.

the living room is looking like a crime scene.

tinsel everywhere. empty soda cans. half-eaten cookies. ningning is actively fighting minjeong over a santa hat. jimin is sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at a gift like it personally wronged her.

“okay,” she says slowly. “who the fuck gave me a weapon.”

you’re on the couch pretending not to hear, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts.

“it’s from y/n,” aeri reads from the tag, instantly snitching.

jimin looks up at you. deadpan. “why is it heavy.”

you shrug. “open it.”

she shakes it.

thud.

minjeong gasps. “IS THAT A BRICK—”

jimin opens the box.

it’s a literal brick. wrapped nicely. ribbon and all.

then—

“Y/N,” jimin says flatly, holding it up. “what the fuck is this.”

you lose it. full laughter. doubled over. wheezing.

“it’s for your future house,” you say between laughs. “i thought you’d like something useful.”

she stares at you. jaw clenched. eyes narrowed.

“…you’re a bitch.”

“a thoughtful one.”

ningning is crying laughing. aeri is filming. minjeong chants “brick! brick! brick!” like this isn’t the stupidest thing that’s ever happened.

jimin puts the brick down gently.

“i’m keeping this,” she says. “as evidence.”

“of what.”

“of betrayal.”

but she’s smiling. just a little.

and that’s what gets you.

the party keeps going.

music’s loud. laughter’s easy. everyone’s tipsy and warm and happy and you’re pretending your heart isn’t doing stupid shit every time jimin looks at you.

she sits next to you eventually, shoulder brushing yours.

“you planned that, didn’t you,” she mutters.

“planned what.”

“making me look stupid.”

you grin. “you do that on your own.”

she scoffs, nudging you with her knee. “i hate you.”

you look at her. really look.

the soft curve of her smile. the way her eyes crinkle. the way she always leans toward you without realizing.

“…yeah,” you say quietly. “sure.”

she glances at you then, like she heard something else in your voice.

but ningning interrupts by shoving a cookie in her mouth and the moment’s gone.

again.

it’s always like that.

by the time the apartment empties out, it’s late.

jackets are gone. lights are dim. the brick is still on the coffee table like a silent threat.

jimin’s helping clean up when you clear your throat.

“hey,” you say. “wait.”

she turns. “what’s up.”

you reach into your bag.

your hands are shaking. stupidly embarrassing.

“that wasn’t… your real gift,” you say.

her brow furrows. “yeah, i figured.”

you pull out a small box. lighter. softer. real.

she takes it carefully this time.

inside is a silver keychain. simple. engraved.

always home.

she freezes.

“…y/n.”

“i know it’s cheesy,” you rush. “but you’re always giving pieces of yourself to everyone else and i just— i wanted you to have something that stays with you.”

she swallows.

“you already gave me a brick.”

“shut up.”

she laughs, but it cracks a little.

then she looks up at you.

“why are you doing this,” she asks softly.

you don’t dodge it this time.

“because i’ve liked you for a long time,” you say. “and i got tired of pretending i don’t.”

your chest feels like it might cave in.

then—

“…good,” jimin says.

you blink. “good?”

she steps closer. voice quiet. honest.

“because i’ve liked you too. for a long time.”

your heart stops. restarts wrong.

“you’re serious?”

she nods. “sadly.”

you don’t even notice it at first.

minjeong’s dumbass decoration job. a single sprig of mistletoe taped crookedly to the ceiling.

jimin looks up.

then back at you.

“…of course,” she mutters.

you laugh nervously. “we don’t have to—”

she reaches out, fingers brushing your hand.

“i want to.”

the kiss is soft. hesitant. warm.

just her lips against yours, like she’s been waiting.

when she pulls back, she rests her forehead against yours.

“merry christmas,” she whispers.

you smile.

“merry christmas, homeowner.”

later, when you’re both leaving, jimin picks up the brick.

she hands it to you.

“you keep it,” she says.

you blink. “what? no.”

“so when i get my future house,” she adds, smiling, “you’ll remember you’re part of it.”

your chest aches.

“…that was smooth.”

“i know.”

she kisses you again. quick. sweet.

When she pulls back, her eyes drop to the cup in your other hand.

"That much caffeine isn't good for you either." She takes it right out of your grip before you can protest.

"It's my first cup of the day."

Jimin gives you this look. The kind that says she knows you're full of shit.

"Okay, second."

She doesn't break eye contact.

You sigh. "Third. But in my defense, I couldn't sleep last night. This whole... everything is driving me fucking crazy."

"Yeah." Her fingers trace the rim of your coffee cup. "Me neither. Especially after they called us in."

You hand her phone back and she stares at it for a moment before shoving it in her pocket. The SM building today feels much more oppressive than it normally does. Too bright, too sterile. White walls and uncomfortable chairs and that generic corporate smell of air conditioning.

Jimin moves to the wall and leans against it, arms crossed over her chest. "How did this even happen?" Her head tilts back, eyes on the ceiling. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have kissed you."

"Stop."

"I mean it. If I hadn't—"

"Jimin." You step closer. "It's not your fault. You kissed me, and I dared you to do it again. So technically it's both our faults, but really? It's neither. It's whoever the fuck leaked that footage."

She shakes her head, and there's this lost quality to how she's looking at nothing in particular. "It feels like everything's falling apart. Two days ago, everything was perfect. I was the happiest I've ever been. And now..."

The sentence just dies there.

You pull her into a hug and she melts into it, face buried against your chest. "The bright side," you say into her hair, "is that if we make it through this shitstorm, we won't have to hide anymore. No more sneaking around. No more pretending we're just friends. It's a necessary hell."

"Necessary hell." She laughs weakly. "That's one way to put it."

"I'm serious though. After this, it's done. The worst will be over."

She pulls back just enough to look at you. "Thank you. For being here. For not..." She doesn't finish but you know what she means. For not running.

"I'm with you until the end. I know what's at stake for you." You're trying so hard to be her anchor right now, to be the steady thing she can hold onto. But the truth is you're just as terrified as she is. Maybe more. Because she's Karina, she's survived scandals and hate and the brutal machinery of the industry. You're just some guy who accidentally became the center of a media shitstorm.

But then you remember the hotel room two days ago. How she held you when you were the one falling apart, how she fought through your insecurities and showed you exactly what you mean to her. This is your turn. Time to be strong for her.

The door opens and a woman in a sleek black blazer appears. Mid-thirties, clipboard in hand, expression professionally neutral.

"They're ready for you now."

You and Jimin exchange a look. Her hand finds yours and you hold tight as you walk down the hallway. The secretary's heels click in front of you. When you reach the door, you both stop. Your hands separate slowly, reluctantly.

Jimin turns to face you fully. "No matter what happens in there," she says, "I'm not staying away from you. Whatever they say, whatever they want. I won't."

You smile despite everything. "I know."

You push the door open together.

The office, as you already expected, is big and imposing. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking Seoul, expensive furniture, and behind a massive desk sits Lee Soo-man's successor as the real power at SM Entertainment: Vice Chairman Kim Youngmin. Late forties, silver starting to thread through his hair, wearing a suit that probably cost as much as a small car. He built half of SM's current roster and has a reputation for being brilliant and absolutely ruthless.

"Please, sit." He gestures to the two chairs across from his desk.

You and Jimin sit. The chairs are less comfortable than they look.

"We know," you both say, almost in unison.

Kim Youngmin leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Let me lay out where we are. The footage has been circulating for approximately eighteen hours. Major news outlets picked it up within four. Trending on every platform. Twitter, Instagram, Naver, Weibo. The comments sections are..." He pauses. "Volatile."

"This conversation shouldn't even be happening," Jimin says. "We're not criminals."

"No, you're not." Kim Youngmin's expression doesn't change. "But you are under contract, Jimin. Section 7, subsection C. Public image and conduct clauses. I'm sure you remember signing it. The situation is delicate," he continues, pulling out a tablet and sliding it across the desk. You can see metrics, graphs, social media analytics. "Your individual brand value dropped 23% overnight. aespa's group endorsements are being reviewed by three major sponsors. We've had calls from luxury brands reconsidering their ambassador contracts. Your upcoming comeback promotion schedule is in jeopardy."

Jimin opens her mouth but you touch her arm lightly. A signal. Stay calm. She glances at you and takes a breath.

Kim Youngmin isn't done. "I need you both to understand the scope of what we're dealing with. This isn't just about you two having a... personal relationship. This impacts your group members, their careers, the company's stock price, investor confidence. There are hundreds of people whose livelihoods depend on aespa's success. The timing couldn't be worse with your world tour announcement scheduled for next month."

He's being professional about it, clinical even, but every word makes it sound like your relationship is a catastrophic mistake. Like you're the problem that needs to be solved.

"What about whoever leaked the footage?" Jimin's hands are balled into fists on her lap. "That's who you should be going after. We're sitting here like we did something wrong when someone invaded our privacy and weaponized it. That's the actual crime here."

"We are working on it," Kim Youngmin says smoothly. "Legal is coordinating with the police, IT is tracing the source. But that investigation will take weeks, possibly months. Right now, we have more pressing concerns. Damage control. Public perception. Your career."

"My career," Jimin repeats flatly.

"Yes." He pulls the tablet back, swipes a few times. "Which brings us to the response options. We need to make a decision within the next twelve hours. The longer we wait, the more the narrative spirals out of our control."

You feel your heart rate pick up. Here it comes.

"Option one." Kim Youngmin looks directly at Jimin. "We deny the relationship entirely. Claim the footage is a deepfake. AI-generated. There are precedents for this approach in the industry. We'd bring in digital forensics experts, release statements questioning the video's authenticity, suggest anti-fan sabotage."

"But it's not a deepfake.” you point out.

"Obviously. Which makes it difficult to prove. We'd be playing a long game, counting on public doubt and the media cycle moving on. It's risky. If the denial falls apart, the backlash would be worse than the original scandal. Trust issues, accusations of lying to fans."

Jimin is staring at the desk, processing.

"Option two," he continues. "We acknowledge the video is real but deny the romantic relationship. You and—" he glances at you, "—have known each other since childhood. The kiss was a moment of platonic affection between old friends. Perhaps celebratory, perhaps taken out of context. Young people today are more socially open to hugs and kisses than older generations used to be. We could frame it as conservative fans misunderstanding cultural norms."

"That's bullshit," Jimin says quietly.

"It's a narrative. Will everyone believe it? No. But it gives your hardcore fans something to defend you with. It provides plausible deniability. The challenge here is consistency. You'd both need to maintain that story indefinitely. Any slip, any future photo or rumor, and the whole thing collapses. And frankly, the way you two were kissing..." He trails off meaningfully. "It would be a difficult sell. But not impossible."

Jimin lets out a long sigh. The mood in the office feels like a full-on funeral - for her career and for your job.

"Option three." Kim Youngmin sets the tablet down. "You confirm the relationship. Full transparency. Release a statement that yes, you're dating. Emphasize the longevity of your connection, childhood friends who reunited, a natural progression. Make it romantic, not scandalous. Paint it as a fairy tale rather than a scandal."

"That's the one," Jimin says immediately.

"It's also the riskiest." His tone is grave. "You would be the first active female idol at your level to publicly confirm a relationship in nearly a decade. The precedent is not encouraging. Several idols faced massive backlash and career impacts despite their groups' success. Male idols have slightly more leeway, but for women? The parasocial relationship with fans is different. Harsher. You'd lose a significant portion of your fanbase. Possibly majority. The hate would be relentless."

"I don't care," Jimin says.

"You should care. We're talking potential group disbandment. Your members would suffer the consequences of your choice. Ning, Giselle, Winter… their careers would be affected. Comeback sales could tank. Concert attendance. Everything."

You feel sick. He's not wrong about the potential fallout. You've seen it happen to other idols.

"And there would be conditions," Kim Youngmin continues. "If you go public, we control the narrative completely. Approved photos, statements, interview responses. Your relationship becomes part of your public brand, which means it's subject to company management. And should things end..." He lets that hang. "The breakup would also be public. Messy. Another news cycle."

Jimin's looking at you now, and you can see the calculation happening behind her eyes. The weight of choosing between her truth and everyone else's careers.

"There's also the matter of your position," Kim Youngmin says, turning his attention to you. "You're an employee. Dating a talent you work with directly violates company policy. Regardless of which option we choose regarding the public narrative, internally there would need to be consequences."

"Consequences,” you repeat.

"Termination, most likely. Or at minimum, reassignment far from any projects involving aespa. We can't have the appearance of impropriety or conflict of interest."

Jimin's hand finds yours between the chairs where he can't see. Her grip is tight.

"So those are the options," Kim Youngmin says. "Think carefully. This decision will define both of your futures.”

"This is unacceptable,” Jimin protests. "He didn't do anything wrong. You want to talk about professionals? Ask anyone who's worked with him. Anyone on the team. He's never once crossed a line, never behaved inappropriately, never let our relationship affect his work. He's been nothing but competent since day one."

Kim Youngmin regards her calmly. "I'm not questioning his competency."

"Then why punish him?" She leans forward. "My boyfriend doesn't deserve to lose his job because someone leaked private footage of us."

"The optics—"

"Fuck the optics!"

There's a pause. You've never heard Jimin talk to a superior like this.

Kim Youngmin adjusts his tie. "The most we can do in the current situation is reassignment. Different department, different projects. You would no longer work with the aespa team in any capacity. No direct contact during work hours. It's either that or termination."

"But that's not even guaranteed," you say, finding your voice. "Right?"

"Correct. It still needs to be discussed with HR and upper management. But if I advocate for it, there's a strong chance they'll approve the transfer rather than dismissal."

You take a breath. The alternative is unemployment in the middle of a scandal with your face plastered everywhere. "Okay. I could accept that."

Jimin's head whips toward you. "What—"

"You both have until tomorrow morning to decide which route to take regarding the public response," Kim Youngmin says, standing. "Ten AM. We'll need your answer then so we can coordinate with PR and legal. Until that time, I strongly suggest you avoid drawing attention to yourselves. No social media, no public appearances. Stay low."

"We need to talk about this more," Jimin argues, almost getting up from her chair. "There has to be another way. You can't just—"

"Jimin." You touch her shoulder and she looks at you. You shake your head slightly.

"But—"

"There's nothing more to discuss right now. This is the scenario we're in."

She stares at you like you've betrayed her somehow, but she also knows you're right. Arguing won't change the options on the table. You both stand. Kim Youngmin walks you to the door, all professional courtesy now that the hard part is over.

"Tomorrow. Ten AM," he repeats.

The hallway feels longer on the way out.

—

You push open the door to your apartment and immediately spot her silhouette by the window. Jimin hasn't moved from that spot since you left forty minutes ago, just standing there watching the city lights blur into the night. You set the grocery bag on the kitchen table, pull off your mask and baseball cap, and walk over to her.

She turns when she hears your footsteps. "Did anyone recognize you?"

"No. I was careful."

"Good."

"It's weird though," you say, coming to stand beside her. "Walking around with this feeling that someone could spot me at any second. Like I'm being hunted. Your face is everywhere but mine's spreading too now. I get it now, how you feel all the time."

That gets a weak chuckle out of her. "Normally it doesn't feel like I'm some kind of outlaw on the run, but yeah. Welcome to my world."

You lean against the window frame. "My mom called while I was out."

Jimin's expression shifts immediately. "What did she say?"

"At first she was super happy. Like, 'I always knew you two would end up together' happy. Going on about how she could tell we had something special even when we were kids, how she was rooting for us this whole time." You smile at the memory of your mom's excited rambling. "Then she got worried. Asked if we were okay, if we needed anything, told me to take care of you. The usual mom stuff."

"I miss her," Jimin says softly. "She's amazing."

"She asked about you too. Wanted to make sure you were holding up."

"What'd you tell her?"

"That we're managing. That we've got each other."

Jimin nods but doesn't say anything. You can see the weight settling back over her shoulders, that thing that's been there since you walked out of Kim Youngmin's office.

You move to the couch and she follows automatically, arranging herself on your lap like she's done a hundred times before. Her legs drape over yours, body tucked into your chest. This close, you can feel how tense she is despite the casual positioning.

"The protest trucks in front of SM today," she says quietly. "Did you see them?"

"I saw photos online."

"The things they wrote..." Her voice trails off and you can fill in the blanks. You've seen enough of the comments, the trending hashtags, the coordinated hate campaigns.

"Don't think about it."

"How can I not? They're calling me every name you can imagine. Saying I betrayed them, that I'm selfish, that I don't deserve to be an idol. Some of them are sending funeral wreaths to the company. Funeral wreaths. Like I died."

You tilt her chin up and kiss her, trying to pour reassurance into it. When you pull back, you keep your forehead pressed to hers. "This will all pass. I promise."

"You don't know that."

"Think about it like getting really sick. You know that feeling? When you're lying in bed with the flu or food poisoning and you're convinced you're dying? It feels like the end of the world. Like you'll never feel normal again. But you do. Eventually it passes, your body heals, and you forget what it felt like to be that miserable. We're sick right now. The whole situation is sick. But we'll get better. You and I, we'll get better from this."

She searches your face and there's something like hope starting to break through the despair. "Since when do you use metaphors?"

"I'm training. Figure after SM fires me, I can start my writing career. Become a novelist or something."

That actually makes her laugh, a real one this time. "How are you being funny right now? At a moment like this?"

You shrug, lips quirking. "What else can I do? Our fate is in someone else's hands now. Might as well laugh while we wait for them to decide what happens to us."

She shakes her head but she's smiling, and you count that as a win. You slowly lie back on the couch, bringing her down with you. She settles fully on top of your chest, her weight grounding and familiar. You start petting her hair, running your fingers through the dark strands, and her eyes flutter closed.

"I don't care about losing the job if I still have you," you say into the quiet. "That's the truth. They can transfer me, fire me, whatever. As long as you're still here, I can handle anything else."

Her arms tighten around you, face pressing harder into your chest. "I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too."

"I mean it. I really love you. More than..." She takes a shaky breath. "More than I thought I could love anyone."

You keep stroking her hair, feeling her slowly start to relax into your touch. "I don't care about losing my career if it means I get to keep you," Jimin says suddenly. "If tomorrow Kim Youngmin says I have to choose between being Karina or being with you, I choose you. Every time. I'll choose you every time."

You weren't expecting that. Not really. You knew she loved you, knew she was serious about this relationship, but hearing her say she'd walk away from everything she's worked for since she was a teenager? That she'd give up aespa and the fame and the dream she's been chasing her whole life?

"Jimin—"

"I mean it." She props herself up to look at you directly and there are tears in her eyes. "I know what that sounds like. I know it's crazy. But these past few weeks with you have been the happiest I've ever been, and that includes every award, every sold-out show, every milestone. None of it means anything if I can't share it with you. If I have to pretend you don't exist or hide what we have or lose you completely? Then what's the point?"

You reach up and wipe the tear that's tracking down her cheek. "You really mean that."

"Yes." No hesitation. "I really mean it."

And you believe her. You can see it in her eyes, hear it in the way her voice doesn't waver. She would actually do it. She would walk away from Karina, from aespa, from the entire life she's built, if it meant keeping what you have together.

The weight of that kind of love is almost unbearable.

You pull her down and kiss her like you're trying to merge your souls, like you can somehow show her through this kiss what you can't find words for. She kisses back just as desperately, and when you finally break apart, you're both breathing hard.

"Tomorrow," you say. "We'll face whatever comes tomorrow. But right now, right here, we're okay. We have each other. That's enough."

She nods against your chest, and you hold her tighter as the night deepens around you. Whatever Kim Youngmin says, whatever options get chosen, whatever consequences rain down; you'll face it together. And that makes even the impossible seem survivable.

—

The next morning, you're both wearing your most professional outfits. Jimin in a black blazer and slacks that make her look like she means business, you in the nicest suit you own. It feels weird, getting dressed up for what's essentially a firing squad, but appearances matter. Especially now.

The conference room on the executive floor is bigger than the one yesterday, with a long table that could seat twenty people. You and Jimin take seats on one side. Across from you sits Kim Youngmin, flanked by two other executives you recognize from company events but have never actually spoken to. A woman in her fifties with severe glasses, head of PR. A younger guy, maybe early forties, from the legal department.

The door opens again and Winter walks in first, followed by Ning and Giselle. They look worried, eyes immediately finding Jimin. Winter sits next to her and squeezes her hand under the table. Ningning takes the seat on Jimin's other side. Giselle sits next to you, giving you a small encouraging nod.

"Thank you all for coming," Kim Youngmin says once everyone's settled. "I know this is an unusual situation, having the full group present for what is essentially a personal matter. But given the circumstances and the impact on aespa as a whole, we felt it was necessary for everyone to be informed and involved in the decision."

The PR head adjusts her glasses. "As you're all aware, footage of Jimin and—" she glances at you, "—was leaked two days ago. The response has been significant and largely negative. We've been monitoring the situation closely."

"Largely negative is putting it mildly," Giselle mutters.

The woman ignores that. "We presented two options to Jimin yesterday. After taking time to consider, we need their final decision on how to proceed. This will determine our response strategy, PR approach, and the immediate future of aespa's scheduled activities."

Kim Youngmin looks directly at Jimin. "So. What have you decided?"

You and Jimin exchange a look. You saw the fear in her eyes last night, but also the determination. You talked until almost three in the morning, weighing everything, playing out scenarios. In the end, it came down to one question: could you live with lying? Could she?

The answer was no.

Jimin sits up straighter, and when she speaks, there’s a firmness in her voice that almost makes it seem like she isn’t scared inside: "We want to confirm the relationship. No denials, no deepfake claims, no pretending we're just friends. The truth."

Winter, Ning, and Giselle immediately break into relieved smiles. Ningning actually does a little fist pump under the table.

The executives, on the other hand, look at each other with these grim expressions that say they were hoping you'd pick literally any other option.

"You understand the risks," the PR head says. It's not a question.

"Yes."

"The potential career impact. The fan backlash. The—"

"I understand," Jimin says firmly. "This is our final decision."

Kim Youngmin leans back in his chair. "Alright then. Here's what happens now. SM will begin preparing an official statement. It will be released tomorrow afternoon through all official channels; website, social media, press release to major outlets. The statement will confirm the relationship, emphasize the long-term friendship foundation, and request respect for your privacy going forward."

"aespa's activities will be temporarily paused," the legal guy adds, pulling out a folder of documents. "Scheduled appearances are being canceled or postponed. The photo shoot for Elle next week is off. The variety show filming is off. Radio interviews, all off."

"Wait," Ningning says, leaning forward. "Everything?"

"Anything that involves public promotion or group appearances, yes. Previous commitments that are already completed will still be released as planned. The makeup campaign you filmed last month will still air, the photoshoot from two weeks ago will still be published. But new activities are suspended indefinitely."

Winter's face has gone pale. "For how long?"

"Until we can properly assess the situation and gauge public sentiment. Could be a few weeks, could be months."

"What about the international tour?" Giselle asks. "The official announcement will be next month.”

The PR head exchanges a look with Kim Youngmin. "That's still being decided. We need to see how Western fans react to the news. If the response is as hostile as it is domestically, it might be better to cancel and issue refunds. If there's more support internationally, we may proceed as planned but with modified promotion."

The girls look gutted. You know how much they were looking forward to that tour. The LA stop. New York. London. It was supposed to be huge for them.

Jimin's grip on Winter's hand tightens but she keeps her expression neutral. "And what about him?" She tilts her head toward you. "Is he getting fired?"

"We will attempt to reassign him to a different management team," Kim Youngmin says. "Another group, ideally one with no connection to aespa. If HR approves the transfer, we'll notify him by next week. If they don't..." He doesn't need to finish that sentence.

