, slipping her phone into her bag. She adjusted her outfit in the mirror, plastered on a smile, and stepped out onto the stage.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, the energy electric. She waved, smiled, and began her set, her voice flawless as always. But as she sang her holiday ballad, the lyrics hit a little too close to home.

"Your love is the only gift I need..."

The crowd cheered, but her heart ached.

-----

Jimin stayed on the couch long after her phone’s screen dimmed. The dorm was quieter now; Yizhuo had finally stopped singing carols at the top of her lungs, and Aeri had retreated to her room with a mug of mulled wine. Only Minjeong remained, silently scrolling through her phone across the room.

Jimin traced the outline of her phone case absentmindedly. Every fiber of her being wanted to call her girlfriend, to hear her voice and feel close to her in some small way. But she resisted. y/n had a packed schedule, and she didn’t want to add to her stress.

“Jimin-ah,” Minjeong called softly. “Are you okay?”

Jimin blinked and sat up, attempting a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” Minjeong said, setting her phone aside. “You’ve been moping all night. It’s Christmas, unnie. You should be happy.”

“I know,” Jimin replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… I was really looking forward to seeing her, you know?”

Minjeong nodded, her expression sympathetic. “I get it. But you’ll see her soon, right? It’s not like she’s gone forever.”

Jimin chuckled dryly. “It feels like it sometimes.”

Minjeong hesitated before offering a suggestion. “Why don’t we go out? There’s still time to catch the lights in Myeongdong. It might help take your mind off things.”

Before Jimin could respond, Aeri poked her head out of her room. “Lights in Myeongdong? I’m in.”

“And I’ll drag Yizhuo if I have to,” Minjeong added with a grin.

Jimin hesitated. The idea of stepping outside into the bustling city streets felt overwhelming, but the thought of sitting in the dorm, wallowing, wasn’t any better.

“Fine,” she said at last, earning a cheer from her members.

The streets of Myeongdong were alive with holiday cheer, the air filled with laughter, chatter, and the scent of roasted chestnuts. Festive lights adorned every building, casting a warm glow over the bustling crowd.

Jimin trailed behind her members, her hands stuffed in her coat pockets. She couldn’t help but compare the scene to the quiet, intimate Christmas she’d imagined spending with y/n.

Aeri suddenly linked arms with her. “You’re not allowed to look sad tonight, okay? We’re going to have fun whether you like it or not.”

Jimin managed a small smile. “I’ll try.”

“Try harder,” Yizhuo teased, tugging on Jimin’s scarf. “You’re killing the vibe.”

They stopped at a vendor selling hotteok, the warm, sugary treats bringing a brief smile to Jimin’s face. As she bit into the crispy pastry, she felt a pang of nostalgia. y/n would’ve loved this.

“Let me guess,” Minjeong said, watching her closely. “You’re thinking about her again.”

Jimin sighed. “I can’t help it. Everything reminds me of her.”

Aeri patted her shoulder. “That’s love for you. But hey, at least you’ve got us tonight. We’re not y/n, but we’re pretty great company.”

“You guys are the best,” Jimin admitted, her smile finally reaching her eyes.

As the night wore on, Jimin started to feel lighter. She even laughed when Yizhuo tripped over a snowbank, scattering her snacks across the pavement. But as they walked back to the dorm, the weight of y/n’s absence settled over her once more.

She stared up at the sky, the stars twinkling like the city lights. “Merry Christmas, my heart,” she whispered, hoping y/n could somehow feel her words.

-----

The dorm was quiet when the girls finally returned from Myeongdong. Aeri and Minjeong were sprawled on the couch, arguing over a Christmas movie to watch, while Yizhuo was humming in the kitchen as she attempted to make hot cocoa.

Jimin kicked off her boots and sank into the armchair, pulling a blanket over herself. Her heart still ached, but the night out with her members had helped dull the sting.

“Unnie, you want hot cocoa?” Yizhuo called from the kitchen.

“No, thanks,” Jimin replied, her voice soft.

“Suit yourself!” Yizhuo sang, returning to her humming.

Jimin closed her eyes and leaned back, letting the warmth of the blanket and the faint chatter of her members lull her into a calm state.

The peace was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Which one of you ordered delivery on Christmas?” Aeri wondered aloud.

“Maybe it’s a fan gift,” Minjeong said as she got up to answer it.

When she opened the door, she froze, her eyes wide.

“Who is it?” Yizhuo called, peeking out of the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks, her jaw dropping.

Jimin cracked an eye open, curious about the commotion. “What’s going on?”