"That's bullshit," Giselle says bluntly. "He's good at his job. This has nothing to do with his competency."

"It's a conflict of interest situation. We have to maintain certain standards."

"Whose standards?" Winter asks, and wow, you've never heard her sound angry before. She's usually the sweet one. "You're punishing them for being happy."

"We're managing a crisis," the PR head snaps. "One that could have been avoided if proper boundaries had been maintained."

"Okay," you say, because this is getting heated and the last thing Jimin needs is her members getting in trouble on your behalf. "Okay. I accept the terms. The reassignment or whatever happens. Let's just move forward."

Kim Youngmin nods like he appreciates you defusing the situation. "One more thing, Jimin. Do not post anything on social media during this period. No statements, no photos, no Instagram stories. Nothing. All communication goes through official SM channels. Understood?"

"Understood."

"Alright then." He closes his folder. "We'll be in touch with updates as the situation develops. For now, I suggest you all go home and prepare for the statement release tomorrow. It's going to be a media circus."

The meeting ends with a weird formal feeling, everyone standing and gathering their things in stiff silence. The executives leave first. Once they're gone, the atmosphere shifts immediately.

Ningning throws her arms around Jimin. "I'm so proud of you."

"Me too," Winter says, joining the hug. "That took guts."

Giselle wraps her arms around all of them, creating this group huddle thing. You stand awkwardly to the side until Giselle reaches out and yanks you into it.

"You too," she says. "You're part of this now."

When they finally break apart, Jimin has tears in her eyes but she's smiling. "Thank you. God, thank you guys so much. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'd probably make terrible decisions," Ningning teases. "Good thing you have us."

"Seriously though," Winter says, "we're here. Whatever you need, whenever you need it. We're sisters. This doesn't change that."

"If anything, it makes us stronger," Giselle adds. "Fuck the haters. We're aespa. We've been through worse."

"Have we though?" Ningning asks.

"Okay, maybe not worse. But we'll get through this too."

They migrate into the hallway, instinctively forming this protective circle around Jimin. You hang back slightly, giving them space, but Jimin reaches for your hand and pulls you into the group.

"There's nothing we can do right now except wait," Winter says. "You guys did what you could. Made your choice. Now it's out of your hands."

"Use this time to rest," Ningning suggests. "Get away from the internet. Don't read the comments, don't check Twitter, just... exist for a while without all the noise."

"She's right," Giselle says. "The next few weeks are going to be hell. Take care of each other. Sleep. Eat actual food. Watch stupid movies. Do normal people things."

Jimin nods, wiping at her eyes. "I love you guys. So much."

"We love you too," they say in unison, and then they're hugging again.

You watch them and smile proudly at this group. Whatever happens, Jimin has this. She has people who love her unconditionally, who'll stand by her even when the world turns hostile. That matters more than any tour or commercial deal. Then, eventually they have to go. Ning has a vocal lesson, Winter has a meeting with her personal trainer, Giselle has a photoshoot for a magazine. They extract themselves reluctantly, making Jimin promise to text them later, to let them know she's okay.

Once they're gone, Jimin turns to you in the quiet hallway. "What are we going to do now?"

You've been thinking about this since last night. About what she needs, what you both need. How to get through the storm that's about to hit.

"I have something in mind," you say.

She looks up at you, curious. "Yeah?"

"Trust me?"

"Always.”

—

The bus drops you off at the main intersection and from there it's a fifteen minute walk. Gapyeong is exactly what you remembered, this small quiet city about an hour outside Seoul where time moves differently. Slower. The air smells cleaner here, pine trees and fresh water from the nearby river instead of exhaust fumes and convenience store kimchi. It's a beautiful afternoon, the kind where the sun hits everything at this perfect golden angle that makes even ordinary things look special.

You and Jimin are both hauling suitcases and backpacks, dressed down in hoodies and masks and baseball caps. Incognito mode. Nobody's recognized you yet, which feels like a small miracle considering your faces have been plastered across every news site in Korea for the past two days.

"It's this street," you say, checking your phone one last time before you shut it off completely. "Should be the fourth house on the left."

Jimin adjusts her backpack strap. "I can't believe we're actually doing this. Just disappearing."

"For a week. Then we'll face reality again."

"A week sounds perfect."

You find the house and stop in front of it. It's exactly how you remember it from your childhood visits, a small traditional hanok with modern renovations. White walls and dark wood beams, a tiled roof that curves at the edges. There's a small garden in front that's slightly overgrown but charming in that wild way.

"This is it," you say.

Jimin pulls down her mask to get a better look. "Whose place is this?"

"My late grandmother's house. She left it to my cousin when she passed. He's traveling for work right now, some engineering project in Singapore, so the place is empty. I ran into him in Seoul a few days ago, so I asked if you and I could stay at the house for a while. He was actually happy about it. Said as long as we water the plants, we'd be doing him a favor."

You pull out the key from your pocket and unlock the front door. When it swings open you're hit with that smell, the one that's pure nostalgia. Wood and aged paper and the subtle scent of flowers in the backyard. The interior is clean and well maintained despite being empty. Your cousin clearly takes care of the place even when he's not living here.

Jimin steps inside and immediately does this slow spin, taking everything in. The wooden floors, the traditional sliding doors, the low table in the living room, the small kitchen visible through an archway. "Oh my god. This is beautiful."

"I knew you'd like it."

"Like it? I love it." She sets her suitcase down and walks further in, fingers trailing along the wall. "It feels so... I don't know. Peaceful? Like the outside world doesn't exist here."

"That's kind of the point."

She turns back to you and there's this lightness in her expression that you haven't seen since before the leak. "Show me around?"

You give her the tour. It's not a big house but every room has character. The main bedroom with its floor mattress and the window that overlooks the backyard garden. The second smaller bedroom that your cousin uses as an office. The bathroom with its traditional tub. The kitchen with the ancient rice cooker your grandmother refused to replace because it made the best rice.

"We can stay in the main room," you say. "It's got the most space and the best view."

Jimin nods, already pulling clothes out of her suitcase. "I need to change. I've been in these jeans for like six hours."

"Yeah, me too."

You both change into more comfortable clothes. You swap your jeans for sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. Jimin emerges from the bathroom wearing this floral dress, white background with small blue flowers scattered across it. It's simple and summery and makes her look like she belongs in a painting.

"Wow," you say before you can stop yourself.

She does a little twirl. "Too much?"

"Perfect. You look perfect."

She grins and sits down on the edge of the floor mattress, tucking her legs under her. "Okay, so what's the plan? You said you had something in mind. I trust you, obviously. You always come up with the best ideas."

You smile but also feel the pressure of that statement. "Alright, so. I'll admit this one's not as elaborate as the camping trip. Actually, it's simpler. But I think that's what we need right now."

"I'm listening."

You dig into your backpack and pull out something wrapped in brown paper. Jimin watches curiously as you unwrap it to reveal a leather-bound photo album, the kind with blank pages where you manually insert photos. Old school.

She looks confused. "Is that... a notebook?"

"Photo album. And since we're going to be offline for a bit, disconnected from everything digital, I thought we could do something more manual. A special little project." You hold it up. "There's an analog camera here somewhere, my grandfather's old one. The idea is that you and I spend this week walking around the city, taking pictures, filling this album. Real physical photos that we develop and then put them in here.”

Jimin's eyes are getting wider.

"And in the future," you continue, "when we look back on this time in our lives, we won't remember the scandal or the hate or the fear. We'll remember this album. These photos. The memories we made together when everything else was falling apart."

"YES!" Jimin literally shouts it, jumping up from the mattress. "Oh my god, yes! That's brilliant! That's so romantic!"

She throws herself at you, nearly knocking you over. Her arms wrap around your neck and she's kissing you, fast excited kisses all over your face.

"This is perfect," she says between kisses. "This is the most beautiful thing anyone's ever planned for me. We're going to fill that whole album. Every single page."

"I was hoping you'd be into it."

"Into it? I'm obsessed with it. Come on, let's go right now." She grabs your hand and starts pulling you toward the door.

You laugh, holding her back. "Wait, wait. We need the camera first. And the film rolls. And we also need to water the plants in the backyard before we leave. My cousin specifically asked about the plants."

She stops, composing herself. "Right. You're right. Okay. Camera first. Where is it?"

"Honestly? No idea. I haven't been here in years. We'll have to search for it."

You both start looking through the house. Jimin takes the office room, going through drawers and closets. You check the main bedroom, looking in the wardrobe and under the bed. Nothing. You move to the living room, checking the cabinets built into the walls. Still nothing.

"Found film!" Jimin calls from the office. "There's like, a whole box of unused rolls."

"Nice. Keep looking for the camera."

Ten minutes later, you're starting to worry your grandfather's camera got lost or donated when Jimin calls out from the kitchen.

"Got it!"

You rush in and find her holding up a vintage Canon AE-1, the black body a little worn but clearly well cared for. There's a lens attached and a brown leather strap.

"Where was it?"

"In the cabinet above the fridge. There's a whole shelf of random stuff up there."

You take the camera from her, feeling the weight of it. It's heavier than modern cameras, solid and real in your hands. You pop open the back to check the mechanisms and everything looks functional.

"This was my grandfather's," you say, running your thumb over the grip. "He developed this little hobby for photography when he got older. Started taking tons of photos. He loved photographing my grandmother especially. Just candid shots of her cooking or reading or tending the garden. She'd always complain about it but you could tell she secretly loved the attention."

Jimin moves closer, looking at the camera with new appreciation.

"When he got sick," you continue, "near the end, he told me he wanted me to have this. Made me promise I'd take care of it, use it, keep taking pictures. But I never came back here to pick it up after he passed. Life got busy, I went to study abroad, and I just... forgot. I don't know. It's a strange feeling. But now feels like the right time, you know? Like maybe he was waiting for this moment."

Jimin's hand finds yours. "I remember when you'd come here on weekends. You'd come back with all these funny stories about your grandparents. Your grandmother teaching you to make kimchi, your grandfather showing you his garden. I always wanted to come with you so badly."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I'd ask my parents all the time if I could tag along, but they never let me. Said it was family time and I shouldn't intrude." She looks around the house again, this wistful expression on her face. "I used to imagine what it was like here. Built this whole fantasy version in my head."

"And now you're here," you say. "With me."

She smiles, that real genuine smile that makes her whole face light up. "Yeah. Now I'm finally here. With you."

You load the film into the camera, the mechanical click satisfying as it catches. "Alright. Camera's ready. We've got film. We just need to water those plants and then we can start our photography adventure."

"Lead the way."

The backyard is a lush, slightly wild patch of green. There are raised beds overflowing with herbs and vegetables you can't name, and a line of clay pots with blooming flowers sits along the stone wall. A hose is coiled up near the back door, but you also spot a vintage-looking metal watering can hanging from a hook on the wall.

"I'll get the plants," Jimin says, taking the watering can.

"Are you sure? I can do it."

"No, I want to. I haven't done anything like this since... ever, probably." She fills the can from the spigot and starts methodically watering the tomato plants.

You watch her for a moment, the afternoon sun filtering through the leaves of a large persimmon tree, catching the highlights in her hair. She's completely absorbed in her task. An idea sparks. You quietly lift your grandfather's camera, holding it up to your eye, pretending it's a full-blown documentary camera.

"And here we are," you say in your best David Attenborough voice, low and serious. "Witnessing something truly rare. The elusive K-pop idol, Yoo Jimin, also known as Karina, spotted far from her natural habitat of sold-out stadiums and blinding camera flashes."

Jimin looks up, a confused smile on her face. "What are you doing?"

"Shhh," you whisper loudly. "We're documenting. Here she is, engaging in... is that manual labor? Yes, it appears to be. Watering plants like an ordinary, common woman. What a historical record for future generations. Notice the technique, the focus. She shows a surprising aptitude for it."

She sighs but can't hide the wide grin spreading across her face. "Oh my god, stop. You're ridiculous." She turns her back to you, pretending to be focused on a pot of basil, but you can see her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"C'mon, don't be camera shy," you continue, circling her. "The world needs to see this. The 'real' Karina. Unplugged. Unfiltered. One with the earth."

She finally turns back, trying and failing to look annoyed. "Don't you have something better to film?"

"Nope. This is the most interesting thing happening in the world right now." You zoom in on her face. "Okay, okay, documentary's over." You pull the camera away from her for a moment. "But seriously, stay right there. Just... smile for me. A real one."

And that's how it starts. The mini photoshoot in the backyard. She doesn't even have to try. Every angle is her best angle. You tell her to lean against the old wooden fence, and she does, looking off into the distance like she's on the cover of some indie folk album. You have her sit on the stone steps of the back porch, and she pulls her knees to her chest, laughing as you tell a joke. She picks a small wildflower and tucks it behind her ear, her expression turning dreamy. She makes you look like some genius photographer, but you know the truth: the camera just loves her. It's impossible to take a bad picture of Yoo Jimin.

At the end of it all, she stands up, brushing her hands on her dress. "Okay, I think my modeling career is officially over. My hands are filthy."

She walks over to the hose to wash them, turning the spigot just enough for a gentle stream. The water splashes over her hands, washing away the dark soil. Her hair, which was perfectly styled this morning, is now loose and a little wild from the breeze and her movements. A smudge of dirt has found its way onto her floral dress, just above the hem. And as she looks up at you, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face, she looks absolutely perfect. Not idol perfect, with the flawless makeup and designer clothes. Just... her. Real and beautiful and standing in your grandmother's backyard.

You raise the camera one last time. The shutter clicks.

You know you've just captured something true.

"What was that one for?" she asks, drying her hands on her dress.

"That," you say, "was the first official photo for our album."

Her face lights up. "We did it! We started!" She runs over and jumps into your arms, wrapping her legs around your waist. "We already have photos! This is going to be the best album ever."

You hold her tight. “It’s going to go down in history as the best amateur photography album,” you say, laughing as you kiss the top of her head.

Finally, after finishing watering the plants, you and Jimin step out of the house. She has the camera strap slung over her shoulder this time. She looks like a tourist, an adventurer, anything but a global superstar on the run from a career-ending scandal.

"Okay," she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Where to first, Mr. Photographer?"

"I was thinking we'd just... walk. See where the city takes us." You shrug. "No plan. Just moments."

She loves that. Her smile is so wide it makes her eyes crinkle at the corners. "This feels like a movie."

"Which one?"

"I don't know yet. We're writing it as we go."

Your first stop is an old bridge that arches over the Bukhan River. The water flows lazily below, sparkling in the sun. A few fishermen are dotted along the banks, their lines cast out in patient silence. It’s a world away from the frantic energy of Seoul.

"Okay, go stand in the middle," you instruct, already lifting the camera to your eye.

Jimin walks to the center of the bridge and leans against the railing, looking out over the water. The wind gently plays with her hair, and the floral dress flutters around her legs. She’s not posing, not really. She's just being. And it’s breathtaking.

"Did you get it?" she calls out.

"I think so. We'll find out in a few weeks"

She laughs. "The suspense is killing me. My turn."

She runs over, takes the camera from you, and shoves you gently toward the railing. "Your turn to look pensive and handsome."

You feel awkward, unsure what to do with your hands. "I'm not the model here."

"Bullshit. You're my model." She circles you, looking through the viewfinder. "Okay, just… think about something. Something good."

You think about her. About waking up next to her this morning, about the way she laughed when you pretended to be a documentary filmmaker, about how right it feels to be here with her.

"Got it!" she says, looking pleased with herself.

As you wander deeper into the town, you fall into an easy rhythm. You take pictures of her admiring a display of colorful pottery outside a shop. She takes a picture of you buying two ice cream cones from a street vendor. You capture the way she closes her eyes in bliss with her first bite of the strawberry cone. She captures the smear of chocolate you have on your nose. Each click of the shutter feels like you're bottling a little piece of this perfect day.

You find a quiet side street lined with old bookstores and small, independent cafes. The walls are covered in layers of faded murals and peeling paint, a collage of history and art.

"Oh, this is beautiful," Jimin says, running her hand over a painting of a giant koi fish. "This reminds me of that movie. You know the one."

"Which one?"

"Before Sunrise." she answers softly. "Two people, just walking and talking through a beautiful city, falling in love. That's us right now. Except we're already in love."

"I think that makes it the sequel," you say, leaning against the wall next to her. "Before Sunset."

"The one where they find each other again after years apart? Oh my god, that's even more us!" She looks at you, her eyes shining. "This whole day feels like a scene from it. Just… us against the world, making our own little bubble."

You reach out and tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "I'd walk through a thousand cities with you."

"Good. Because I'd want you to."

She raises the camera and snaps a picture of you, so close you can hear the whir of the film advancing. Then she hands the camera back.

"We need one together," she says. "For the first page of the album."

"A selfie with this thing is going to be tricky." You hold the heavy camera at arm's length, trying to angle it so you're both in the frame. It’s awkward and heavy.

"Here, let me." Jimin squeezes in next to you, her cheek pressing against yours. She wraps her arm around your back, her other hand helping you support the camera. You're tangled up together, laughing as you try to find the shutter button without looking.

"Okay, on three," you say. "Smile."

"One… two…"

She turns at the last second and kisses your cheek.

"Did we get it?" she asks, pulling back with a grin.

"No idea," you laugh. "But if we did, it's a good one."

You can feel the moment solidifying into a memory even as it's happening. The warmth of her body pressed against yours, the scent of her perfume, the feeling of her lips on your skin. This picture, whether it turns out blurry or perfectly in focus, will always be this feeling.

She takes your hand as you continue walking, her fingers laced through yours. "This is the best plan you've ever had," Jimin says quietly, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walk. "Even better than camping."

"I told you it was simpler."

"It's not simple," she counters. "It's… essential. It's real. Just us."

You squeeze her hand. The scandal feels like a bad dream you’re slowly waking up from. It's still out there, waiting for you. But for now, in this quiet city, under the golden afternoon sun, it can’t touch you. So, like this, you two continue, without any clear direction, you wander down the main street until you spot a small family-run restaurant with paper lanterns hanging in the window. The kind of place that's been there for decades, where the menu is handwritten and laminated, slightly faded from years of use.

"You hungry?" you ask.

Jimin nods enthusiastically. "Starving. All this walking and picture taking has me ready to eat everything."

The interior is cozy, maybe six tables total. An older woman greets you with a warm smile and gestures to a table by the window. You slide into the booth across from Jimin, the camera carefully placed on the seat beside you. The menu is simple. Comfort food. Jjigae, bibimbap, various banchan. Perfect.

After you both order bibimbap, Jimin leans forward on her elbows, chin resting in her hands. "You know, I just realized I never asked you about your student exchange. How was it? You were in London, right?"

"Yeah, London. It was really cool, actually. Different from what I expected but in a good way."

"Would you ever want to go back? Like, work there or something?"

You take a sip of the barley tea the woman brought over. The question sits heavier than it should. "Funny you should ask that."

"Why?"

"I've never told anyone this, but..." You pause, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger. "I actually got a job offer there. After I finished the exchange program. A good one too, PR firm, international clients, the whole package."

Jimin's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, seriously? Why didn't you take it?"

"It was around the time my grandparents passed away. Both of them, same year. Three months apart. My grandmother first, then my grandfather just... gave up, I think. Didn't want to be here without her."

"Oh," Jimin says softly.

"And I was sitting in this tiny London apartment, staring at the job offer email, and I just... couldn't do it. Something about losing them made me realize I didn't want to be far away from the people I love. From family. From home." You meet her eyes. "Something told me I needed to come back, to stay close. And then eventually I ran into you again. Maybe it was a sign, you know? Like I was supposed to find you again."

Jimin's expression has shifted, something tender and aching in it.

"So I'm glad I turned it down," you continue. "My parents don't know about the offer. They'd probably think I was insane for rejecting it. But I don't regret it at all."

You find yourself getting lost in the thought, your gaze drifting to the window where people pass by on the street, living their ordinary lives. "Time passes too quickly to not spend it close to the people you love. That would be too great a sacrifice, you know? I'm probably built wrong for this world." You laugh a little. "Modern capitalism, the current model of society, all of it tells you to chase opportunities, climb ladders, sacrifice everything for career advancement. The way I acted wasn't conventional. Most people would think it's stupid, actually. Objectively stupid."

The food arrives but you barely notice, still caught in your own thoughts.

"And maybe I'll be unemployed now after all this," you say, gesturing vaguely at the situation you're both in. "But at least I found love. At least I have—"

You finally look at Jimin's face to tell her that the only right thing you did was choose to be with her, and you freeze. She's crying. Not sobbing, but tears are streaming down her cheeks, her eyes red and glassy.

"Whoa, hey, why are you crying?" You reach across the table instinctively.

"That's so sad," she says, sniffling. "I didn't know any of that. About your grandparents, both of them in the same year. God."

"Jimin—"

"You must have felt so much pressure at the time." She grabs your hand with both of hers, holding tight. "And you were alone in London dealing with all of it. I wish I'd been there to hug you. To help you through it."

You give a small laugh, squeezing her hands. "It's okay now, baby. You don't need to worry. It was hard, yeah, but it's okay now. Really. You don't need to cry."

"I'm sorry." She wipes at her face with the back of her hand, smudging her minimal makeup. "I just feel so sorry for what you went through. And you never told anyone about the job offer, you've been carrying that alone this whole time."

Without thinking, you reach for the camera and lift it to your eye.

Jimin blinks, startled. "Why did you just take a picture of me like this? I'm a mess."

"I don't know." You set the camera down gently. "It just seemed real. You, right now, caring about something that happened to me years ago. Getting emotional over it. That's real. Genuine, I guess.”

She sniffles, trying to compose herself. "You're so weird, babe."

"You love it."

"I do." A watery smile breaks through. "I love you."

"I love you too.

The restaurant owner brings extra napkins without commenting on Jimin's tears, just gives a knowing, grandmotherly smile before retreating. You finally start eating, the conversation shifting to lighter things, but something has deepened between you. Another layer peeled back, another piece of yourselves shared and held sacred.

You clear your throat, gesturing to the steaming bowls in front of you both. "Come on, let's eat before it gets cold. This looks too good to waste."

Jimin nods, wiping the last traces of tears from her cheeks with the napkin. She picks up her chopsticks and takes her first bite of the bibimbap, mixing the vegetables and rice together. Almost immediately, her expression shifts from emotional vulnerability to pure contentment. Her eyes close and she makes this small sound of satisfaction that makes you smile despite everything. There's something about watching her eat, the way she loses herself in simple pleasures, that makes your chest feel full. She's beautiful like this. Just Jimin, your Jimin, sitting across from you in a small-town restaurant with slightly red eyes, completely absorbed in a bowl of rice and vegetables.

You dig into your own food. The two of you eat in comfortable silence for a while. It's domestic and easy, the kind of moment that doesn't need words to be perfect. At one point she looks up at you mid-bite and just smiles, this soft genuine thing that reaches her eyes, and you think about how you'd give up a thousand job offers in London just to have more moments exactly like this one.

When you're both finished, you flag down the owner and pay the bill despite Jimin's half-hearted protest that she should pay since she's the one with the idol money. You remind her that you're technically still employed for at least another week, so you're taking advantage while you can. That makes her laugh as you both stand and gather your things. Your stomach is full and happy, that pleasant heaviness that comes from a good meal shared with someone you love.

Outside, the late afternoon sun has started its descent, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Jimin stretches her arms above her head, her dress riding up slightly before she smooths it back down. "Where to now?" she asks, linking her arm through yours. "It's going to get dark soon."

"I've got a few ideas," you start to say, already thinking about the small park you remember from childhood visits, the one with the old pavilion that overlooks the valley. "There's this place I used to go with my grandfather, up on the hill where—"

"Oh my god!"

The sudden shriek cuts you off mid-sentence. You both turn to find a group of four girls, probably late teens or early twenties, frozen on the sidewalk about ten feet away. Their eyes are wide, phones already halfway out of their pockets, staring at Jimin like they've just witnessed a miracle.

"It's Karina!" one of them says with disbelief. "It's actually Karina!"

They rush over in a flurry of excitement. "Hi! Hello! Oh my god, we're such huge fans!" They glance at you briefly, a quick polite nod and a "hello" in your direction, but their focus immediately returns to Jimin, who looks momentarily caught off guard, her body tensing slightly against yours before she smooths her expression into something warm and polite. The switch is so fast you almost miss it, the way she shifts from girlfriend to idol in the span of a heartbeat. "Hi," she says, genuinely kind despite the surprise. "How are you guys?"

"We're amazing! Even better now!" The tallest one of the group, wearing a denim jacket covered in enamel pins, gestures wildly. "You're so much more beautiful in person. Like, you don't even seem real."

Another girl, shorter with glasses, nods enthusiastically. "Seriously, you're like... glowing. How do you even look like this without all the stage makeup?"

Jimin laughs, a little embarrassed. "You guys are too sweet. Really."

"Can we take a picture with you?" the third girl asks, already pulling out her phone. "Please? We'll literally die if we don't."

"Of course," Jimin says without hesitation.

They take turns, each girl getting their individual selfie with her. Jimin knows exactly how to angle herself, which poses look best, where the light hits. She's done this thousands of times and it shows. Each girl looks absolutely euphoric when they check their photo, already probably planning which filter to use and what caption to write. You stand off to the side, holding the analog camera and watching. A couple of them glance at you with knowing looks, probably putting two and two together about who you are, but they don't say anything directly. There's this moment where the girl with the denim jacket meets your eyes and gives you this small nod, almost approving, before turning back to Jimin.

"We just want you to know," the girl with glasses says, "we're so sorry about what you're going through right now. The whole controversy thing. It's so unfair."

The others murmur in agreement. "We're totally on your side," another adds. "We've been supporting you online, fighting with all the haters."

The tall one grins proudly. "I wrote this whole thread defending you on Twitter and it got like fifteen thousand likes. People are with you, Karina. Real fans understand."

Something in Jimin's expression cracks, just for a second, and you see genuine gratitude flood her features. "Thank you," she says, smiling. "That means more than you know. Really. Thank you so much for supporting me."

"Is aespa going to end?" one of them asks quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

Jimin takes a breath. "I don't have clear answers right now," she admits. "Everything is really confusing and uncertain. But aespa isn't going to end. We're stronger than this."

"Good," the girl in the denim jacket says firmly. "Because true fans will be with you and the other girls until the end. No matter what. We're not going anywhere."

The conviction in her voice, the way all four of them nod in agreement, it's like watching a small army pledge their loyalty. Jimin's eyes get glassy again and she reaches out to squeeze the nearest girl's hand. "Thank you. All of you. For being here, for caring. It helps more than you know."

They eventually say their goodbyes, walking away in an animated cluster of excited whispers and phone checking. You watch them go before turning back to Jimin.

"That was nice," you say. "Seeing a little support every now and then. Reminds you it's not all terrible."

Jimin nods, still looking a bit emotional. "Yeah. It really does."

"Those are your true fans," you continue, "People who actually care about you, who want to see you well and happy. Not those other jerks who think they can control your life like you're some kind of puppet they own."

Jimin's eyebrows rise. "Oh, wow. Someone's a little sour now."

"I've got nothing left to lose at this point. Might as well say what I think. I'm done being the good guy. I'm the bad boy now."

That makes her laugh, loudly, the sound bright and clear in the quiet street. "You? A bad boy? Babe, you couldn't pull that off even if you tried. You're a little angel. All well-behaved and sweet. A total good boy."

You feel your cheeks heat up, laughing despite yourself. "I have layers, okay? I'm complex. Multifaceted."

"You have layers," she agrees, reaching up to pat your cheek affectionately. "And they're all adorable and cute."

"Alright, alright," you concede, "I can see you're not going to let me win this one."

She grins triumphantly, taking your hand again. "Never. Now come on, show me this place you were talking about before we were so wonderfully interrupted."

—

After a full day of wandering through Gapyeong's quiet streets, snapping photos and stealing moments that feel like they belong in a different, simpler world, you both finally make it back to the house. You set the plastic bag containing your dinner on the kitchen table, and both of you collapse onto the couch with synchronized groans of exhaustion and satisfaction.

"That was a great day," Jimin says, letting her head fall back against the cushions, eyes closed.

"Yeah," you agree, carefully placing your grandfather's camera on the coffee table. "We used up the whole roll."

She opens one eye to look at the camera. "All of it?"

"Every single shot. Thirty-six pictures of the best day."

"It's kind of crazy to think about, you know? My career is under threat. Everything I've built since I was a teenager is on the verge of collapsing. The entire world is probably talking about me right now, tearing me apart online. And yet..." She gestures around the quiet living room, at the two of you sprawled on this old couch in the middle of nowhere. "Everything feels so peaceful right now. Like none of that exists."

She shifts closer, cupping your face with one hand, her thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. Her eyes search yours, dark and deep and full of love. Then she leans in and kisses you, slow and soft, tasting faintly of the honey candy she'd been sucking on during the walk home. When she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours.

"Thank you," she whispers. "For this. For today, for this week, for this moment. Things don't seem so bad when I'm by your side."

You catch her hand and bring it to your lips, kissing her palm, her wrist, the delicate inside of her forearm. "Always," you murmur against her skin.

She sighs, content, then reluctantly pulls away. "I should take a shower. Get cleaned up. Then we can have dinner, maybe watch a movie together?" She stretches, her dress riding up slightly on her thighs before she tugs it back down. "Something mindless and fun. No thinking allowed."

"Sounds perfect," you say, but you don't move. An idea has been forming in the back of your mind all day, watching her laugh and pose and exist so freely in that floral dress that catches the light just right. "But first, there's something I want to do for you. To help you relax."

Her eyebrow arches, curious. "Oh?"

You slide off the couch and kneel on the floor between her legs, your hands coming to rest on her knees. She watches you with growing interest, her breath already changing rhythm. You let your palms slide slowly up her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

"You look so beautiful in this dress," you tell her, leaning in to press a kiss to her inner thigh, just above her knee. "Been thinking about this all day."

She makes a soft sound, her legs parting slightly. "Have you?"

"Mm-hmm." You kiss higher, your hands following the path of your mouth, gradually pushing the hem of her dress up inch by inch. Her skin is soft and warm, and you can feel the fine tremor running through her muscles as you work your way up. Another kiss, then another, trailing a slow line toward the apex of her thighs.

"Okay," she breathes, her hand coming to rest in your hair. "Don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. Your lips continue their journey, reverent and unhurried, as your hands push her dress higher until it's bunched around her hips. She's wearing simple cotton panties, already damp, and the sight makes heat coil low in your belly. Her legs open wider for you, her head falling back against the couch as a sigh escapes her lips.

"God," she murmurs, eyes fluttering closed. "That feels good."

You hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and slowly drag them down her thighs, over her knees, off completely. She's gorgeous like this, spread out before you, her pussy pink and glistening in the dim lamplight. You look up at her face, flushed and wanting, and can't help but smile.

"You know," you say, your breath ghosting over her skin, "the good side of this exile is that we can have sex whenever we want. No sneaking around, no worrying about who might walk in."

Jimin laughs breathlessly, starting to respond. "True, we can just… Just… Oh fuck!’

Her words dissolve into a moan as your mouth finally makes contact, your tongue dragging slowly through her folds. She tastes like perfection, and the sound she makes,high and needy, goes straight to your cock. Your hands grip her thighs, holding her open as you work your tongue against her clit, circling and teasing until her hips start to roll against your face.

"Yes," she gasps, her fingers tightening in your head. "Just like that. Don't stop, please don't stop."

And you don't. You settle into a rhythm, your tongue working against her clit in slow, deliberate circles that have her gasping and squirming on the couch. Her taste fills your senses, sweet and musky and entirely addictive. You can feel her thighs trembling on either side of your head, the muscles tensing and releasing with each stroke of your tongue. Her hand is still tangled in your hair, not quite pulling but holding you there like she's afraid you might stop.

"Fuck," she breathes, her hips rolling up to meet your mouth. "That's so good. Your tongue feels so good."

You pull back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing against her wet heat. "You taste incredible. I could do this for hours." And you mean it. There's something intoxicating about having her like this, spread open and vulnerable and completely at your mercy. You drag your tongue through her folds again, slower this time, savoring every inch of her.

Jimin whimpers, her free hand clutching at the couch cushion beside her. "You're teasing me."

"Maybe a little," you admit, grinning against her pussy. You place an open-mouthed kiss directly on her clit and she jerks, a sharp gasp escaping her. "But you like it when I tease you, don't you baby?"

"Yes," she admits breathlessly. "God, yes. But I also like it when you make me come."

"Patience," you murmur, and then you're back to work, your tongue flat and broad as you lick her from entrance to clit in one long, slow stroke. She moans, low and needy, and you do it again. And again. Building a steady rhythm that has her panting above you.

You can feel her getting wetter, her arousal coating your chin and lips. The sounds she's making are obscene, these breathy little moans and whimpers that make your cock strain painfully against your pants. You shift slightly, trying to relieve some of the pressure, but your focus stays entirely on her. On the way her body responds to every touch, every lick, every deliberate stroke of your tongue.

"Talk to me," you say between kisses to her inner thigh. "Tell me how it feels."

Jimin's head is thrown back, her neck arched beautifully, and it takes her a moment to find words. "It feels... fuck, it feels amazing. Like I'm going to lose my mind. Your mouth is so fucking perfect."

You hum against her clit in approval and she cries out, her hips bucking. "Sensitive?" you ask, even though you know the answer.

"Very," she gasps. "Everything feels so intense right now. Like every nerve is on fire."

You love that you can do this to her, reduce her to this trembling, desperate thing. Karina, the untouchable idol who commands stages and captivates millions, completely undone by your tongue. There's power in that, and tenderness too. You press a soft kiss to her clit before taking it gently between your lips and sucking.

"Oh god, oh fuck—" Her words dissolve into a moan, her fingers tightening almost painfully in your hair. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

But you do stop, pulling back to look up at her. Her face is flushed, lips parted as she pants, eyes full of arousal and a hint of frustration at the loss of contact. "Look at me," you tell her.

She does, her gaze finding yours, and the sight of you between her legs, chin wet with her arousal, makes her whimper. "You're cruel."

"I just want to see you," you say, your hands stroking soothingly up and down her thighs. "Want to watch your face while I make you feel good." You lean in again, your tongue flicking quickly over her clit. Her mouth opens on a silent gasp. "You're so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect."

"I'm a mess," she protests weakly.

"Yeah," you agree, grinning. "My mess." You dive back in with enthusiasm, alternating between broad strokes of your tongue and focused attention on her clit. You can feel her getting closer, the tension building in her body, the way her breathing becomes more erratic.

"That's it," she encourages. "Right there, fuck, right there."

You maintain the exact rhythm and pressure she needs, your hands gripping her hips to hold her steady as she starts to rock against your face. Her thighs are trembling violently now, squeezing around your head, and you know she's close. So close. You can feel it in the way her muscles are tensing, hear it in the pitch of her moans climbing higher and higher.

But then you slow down, easing off just enough to keep her on the edge without pushing her over.

"No," she whines. "Why did you… I was so close."

You pull back again, placing soft kisses along her inner thigh while she catches her breath. "I know. I want to take my time with you. We're not in a rush, remember? No one's going to interrupt us. No schedules to keep. Just you and me."

She makes a sound that's something between a laugh and a groan. "You're going to kill me."

"Never," you promise. You want to worship her, to spend hours between her thighs learning every sound she makes, every spot that makes her gasp. "Besides, you love it when I draw it out. When I make you wait for it."

"I do," she admits, her hand gentle in your hair now, stroking rather than gripping. "But I also love when you make me come so hard I can't think straight."

"We'll get there," you assure her. "I promise. But first..." You lean in and run your tongue through her folds again, gathering her wetness. "I want to enjoy this. Enjoy you."

She shivers at your words, at the sensation of your mouth on her again. "You're such a tease."

"Only because you're so fun to tease." You focus your attention on her clit again, circling it with the tip of your tongue in a pattern that has her moaning within seconds. "And because you get so wet when I take my time. Look at you, baby. You're dripping."

"That's your fault," she gasps, her hips rolling seeking more pressure.

"Mm, I'll take responsibility for that." You slide one finger through her entrance, not pushing in yet, just gathering the slickness there. "You feel so good. So soft and wet and perfect."

"Please," she breathes. "I need more."

"More of this?" You circle her clit with your tongue, firm and steady.

"Yes, fuck, yes."

"Or more of this?" You slowly slide one finger inside her, feeling her clench around you immediately.

Her back arches off the couch. "Both. Everything. I need everything."

You add a second finger, curling them to find that spot inside her that makes her see stars, while your mouth continues its relentless assault on her clit. The combination has her crying out, her hands scrambling for purchase on the couch, on your shoulders, anywhere she can reach. She's close again, you can tell from the way her walls are fluttering around your fingers, from the increasingly desperate sounds falling from her lips.

But you're not ready to let her come yet. You want to keep her here, suspended in this perfect moment of pleasure and need, for just a little longer. So you ease up again, your movements becoming gentler, more teasing. Maintaining just enough stimulation to keep her desperate but not enough to push her over the edge.

"Baby," she pleads. "Please. I'm so close."

"I know," you murmur against her skin. "I can feel it. You're squeezing my fingers so tight."

"Then let me come," she begs. "Please, I need it."

You decide it's time to stop teasing, to give her what she's been begging for. “Okay, then,” you say. Your fingers curl inside her with renewed purpose, finding that rough patch of nerves that makes her entire body tense, while your mouth latches onto her clit with focused intensity. No more pulling back, no more easing off. Just relentless, deliberate pleasure designed to take her apart completely.

"Oh fuck," Jimin gasps, her whole body going rigid. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, that's—"

Her words cut off into a strangled moan as you increase the pressure, your fingers stroking that spot inside her in firm, steady strokes while your tongue works her clit in tight circles. She's writhing on the couch now, her hips grinding against your face, chasing the orgasm that's building like a storm inside her. One of her hands flies to her breast, squeezing through the fabric of her dress, while the other stays tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where she needs you.

"Don't stop," she chants. "Don't stop, don't stop, I'm so close, I'm—"

You can feel it building, the way her walls are clenching rhythmically around your fingers, the way her thighs are shaking so hard she can barely hold them open. She's right there, balanced on that knife's edge between pleasure and release, and you're determined to push her over. You double down, your fingers pumping faster, curling harder against that spot, your mouth unrelenting on her swollen clit.

"Yes, yes, yes—" Her back arches completely off the couch, her whole body going taut as a bowstring. "I'm gonna… oh god, I'm gonna—"

That's when you adjust the angle of your fingers just slightly, pressing firmly against that special spot deep inside her, and everything changes. Her eyes fly open wide and then she's coming with a force that takes both of you by surprise. Clear fluid suddenly gushes from her, spraying across your hand, your chest, soaking the couch cushion beneath her as her entire body convulses.

"Oh my god!" she cries out high and desperate as the orgasm crashes through her. "Oh my god, oh my god—"

You keep your fingers moving, working her through it, feeling her walls clamping down so hard it's almost difficult to maintain the rhythm. More fluid pulses out with each stroke, her body completely out of her control as wave after wave of pleasure rocks through her. She's squirting, really squirting, and it's the hottest thing you've ever witnessed. Her hand is still squeezing her breast desperately, her other hand has abandoned your hair to clutch at the couch, and her face is twisted in an expression of pure ecstasy.

"That's it, baby," you encourage. "Let it all out. You're so fucking beautiful like this."

She's making these broken, sobbing sounds, her hips jerking with each pulse, and you can feel the wet heat of her release coating your hand, your forearm, dripping down onto the floor. It seems to go on forever, her body wringing every last drop of pleasure from the orgasm until finally, finally, she collapses back against the couch, trembling and gasping for air.

You carefully withdraw your fingers and she whimpers at the sensitivity, her whole body twitching. You climb up her body, capturing her mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, letting her taste herself on your lips and tongue. She kisses back weakly, still trying to catch her breath, her hands coming up to frame your face.

When you pull back, she's staring at you with dazed, unfocused eyes. Then awareness starts to creep back in, and her gaze drifts down to survey the damage. Her hand slowly moves to cover her mouth as the full scope of what just happened registers.

"Oh my god," she says, voice muffled behind her hand. "Oh my god, I just—" She looks at the couch cushion beneath her, which is absolutely soaked through, dark with wetness. Then at your shirt, which is splattered and damp. Then at the floor, where there are visible puddles. "I squirted everywhere. I squirted all over your cousin's couch!"

You fall down beside her, careful to avoid the wet spots, and you start laughing, eventually she does too, these breathless giggles that shake both your bodies.

"Holy shit," you manage between laughs. "That was so hot but also—"

"Your cousin's couch!" she repeats, dissolving into another fit of giggles. "How are we going to explain this?"

"I mean, we could just... not tell him?" you suggest, which makes her laugh even harder.

"There's a literal puddle on the floor!" She gestures wildly. "Multiple puddles! It looks like we had a water fight in here!"

You're both laughing so hard your sides hurt, the post-orgasm endorphins mixing with the ridiculousness of the situation. Jimin rolls toward you, burying her face in your shoulder, her body still shaking with laughter.

"I can't believe that just happened," she mumbles against your shirt. "I've never... I didn't know I could do that."

"I didn't know you could either," you admit, running your hand through her hair. "But fuck, that was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

She lifts her head to look at you, her face still flushed, hair a complete mess, and she's grinning despite her embarrassment. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely. Ten out of ten, would make you squirt all over my cousin's furniture again."

That sets her off into another round of giggles. "Stop! We need to figure out how to clean this before it stains!" But she makes no move to get up, just lies there against you, still catching her breath.

"Okay, okay," you say, trying to be serious but failing as another laugh escapes. "We need a plan. First, we find towels. Lots of towels. Then maybe some kind of upholstery cleaner? Do we have that?"

"I have no idea what's under the sink," Jimin says. "But we better find something because I am not explaining this to your cousin."

"'Hey, thanks for letting us stay, by the way your couch had a really good time,'" you say in a mock-serious tone, and she smacks your chest, laughing.

"You're terrible!"

"You love me.

"I do," she agrees, her laughter finally subsiding into soft giggles. "Even though you just ruined your cousin's couch with your magical fingers."

"Excuse me, we ruined the couch. Team effort."

She snorts, then pushes herself up to sitting, putting her panties back in place as surveying the damage with a more critical eye. "Okay. Towels first. Then we figure out the cleaning situation. Then maybe we just… keep this a secret until the end of our lives?"

"Sounds like a good plan," you agree, sitting up beside her.

She looks at you, at the wet patch on your shirt, at the absolute mess surrounding you both, and shakes her head with a smile. "This week just keeps getting weirder."

"Weird good or weird bad?"

"Weird perfect," she says, leaning in to kiss you softly. "Even with the property damage.”

—

The week unfolds like a carefully constructed dream, each day following a gentle rhythm that feels almost meditative in its simplicity. What you'd hoped would happen is actually working: the routine, the distraction, the deliberate choice to exist in this small bubble removed from the chaos of Seoul and the internet and the career crisis hanging over both your heads like a sword. Every morning starts the same way: you and Jimin stumbling out of bed, still tangled in each other, making your way to the backyard with the watering can. It's become a ritual, this quiet act of tending to your cousin's plants while the morning sun filters through the persimmon tree and birds chirp in the distance. Jimin always insists on doing most of the watering herself, saying it's therapeutic, and you're content to watch her move through the garden in whatever oversized t-shirt she stole from your suitcase the night before.

Breakfast is simple, usually whatever you can scrounge from the local market; fresh eggs, rice, kimchi that the elderly woman next door makes and keeps bringing over in endless supply. Then you're out the door, your grandfather's camera slung around your neck, ready to explore another corner of Gapyeong. You've been showing Jimin all the places you frequented as a child during those weekend visits: the bridge where you used to catch tadpoles, the hiking trail that leads to a stunning overlook of the valley, the tiny bookstore run by an old man who still remembers you and your fascination with comic books. Each location comes with stories, memories you'd almost forgotten until you're standing there with her, pointing out where you fell and scraped your knee or where your grandfather taught you to skip stones across the river.

And of course, there are the photographs. So many photographs. You went through all four rolls of film by Thursday afternoon, clicking away at everything: Jimin laughing at a street market, the way sunset hits the mountains, her profile as she examines pottery in a shop window, selfies where you're both grinning like idiots, candid shots of her just existing in the world. Yesterday you took everything to a specialized photography shop an hour away, the kind of place that still develops analog film with care. The owner looked through your order and whistled low. "That's a lot of memories," he said, and you agreed. He told you it would take two weeks and a half, maybe three depending on the backlog, and you left the shop feeling like you'd entrusted something precious to a stranger.

The surprising part is how little recognition Jimin has gotten while walking around. You'd expected it to be constant, overwhelming, but Gapyeong isn't Seoul. People here move slower, pay less attention to celebrity gossip. Sure, she's been spotted a few times (there was the group of girls that first day, and a couple other instances where fans approached shyly asking for photos), but everyone has been kind. Supportive, even. Telling her to stay strong, that they're on her side. It's allowed her to move through the world without the suffocating weight of a mask and hat obscuring her face, and you can see what that freedom does to her. The way her shoulders relax, the way she smiles more easily.

During this entire period, you've made a silent pact not to talk about the future. No discussions about what SM might decide, what the public thinks, whether aespa will survive this. Just the present. Just the two of you in this house, in this city, in these moments. The TV stays off except for when you watch movies at night (stupid comedies and action films that require zero emotional investment). No news. No updates. Just existing.

And it's working. Jimin looks lighter than you've seen her in weeks, maybe months. There's color in her cheeks, genuine laughter that reaches her eyes, a looseness to her movements that wasn't there before. She's sleeping better too, no longer waking up in the middle of the night with anxiety attacks or reaching for her phone with shaking hands. She's just... Jimin. Your Jimin. Not Karina the idol, not the center of a scandal, just a woman spending time with someone she loves.

Friday arrives and you barely notice until you're marking off another day on the mental calendar you've been keeping. A week ago you were sitting in Kim Youngmin's office being presented with impossible options. Now you're here, and it feels like a lifetime has passed.

But of course, you can't completely disconnect. You're not built that way, and neither is the situation. Someone needs to stay alert, to monitor what's happening in the world you've temporarily left behind. You need to know what Jimin’s and aespa’s reputations are like after SM’s official statement confirming your relationship. It’s been a few days since it was published; enough time to get a sense of the situation. So this afternoon, when Jimin mentions she's going next door to help Mrs. Kim with a cake recipe, you see an opportunity.

"I'll hold down the fort here," you tell her, kissing her forehead.

"Don't get into trouble," she warns playfully, already halfway out the door with an apron borrowed from the kitchen.

Once she's gone and the house settles into silence, you retrieve your MacBook from where it's been buried at the bottom of your suitcase all week. You make yourself a cup of coffee; strong and black, because you need the caffeine hit for what you're about to subject yourself to, and settle at the kitchen table. The laptop hums to life, the screen glowing bright in the afternoon dimness, and you take a fortifying sip before opening a browser.