Minjeong stepped aside, and there, standing in the doorway, was y/n.

Dressed in a chic winter coat and scarf, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, y/n looked slightly winded, as though she’d come straight from the airport, but her smile was radiant, her eyes sparkling as they found Jimin.

“Hi, gorgeous,” y/n said, her voice warm and soft.

Jimin sat up, her blanket falling to the floor. “y/n?”

The room fell silent as the members watched the scene unfold.

y/n stepped inside, setting her bag down. “I couldn’t stay away. I told you I’d move heaven and earth to be here, and I meant it.”

For a moment, Jimin didn’t move. She simply stared, as if she couldn’t believe her girlfriend was really there, she was supposed to be in LA. Then, in an instant, she was on her feet, crossing the room and throwing her arms around y/n with enough force to lift the younger girl.

“You’re here,” Jimin whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re really here.”

y/n hugged her tightly, burying her face in Jimin’s shoulder. “I’m here,” she murmured. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

The other members exchanged knowing smiles before quietly slipping out of the room to give them privacy.

They sat together on the couch, the soft glow of the Christmas tree lights surrounding them. y/n held Jimin’s hand, her thumb gently brushing over her knuckles.

“How did you manage this?” Jimin asked, still in awe.

y/n chuckled. “It wasn’t easy. I had to rearrange a lot of things and promise a lot of favors. But I couldn’t imagine spending Christmas without you.”

Jimin’s heart swelled, a tear slipping down her cheek. “I missed you so much.”

The younger girl leaned closer, her forehead resting against Jimin’s. “I missed you too… more than words can say.”

For a moment, they simply sat there, lost in each other’s presence. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of their connection.

“Merry Christmas, angel” y/n whispered, her lips brushing against Jimin’s in a tender kiss.

“Merry Christmas, sunshine” Jimin replied, her voice filled with love.

-----

The following morning, the dorm was filled with the smell of pancakes and the sound of laughter. y/n, still in her cozy sweater and pajama pants, was seated at the dining table, watching as Yizhuo and Minjeong bickered over who got to flip the pancakes next. Aeri was perched on the couch, sipping her coffee, smirking at the chaos.

Jimin emerged from her room, her hair tousled and her face glowing with happiness. y/n couldn’t help but smile at the sight of her.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” y/n greeted softly.

Jimin’s cheeks turned pink as she crossed the room, pressing a kiss to y/n’s forehead. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

The moment was interrupted by Yizhuo’s exasperated voice. “Unnie, tell Minjeong that she’s burning the pancakes!”

Minjeong whirled around, spatula in hand. “I am not! They’re perfectly golden!”

“They’re crispy,” Yizhuo argued, pointing at the edges.

y/n and Jimin laughed as the bickering continued. Aeri rolled her eyes playfully, setting her coffee down, “Some of us want to eat breakfast.”

“Okay, enough,” Jimin said, stepping into the kitchen. “y/n and I will handle breakfast. You two can set the table.”

Minjeong pouted. “But I wanted to—”

“Table. Now,” Jimin said firmly, though her tone was light.

y/n joined her at the stove, the two of them working in perfect harmony as they flipped pancakes and prepared the rest of the meal. Every so often, y/n would steal a glance at Jimin, her heart full of gratitude.

When breakfast was finally ready, they all gathered around the table, their plates piled high with pancakes, fruit, and syrup. The sound of laughter and clinking forks filled the air as they enjoyed the meal together.

At one point, Yizhuo raised her glass of orange juice. “To y/n, for making our Christmas extra special and stopping Jimin-unnie from rotting on the couch!”

The others joined in, raising their glasses. “To y/n!”

y/n blushed, glancing at Jimin, who gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” y/n said softly. “But really, I’m just glad to be here with all of you.”

The rest of the day was spent exchanging gifts, watching holiday movies, and playing games. y/n fit right in, her laughter blending seamlessly with the others’. Jimin couldn’t stop smiling, her heart swelling with happiness at having y/n by her side.

As the day turned to evening, y/n and Jimin found themselves alone on the balcony, wrapped in blankets as they watched the snow fall.

“This is perfect,” Jimin murmured, leaning her head on y/n’s shoulder.

y/n kissed the top of her head. “It really is. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

Jimin looked up at her, her eyes shining with love. “Thank you for coming. For everything.”

y/n cupped her face, her thumb brushing against Jimin’s cheek. “I’d do it all over again, a thousand times, just to be here with you.”

Their lips met in a kiss, sweet and full of promise. As the snow continued to fall, the world felt warm, their hearts beating as one.

____________________