The first thing you check is Twitter, because that's always where things explode first. Your timeline is a mess of Korean and English, fan accounts and news aggregators and opinion pieces. Things are still unstable, the discourse as vicious as you expected, but as you scroll deeper, you start to notice shifts. Cracks in the wall of hate.

Several idols have been speaking out. Not overtly (that would be career suicide in an industry built on unspoken rules), but discreetly. Taeyeon posted a cryptic Instagram story with lyrics about living authentically. Wheein liked a tweet defending Jimin's right to date. Moonbyul shared an article about the toxicity of parasocial relationships. Small acts of rebellion from people who understand the cost of this kind of scandal because they've navigated the same brutal system.

And then there's Yuna, who apparently missed the memo about subtlety entirely. Her Instagram story from fifteen hours ago is still up, a screenshot of an article about the controversy with her own text overlaid: "Let people live their lives. Love is love. 💕" It's been shared thousands of times, dissected and praised and criticized in equal measure. You have to laugh. Of course she'd be the least discreet.

There's also a text from her sitting in your messages, sent yesterday: "How are you guys holding up? Saw the news. This is bullshit. Rooting for you both 🙏"

It's funny. The girl who almost derailed your relationship through her flirting, who served as the catalyst for Jimin's jealousy and your first big fight, is now one of your most vocal supporters. She's really something else.

You shift your attention to the fan discourse, which is where the real battle is being waged. Korean netizens are predictably divided: a vocal segment screaming betrayal and demanding Jimin leave aespa, another contingent defending her right to happiness, most people somewhere in the muddled middle. But Western fans, the international audience that's become increasingly important to K-pop's global expansion, are overwhelmingly on Jimin's side. Tweets with tens of thousands of likes arguing that idols are human beings, that the industry's dating bans are archaic and cruel, that fans who can't support their favorites' happiness were never real fans to begin with.

"This is so fucked up. Karina deserves to be happy. Leave her alone." - 27K likes.

"If you're sending hate to Karina for dating, you're not a MY, you're just a toxic person." - 33K likes.

"The idol industry needs to change. This is 2025, not 1995. Let people LIVE." - 19K likes.

There's a coordinated hashtag campaign - #StandWithKarina - that's been trending globally for three days straight. Fan projects raising money for billboards in support. Video compilations of aespa's achievements set to emotional music with captions about unconditional love. It's not universal support, not even close, but it's something. Maybe enough of something to tip the scales.

You're so absorbed in scrolling, in cataloging every piece of evidence that might indicate this isn't a complete catastrophe, that you don't hear the door open until Jimin's voice breaks through your concentration.

"I'm back!" she announces, and you nearly jump out of your skin. "The cake turned out amazing, look."

She sets down a plate with several generous slices of what appears to be a honey castella cake, golden and fluffy and still slightly warm. Then her eyes land on the MacBook open in front of you.

"Why are you using the MacBook?" She asks, not in an accusatory way, just curiosity. "You weren't even supposed to bring it."

"I was just looking at a few things," you say, which is both true and a massive understatement. "Research. Mindless scrolling. You know how it is… chronically online and all that."

"Hmm." She eyes you skeptically, then her gaze drops to your mug. "Is that coffee?"

"Tea," you lie smoothly, taking a deliberate sip.

She leans closer, sniffing. "It smells like coffee."

You make a show of sniffing the cup yourself, your expression perfectly confused. "Really? I didn't even notice. Weird."

Jimin just laughs before looking at you like you're a kid eating candy before dinner. "I'm never going to be able to separate you from caffeine, am I? It's like a dependency. A medical condition."

"I can stop whenever I want," you protest.

"Sure you can, baby." She pulls out the chair next to you and sits down, stealing your mug for a sip and making a face when it's definitely coffee and not tea. "The week's almost over."

"Yeah," you say. "It is."

"What did you think?" She's looking at you now, studying your face. "Of all this. Was it boring? Was the countryside exile everything you hoped it would be?"

"Boring? No. It was..." You search for the right word. "Necessary. Good. Really good."

"It's been a while since I felt so..." She pauses, considering. "Normal. Like I was just a person doing person things. Walking around, taking pictures, making friends with the neighbor lady who keeps feeding us. No performances, no cameras, no expectations. Just existing." She's quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing patterns on the table. "If I lost my career, I think having a normal life wouldn't be so bad. I could handle it. I'd have you anyway."

"Don't be pessimistic," you say automatically.

"I'm being realistic,” she counters gently. "You know there's a chance. A big chance. We both know that."

You can't argue with that. The possibility has been sitting in the back of your mind all week, a shadow you've been deliberately ignoring. "SM would never give up aespa," you say, trying for confidence. "It's one of their most profitable groups at the moment. The numbers don't lie."

She raises an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "So you just see my group as a product to be marketed? Pure capitalism?"

"Not me. The company. I think what you and the girls do is incredible, you know that. But from SM's perspective, yeah, you're an investment. A successful one."

"Okay, so you said SM would never give up on aespa." She's still smiling but there's something more bitter underneath now. "But... would they give up on me? Specifically me?"

It's a delicate question, you find yourself unable to immediately answer because the truth is yes, it's absolutely a possibility. Companies have done it before: sacrificed one member to save a group, calculated that the PR hit of removing someone is less damaging than keeping them. They're trying to save her image now, but if the metrics don't improve, if the sponsor deals keep falling through, if the comeback underperforms...

"They'd be crazy to do that," you finally say. "It would be the biggest mistake that company ever made."

"But they could," she presses.

"They could," you admit. "But they won't. You're too valuable. Too talented. Too—"

Her phone starts ringing, cutting you off. She glances at the screen and her whole face lights up. "It's the girls!" She accepts the video call and immediately three faces fill the screen; Giselle, Winter, and Ningning all crammed together on what looks like a couch in someone's apartment.

"Jimin!" they chorus in unison.

"Hi!" Jimin stands up, moving away from the table toward the living room for better light. "Oh my god, I miss you guys so much!"

"We miss you too," Winter says. "How's the countryside? Are you surviving without Instagram?"

"Barely," Jimin laughs. "But actually it's been amazing. We've been taking all these photos - analog, with an actual film camera - and we're making this whole album of memories. And I made friends with the neighbor, this sweet old lady who's been teaching me to bake. And we went hiking and—"

She's off, words tumbling out in an excited rush as she gives them a virtual tour of the house, showing them the backyard garden and the traditional architecture and the view from the bedroom window. You can hear them oohing and ahhing, asking questions, sharing their own updates about what's been happening in Seoul. Someone's been teaching Ningning guitar. Giselle booked a solo magazine shoot. Winter's been stress-baking and has made approximately fifteen batches of cookies in the past week.

Their conversation becomes background noise as your attention drifts back to the MacBook screen, to the tabs still open showing Twitter and news articles and fan forums. The support is there, tangible and growing, but so is the hate. The calls for Jimin to leave the group, to apologize, to sacrifice her happiness for the sake of her career. The industry think pieces about whether female idols can survive dating scandals in 2025. The endless speculation about SM's next move.

You think about what Jimin said. About them potentially giving her up. And you realize with creeping dread that she's not wrong to worry. The company will do whatever protects their bottom line, their other investments, their reputation. If keeping Jimin becomes more costly than letting her go, the choice becomes obvious from their perspective.

Behind you, Jimin's laugh rings out as Ningning apparently makes a face at the camera. They're talking about the tour now, whether it'll still happen, and you can hear the hope and fear mingled in their voices. These four women who've become sisters through shared dreams and brutal training and the unforgiving spotlight of fame, trying to hold onto something that's threatening to slip through their fingers.

You close the MacBook quietly. Whatever happens, you'll face it together. That's the only certainty you have right now.

—

You push through the apartment door with your shoulder, arms full of packages and your work bag sliding down toward your elbow. It's been another long day, your third since returning from Gapyeong, and the strange new reality of being back in Seoul is still settling into your body. The only sound inside the apartment is the low hum of the TV playing some drama Jimin's only half-watching. She's sprawled on the couch in one of your hoodies and shorts, hair piled messily on top of her head, and the sight of her makes the tension in your shoulders ease just a little.

"Hey," you say, dropping your bag and crossing to the couch. You lean down and kiss her, soft and lingering, tasting the cherry chapstick she's been obsessively applying all week.

She smiles against your lips before pulling back. "How was work?"

"It was okay." You straighten up, rolling your neck to work out the kinks. "Still weird being the main target of office gossip. Like, I can feel people staring and whispering whenever I walk past. But honestly? It's good to be back. Feels productive, you know? Like I'm doing something instead of just waiting."

"That's good," she says, and you can hear the genuine happiness in her voice even as something else flickers across her face (something that looks uncomfortably like envy or longing).

The fact that you're still working with aespa at all is nothing short of miraculous. Your direct superior, Ms. Park, the woman who's managed the team for three years and has always been fair and professional, went to bat for you hard. Apparently she gave this impassioned speech to the executives about your competency, your work ethic, how you've never once let personal matters interfere with your professional responsibilities. She convinced them that firing you would be a mistake, that you're too valuable an asset to lose over something that had nothing to do with your actual job performance. So instead of termination, you got reassigned within the same sphere: handling individual activities for Ningning, Giselle, and Winter. Nothing related to aespa as a group for now, nothing that would put you in direct proximity to Jimin during work hours, but still within the ecosystem you know and understand.

You know Jimin is happy for you. She told you as much when you came home on that first day, throwing her arms around you and saying how proud she was, how relieved. But you can also see the frustration eating at her, the way her jaw tightens when she talks about being stuck in this limbo. It's been fifteen days since SM's official statement, and since then, nothing. Radio silence from the company. No updates about comeback schedules, no clarity on the international tour, no word on when or if aespa's activities will resume. They're gauging reactions, running analytics, monitoring social media sentiment across different markets to determine their next move. And Jimin is stuck on the sidelines, watching her career hang in the balance while everyone else moves forward.

"Oh!" You remember suddenly, adjusting the package tucked under your arm. "These came today."

Her eyes immediately lock onto the parcel, curiosity sparking. "What is it?"

"The photos. From Gapyeong. They finally finished developing them."

The transformation is instantaneous. Jimin sits bolt upright, the lethargy that's been clinging to her all week evaporating. "Are you serious? They're here? The actual photos?"

"All of them." You grin at her reaction. "They sent it to me by mail. I just picked it up as soon as I got to the building.”

You set the package on the coffee table and head to the bedroom, returning with the leather-bound photo album you've been keeping on the nightstand. When you come back, Jimin has already migrated from the couch to the floor, sitting cross-legged in front of the coffee table like a kid on Christmas morning. You join her, settling down beside her as you carefully begin unwrapping the package. The shop wrapped everything in brown paper and twine and you have to cut through several layers before you finally reach the photos themselves.

They're organized in four separate envelopes, one for each roll of film, and the weight of them in your hands feels significant. Substantial. These aren't digital files that can be deleted or lost to a corrupted hard drive. These are physical objects, tangible proof that those days happened.

"It's like opening Pokémon cards," Jimin says breathlessly, watching you slide the first envelope open.

You pause, considering. "That's not a very accurate comparison, babe.”

"You know what I mean! The anticipation. Not knowing what you're going to get."

"Except we do know. We took these photos."

"But we don't know how they turned out! If they're blurry or perfectly clear or if we accidentally captured something magical. That's the whole point of analog." She reaches for the envelope eagerly. "Come on, let me see."

You hand it over and she pulls out the stack of photos with reverent care. The first one makes her gasp: it's from that very first day, in the backyard, when you caught her watering the plants. The late afternoon light is golden and perfect, and she's laughing at something, her head thrown back, completely unguarded. The floral dress, the messy hair, the smudge of dirt on her cheek. It's beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with professional styling or perfect angles.

"Oh my god," she whispers. "Look at this. I look so... happy."

"You were happy."

She stares at the photo for another moment before carefully setting it aside and moving to the next one. This one is the selfie you took together on the bridge, except she turned at the last second to kiss your cheek. The framing is slightly off, your thumb visible in the corner, but your expression (surprised and delighted) makes it perfect. Imperfect in the best way.

"I love this one," she says, tracing the edge with her finger. "This is definitely going in the album."

You open the photo album to the first page, blank and waiting. Together, you place the photo carefully in the corner slot, and just like that, the project becomes real. No longer an abstract idea but something you're building together, memory by memory.

The next envelope yields photos from the market; Jimin examining pottery with intense concentration, you holding up a ridiculous hat that neither of you ended up buying, candid shots of elderly vendors and colorful produce displays. Each one brings back the moment in vivid detail, the smell of fresh fish and roasted chestnuts, the sound of vendors calling out their prices, the way Jimin's hand felt in yours as you navigated the crowded aisles.

"I remember this," Jimin says, holding up a photo of herself biting into a hotteok, her eyes closed in bliss, sugar dusted across her lips. "That was the best thing I'd eaten in months. I wanted to go back and buy ten more."

"Why didn't we?"

"Because you said I'd get a stomach ache."

"I was being responsible."

"You were being a killjoy." But she's smiling as she says it, already placing the photo in the album.

The third envelope contains photos from the hike you took to the overlook. The trail winding through the forest, Jimin posed dramatically on a large boulder, the sweeping vista of the valley below with mountains layered in the distance like watercolor washes. There's one of you that she insisted on taking, sitting on a fallen log with your elbows on your knees, looking off to the side at something she'd pointed out. You barely remember the moment, but in the photo you look contemplative, peaceful.

"You're very photogenic when you're not trying," Jimin observes, studying the image. "When you're just existing."

"Thanks, I think?"

"It's a compliment. You're real. Not posed or manufactured. Just you." She looks at you then. "That's what I fell in love with, you know. How real you are. How you never pretend to be anything other than exactly who you are."

You just lean over and kiss her temple, letting the gesture say what words can't.

The fourth envelope is the most eclectic; photos from various days all mixed together. Jimin in the bookstore, reading the back of a novel. You at the restaurant table, mid-laugh at something she said. The sunset over the river, all oranges and purples and pinks. Her feet next to yours on the wooden porch of the house. A stray cat you befriended one afternoon. Jimin asleep on the couch with a book on her chest. Each image is a fragment of those days, and together they form a complete picture of what you shared.

You work in silence for a while, sorting through the photos and deciding which ones go where. Some are immediate favorites that you both agree on instantly. Others require debate (Jimin wants to include a blurry photo of you making a ridiculous face, and you veto it until she promises to include an equally unflattering one of herself). Compromise is reached.

As you place a photo of the two of you at sunset, silhouetted against the sky with your arms around each other, Jimin's eyes start to glisten. She blinks rapidly, trying to hold it back, but a single tear escapes and trails down her cheek.

"Hey," you say softly, wiping it away with your thumb. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm just... that week was so perfect. Looking at these, reliving it all, I just wish we could go back. Stay there forever."

"Me too."

"Everything was so simple there. No pressure, no expectations, no one judging us. Just you and me and all the time in the world." She picks up another photo, this one of her laughing at something, completely unaware of the camera. "I forgot what it felt like to just be Jimin. Not Karina, not an idol, just... me."

You set down the photo you were holding and turn to face her fully, taking both her hands in yours. "You're always just Jimin to me. Always have been, always will be. The rest is just what you do, not who you are."

She nods, squeezing your hands. "I know. And that's why this—" she gestures to the album, to the scattered photos, to the two of you sitting on the floor surrounded by memories, "—matters so much. You see me. The real me. And you're documenting it, preserving it. When I'm eighty years old and can barely remember my own name, I'll have this album. I'll look at these pictures and remember that once upon a time, when my whole world was falling apart, someone loved me enough to capture what it looked like when I was whole."

Now you're the one getting emotional, your throat tight with feelings too big for words. You pull her into your arms and she comes willingly, burying her face in your shoulder. Her body shakes slightly with suppressed sobs, and you just hold her, one hand stroking her back, the other cradling her head.

"We're going to be okay," you murmur into her hair. "Whatever happens with SM, with aespa, with all of it. We're going to be okay because we have this. These memories, these moments. They can't take that away from us."

She nods against your shoulder, her arms tightening around you. When she finally pulls back, her eyes are red but she's smiling. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get all emotional."

"Don't apologize. This is emotional. It's supposed to be."

She wipes her face and picks up the album, flipping through what you've completed so far. About a third of the pages are filled now, photos carefully arranged and placed. "We should add captions. Write little notes about what we were doing or what we were thinking."

"That's a good idea."

She finds a pen and starts writing in small, neat handwriting next to one of the photos. "Our first day. You made me laugh so hard I snorted." She looks up at you. "I did snort. You remember?"

"I remember. It was adorable."

"It was embarrassing."

"Adorably embarrassing."

You continue working, adding more photos and writing captions. Some are simple: dates and locations. Others are more elaborate like inside jokes and confessions and things you want your future selves to remember. Jimin's handwriting mingles with yours on the pages, creating something that belongs to both of you equally.

By the time you're done, it's past midnight and you've made significant progress. The album isn't complete yet (you still have dozens of photos to sort through and place) but it's taken shape. It exists. This tangible record of a week that saved you both in different ways.

Jimin yawns, stretching her arms above her head. "We should sleep."

"Probably."

Then the sudden trill of Jimin's phone cuts through the apartment, you both freeze, looking at each other with matching expressions of confusion. It's almost one in the morning - who the hell would be calling at this hour? Jimin reaches for her phone on the coffee table, and when she sees the caller ID, her eyebrows shoot up.

"It's from SM," she murmurs.

Late night calls from the company are never good news. At least, they haven't been lately. You watch as she accepts the call, bringing the phone to her ear.

"Hello? Yes, this is Jimin." Her face is carefully neutral, impossible to read. "Yes. Okay. I understand." A pause, and then something shifts in her expression; her eyes widen slightly, her lips part. "Really? Are you sure? When?" Another pause. "Okay. Yes, I'll be there. Thank you. Thank you so much."

She ends the call and just stares at the phone for a moment, like she's not entirely sure what just happened. You're practically vibrating with the need to know what that was about, but you force yourself to wait, to let her process whatever she just heard.

Finally, she looks up at you, and there are tears in her eyes. But this time, they're not sad tears.

"That was SM," she says. "A last-minute meeting just ended. aespa is resuming activities. The international tour is officially on."

For a second, you can't quite comprehend what she's saying. The words don't make sense, or maybe your brain is refusing to accept them because the alternative - the fear and uncertainty and worst-case scenarios - has been your default setting for so long that hope feels dangerous.

"Wait, what?"

"The tour!" She's suddenly on her feet, the photo album tumbling off her lap forgotten. "We're doing it! They said the Western markets responded positively enough that they're moving forward. The shows are confirmed. We're back!"

Then she's throwing herself into your arms with such force that you nearly topple backward. She's laughing and crying at the same time, her whole body shaking as she clings to you. You wrap your arms around her, holding her tight, and feel something that's been coiled tense in your chest for weeks finally start to unwind.

"You did it," you say into her hair. "You fucking did it."

"We did it," she corrects, pulling back to look at you. Her face is a mess: tears streaming, nose running, smile so wide it must hurt, and she's never looked more beautiful. "We survived. Together."

"Jesus. It really feels like it was all just a bad dream, doesn't it? Like none of it actually happened."

"Except it did happen," she says, wiping at her face. "But we made it through. And now—" Her phone starts buzzing repeatedly, notification after notification lighting up the screen. She grabs it and laughs. "It's the girls. Winter, Giselle, Ning. They got the news too. Look at this group chat."

She shows you the screen and it's complete chaos. All caps messages, strings of emojis, voice notes of screaming. The kind of unbridled joy that can only come from people who thought they'd lost everything and just got it back.

"They want me at SM tomorrow morning to discuss logistics and scheduling," Jimin says, scrolling through her messages. "Oh god, there's so much to do. Rehearsals, promotional schedules, wardrobe fittings—" She's spiraling into work mode, her brain already shifting gears, and you can see both the excitement and the exhaustion that comes with it.

"Hey," you say, touching her arm gently. "One thing at a time. Tonight, we celebrate. Tomorrow, you conquer the world."

She nods, taking a deep breath. "You're right. One thing at a time." She looks at the photo album on the floor, at the scattered pictures still waiting to be placed. "We still need to finish this."

"We will. We have time now."

—

The next day, you're on your coffee break (no pretense that it's tea this time) standing in the small break room on the third floor. The view overlooks a busy intersection, people and cars flowing past in their endless urban dance. You're thinking about last night, about the look on Jimin's face when she got the news, when a hand claps down hard on your shoulder, making you jump and nearly spill your coffee.

"Yo!" Jae grins at you, his energy way too high for 11 AM. "I heard aespa is back, man. Congratulations!"

"Yeah," you say, unable to suppress your own smile. "The nightmare is over. Or at least, part of it."

"Part of it? Dude, you're literally the luckiest guy in the world." He leans against the counter. "You're dating an idol. Not just any idol by the way; It's Karina! Like, she's objectively one of the most beautiful women on the planet. I mean, I'm more of a Yuna guy myself, but still. You've got serious bragging rights."

"I don't know about being the luckiest," you say dryly. "My life almost ended because of this relationship. The stress alone probably took years off my lifespan."

Jae waves this off. "You're being dramatic."

"I received death threats. Actual death threats. People telling me they'd find me and—"

"Okay, okay," he interrupts, wincing. "That's actually pretty fucked up. I'll give you that. But now it's all good, right? The company backed you, the tour is happening, everything worked out."

"It's far from 'all good,'" you correct him. "It's just better than it was. There are still people who hate my existence. Still sponsors who dropped aespa because of me. Still this cloud hanging over everything. And they still haven't found the bastard who actually caused all this. But yeah, it's better than before."

"For what it's worth, I'm glad you're okay. Both of you. But I gotta say, I'm kind of sad you didn't tell me about the relationship. I thought we were friends. That you trusted me."

"I do trust you, man. I really do. It's just… it was all still so new and uncertain. We were figuring things out ourselves. And with the secrecy requirements from the company… I hope you understand. It wasn't personal."

"Yeah, I get it." He seems to accept this, his usual grin returning. "But seriously, what was the deal with Yuna? Because I could've sworn something was going on there. The way she was looking at you, I was convinced you two had something."

"In her head, we definitely did," you say, laughing despite yourself. "Reality didn't quite match up with her intentions."

"Jesus Christ." Jae runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely frustrated. "I can't believe two idols were hitting on you. Two! You're like a fucking protagonist in some fanfic super well written. How does that even happen?"

"Can we please change the subject?" you plead. "Are you getting the new Pokémon game when it—"

Movement in your peripheral vision makes you stop mid-sentence. Through the break room's glass door, you can see Jimin in the hallway, and she's making eye contact with you. She gestures subtly with her head, a clear signal that she wants to talk. Your heart starts beating a little faster, the way it always does when you see her unexpectedly.

"Sorry, I gotta go," you say to Jae, already moving toward the door. "We'll talk later, yeah?"

"Yeah, yeah, go to your superstar girlfriend," he teases, but he's smiling.

You slip out into the hallway and walk toward where Jimin is standing near a quiet alcove by the emergency stairwell. She's dressed professionally (black slacks and a cream blouse, her hair pulled back in a ponytail) and she looks every bit the successful idol ready to reclaim her career. But when you get close, you can see the slight nervousness in her eyes, the way she's worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Hey," you say quietly, glancing around. "Is it safe for us to be seen together here? I thought the whole point was keeping distance at work."

She shrugs, and there's something defiant in the gesture. "We're not doing anything wrong. And besides, everyone already knows now. The statement went out, the world didn't end. Fuck it."

You can't help but smile at that. "Okay then. How did things go with the meeting?"

"Good. Really good, actually." She's practically bouncing on her toes. "The tour is definitely happening. All fourteen shows over thirty days. They're finalizing the setlist today and rehearsals start next week. And they said I can get back on social media. Carefully, they emphasized carefully. But I can post again. Interact with fans. Be visible."

"That's amazing."

"They also said we should continue to not draw attention to ourselves," she continues. "No public dates, no paparazzi photos, keep things low-key for a while until everything fully settles."

"That's on you," you joke. "I've already exceeded my attention quota for my entire life. I'm good staying invisible."

She laughs, but then her expression turns more serious. "We haven't really talked about the tour yet. About what it means."

You lean against the wall, crossing your arms. "I've been avoiding thinking about it, honestly. But there's not much to discuss, is there? It's your job. It's what you've been working toward. I'll be here, cheering you on from Seoul."

"I wish you could come with us," she says quietly. "I know that's selfish, but I do. Having you there would make everything easier."

"It'll be better this way," you assure her, even though the thought of being apart for a month makes you actively sad. "You need to focus on the performances, on reconnecting with your fans, on being Karina. You don't need me there being a distraction or causing problems."

"You're never a problem."

"Fourteen shows in thirty days," you continue, "that's brutal. Promise me you'll take care of yourself? Eat properly, sleep when you can, don't push yourself too hard."

"I'll be fine," she says with more confidence than the situation probably warrants. "I've got redoubled energy now that the worst is over. I can handle anything."

From somewhere down the hall, a voice calls out. "Jimin! They need you in Studio B!"

It's one of the managers, a woman in her forties with a tablet and the perpetually harried expression of someone managing too many moving pieces.

"Coming!" Jimin calls back. She turns to you, and for a moment you see her hand twitch like she's about to reach for you, to pull you in for a kiss. But you're in a public hallway, in the company building, surrounded by potential witnesses and cameras. So instead she just steps a tiny bit closer, close enough that you can smell her perfume, and whispers low enough that only you can hear.

"I love you."

Three words, soft as a breath, yet they hit you like it’s the first time you’ve ever heard them. You want to kiss her senseless right here in this corporate hallway, consequences be damned, but you settle for holding her gaze and letting her see everything you feel reflected in your eyes.

"I love you too, babe,” you say, just for her to hear. “Later. At the apartment."

"Special dinner?" she asks, a smile tugging at her lips.

"The most special. I'll even attempt cooking something that isn't instant ramen."

"Now I'm really excited." She's backing away now, still looking at you, and there's this lightness to her that hasn't been there in weeks. "See you tonight."

"See you tonight."

You watch her walk away, watch her rejoin the manager and disappear into the maze of hallways and studios that make up SM Entertainment. And you think about how close you came to losing this; losing her, losing the future you're building together, losing everything that matters. The universe gave you a second chance, somehow, against all odds.

You're not going to waste it.

—

You finish plating the spaghetti at the exact right moment, al dente pasta twirled into perfect nests, homemade marinara sauce with fresh basil on top, parmesan shaved over everything. The kitchen smells incredible, garlic and tomato and herbs filling the small apartment. You step back to admire your work, feeling stupidly proud of yourself for pulling off something more ambitious than your usual repertoire of instant ramen and fried rice.

It reminds you of that first real date with Jimin, back when everything was new and terrifying and exciting. She'd invited you to her apartment and cooked for you and you'd felt so cared for, so seen. Now it's your turn to return that gesture, to show her through actions what words sometimes fail to capture.

The doorbell rings. You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and head to the door, and when you open it, wow. Jimin stands there looking absolutely devastating in a black wrap dress that hugs every curve, the neckline just low enough to be suggestive without being obvious. The fabric is some kind of silky material that catches the hallway light. Her hair is down in soft waves, makeup subtle but expertly done, and she's wearing strappy heels that make her legs. Sexy but discreet.

"Hi," she says, and her smile is warm and immediate.

You pull her in for a kiss, one hand on her waist, feeling the silk slide under your palm. She tastes like cherry lip gloss and possibility. "Hi yourself. You look incredible."

"Thank you." She steps inside, her heels clicking on the hardwood, and immediately her nose lifts as she takes in the smell of dinner. "Oh my god, what is that? It smells amazing."

"Spaghetti from scratch," you say proudly, leading her toward the kitchen. "Well, mostly from scratch. I didn't make the pasta itself, but the sauce is all me. And there's garlic bread and salad and—"

"You really went all out," she says, looking genuinely touched as she surveys the table you set, complete with candles and actual cloth napkins you had to go buy specifically for this occasion.

"You deserve it." You move to the counter where you've set up a modest bar - wine, beer, some juice. "What would you like to drink? I've got red wine, white wine, that beer you like, or—"

You don't get to finish the sentence because suddenly there are hands wrapping around your waist from behind, Jimin's body pressing against your back. Her lips find your neck, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses that make your breath catch for a moment.

"I think we can skip the drinks for now," she murmurs against your skin, her breath warm.

You turn in her arms, finding her eyes shining with intent, and capture her mouth in a deeper kiss. "Someone seems hungry," you manage between kisses.

"Mmm, yes." Her hands are already roaming, sliding under your shirt to find bare skin. "But hungry for something else."

Her palm presses against the front of your jeans, feeling you already half-hard just from that look in her eyes. You groan into her mouth, your hips involuntarily pushing forward into her touch.

"What about dinner?" you ask, even though you already know the answer, already know you'd abandon a five-course meal if she asked. "I worked really hard on it."

"Dinner can wait," she says firmly, taking your hand and pulling you toward the bedroom. "I have other priorities right now."

You let her lead you, pausing only to blow out the candles so the apartment doesn't burn down while you're otherwise occupied. The bedroom is dim, just the ambient light from the city filtering through the curtains, and it paints everything in shades of blue and gold. You're both kissing again, hands grabbing and pulling, that desperate energy of two people who've been apart all day and need to reconnect in the most fundamental way.

When you finally separate to breathe, you sit on the edge of the bed, taking off your shoes and you can't help but laugh. "If I knew we were going to take our clothes off this fast, I wouldn't have bothered dressing up so much."

Jimin stands in front of you, and the look she gives you is pure heat. "I'm glad you did. Makes it more fun to undress you." She reaches for the tie of her wrap dress, but pauses. "Though I have to admit, I'm kind of sorry to take this off. It cost a fortune."

"It's beautiful," you agree, already working on your belt. "You're beautiful."

She holds your gaze as her hands move to the straps at her shoulders. Then, in one smooth motion, she pulls both straps down simultaneously. The dress slides down her body like water, pooling at her feet in a puddle of black silk, and underneath—

"Fuck," you breathe.

She's wearing red lingerie, and not just any lingerie. A matching set in deep crimson lace that looks like it was designed specifically to destroy you. The bra pushes her breasts up and the panties are this barely-there scrap of lace that somehow manages to be more provocative than complete nudity. The color against her skin is obscene, beautiful, absolutely perfect.

"Changed your mind about dinner?"

"Changed my mind about a lot of things." You're shedding your pants now, desperate to have less fabric between you. "Mainly about how much I need you right now."

She climbs onto the bed, straddling your lap in just that red lace, and the weight of her is perfect. Her hands frame your face as she kisses you deeply, thoroughly, her hips already starting to move in slow rolls against you. You can feel the heat of her even through the remaining layers of clothing, and it's driving you insane.

The feeling of being in your own bed again, in your own space, is almost overwhelming. At your cousin's house, everything had this edge of wrongness to it; the unfamiliar mattress, the knowledge that you were in someone else's home, and oh god, that incident with the couch that you've been trying not to think about. But here, this is your territory. Your bed, your rules, and Jimin spread out above you like the best kind of gift.

Your hands find her ass, squeezing the firm flesh through the lace, and she makes this breathy sound that goes straight to your cock. You pull her closer and bury your face between her breasts, just breathing her in - her perfume mixed with her natural scent, the warmth of her skin, the rapid beat of her heart. You kiss the swell of her cleavage, the spot where the lace meets flesh, tracing patterns with your tongue that make her gasp and arch into you.

"Bed," she manages. "Lie back."

You do as instructed, letting her push you down until your back hits the mattress. She's above you, straddling your hips, her hair falling around both your faces as she leans down to kiss you. It's slower now, more deliberate, like she wants to savor every second. Your hands roam her body, mapping territory you're becoming intimately familiar with; the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the way her muscles shift under your palms.

Then she's moving, repositioning herself, and you realize what she's doing. She turns around so her back is facing you, still straddling but now giving you the most incredible view. Her ass in those red panties, the elegant line of her spine, the way her hair falls over one shoulder.

"Do you like the view?" she asks, looking back at you over her shoulder with a wicked smile.

You run your hands over her ass, squeezing appreciatively. "I really, really do."

"Good." She's shifting again, moving lower, her hands sliding up your thighs. "Because I really want to feel your mouth on my pussy again. Like last time."

The memory of that night in Gapyeong floods back, her taste, her sounds, the way she came apart under your tongue. Your cock twitches with interest.

"But this time," she continues, her fingers finding the waistband of your boxer briefs, "you won't be left out." She starts pulling them down slowly, teasingly, and when your cock springs free, already hard and leaking, she makes this satisfied hum. "I think that's only fair, don't you?"

"Very fair," you agree.

You hook your fingers into her panties and pull them to the side, revealing her pussy glistening in the low light of your bedroom. She's already wet, arousal coating her inner thighs. The perfect 69 position, both of you about to pleasure each other simultaneously, and you can't wait another second. You pull her hips back toward your face as she leans forward to take you in her mouth, your tongue makes first contact with her pussy and she gasps around your cock. She tastes exactly how you remember and you can't help the groan that escapes as you drag your tongue through her folds slowly, deliberately, savoring every inch. Her hips roll back against your face, seeking more pressure, more friction, and you're happy to give it to her.

At the same time, her mouth envelops you, hot and wet and perfect. She starts with just the tip, her tongue swirling around the head and catching the precum that's already leaking, and the sensation makes your thighs tense. She hums in appreciation at the taste, and then she's taking you deeper, inch by inch, until you can feel yourself hitting the back of her throat.

"Fuck, Jimin," you breathe against her pussy, pausing your own ministrations for just a second to process how good her mouth feels. "That's so good."

She pulls off, her hand wrapping around your shaft to stroke what her mouth isn't covering. "Then don't stop what you're doing," she says, already breathy. "I want to feel your tongue on my clit."

You obey immediately, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with the tip of your tongue. Her reaction is instantaneous: her back arches, pushing her pussy harder against your face, and she lets out this desperate little whimper that makes you want to wreck her completely. You establish a rhythm, alternating between broad flat strokes through her folds and focused attention on her clit, listening to the sounds she makes to guide you to what feels best.

She returns her attention to your cock with renewed determination, and suddenly this feels less like mutual pleasure and more like a competition. Who can make the other lose control first. The realization seems to hit both of you at the same time because she increases her pace, taking you deeper, adding suction that makes your vision blur, while you double down on your efforts, sealing your lips around her clit and sucking.

"Oh god," she moans, her hips grinding against your face now. "That's… fuck, that's not fair."

You pull back just enough to speak, your breath hot against her wet flesh. "You started it. Taking me so deep like that."

"Because I want you to come for me," she says, pumping your cock with her hand while her tongue traces the vein running along the underside. "I want to taste it. Want to swallow every drop."

Her words send heat flooding through you, your cock pulsing in her grip. "Keep talking like that and you're going to get what you want really fast."

"Good." She takes you back in her mouth, and this time she's relentless, bobbing her head in a steady rhythm while her hand works what she can't fit. Her other hand cups your balls, rolling them gently.

You try to maintain your focus on her pleasure, your tongue working her clit in tight circles while you slide two fingers inside her, curling them to find that spot that makes her shake. She's so wet that they slip in easily, her walls clenching around you immediately.

"You're so wet," you murmur against her, punctuating your words with a long lick from her entrance to her clit. "Dripping all over my face. You love having my mouth on you, don't you?"

"Yes," she gasps, her movements on your cock faltering slightly as pleasure overtakes her concentration. "Love it so much. Your tongue feels amazing."

"And your mouth," you continue as she takes you particularly deep, "your mouth is fucking perfect. So hot and tight. I could come just from this."

"Then do it," she challenges, pulling off to look back at you over her shoulder. Her lips are swollen and slick. "Come for me. I want it."

She dives back down, and this time there's no teasing, no building. She's sucking you hard and fast, her hand twisting on every upstroke, and you know you're not going to last much longer. You increase your own pace to match, your tongue flicking rapidly over her clit while your fingers pump in and out of her.

"Fuck, Jimin, I'm close," you warn, your thighs trembling with the effort of holding back. "If you keep doing that—"

She just hums in acknowledgment and somehow takes you even deeper, and that's it. That's all it takes. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure exploding from your core and radiating outward. You groan against her pussy, your hips bucking up involuntarily as you come, spilling into her mouth in hot pulses. She doesn't pull away, doesn't hesitate, she takes everything you give her, swallowing around you, her throat working, and the sensation prolongs your orgasm until you're shaking beneath her.

Even as you're coming down, aftershocks still rolling through you, you don't stop working her pussy. If anything, you become more focused, determined to push her over that edge right behind you. Your fingers curl harder against her g-spot while your tongue assaults her clit with renewed purpose, and within seconds you feel her start to tense.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. "Don't stop, please don't stop, I'm gonna—"

She doesn't finish the sentence because she's coming, her whole body going rigid as the orgasm crashes through her. You feel her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers, more wetness flooding your mouth as you lap at her through it, extending her pleasure for as long as possible. She's making these broken, desperate sounds above you, her hand still loosely holding your softening cock.

Finally, she collapses forward, boneless and panting, and you have to gently guide her off you so neither of you suffocates. She ends up sprawled beside you on the bed, both of you catching your breath, skin flushed and sweaty.

"Holy shit," she manages after a minute, turning her head to look at you. "That was—"

"Intense," you finish for her.

"I was going to say incredible, but intense works too." She shifts closer, draping herself across your chest. "Though for the record, I totally made you come first."

"You did," you concede. "But it was close."

"Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." She's grinning now, clearly pleased with herself. "I win."

"What do you win?"

"The satisfaction of knowing I can reduce you to a whimpering mess with just my mouth."

You laugh, wrapping an arm around her. "Fair enough. Though in my defense, you were literally swallowing my cock while simultaneously looking like every wet dream I've ever had in that lingerie. The odds were stacked against me."

"Excuses, excuses." But she's still smiling, nuzzling into your neck. "For what it's worth, you almost had me. That thing you do with your fingers while your tongue—"

You capture her mouth in a deep kiss, silencing whatever she was about to say. When you pull back, your eyes lock with hers. "It's not over yet," you murmur against her lips.

She makes a questioning sound, but you're already moving, your hands sliding up her back to find the clasp of her bra. Your fingers work the hooks with more confidence than you probably should have, and within seconds the red lace falls away, revealing her breasts, full and pale, her nipples already hard from arousal and the cool air of the bedroom. You've seen them before, touched them before, but every time feels like the first time, this sense of awe that she's here with you, that this is real.

"I'll never get tired of telling you how beautiful you are," you whisper, your hands coming up to cup the weight of her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples and making her gasp.

"Then don't stop," she says breathlessly, arching into your touch.

You kiss her again, your tongue sliding against hers while your hands continue their exploration. Her skin is so soft, warm and responsive to every touch, and you can feel her heart racing under your palms. She makes these small sounds of pleasure into your mouth, little gasps and sighs that drive you crazy, that make you want to catalog every single thing that brings her pleasure.

After a moment, she breaks the kiss and gently pushes at your shoulder. "Move to the edge of the bed," she instructs.

You obey without question, shifting until you're sitting on the edge of the mattress, feet on the floor. Jimin stands before you, and the sight is something out of a fantasy: her breasts bare and flushed, the red panties still pushed to the side from earlier, revealing the slick pink of her pussy. Her hair is messy from your hands, her lips swollen from kissing, and she looks thoroughly debauched in the best possible way.

She turns around slowly, deliberately, giving you her back. The elegant line of her spine, the curve of her ass in those panties, the way her hair falls between her shoulder blades, every detail is designed to torment you. She looks over her shoulder with a smile that's equal parts sweet and wicked.

"Just relax," she says, reaching between her legs to wrap her hand around your cock. You're already starting to harden again despite having just come, because apparently your body has decided that Jimin touching you overrides any normal refractory period.

She strokes you a few times, her grip firm and confident, and you can feel yourself getting harder with each pass of her hand. When she's satisfied with your state, she positions herself above you, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance. The heat of her is incredible even through that first point of contact, and you have to grip the edge of the mattress to keep from just pulling her down onto you.

"Ready?" she asks.

"Always," you manage.

She sinks down slowly, so slowly, taking you inch by inch into her tight heat. Unprotected sex has become familiar to you two lately, but the feeling of sliding into Jimin raw still hits like the very first time - always otherworldly. You both groan at the sensation, her walls stretching to accommodate you, the way she's still so wet and sensitive from her earlier orgasm, the perfect friction as she sheathes you completely. When she's fully seated in your lap, your cock buried to the hilt inside her, she pauses, just breathing, adjusting to the fullness.

"Fuck," she breathes. "You feel so good like this."

"So do you," you say, your hands coming up to rest on her hips, feeling the way her muscles shift as she starts to move.

She begins with small movements, just rolling her hips in slow circles, getting used to the angle. Then she lifts up slightly and drops back down. She establishes a rhythm, bouncing on your cock from behind, and the view is absolutely perfect; her ass moving up and down, the way you disappear into her pussy with each downward stroke, the way her body moves with this fluid grace.

Your hands slide from her hips up to her breasts, cupping them from behind. They fill your palms perfectly, soft and heavy, and you squeeze gently, feeling her nipples harden further against your skin. She leans back slightly, pressing her back against your chest, and the new angle makes you slide even deeper inside her.

"Yes," she sighs, her head falling back onto your shoulder. "Just like that."

You take advantage of her position to trail kisses along her shoulder, her neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. Your lips map the landscape of her skin, tasting salt and perfume and Jimin, while your hands continue to play with her breasts. You roll her nipples between your fingers, alternating between gentle touches and firmer pinches, learning what makes her breath hitch and her pussy clench around you.

"Your hands," she gasps, still riding you with those slow, deliberate movements. "God, your hands feel so good."

"Yeah?" You kiss the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, letting your teeth graze the skin. "Tell me what you like."

"Everything," she admits breathlessly. "The way you touch me, like you can't get enough. Like you want to memorize every inch of me."

"I do want that," you confess against her skin. "Want to know your body better than my own."

She makes this broken sound, a moan and a laugh at the same time, and her movements become slightly less controlled. You can feel her thighs trembling with the effort of maintaining the rhythm, can feel the way her pussy is fluttering around your cock in a way that suggests she's building toward something again already.

Your left hand stays on her breast, continuing its ministrations, while your right slides down her stomach, tracing the defined muscles there. She works so hard for this body, hours of dance practice and training, and you want to worship every result of that dedication. Your fingers trail lower until you find her clit.

"Oh fuck," she gasps when you make contact, her hips stuttering in their rhythm.

"Keep moving," you encourage, your fingers starting to circle that sensitive bud in time with her bouncing. "Don't stop. You look so beautiful like this, taking my cock, using me for your pleasure."

"It's not just for me," she manages. "You're you're hitting so deep like this."

"Good." You kiss her shoulder again, then her neck, working your way up to that spot just below her ear. "I want you to feel me everywhere. Want you to remember this tomorrow when you're in those meetings, when you're rehearsing. Want you thinking about how good this feels."

She moans at your words, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. She's no longer bouncing in that controlled rhythm but grinding down onto you, seeking friction against her clit from your hand while keeping you deep inside her. Her back is pressed fully against your chest now, her head turned to the side so you can kiss the corner of her jaw, her neck, anywhere you can reach.

"You're so tight," you murmur against her skin. "So wet. Can you feel how hard you make me? How much I want you?"

"Yes," she breathes. "I can feel everything."

Your hand on her breast squeezes a little harder, and your fingers on her clit increase their pressure slightly, and she makes this sound: high and desperate and absolutely beautiful. Her pussy clenches around you rhythmically, and you know she's getting close again, her body still sensitive from the first orgasm and building rapidly toward another.

But you don't want to rush this. Don't want it to end too quickly. So you deliberately slow your movements, your fingers easing off her clit, and she makes a sound of frustration.

"Don't stop," she pleads.

"Not stopping," you assure her. "Just slowing down. Want to make this last."

She takes a shuddering breath and nods, understanding. Her own movements slow to match yours, these long, languid rolls of her hips that keep you deep inside her while providing this steady, building pleasure that's intense without being overwhelming. It's intimate like this, her back pressed to your chest, your hands on her body, both of you moving together in this perfect synchronization.

"I love you," she says suddenly, quietly.

"I love you too," you respond, kissing her shoulder. "So much."

She turns her head, seeking your mouth, and you meet her in an awkward but passionate kiss, your neck craning to reach her. When you break apart, she's smiling.

"This is perfect," she says. "Right here, right now. Everything is perfect."

And she's right. It is.

The slow, languid rhythm continues for a few more moments, both of you savoring the intimacy and connection. But then something shifts in the air between you. Jimin's breathing becomes more ragged, her movements slightly more urgent, and you can feel the tension building in her body again.

"I need more," she says. "Please."

"Tell me what you need," you murmur against her shoulder, even though you already know.

"Faster. Harder. I need you to make me come."

Your fingers on her clit begin moving faster, applying more pressure, while your hand on her breast squeezes harder. Jimin responds immediately, her hips lifting and dropping with increased urgency, bouncing on your cock with real purpose now.

"Yes," she gasps, her back arching. "Just like that. Don't stop."

You have no intention of stopping. Your fingers work her clit in tight, rapid circles, matching the pace of her bouncing, and you can feel how swollen and sensitive she is under your touch. Every pass makes her pussy clench around your cock, makes her movements stutter slightly before she regains her rhythm. She's chasing her orgasm now with single-minded determination, using your body to get herself there.

"You're so close, aren't you?" you say against her ear. "I can feel it. Feel how tight you're getting around me."

"So close," she confirms breathlessly. "Keep touching me, don't stop touching me."

Your left hand releases her breast and slides up to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there possessively while your right hand continues its relentless assault on her clit. Her movements are becoming erratic now, her thighs trembling with exertion, but she doesn't slow down. Actually, she speeds up, bouncing harder, taking you deeper. You can feel her wet pussy squeezing tighter, the sight and sound and feel of her falling apart overwhelming every sense.

"Come for me," you encourage, your fingers pressing harder against her clit. "Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me."

"I'm—fuck, I'm—" She can't finish the sentence because she's coming, her entire body going rigid in your arms as the orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy clamps down on you like a vice, rhythmic pulses that milk your cock, and she's making these high, desperate sounds that go straight to your dick. You keep your fingers moving through it, drawing out her pleasure until she's shaking and pushing your hand away because it's too much, too sensitive.

She collapses back against you, boneless and gasping, and you wrap both arms around her waist to keep her upright. Your cock is still hard inside her, still buried deep, and even though she just came, you can feel her pussy still fluttering with aftershocks. You press kisses to her shoulder, her neck, her cheek, wherever you can reach, murmuring praise against her skin.

"That was incredible," you tell her. "You're incredible."

She makes a sound that might be agreement or just acknowledgment, still too wrung out to form words. After a moment, she lifts herself off you with a wince, and you slip out of her with a wet sound that makes you both groan for different reasons. She stands on shaky legs, turning to face you.

"Bed," she manages. "Need to lie down."

You stand with her, guiding her the few steps to the center of the mattress. She lies down on her side facing away from you, and you immediately understand what she wants. You lie down behind her, your body curving to fit against hers, your chest pressed to her back. This position is intimate in a different way, quieter, and you take a moment to just breathe with her, your hand stroking her hip. "You okay?" you ask softly.

"More than okay," she says. "But I'm not done with you yet."

She reaches back between your bodies and wraps her hand around your cock, still hard and slick with her arousal. She guides you to her entrance, lifting her top leg slightly to give you better access, and you slide inside her easily. The angle is different like this, tighter somehow.

"Fuck, Jimin," you breathe against her neck.

"I know," she agrees. "Feels so good like this."

You start moving slowly, shallow thrusts that keep you deep inside her while providing this constant, building friction. Your hand slides from her hip to her stomach, holding her against you, while your other arm is tucked under her neck, wrapped around her shoulders. She's completely enveloped in you like this, surrounded, and from the way her breathing is already starting to quicken, she loves it.

"This okay?" you ask, your lips brushing her ear.

"Perfect," she sighs, her hand covering yours on her stomach. "Everything about this is perfect.”

You establish a rhythm that's deliberate and deep, each thrust slow and measured as you pull almost completely out before sliding back in to the hilt. The position lets you reach places inside her that make her gasp every time you bottom out, your hips flush against her ass. There's something incredibly intimate about this: the way you're wrapped around her, the way she's completely open and vulnerable to you, the way every breath she takes you can feel against your chest.

"God, you're so deep like this," Jimin moans, her hand gripping yours tighter on her stomach. "I can feel every inch of you."

"Yeah?" You kiss the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, your lips trailing over the marks you left earlier. "You like feeling me this deep?"

"Love it," she breathes, her hips pushing back to meet your thrusts. "Love how full you make me feel."

You maintain that slow, deep pace, focusing on the sensation of her tight heat enveloping you, the way her walls grip your cock on every stroke. Your hand on her stomach can feel the slight bulge when you thrust in particularly deep, and the knowledge that she can feel you that intensely makes your head spin. She's so wet that every movement creates these obscene sounds, the slide of your cock through her slick pussy loud in the quiet bedroom.

"You feel amazing," you murmur against her ear. "So tight and wet for me. Could stay inside you forever."

Jimin moans sweetly and her free hand reaches back to tangle in your hair. The position pulls her body even tighter against yours, and you adjust your angle slightly, hitting a spot inside her that makes her cry out.

"There," she gasps. "Right there, please."

You file that information away, making sure to hit that same spot with every thrust. It requires a slight shift of your hips, a different angle, but the sounds she makes are worth it. Her breathing becomes more ragged, these soft moans escaping with every exhale that drive you crazy. You can feel her heart racing where your chest presses against her back, can feel the way her whole body responds to what you're doing to her.

"You're shaking," you observe, your hand sliding from her stomach up to cup her breast. Her nipple is hard against your palm, and you roll it between your fingers, adding another layer of sensation. "Sensitive baby?"

"Very," she admits. "Everything feels so intense. You're everywhere - inside me, around me, touching me. It's overwhelming."

"In a good way?"

"In the best way." She turns her head slightly, seeking your mouth, and you meet her in an awkward kiss over her shoulder. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

You obey, your thrusts remain deep and steady, each one deliberate, letting her feel the full length of you as you withdraw and then fill her completely again. The hand on her breast continues to play with her nipple while your other arm holds her close, your fingers splayed across her ribcage. You can feel every breath she takes, every tremor that runs through her body, every response to your touch.

"Talk to me," you encourage between thrusts. "Tell me how it feels."

"It feels..." She pauses, moaning as you hit that spot again. "It feels like you're claiming me. Like you're marking me inside and out. Like my body was made for this, made for you."

Her words send heat rushing through you, your cock pulsing inside her. "You are made for me," you agree. "This perfect pussy, these beautiful tits, this gorgeous body… all mine."

"All yours," she confirms breathlessly. "Only yours. Nobody else gets to have me like this, gets to see me like this."

The possessiveness in her words is undeniable, matches your own, and it does something to you. You increase the force of your thrusts slightly, still maintaining that deep penetration but adding more power behind each movement. The sound of your bodies meeting becomes louder, your hips slapping against her ass with each thrust, and Jimin's moans increase in volume to match.

"Yes," she encourages, her nails digging into your forearm. "Just like that. Harder."

You oblige, your hips snapping forward with more force, driving into her with purpose. The position gives you incredible leverage, and you use it, each thrust pushing her forward slightly before your arm around her waist pulls her back onto you. She’s taking you to the hilt, her pussy stretched tight around your cock, slick cream gathering where you meet, making every thrust glide deeper, wetter, easier.

"You take me so well," you praise. "Like your body knows exactly what to do with my cock."

"Because it does," she gasps. "We fit perfectly. You fill me perfectly. Everything about this is perfect."

Your hand leaves her breast and trails down her stomach, over her hip, to her ass. You squeeze the firm flesh, spreading her slightly to watch your cock disappear into her pussy with each thrust. The sight is mesmerizing, the way she stretches around you, the way her arousal coats your shaft, the way her body accepts you so completely.

"I love watching myself fuck you," you admit. "Love seeing how well you take me, how wet you get for me."

She whimpers at your words, her pussy clenching around you in response. "Keep talking. Love hearing you like this, hearing you lose control."

"Not losing control yet," you say, though your breathing is definitely more labored now. "Still focused on making you feel good. Still focused on every sound you make, every way your body responds to me."

You shift slightly, adjusting the angle again, and this time when you thrust in, Jimin nearly screams. Her whole body jerks, her back arching, and you know you've found something particularly sensitive.

"Oh my god," she pants. "What was that? How did you—"

"This?" You repeat the motion, hitting that same spot, and she makes that sound again. "Like this?"

"Yes, fuck, yes." Her hand scrambles behind her, trying to grab your hip, your ass, anything to pull you closer, deeper. "Don't stop doing that. Please don't stop."

You maintain that exact angle, that exact depth, each thrust calculated to hit that spot that makes her lose her mind. Your pace is still relatively controlled, still focused on depth over speed, but the power behind each movement increases. You can feel sweat starting to bead on your skin, can feel the exertion in your muscles, but you don't care. All that matters is the woman in your arms, the sounds she's making, the way her body is responding to yours.

"You're incredible like this," you tell her, your hand moving from her ass back to her breast. "So responsive, so perfect. Could fuck you like this for hours and never get tired of it."

"I wouldn't complain," she manages. "Could let you fuck me forever. Would let you do anything to me."

"I'll take care of you," you promise, your lips tracing the shell of her ear. "Always. In bed and out of it. You're mine to protect, mine to pleasure, mine to love."

You continue the deep, steady thrusts, your bodies moving together in perfect synchronization. Every time you push in, she pushes back, meeting you halfway. Every time you withdraw, she makes this small sound of protest, like even that brief separation is too much. It's intoxicating, this dance you're doing, this perfect rhythm you've found together.

"More," Jimin pleads, though you're not sure what more she wants. "I need more of you."

"You have all of me," you assure her, but you understand what she means. You increase your pace slightly, the thrusts coming faster now while maintaining that same depth. Your hand on her breast squeezes harder, your teeth find her shoulder and bite down gently, adding more sensations, more stimulation, more everything. She cries out, her body trembling in your arms, and you can feel how close she is again despite having already come twice tonight. You decide it's time to give her what she needs. "Ready?" you ask.

"God, yes," she breathes. "Please. I need to come so badly."

You shift your angle to find that spot again (the one that made her nearly scream earlier) and when you thrust in and hit it perfectly, her entire body goes rigid. "There," she gasps. "Right there, don't stop, please don't stop!"

You focus all your attention on hitting that exact spot with every thrust, increasing your pace gradually but maintaining that precision. Your hand slides from her breast down between her legs, fingers finding her clit and beginning to rub in tight circles. The dual stimulation makes her cry out, her hand flying back to grab your hip, urging you on.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she chants. "I'm so close. Don't stop, please don't stop."

"Not stopping, babe,” you promise. "Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you lose control."

Your thrusts become harder, faster, each one calculated to hit that spot deep inside her while your fingers work her clit relentlessly. You can feel the tension coiling in her body, the way her muscles are going taut, the way her breathing has become these short, desperate gasps. She's right on the edge, teetering, and you know exactly what will push her over.

"Come for me, baby," you murmur against her neck. "Let go. Make a mess for me."

That's all it takes. Jimin screams, actually screams, as the orgasm hits her with a sudden force. Her whole body convulsions in your arms, her back arching violently, and you feel it: the sudden gush of fluid as she squirts, soaking your cock, your thighs, the sheets beneath you. It's even more intense than that time in Gapyeong, her pussy clamping down so hard on your cock that you can barely move, rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever.

"That's it," you encourage, your fingers still working her clit, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. "So good, baby. You're doing so good. Keep going, make a mess. Don't hold back."

And she doesn't. More fluid pulses out with each wave of her orgasm, her body completely out of her control as pleasure overwhelms every sense. She's making these broken, sobbing sounds, her hand gripping your forearm so tight it might leave bruises, and you've never seen anything more beautiful than Jimin completely lost in ecstasy.

You keep moving through it, slower now but still hitting that spot, prolonging her orgasm until she's trembling so hard she can barely breathe. Finally, she pushes weakly at your hand on her clit, oversensitive, and you immediately stop, your fingers moving to rest gently on her hip instead.

"Holy shit," she gasps when she can finally speak. "That was… I can't even—"

"Incredible," you finish for her, pressing soft kisses to her shoulder. "You were incredible."

She's still trembling with aftershocks, her pussy fluttering around your cock, which is still hard inside her despite how close you are to your own edge. The sheets beneath you are soaked through, a wet patch spreading across the mattress, and there's something deeply satisfying about the visual evidence of her pleasure.

"I made such a mess," she says weakly, though there's satisfaction in her words rather than embarrassment.

"You did," you agree, grinning against her skin. "It's perfect. You're perfect."

She makes a contented sound, but after a moment she shifts, and you understand she needs to move. You slip out of her carefully, both of you groaning at the loss of connection, and help her roll onto her back. She lies there for a moment, chest heaving, skin flushed and glowing with sweat, and you take a second just to admire her. Thoroughly fucked, completely satisfied, absolutely gorgeous. But you're not done yet. Your cock is still achingly hard, slick with her arousal, and you need release. Jimin seems to realize this at the same time, her eyes focusing on your erection with new interest.

"Come here," she says. She shifts slightly on the bed, moving to lie more fully on her back in the center, and pats her chest. "I want to try something."

You move to straddle her waist, understanding immediately what she's suggesting. Your cock rests in the valley between her breasts, and just the sight of it, your length against her pale skin, makes you throb with need. You shift forward, guiding your cock to her mouth first, the head pressing against her lips. "Taste yourself first," you say. "Want you to taste how wet you got for me."

Jimin opens immediately, her tongue darting out to lick the head before she takes you into her mouth. You push in deep, not quite hitting the back of her throat but close, and she moans around you at the taste of her own arousal coating your shaft. She sucks enthusiastically, her eyes fluttering closed as she savors the flavor, her tongue swirling around you to gather every drop.

"Fuck, that's hot," you groan, watching her lips stretch around your girth. "You like tasting yourself on my cock?"

She nods as much as she can with her mouth full, humming in affirmation, and the vibration makes you throb. After a few more seconds, you reluctantly pull out, a string of saliva connecting her lips to your cock before it breaks.

"Now the tits," you say, repositioning yourself to straddle her chest again. Your cock, now wet from her mouth, slides easily into the valley between her breasts.

Jimin immediately pushes her breasts together with both hands, creating that perfect tight channel, and you start thrusting. The sensation is insane; the softness of her skin, the pressure she's creating, the way the head of your cock appears between her breasts with every forward thrust. It's different from anything else, this unique pleasure that has your thighs trembling already.

"God, your tits feel amazing," you breathe, your pace increasing. "So soft and perfect wrapped around my cock."

"Yeah?" She looks up at you with those eyes: big and dark and pleading, innocent and dirty all at once. "You like fucking my tits?"

"Love it," you confirm, your hips snapping forward harder. "Love watching my cock disappear between them. Love how you're squeezing them for me."

She adjusts her grip, pushing them together even tighter, and the increased pressure makes you gasp. "Like this? Is this good?"

"So good, baby. So fucking good."

Your pace becomes more urgent, more desperate, and you're fucking her breasts with real force now, your hips pistoning as you chase your release. Jimin watches your face intently, reading every expression, every sign that you're getting closer, and then she starts talking.

"Come for me," she says. "Please, baby. Want to feel your cum all over me."

"Fuck," you grunt, your movements becoming erratic.

"Want you to cover me," she continues, squeezing her breasts rhythmically in time with your thrusts. "Mark me with your cum. Show me how good I make you feel."

"Jimin—"

"Please," she begs, and her voice is so sweet, so eager, so genuinely desperate for it. "Need your cum, baby. Need you to give it to me. Be a good boy and come for me. Come all over my tits."

"Going to come," you warn. "Fuck, Jimin, I'm going to—"

"Yes," she encourages, squeezing her breasts even tighter. "Give it to me. Want all of it."

The orgasm hits you hard, intense and overwhelming after being held back for so long. The first spurt is powerful, shooting up between her breasts with such force that it lands across her face, a thick rope of cum that splashes across her cheek, her nose, her parted lips. She gasps at the impact, her eyes widening, and then she moans, this deep sound of pure satisfaction as she feels your hot release marking her skin.

"Yes, baby, yes," she encourages breathlessly, watching your face contort with pleasure.

The subsequent spurts paint her breasts in thick white stripes, covering the pale skin, pooling in her cleavage. She squeezes her breasts tighter, milking your cock for every last drop, and you keep coming, more than you thought possible, coating her chest thoroughly. It seems to go on forever, each pulse wringing more pleasure from you until you're shaking and gasping, completely spent.

When you finally finish, you're bracing yourself on the headboard with both hands, breathing hard, your entire body trembling with the aftermath. Jimin is a mess beneath you - cum dripping down her face, coating her breasts, pooling in her cleavage - and she looks absolutely delighted about it.

"That was so much," she says, full of wonder and satisfaction. Then, maintaining eye contact with you, she sticks out her tongue and licks the cum from her lips, from her cheek, gathering as much as she can reach. The sight is simultaneously cute and obscene, her expression almost innocent despite the absolutely filthy nature of what she's doing.

"You're incredible," you manage.

"Mm, and you taste amazing," she responds, using her fingers to wipe more cum from her face and bringing them to her mouth to suck clean. Then she does something that nearly makes you hard again despite having just come: she cups her own breasts, lifting them toward her mouth, and proceeds to lick them clean. Her tongue traces patterns through the cum covering her skin, gathering it, savoring it, all while making these little satisfied sounds.

"I love the taste of your cum," she says between licks, completely unselfconscious about it. "Could lick it off myself all day."

"Jesus Christ, Jimin," you breathe, watching her continue her thorough cleaning. "You're going to kill me."

She grins up at you, cum still visible on her chin. "But what a way to go, right?"

You can't argue with that logic. You carefully move off her, collapsing onto the bed beside her, and she immediately curls into your side, apparently unbothered by the mess still covering her. Your hand finds hers, fingers intertwining, and you both just lie there catching your breath, hearts slowly returning to normal rhythm.

"We should probably shower," she says eventually, though she makes no move to get up.

"Probably," you agree, equally unmotivated to leave the warmth of the bed.

"And change the sheets. I definitely ruined these."

"Worth it."

She laughs, happy, and turns her head to kiss your shoulder. "Definitely worth it."

You lie there in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, just existing together in the aftermath, before reality starts creeping back in. Dinner is probably cold. You both definitely need showers. The bed is a disaster. But none of that seems important right now, not when Jimin is wrapped around you, safe and satisfied and yours.

—

You wake up to sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, the kind of warm golden light that only happens on lazy weekend mornings. For a moment you just lie there, listening to Jimin's soft breathing beside you, watching the way her face looks peaceful in sleep. Saturday. your day off, and Jimin only has appointments scheduled for later in the afternoon. No rush, no urgency, just time stretching out ahead of you like a reward after everything you two have been through.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, you slip out of bed. She stirs slightly, making a small sound of protest before burrowing deeper into the pillows you left behind. You pull on sweatpants and pad quietly to the kitchen, deciding to make her breakfast. Nothing fancy, just scrambled eggs, toast, some fruit you bought earlier in the week, but made with care. You brew coffee for yourself and tea for her, the kind she likes with honey and lemon, and by the time everything's ready, you hear movement from the bedroom.

Jimin appears a few minutes later wearing one of her pajama sets that she left here weeks ago, soft pink cotton shorts and a matching tank top that rides up slightly when she stretches. Her hair is messy from sleep, no makeup, and she looks absolutely perfect in that effortless way that always takes your breath away.

"Morning," she says, and you notice she's still sleepy as she walks over and wraps her arms around you from behind.

"Good morning, beautiful." You turn in her embrace to kiss her properly, soft and unhurried. "I made you breakfast."

"I can see that." She eyes the plate on the counter appreciatively. "And smell it. You're spoiling me."

"You deserve to be spoiled." You pat her ass affectionately. "Go eat. I'll meet you in the living room."

She steals one more kiss before grabbing her plate and tea, padding into the living room. You follow with your own coffee, settling onto the couch as she curls up beside you, tucking her feet under her. You grab the remote and turn on the TV to some morning news program, just background noise while you eat.

"We have a few hours before you need to leave," you observe, glancing at the clock. "Any ideas how you want to spend them?"

Jimin gives you this look: the one where her eyes go soft and warm and a little bit wicked all at once. "Well," she says, setting her plate down on the coffee table and shifting closer. "I was thinking maybe some cuddling. And possibly more sex. That sounds like a pretty good way to spend a Saturday morning."

"I more than agree with that plan," you say, grinning.

She's about to say something else when a news anchor's voice cuts through your attention. "—SM Entertainment has identified and is taking legal action against the individual responsible for leaking private security footage—"

Your hand reaches for the remote, ready to change the channel, but Jimin stops you. "Wait. I want to hear this.”

"The footage, which showed idol Karina of the group aespa in a private moment with a staff member, sparked controversy when it was leaked online three weeks ago. SM Entertainment announced today that they have identified the perpetrator, a former IT contractor with access to the company's security systems, and are pursuing both criminal charges and a civil lawsuit has been charged with unauthorized access to computer systems, violation of privacy laws, and corporate espionage. SM's legal team stated that they will be seeking maximum penalties, including substantial financial damages. The company's CEO released a statement saying, 'We take the privacy and safety of our artists extremely seriously. This violation will not be tolerated, and we will pursue justice to the fullest extent of the law.'"

The camera cuts to footage of SM's building, then back to the anchor who's already moving on to the next story. You mute the TV and turn to look at Jimin, who's staring at the screen with wide eyes.

"They found him," she murmurs. "They actually found who did it."

"They found him," you confirm, and then you're both moving at once, pulling each other into a tight embrace. "Finally. It's about fucking time."

"I can't believe it." She pulls back to look at you. "They're actually holding him accountable. Suing him. Pressing charges."

"He's going to pay for what he did," you say firmly. "For what he put you through. Put us through."

She nods, wiping a lone tear from her eye. "It feels like everything's being resolved now. Like all the pieces are finally falling into place. The tour is back on, the company's supporting us, and now this? Now they're going after the person who actually caused all of this?"

"Maybe things are finally returning to normal," you suggest. "Or at least whatever our version of normal is."

"I hope so." She takes a shaky breath, her smile growing more genuine. "I really hope so. That we can just... move forward from all of this."

You pull her onto your lap, and she comes willingly, straddling you and wrapping her arms around your neck. "There's nothing left for you to do now except focus on your work," you tell her. "Let SM's legal team handle this asshole. You just concentrate on the tour, on performing, on doing what you love."

"And on you," she adds, kissing your nose. "Focusing on you too."

"I'll accept that." You run your hands up and down her back soothingly. "But seriously, this is good news. Great news. Justice is finally being served."

She rests her forehead against yours, just breathing with you for a moment. "I'm so glad we faced this together," she says quietly. "I don't think I could have survived it without you. Having you there, supporting me, believing in me when it felt like the whole world was against us… that made all the difference."

"We're a team," you remind her. "Always have been, always will be. You and me against whatever bullshit the universe throws at us."

"You and me," she echoes, smiling. "I like the sound of that."

"This was a really fucked up chapter in our relationship," you admit, thinking back over the past few weeks: the fear, the uncertainty, the moments where it felt like everything was falling apart. "But every story has trials, right? Every relationship goes through hard times. Ours just happened to involve a leaked video and national media attention."

She laughs at that, the sound a little watery but genuine. "When you put it like that, we sound very dramatic."

"We are dramatic. Look at us: childhood best friends who lost touch, reunited by chance, fell in love, had to hide it, got exposed, and somehow survived. That's prime K-drama material right there."

"Don't give them ideas," she jokes. "The last thing we need is someone making a show about us."

"Too late. I'm already writing the screenplay in my head." You grin at her expression. "What comes next though? That's the real question."

She tilts her head, considering. "What do you think comes next?"

"Honestly? I have no idea." You trace patterns on her back absently. "But I have a feeling it's going to be good things. The worst is behind us. The tour is happening, your career is safe, they found the guy who leaked the footage. From here, things can only get better."

"You sound very optimistic for someone who was stress-drinking three cups of coffee every morning three weeks ago."

"What can I say? Good news puts me in a good mood." You lean back against the couch, pulling her with you. "Plus, I have you on my lap on a Saturday morning with nowhere to be for hours. Life is pretty good right now."

She kisses you then, slow and sweet. When she pulls back, her eyes are bright with unshed tears but she's smiling. "So what's the plan for these few hours we have? Still interested in that cuddling and sex combination I mentioned?"

"Absolutely," you confirm. "Though maybe we could add 'celebrating good news' to that list."

"Celebratory sex?" Her eyebrows raise playfully. "I can work with that."

"Thought you might. Breakfast, then bedroom.”

She gets off your lap and sits next to you, reaching for her plate. "You know what the best part of all this is?" she asks between bites of eggs.

"What's that?"

"We don't have to hide anymore. No more sneaking around, no more secret meetings. When I leave here later, I can just... leave. Normal goodbye. Maybe even a kiss at the door like regular couples do."

"Revolutionary," you tease, but you understand what she means. The freedom of not having to constantly look over your shoulder, to just exist as a couple without the weight of secrecy.

"It is revolutionary," she insists. "For us, anyway. After everything we went through to keep this secret, then everything we went through when it became public - to finally just be together openly? That's huge. Of course we’re not going around showing off our relationship for everyone to see, but you know what I mean.”

She's right. It is huge. And as you sit there on the couch with her, the TV playing quietly in the background, Saturday morning light spilling through the windows, you realize that this is what you fought for. Not the grand gestures or dramatic moments, but this: simple, quiet contentment. The ability to just be together without fear.

"I love you," you tell her, because it feels important to say it in this moment.

"I love you too," she responds immediately, leaning against your shoulder. "So much. More than I knew I could love anyone."

campus was a far trip from home.

three hours by car, longer if you hit traffic. long enough for your stomach to tie itself into knots and your brain to start feeding you worst-case scenarios like a playlist on loop. long enough for karina to cycle through three moods: dismissive, annoyed, and now completely silent.

she hadn't said a word since the second toll booth.

you glanced over at her. she was curled slightly against the window, legs pulled up, arms crossed, sunglasses still on despite the clouds. she looked like she was heading to court, not to meet your mother.

"want music?" you offered, eyes flicking toward the aux cord.

"no."

"podcasts?"

"god, no."

you bit back a smile. "conversation?"

that earned you a slow, lethal look.

you held up a hand.

then you cleared your throat.

it was a mistake. you could feel it even before she turned her head back and fixed her stare on the road ahead of you, but her foot was still bouncing—heel tapping a steady rhythm against the edge of the seat, the same three-count beat over and over again and the tension in her jaw was so tight it looked like her teeth were grinding together.

she didn't say anything, didn't give you a glare, didn't sigh, and didn't roll her eyes.

she just stared at the road, jaw clenched, and tapped her foot.

tap. tap. tap.

you knew her well enough by now to recognize the signs.

karina wasn't someone who panicked out loud. but when her anxiety reared its ugly head, it showed itself in all kinds of quieter ways: she got more fidgety and less talkative, and her body language was always off—she stood farther away, kept her arms close, and sometimes she wouldn't look you in the eye.

right now, her heel was bouncing so hard against your seat it felt like a warning bell.

"i can turn around," you offered lightly.

she didn't blink. "don't tease me like that."

"i'm serious. we can fake a tire blowout. park under a bridge. say we got abducted."

she finally—finally—cracked the tiniest smile.

it was barely there, barely noticeable, and you would have missed it if you didn't know her and you would've missed it if you didn't know her so well. but you did. you knew that twitch in the corner of her mouth wasn't nothing. that it meant something got through.

you softened a little. "they're gonna love you, you know."

she let out a low, unbelieving breath.

"they will," you insisted. "you're—"

"i'm mean," she cut in.

you snorted. "you're not mean."

she turned her head just enough to raise an eyebrow at you over her sunglasses.

"okay," you allowed. "you're, like, medium mean. with a heart of gold. a crunchy exterior. caramel center."

"i hope they hate me."

"you don't."

"i do. it'd make this so much easier."

you didn't say anything. she didn't look at you. her sunglasses had slid down her nose just slightly, and you could see the tiny crease forming between her eyebrows—the one that only showed up when she was thinking too hard.

you pulled one hand off the steering wheel and reached for her knee, giving it a little squeeze. "you don't have to impress anyone."

she was quiet for a second. then she let out a low, humorless laugh.

and said, simply, quietly:

"i want to."

it was a loaded sentence.

and, honestly, you weren't quite sure how to respond.

the karina you knew had never cared about what other people thought. she had no use for them. other people were either useful to her or they weren't—there was no middle ground, and there was no need to try and impress. not classmates. not the girls in her sorority who half-feared and half-worshipped her. definitely not the people she used to flirt with before she was your girlfriend.

and definitely not you—not at first, anyway.

but now?

now she wanted to impress your family.

she wanted to impress your mother, your loud cousins, your overprotective aunties, and your father who never knows when to stop talking.

she wanted to walk into your childhood home and be met with approval. she didn't want to be tolerated, and she didn't want to be judged. she wanted to walk into the room and hear your family whisper compliments about her behind their hands.

and, maybe, more importantly—she wanted to give you a reason to be proud.

you let the silence stretch for a moment.

then you nudged her again, thumb brushing across her knee. "you're kind of a mess right now."

"i'm aware."

"they're not royalty. it's not a coronation."

"they're your family."

"so?"

"so," she said, finally looking at you again, "they made you. and i... i love you, so—"

she paused, jaw tightening again like she regretted how easily it came out.

"so if they don't like me, i'll take it personally," she finished.

you blinked. stared at her for a second too long.

she looked away first.

and just like that, the highway noise got swallowed up by something louder inside your chest.

the same feeling had been building ever since karina answered your phone in the shower.

you'd been rinsing out conditioner, blinking through soap in your eyes, and reaching blindly for the showerhead in karina's shower, the one that had a knob that switched the water from a gentle stream to a powerful spray.

final fantasy vii was paused on her tv because you'd been playing barefoot on the floor until she'd kicked you toward the bathroom with a towel and a pointed, "you actually smell like a puppy." your ego was bruised.

she was sitting cross-legged in the middle of her bed now, methodically folding laundry like she was in a boot camp for the domestically gifted. she had your hoodie in her lap and a pile of unmatched socks beside her, all while your phone sat forgotten on the comforter.

until it lit up.

she glanced over. saw the name:

BIG HOMIE FROM THE TAX BRACKET ABOVE.

and—understandably—assumed it was mason.

"...of course," she muttered. "of course he would call while you're in the shower."

karina stood up from the bed, feet bare against the hardwood, and padded into the bathroom like she owned the place.

(which, let's be honest—she kind of did.)

"big homie is calling you!" she yelled out, slightly rolling her eyes.

she didn't hesitate to answer. swiped before the third ring finished, already opening her mouth to tell mason off, because what the hell kind of contact name is big homie from the tax bracket above anyway?

"don't answer it!" you yelled back. "i'll call him later—just leave it!"

but she was two seconds into the call. "hello?"

"who the hell is this?"

she blinked. paused. one hand on the doorframe, phone to her ear. "...excuse me?"

"you're not y/n."

"no," karina said slowly, narrowing her eyes. "but i'm her girlfriend. who is this?"

three seconds passed.

"i'm her dad."

you pushed the curtain aside, heart thudding. "karina?"

no answer.

"...karina—did you really answer?!"

karina was standing completely still, her hand white-knuckled on the door frame.

"girlfriend?" your dad repeated, voice muffled but confused. "wait—hold on. as in, you're an actual person. a girlfriend. a girl no space friend. like, you're here. on earth."

karina blinked. "...yes?" she replied, mouth twitching because she was trying so hard not to laugh.

there was a pause.

"...you're not paid, are you?"

and that's how your dad found out you had a girlfriend. the rest of the story blurred after that. you'd blacked out from secondhand panic by the time she passed you the phone. and later, your parents texted you about a "small, casual cookout" they were organizing, which was code for a full-blown social event with matching t-shirts and a dessert table.

you hadn't asked her to come... yet. not even after she'd smiled and said, "your dad sounds funny," like it wasn't the most mortifying moment of your entire adult life.

but the text sat in your inbox anyway, taunting you every time you opened your phone: [BIG HOMIE FROM THE TAX BRACKET ABOVE]: Don't forget to rsvp for the cookout 😁 Bring your lady if she's real 😎

which is why, three days later, you were sitting at the edge of the counter in the sorority's house shared kitchen, watching karina rinse strawberries as if your mind wasn't spiraling over a simple question.

her hair was clipped up. she wore one of your crewnecks, sleeves pushed past her elbows, and every now and then she'd hum under her breath, bob her head, or shuffle her feet.

you let out a slow breath. "...rina."

"hmm?"

"i, uh—" you scratched the back of your neck. "my parents are having this dumb cookout thing. very wholesome. lots of potato salad. matching shirts. you know."

she plucked a berry from the colander and took a bite. "mhm."

"i wasn't gonna go," you added quickly. "i usually don't. it's kind of—" you waved vaguely. "a thing."

another strawberry. another bite, which caused you to forget your point. her eyebrow rose.

you cleared your throat.

she smiled.

yeah, you were whipped.

"...you want me to come?" she asked, tilting her head.

your face went warm. "only if you want to."

her expression shifted slightly, a little softer. she reached over and tapped a strawberry against your mouth.

you leaned forward and bit down.

she pulled her hand away and said, casually, almost dismissively, "i'd go if i were invited."

so, yeah.

that's how you ended up here, two hours from home with a tense girlfriend and a heart that wouldn't stop fluttering. and a minute later, you were pulling into the driveway of your childhood home.

"i'm going to throw up," she told you.

"no, you're not."

"i am."

"rina," you said gently, "they're just normal people."

"i'm not worried about them," she snapped. "i'm worried about me. i didn't even bring a gift."

"it's not a dinner party," you snorted. "it's a backyard cookout. you don't need a gift. besides, my family doesn't even like gifts. we're weird. my aunties will think you're crazy for bringing something."

karina was staring at the house. there were a lot of cars surrounding the driveway and lining the curb. you knew your mother had gone a little overboard with the party prep, but you didn't realize she'd invited the entire family tree.

"this is a small get-together?"

"well..." you shrugged. "my mom gets excited."

she let out a shaky breath, but she still followed you up the driveway. still reached for your hand the second you rang the bell.

the door opened before you even knocked.

"there they are!"

a wave of noise hit you like a brick wall. the smell of grilled meat, citronella candles, and some kind of peach-flavored wine cooler clung to the air. there were balloons and streamers everywhere, and as soon as you stepped inside, the noise seemed to swallow you whole.

before you could say a word, someone was pulling you into a hug. "look at you! my baby! i thought you were gonna skip again, i told your mother—oh hellooo, who is this?"

karina froze.

one of your aunts (you couldn't remember which one—gold hoops, big hair, smells like a church) was suddenly holding her shoulders and giving her the same once-over a cop might give a suspect.

"and she's pretty, too, huh?" she said, looking karina up and down. "is this the one who answered your daddy's call? 'cause he said she sounded classy."

you saw karina's soul leave her body.

"she is classy," you said, arm wrapping firmly around her waist. she immediately leaned into you because right now gravity wasn't working unless she had at least three points of contact. "this is karina."

karina gave the most polite, most strained, most pageant-ready smile you'd ever seen. "hi."

more aunties emerged. more hugging. a high-pitched shriek from the back—definitely your cousin jasmine. you heard someone yell, "you brought your girlfriend?!" like it was breaking news. which is fair because she's the first girl you've ever brought home, but the sheer amount of attention made you feel like an exhibit at the zoo.

karina's grip tightened.

"you okay?" you asked under your breath.

she nodded quickly. then lied. "i'm great."

further inside the house was worse. people filled every hallway, couch cushion, and stair step. the kitchen table was covered in tin foil pans. a child ran past you in a superhero cape. someone yelled "catch it" from the bathroom, followed by the sound of a loud thump. a toddler began crying, and someone was blasting music outside on the deck.

and through it all, she clung to your side like a lifeline. fingers in your belt loop, palm at your lower back. she didn't laugh at any jokes. she barely spoke. but her eyes scanned everything, tracking every new relative, cataloging the entire house.

she was trying. you could see it.

and then your mom appeared, holding a stack of paper plates.

"hey, sweetheart—can you help me run these out to the deck? and your dad needs you to check the propane. he swears it's full, but i don't trust that man with anything that requires a tank."

you glanced at karina. her face said, please don't leave me alone. her hand did not move.

but your aunt swooped in with terrifying precision. "i'll take her. come on, baby, you ever had peach cobbler? you're about to."

karina looked betrayed.

"i'll be right outside," you promised. you leaned in. "just relax, okay? they love you already."

she nodded once. still didn't let go until your mom physically pulled you by the wrist. "you can flirt with your little friend later," she muttered.

you shot one last look at karina—being shepherded into the living room like a foreign diplomat. she turned, lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something, but all she managed was a look.

and then you were outside.

the deck was a mess, and it was extremely hot. the grill was roaring, kids were screaming in the bouncy house, and your dad was swearing at a spatula.

"'bout time," he said when he saw you. "tell your mom the propane was full. she owes me twenty bucks."

you helped him flip burgers while trying to keep karina in your peripheral, but the crowd was thick, and your mom was assigning tasks like she was the director of an action movie.

after a few minutes, you finally managed to break free. you headed toward the living room, but karina was nowhere near the couch. you checked the kitchen, the hallway, and the garage, and then you finally saw her in the front yard—with the kids.

karina was seated cross-legged on the grass, surrounded by six of your tiny cousins. one hand deftly weaving through a thick ponytail while her other arm was wrapped around the kid in her lap, who was showing her some animated youtube video at full volume.

"that's not a real dragon," karina muttered.

the kid gasped, scandalized. "yes, it is!"

"it has sunglasses and a fanny pack."

"he goes to the beach," the kid defended.

karina didn't flinch. "dragons can't go to the beach."

then, from behind the bouncy house:

"oh my god. is she doing their hair?" you glanced over and saw your cousin tanya standing next to you, beer in hand, staring in awe. "that's cute," she said, nodding her head. "damn."

you couldn't help but smile.

a different cousin cackled. "you're funny. are you gonna marry our cousin?"

karina blinked. "what?"

"you said you were y/n/n's girlfriend," the one in her lap said, poking her cheek. "that means you're gonna get married."

she cleared her throat. "that's not how it works."

"yes, it is," the first one insisted. "that's what my mom said when she made uncle brian bring his lady friend to thanksgiving."

karina shot them a look. "you have a booger in your nose."

they paused. scowled. "do not."

"you do."

"liar."

karina was still arguing with your cousin about hygiene when you walked over, hands in your pockets. karina didn't look up, but the kid did.

"y/n, look," they said, pointing, "this lady said i have a booger."

"because you do," karina shot back.

you knelt down next to them, brushing your fingers gently over the kid's forehead as you looked them straight in the eye. "okay. let's get to the bottom of this. chin up."

they pouted but obeyed, sniffling exaggeratedly as they tilted their head back. you squinted. "i hate to say it, buddy, but... there might be a booger."

their jaw dropped. "tú también, y/n?!"

you laughed, reaching over to tickle their ribs. the kid let out a shriek of laughter and wiggled out of karina's lap, scurrying back to the bouncy house, the rest of them following.

"traitor!" they shouted, voice carrying over the crowd.

you grinned.

then, a little more quietly, you asked:

"how are you doing?"

karina's face was flushed, and the way she looked up at you with her sunglasses pushed on top of her head, a smile on her face, and hair falling in her eyes was so soft and so gentle and so different from the girl you met two years ago.

you wanted to kiss her.

"i'm doing great," she replied, and she meant it. you helped her up. wiped the grass off her jeans, "you're good with kids."

"i was arguing with them."

you scoffed. wrapped your arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, kissed her temple. "yeah," you muttered against her skin. "i saw, but they like you. jj never showed me anything off his tablet, and you got him to share."

"i don't share my stuff either," she said. "i'm very territorial."

"i know."

she tilted her head. looked at you. "...thank you for bringing me."

you smiled.

"thank you for coming."

then, like clockwork, your aunt's voice rang through the house again. "y/n, i swear if you don't come grab this extra bag of ice—"

you groaned. "they're everywhere."

karina glanced at the kid now fully sprawled across her lap and sighed. "you go. i'll be okay."

you nodded and let go, backing away, one foot after the other, but as you glanced back one last time, you saw it—karina, finally letting herself relax as the kids started to play a game involving chasing each other with bubble guns, one of them dragging her along like she was a prized possession.

after another ten minutes of labor for your family, you finally peeled yourself away from the endless shuffle when things settled just a bit and no one was watching.

quiet footsteps on the porch creaked beneath you as you rounded the corner, scanning for her.

there, on the shaded steps, your eyes caught a softer scene. karina was crouched down beside the porch steps, cradling your baby niece against her chest. the little one's eyes were fluttering shut, her tiny fingers curling around a loose strand of karina's hair.

karina's expression had shifted entirely—gone was the mischievous smirk and playful teasing. instead, she was quiet and gentle, humming a soft, almost imperceptible tune as she rocked the baby lightly back and forth.

you froze for a moment, watching her like you'd stumbled on a secret. it was the kind of tenderness you hadn't expected from her—not the sharp-tongued, quick-witted karina you knew, but something softer, something real.

karina glanced up and caught your gaze, her lips curving into a shy, almost sheepish smile. "she fell asleep on me," she whispered, voice low and warm.

you smiled back. and that was the first time you thought, oh. this is dangerous.

it was dark when the party finally started to wind down.

everyone had gone home, including your aunts and uncles and cousins and nephews. your mom and dad had disappeared too, probably someone's ride, leaving behind a few plastic trays of half-eaten dessert and a cooler full of slowly melting ice.

the guest room was quiet. a quiet you had missed and you'd be robbed of all day. karina was already on the bed, sitting in the middle of it in one of your old high school shirts and a pair of sweatshorts, scrolling through photos she'd been secretly taking on her phone all afternoon.

she looked up as you set a water bottle down on the nightstand. "you left me for, like, an hour," she whispered.

you climbed onto the bed, knees pressing into the mattress. "you braided like six kids' hair in that time."

"yeah. my fingers hurt."

you sat in front of her before tugging your hoodie off. "you didn't have to entertain them that long."

"i didn't," she said, like it was obvious. "they kidnapped me. one of them threatened to cry if i moved."

you laughed, rubbing your hands over your face. "you didn't look like you hated it." and you also held a baby like it was second nature, so now i'm even more whipped than i was before. if that's possible.

karina set her phone down on the nightstand before scooting closer to you.

you dropped your gaze. her fingers were playing with the hem of your shirt now, slipping underneath, cool against your skin. you looked back up at her, watching her carefully.

you kept your mouth shut, but your brain didn't stop. you're perfect. you're like wife material. my family is weird. but they liked you. you're kind. you're funny. i'm in love with you.

you bit your lip.

she smiled.

and said, voice low, eyes dark: "i like it when they call me your girlfriend."

your breath caught.

"...yeah?"

she nodded. leaned in. her mouth hovered a millimeter away from yours.

"i really like it."

her hand slid higher.

it wasn't a surprise when she kissed you, soft and slow and deep. she was smiling against your lips, and you could taste the punch from earlier on her tongue. you kissed her back, hands sliding to her hips, tugging her closer.

she pressed and leaned backwards until she was lying down before pulling you on top of her, legs wrapped around your waist, arms wrapping around your neck.

she hummed.

kissing you again even harder.

then, in the most soothing voice: "been thinking about you all day."

"karina—"

"mm?"

"we're—my parents—"

"are gone," she finished. "they're not coming back until later."

"i know, but i'm trying to be a good houseguest."

she let out a breathless laugh. "and you were so good earlier." she nipped your lower lip, her hands moving to cup your cheeks, thumbs stroking lightly.

then, with a little more force, she murmured, "but right now i need you be a bad houseguest for me. please, puppy?"

your stomach dropped. your pulse throbbed behind your ribs, and all of your good intentions melted.

she moaned into your mouth, pulling you in by the neck, legs hitching up around your waist. you settled between her thighs, one hand bracing yourself on the mattress, the other sliding down her body, gripping her hip. "you're such a bad influence," you breathed.

"mm," she hummed. "whatever."

"karina..." you whispered against her jaw, trailing down, lips brushing along her throat. you sucked gently, just enough to make her moan.

you felt her fingers tighten against the nape of your neck. she tilted her head back, eyes closing, a soft sigh escaping her lips.

"puppy—just, god, go lower." she breathed, tilting her head back, moving your head down towards her chest.

you obeyed instantly, lifting the hem of her shirt just enough to mouth at the soft skin of her chest. she wasn't wearing a bra—of course she wasn't, there was no need to be when she was supposed to be asleep.

your lips parted over her breast, tongue dragging slowly and warmly across her skin before you sucked at her nipple, gently at first, then harder when her breath hitched. you could feel her arching into your touch, could hear the little whimpers she was trying to hold back, and see the way her body shifted restlessly against the mattress.

"fuck," she hissed, nails digging into your scalp. "don't stop."

you didn't. you switched to her other breast, kissing messily across her chest, tongue teasing before your mouth closed around her again, sucking until her back arched and her thighs squeezed around your waist.

"shit—" she gasped, half a sob, her hips rolling up into you without thinking. the friction made you moan, low and broken, against her skin.

you ground down against her, rigid and uncoordinated, so desperate for friction your thighs were trembling. her sleep shorts were thin, your sweats were riding low, and it didn't take much to feel her dampening the front of them.

"feels good, doesn't it?" she whispered, breath catching as your teeth grazed her chest again. "you're such a good girl when you're needy."

you whimpered, forehead pressing to her sternum, hips stuttering.

"i c-can't," you choked. "you're—fuck—you're so perfect..."

her hands cradled your face again, thumbing over your flushed cheeks, pulling you up for another kiss.

you didn't even realize how desperate you'd both gotten until your hands were tugging at her shorts, fumbling at the waistband, desperate to feel more of her skin against yours.

she lifted her hips, helping you slide them down her legs, underwear clinging before slipping off too. her skin was hot, and her thighs were wet and trembling. your hands lingered for a second on her thighs—before she was already pulling at your sweats, impatient.

"please," she mumbled, almost annoyed at how slow you were.

and—god, there was no way to deny her, not when her hands were so insistent, not when she was biting her lip like that, not when her legs were spread and she was looking up at you like this, and not when you were already hard to the point it ached, twitching against your stomach as you finally kicked your sweats and boxers off.

your hands went to her thighs, just to steady yourself, fingers digging into her skin. and, well, if the rest of your good intentions melted before, then they were gone now.

you couldn't wait, couldn't do anything but grind against her, your cock sliding against her, slick and hot and desperate. you pressed forward, breath hitching as every inch of you burned to be inside her.

you wanted to say something smart or smooth, but all that came out was a breathy, "oh—fuck, you feel..."

you trailed off. she just looked up at you, lips parted, eyes wide, but not all that smug like you expected—more desperate than anything else. her hands came up to your waist, guiding you closer, pulling you into place, her knees pressing into your sides.

"come on, baby," she urged, hips rolling up, her wetness smearing against your skin. "hurry—"

and then, finally, finally, you slid inside her. it was like a punch to the gut, all the air leaving your lungs, a choked sound breaking in your throat. your eyes fluttered, vision swimming, hips jerking forward, burying yourself to the hilt.

you pulled back just slightly, watching her face, her body, trying to find the tiniest hint of discomfort, but all you found was a flush creeping down her chest and a whimper that sounded a lot like your name.

"good?" you managed, breathless, a little dizzy.

"yes—mhm, yes, just—move."

you nodded once, swallowed, moving slowly at first, shallow and careful. but she was rolling her hips to meet you, hips rising, hands scrambling up your back like she couldn't get you close enough. her mouth parted with no words, but instead just that shaky breath she always gave when she was overwhelmed and wanted more.

and hell, you were trying. you were trying to stay steady, trying to savor it, but you were so keyed up already, so wound up by everything that had happened today. by her. by the way she felt, by the way she looked, by the way she kept breathing your name, by the way she was squeezing around you every time your hips moved—and it was over for you.

you groaned, low and shaky, and pressed forward again, deeper this time. her legs curled tighter around your waist, and her hands flew up to your shoulders, nails dragging just enough to leave heat.

"yeah?" you whispered, voice rough but sweet as you slowed for a second, just to look at her. her hair was messy, cheeks flushed, lips parted—and her eyes, glassy and fixed on yours like you were the only thing tethering her to the planet.

"you're—" she swallowed hard, arching just slightly into you. "you're so good. you're so good to me."

your stomach dropped.

she knew exactly what she was doing. she knew that made your chest ache in a way you didn't have words for. she knew how much you craved her approval, her affection, and her praise, and she knew how to give it to you.

"please," she murmured, softer this time. "puppy, please, don't stop. i need—"

her voice broke off into a whine when you pulled back again and thrust forward harder, burying yourself to the hilt again with a grunt.

"fuck," she gasped. "love you."

your hand came up without thinking, cradling her face with your right, brushing your thumb along the flushed curve of her cheek. her eyes fluttered shut at your touch, turning into it, her mouth brushing your skin before she took your thumb into her mouth.

the sight made you moan, hips stuttering forward again. "fuck," you breathed.

she sucked at your thumb gently, tongue curling underneath the pad of your thumb, eyes opening again just enough to watch your face, her eyes dark and hungry and completely unraveled.

was she trying to drive you insane on purpose? it was working.

she blinked up at you, innocent, but the corners of her mouth turned up as she took your thumb even further into her mouth and hummed.

"karina—"

your voice cracked on her name as you dragged your thumb out of her mouth with a soft, wet pop, trailing the wetness along the edge of her bottom lip. "you're—fuck, you're so beautiful," you murmured.

she hummed, satisfied. "yeah?"

you were too busy watching where you disappeared into her, too busy thinking stupid, reckless things that soon stumbled out of your mouth. "...yeah," you breathed, barely thinking, barely there. "could do this forever."

your voice was low. wrecked. barely yours.

"just want to—fuck—just wanna keep you like this. wanna come inside." you were rambling now, almost babbling, hands tightening on her hips.

and then—like instinct—you moved.

one hand slid behind her knee and pushed up, folding her without a second thought. her thighs pressed against her chest, folding her in half, pushing her down into the mattress with every thrust.

she let out a choked moan, head thrown back, hair spread out over the pillow.

god—she was so pretty. she was always pretty, but here—in your childhood bed, naked and panting in your wrinkled and half-off shirt, her skin flushed and her mouth falling open—she was something else entirely.

"f—fuck." it ripped out of her.

you could barely think. "just wanna—wanna stay right here," you slurred, breath catching. "wanna come inside."

karina's hands scrambled for something to hold onto—the sheets, her own legs, you—and she was trembling, shaking, clenching around you every time you bottomed out.

she liked the angle. that much was obvious.

her legs were pressed up, knees by her shoulders, and she felt everything. her thoughts were completely incoherent except for one:

so close.

so goddamn close that she could cry, could feel herself starting to shake apart, could feel that tension curling tighter and tighter, her orgasm building higher and higher—

"you better mean it," she breathed.

her hips started to move against yours, impatiently, chasing that feeling, that sweet pressure deep inside her, the heat building in her stomach and making her tremble.

"what?"

"you said you wanna come inside—" she broke off with a moan, nails digging into your arm, "—then you better mean it."

you choked on a curse.

her walls fluttered around you, and it pushed you over the edge. your whole body tensed. you buried yourself as deep as you could, stuttering out a moan, your orgasm ripping through you.

you came hard, so hard your vision went white for a second and your muscles tensed and your hands tightened on her thighs hard enough to bruise. just like that—you were spilling inside her.

you didn't even mean to collapse. it just happened—legs gone, arms jelly, chest heaving against hers as you spilled inside with everything you had left.

karina let out a small, frustrated whimper beneath you.

"i was right there," she panted, grinding her hips up against yours. "you couldn't hold it for five more seconds?"

you managed a weak laugh, collapsing back into the sheets, dazed, chest rising and falling like you'd just run ten miles.

you blinked up at the ceiling. your vision was still fuzzy, your muscles were still trembling, your ears were still ringing—and holy shit, you were so tired. karina followed you, eyes dark and frustrated, thighs already coated with your cum.

before you could even roll over, to try and control your heavy breathing and get your heart rate under control karina was already moving, climbing over your leg and settling her weight against your thigh.

she stared down at you with her lip between her teeth, brow furrowed, and hair sticking to her forehead. her hips were rolling slowly against your thigh, and you could feel her, still hot and slick.

you swallowed hard.

"karina," you managed, voice hoarse, "i—i can't—" she huffed, frustrated, and lifted herself just enough to slide her hand down between her legs.

it made your cock twitch.

she let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking down to your lap, then back up. her hand was still between her legs, fingers moving quickly, hips stuttering and her gaze flicked down to your lap, then back to your face.

"you're still hard," she whispered, almost accusing. her voice was soft, but trembling, full of heat. "look at you..."

you couldn't move. your muscles were jelly, your brain fried. literally felt like you just got out the ring with mike tyson.

she bit her lip. "...baby?" her fingers didn't stop. "can i—please? just a little?"

a pause, then quieter: "i'll ride it real slow, promise."

you didn't answer fast enough, and she took it as a yes anyway.

karina reached between you both, fingers wrapping around your half-hard cock, smearing your release over the length of it. she whimpered at the feel, her thumb pressing to the tip, coaxing what she could from it.

you watched her, mesmerized. you couldn't think, couldn't do anything but let her use you.

she lined you up and sank down slowly, taking her time, every movement dragging out the stretch until she was seated fully on your lap. your body barely responding, caught between overstimulation and the sheer heat of her.

she rolls her hips once. extremely slow for the first few seconds, then she starts to pick up the pace. you gasp and try to sit up, hands flying to her waist to steady her, to slow her down, and the other half to beg her not to move just yet.

she leans forward, her palms against your chest, nails digging in as she grinds down into you. "you still with me?" she whispers, breath catching. "or are you too tired now?"

your hands try to guide her hips, a soft "slow down" leaving your mouth.

but karina doesn't listen.

"you feel so good," she breathes, letting her head fall back. "you like it when I use you like this, don't you?"

"karina—wait, wait—"

"mm-mm," she hums, rolling her hips again. "no waiting. wanna come like this, please, puppy, wanna come on your cock, want you to stay inside me all night—"

you let out a broken moan, trying to hold her still, trying to slow her down, trying to stop yourself from going over the edge again already.

she's unrelenting.

she's riding you like she'll die if she stops. the sound of her moaning and her wetness on your skin is enough to make your brain short-circuit and make you lose any restraint you had left.

"here," she says. "you can—do it how you like—" it's an attempt to give you control, placing your hands back on her hips to help, but instead it makes you whine because she just feels so good and it's been so long since you've felt this good.

your lips are parted—eyes dazed, mouth open, hands shaking. you can barely breathe, your lungs burning; the only sound in your ears is karina, whispering your name in between breathless gasps.

she's still moving. she's still talking, still whispering dirty things between kisses that are more bite than anything else. you know she's close—her walls fluttering around you, her moans getting higher and breathier, her movements getting less graceful.

but you're close, too... but you'd be damned if you finished before her. again.

"trying to keep it in?" she taunts softly. "trying to act good now?"

you can't respond. can't do anything but whimper and hold her tight and try to hold on.

she's persistent. she knows what she wants. and she wants to feel you come inside her again, wants to feel you fill her up even more, wants to come all over your cock, and wants to collapse against your chest and not move for hours.

karina feels it—how close you are again, how your body's trembling like it's pleading for release, overstimulated but so, so hopeless.

"karina—'s too much, fuck—can't—"

"yes, you can," she whispers. "you can, puppy, you can. i know you can, just for me, yeah?"

her voice breaks on the next moan, and she grabs their wrists—pinning your hands above your head, forehead pressed together.

"give it to me, baby," she begs, breath hot and uneven. "just one more. please. fill me up again."

you choke on a sound. you're trying so hard to not, to hold back just a second longer, but her hips roll again and—

"wanna feel you dripping out of me in the morning," she mumbles, barely audible. "wanna still be full when i wake up—"

you arch up hard—shaking, stuttering, teeth clenched so tight it hurts. your second release hits like a wave, full-body and dragging, leaving them gasping, mind white noise and useless.

karina cries at the feeling—utterly undone now too, head thrown back, body twitching on top of you. she doesn't even let them go yet, hands still pinning theirs down, rolling her hips even slower as she rides out her orgasm.

when she finally lets go, her arms are trembling, and you can see the effort it takes for her to not just collapse against your chest. she does anyway—carefully, slowly, trying not to crush you as she lets herself rest against you. her face burrows into the crook of your neck, breathing unsteadily.

"mmph," she slurs, lips brushing your collarbone. "so good. fuck. mine."

your fingers twitch weakly at her hips, but you've gone boneless—completely, blissfully ruined. your throat is hoarse from moaning, your vision is still spotty, and your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your ears.

"i love you," you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

she hums again, sleepily this time, her hand sliding up your chest to settle over your heart.

"i know," she murmurs, smiling into your skin. "i love you too. always."

she touches your cheek, brushing damp hair from your forehead. her fingers tremble, but she's smiling.

"so in love with you," she murmurs, eyes fluttering shut. "even when you're useless."

you let out a soft laugh, breathless, still ruined.

"shut up," you mumble, reaching down to smack her ass. she yelps and nips at your jaw, but she doesn't move from her spot on top of you.

your eyes are already closing. you're so tired, so utterly spent, that your head lolls to the side, lips resting on the crown of karina's head. you breathe her in.

she feels so good. you feel so good. you both smell like sweat and sex, and everything is sticky and gross, but you don't care.

you just want to lie here.

m.list | next

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TODAY SHOULD HAVE BEEN A good day. you slept great, had your breakfast, and the outfit you pictured in your head turned out perfect. your hair had no flyaways in sight. 

but it was too good to be true. like everything always is.

now, you’re sitting in a conference room with your mother, smiling through gritted teeth.

it’s a smile that you’ve perfected over the years. one that says you hope no one notices how your eye twitches every now and then.

across the room, karina stands like a statue. her arms are crossed and her platinum blonde hair is pulled back so perfectly it looks like she stepped off the runway. she’s flawless, and let's be real. probably completely miserable. 

there’s a strange magnetic pull about her. something about the way she carries herself that makes everyone else feel like they should be privileged to be in her presence. the cameras love her. the media loves her. and for some reason, they all buy the faux perfection she’s selling.

you, however? not so much.

karina has been in your life as long as you can remember. mostly because your mothers despise each other with their entire souls. they’ve spent decades one upping each other at every fashion show, gala, and event. your mother says karina’s family is all about “safe and boring designs” while karina’s mom says your family’s work is “overrated and hard to look at.”

you’re the only daughter from the “party” family who only made it big because of your name. karina’s the “cold, robotic model” who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else than in front of a camera, but somehow that just makes her even more untouchable.

you’re trying to launch your own fashion line while dealing with enough press coverage about your wild nights out. so yeah. this marriage? definitely not on your to do list.

but yet here you are. forced into this contract and forced to pretend everything is fine. not to mention, forced to marry a girl you literally cannot stand. 

just because your pr teams and families decided it was time for an “image overhaul.” apparently, a marriage between the rebellious daughter of a famous designer and the perfect, untouchable model would sell better than any brand deal.

“you really have to look so depressed? we’re about to sign a contract that will change both our lives and you can’t even pretend to be at least a little happy?” karina’s voice is sharp and direct but there’s an edge beneath it that makes you want to throw something at her. she’s glaring at you now.

“excuse me? maybe i don’t think pretending is worth it. i’m not the one trying to act like this is a dream.” you snap, your grip tightening around the pen. 

the blonde haired girl rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "you’re not the only one stuck in this, y/n. but maybe if you didn’t make a mess of your career by partying every weekend, we wouldn’t be sitting here." 

she glances towards your mother. "oh, and your brand’s in trouble, isn’t it? before the first launch. a little too much wild behavior?"

the nerve.

you want to snap back, you really do, but there’s no point. she’s baiting you and you know it. besides, you’ve had this fight in your head a thousand times already. you know she thinks you’re a mess and you know she thinks she’s untouchable.

"don’t act like you’re any better. you’re perfect all the time. isn’t that exhausting?” you mutter, feeling the sting of her words. 

“maybe. but at least i’m not the one sabotaging my future. let’s just get this over with.” she gestures to the paper where both of your names are already neatly printed.

you stare at the page for a long while, watching your name against the white paper. your whole life is about to change. again. but this time, there’s no turning back.

"fine.” you say, voice colder than you expected. you sign your name harshly like the pen could stab through the paper (and the paper is karina).

karina follows you with the slightest flicker of hesitation in her eyes. but it’s gone before you can grasp it, replaced once more by that perfect smile you hate. 

“there. we’re done.”

“yep. we’re done.” you mutter, tossing the pen down. 

the ink dries and neither of you are looking at each other but the realization of the situation dawns on both of you.

there’s a quick, awkward handshake. and then it’s over. at least for now.

───────────────────────

you’re in the backseat of the car, soft hum of the engine doing nothing to calm your nerves. your mom sits across from you with her eyes glued to her phone as if your world isn’t about to explode. her fingers click the screen with precision, completely ignoring the fact that your life is being tossed into the fire. again. 

you think back to the past few days. the whirlwind of meetings, press conferences and forced smiles, and contracts you had no choice but to sign. now you’re on your way to the penthouse. the penthouse. the one you’re supposed to share with karina. the girl who probably wouldn’t spare a second glance at you if the press wasn’t currently making you two out to be the next power couple.

“this is ridiculous, mom. i hate this. this whole thing.” you mutter, letting your head fall against the cold glass window while watching the city pass by. your mom doesn’t even look up.

“you don’t have a choice, sweetheart. you need to get your career back on track and this marriage will make the media forget all the mess that you’ve been in.” she says. it’s not in a mean way but it’s that tone of voice she always uses when she thinks she knows better than everyone else. especially you.

you roll your eyes because you’re tired, and honestly, the last thing you need right now is a lecture on how this could be the best thing for you. “i wasn’t asking for a lecture, mom. i’m just saying — i can’t stand her. we’ve hated each other for years.”

she lets out a sigh. one that makes you feel like she’s already heard this a hundred times. and while she probably has, it doesn’t change how you feel. “i know you don’t get along with karina, but you’re both professionals. this is business. nothing more, nothing less.”

“yeah, well, it sure doesn’t feel like business. we’re basically being sold as a brand now. it’s not even real.” you shoot back in a frustrated tone.

“of course it’s not real. but you’re going to make it real. you’re a designer, y/n. this is what we do. we sell ideas. you’ve always known how to sell an image.” she says, tone softening but you can still hear that undertone that you can never lose from her.

“great. so now i’m selling myself? i didn’t know that was the plan.” you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

your mom finally glances at you. “this isn’t forever, y/n. just… don’t make it harder than it has to be. karina’s a beautiful, talented woman. she’s not as bad as you think.”

“oh, trust me, she’s exactly as bad as i think.” you mutter, staring at the city lights flickering past. you’re already picturing her standing in that penthouse with her perfect, stupid blonde hair. you hate her.

but your mom is right about one thing. you don’t have a choice. at least not anymore. the car slows, tires scraping against the pavement as it turns into a sleek, minimalist building with floor to ceiling windows. your new “home.” you hate the idea of it already.

“here we are. you’re going to be fine, sweetheart.” your mom announces, looking out the window like it’s some beautiful moment. 

you don’t feel okay. you feel like running miles away in your louboutins, iggy azalea style.

but you don’t say anything. instead, you just get out of the car, heels clicking on the marble floor as you step into your future. and apparently, karina’s future too.

the lobby is so silent it’s almost unnerving. clean lines and marble floors with chrome accents. it’s gorgeous, definitely. but it’s also soulless. exactly the kind of place you would expect karina to live in. 

you’re barely through the door before a concierge appears, offering a smile and a clipboard for you to sign.

you print your name quickly, barely glancing at it. another contract, another deal.

"your wife is already upstairs." the concierge says politely, emphasizing the word wife.

you don't even correct him. you just nod and head towards the private elevator, heart hammering against in your chest in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with excitement.

when the doors open to the penthouse floor, you step out. and karina is already there. 

she's standing in the middle of the massive living room, arms crossed, eyebrows arched. her hair is still pulled back into that same sleek bun, not a strand out of place. does that shit not hurt? 

but she looks exactly like you pictured her in the car. annoyingly perfect.

you barely have time to process the room before she opens her mouth.

"what took you so long?" she snaps. 

you stare at her, already exhausted. “really? that's the first thing you're gonna say to me?"

karina shrugs like she’s already bored with you. "i mean, some of us are trying to be professional about this."

you roll your eyes so hard that it’s a miracle that they don’t get stuck. "yeah because nothing says professional like fake smiling your way through a forced marriage. stop saying that, karina.”

"you could at least pretend to be grateful. you needed this more than i did.” she shoots back.

you step further into the room, ignoring the way her words sting. "oh, i’m sorry. i must have missed the part where you were a victim here. must be hard being the golden child of the industry."

karina scoffs. it’s a sharp and humorless sound. "and it must be so hard being the family disappointment."

your mouth drops open. "wow. you didn’t even hesitate with that one."

"i call it like i see it.” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she’s already won.

you let out a laugh devoid of humor, crossing your arms. "good to know the fake marriage is off to a great start."

for a moment, the two of you just stand there glaring at eachother like you’re about to launch into round two. and honestly? you would — if something over karina’s shoulder didn’t catch your eye.

you squint, stepping around her to get a better look into the side hallway.

and then you see it.

one bed.

one massive, king sized bed. centered neatly in one room.

your stomach drops.

"wait. is that… is that our bed?” you say slowly, blinking like maybe you’re hallucinating. karina turns lazily to look, face the definition of innocence. "oh, did you think we'd have separate beds? how cute."

"cute?! we have to share a bed?!” you basically shriek, spinning back towards her.

"it's king size. plenty of room. just… stay on your side.” she says it like that solves everything. like you’re supposed to be relieved about it.

you stare at her, absolutely baffled. "i'm going to lose my mind."

karina just smirks, stepping past you like this is all just some big joke to her. "then hurry up and unpack. you’re already late."

you don't even have any words. how could you think of any in this situation? 

so you just stand there, fists clenched, watching her disappear down the hallway like she owns the place (she does. a little). you hope she sleeps on the couch tonight. and the night after that. and so on.

you turn back to look at the bed again, your future flashing before your eyes.

welcome to your new life.

and unfortunately for you? this is only the beginning.

───────────────────────

you step out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your chest. the bathroom is massive but whst you noticed first were the two sinks. side by side. like this is some romantic couple getaway and not your impending doom.

you eye the counter and immediately claim the left sink, unpacking your skincare bag.

you’ve just finished patting serum into your cheeks when the door creaks open and you hear the telltale sound of slippers on tile. you don’t look. you already know.

she glides to the right sink without a word with her toothbrush in hand. like this is normal. like this isn’t your bathroom now too.

you glance over once. just long enough to catch the soft smirk on her face.

“what.” you snap.

“nothing.” she says through a mouthful of toothpaste, brushing like she’s in a colgate commercial. “you just take so long.”

you scoff. “because i have a skincare routine.”

“most people do skincare before they shower.”

you pause and turn slowly. “what the fuck did you just say?”

karina gives you a blank look like you’re the crazy one. “before.”

you gasp. “you do your skincare before you wash your body?”

“yeah?”

you stare at her, completely stunned. “what are you, a war criminal?”

“it makes sense—”

“no it doesn’t! you wash it all off. that’s like brushing your teeth before drinking orange juice!”

“okay well, it’s not like i’m using bee venom and fish eggs. some of us keep it simple.” she spits and rinses her mouth, casually grabbing mouthwash.

“coming from someone who used apricot scrub in high school.”

she gasps. “you did not just bring that up.”

“oh, i did. i remember. you had texture on your cheeks for a whole semester.”

“and now i have a chanel campaign. guess it worked out.” the blonde responds, slamming her mouthwash down.

“still. if you didn’t willingly destroy your skin barrier you wouldn’t have this much to say about mine.”

“you literally steamed your face with boiling water in high school.”

you spin towards her with wide eyes. “that was ONE TIME—”

“you looked like a tomato.”

“you exfoliated with kylie skin!”

“it was natural!”

“IT HAD WALNUTS IN IT!”

you’re both standing there now, halfway through your routines and glaring at each other.

“just— stay on your side.” she reminds you.

“i am on my side.”

you both finish in tense silence, bathroom radiating with the scent of toothpaste and passive aggression. when she spits into the sink, you do too. when she opens the drawer for cotton pads, you grab yours quicker. it’s petty.

eventually, she finishes first, walking back into the bedroom. you follow two minutes later and she’s already in bed. not just in bed. she’s hogging the comforter. no pillow barrier. no separation.

you stop in your tracks. “karina.”

“what.” she says flatly, eyes closed.

“no.”

“yes.”

“we talked about this.”

“you talked. i ignored you.”

“karina.”

“what?” she’s still not even facing you. laying on her side but curled under your side of the blanket. 

“pillow barrier. peace treaty.” you remind her, climbing in and aggressively yanking the comforter. “we agreed.”

“you agreed.” she mumbles.

“well you’re cosigning the agreement.” you say, tugging harder.

“you’re doing too much.”

“you’re so annoying.”

you both have a death grip on the blanket, refusing to look at each other. then finally, you give it one final yank that sends it perfectly into the middle.

“fine.” you say.

“fine.” she repeats. annoying. 

a minute passes. then her knee brushes yours.

you both freeze before violently scooting in opposite directions.

at least you’re able to fall asleep.

───────────────────────

you’re sitting on the edge of your shared bed in a robe, phone propped against a bottle of setting spray as aeri stares back at you mid bite of her yogurt.

“i’m just saying.” you whine. “i haven’t eaten yet and i feel like i’m being exploited. this is child labor.”

“you’re twenty three.”

“and?”

karina, who is currently sitting at the vanity while a stylist infects the area with hairspray to set her hair, doesn’t even glance up. “you’re overreacting. you’ll survive a few hours without toast.”

you scoff. “says the person who stole the entire comforter last night.”

she glances at you in the mirror, arching a perfectly filled in brow. “stole? you gave it up.”

“i did not.”

“you said, and i quote, ‘fine, take it. i hope you sweat hoe.’”

you look at aeri. “see what i deal with?”

aeri smiles, spinning her spoon around. your pout returns at the thought of food. “you two are unbearable. can you both please look hot and act cordial for like, one hour today?”

karina lets out a hum that’s annoyingly calm. “i’m always cordial. it’s her that keeps trying to start shit before ten am.”

“i’m not starting anything.”

“you’re accusing me of blanket theft.”

“it’s not accusations if it’s true!”

“be grateful that i didn’t threaten to put my cold feet on you.”

“first, ew! second, you did put your cold feet on me.”

she shrugs. “then we’re even.”

you roll your eyes and drop back on the bed before groaning dramatically. “i’m gonna die before the event. tell them i was too pretty for this world.”

aeri rolls her eyes through the screen. “stand up and get in the damn dress i picked or i’m making you listen to karina’s stylist permanently.”

the blonde haired girl smirks as the makeup artist starts dabbing concealer under her eyes. “we’d get along great.”

you lift your phone just to glare at her. “she’d dump you after ten minutes.”

“she’d take one look at your crusty lip balm collection and cry.”

you gasp. “you don’t even own lip balm.”

“i do. i just don’t lose it every three hours.”

a stylist walks past, setting a dress over the bed with a whispered “two minutes.” you sigh dramatically and push yourself up.

“okay, i’m going. if i don’t make it, tell my story.”

“i’ll tell them you died trying to sabotage me.”

“i’ll tell them you use skincare before you shower.” you say before shuffling off to the bathroom with the dress draped over your arm, grumbling about lack of food and betrayal by the entire world.

“i’m still here, by the way. just waiting for you to complain about something else.” aeri calls out, voice echoing from the phone.

you stick your hand out of the doorway and flip her off.

the stylist laughs. “is she always like this?”

karina doesn’t answer right away. her gaze flicks towards the bathroom door before she shrugs. “only when she’s being dramatic.”

“…so, always?” someone mutters.

karina just smiles, eyes back on the mirror.

you enter the room again a few minutes later, tugging at the waist of the dress and already shaking your head. “i don’t know. i feel like an ugly bridesmaid.”

the fabric’s nice. sure. the color’s fine. but it’s not doing anything for your mood or your ego. and definitely not for the cameras.

karina glances over at you lazily. the stylist’s still curling a piece of her hair but her eyes move. down, then back up. she doesn’t say anything at first.

then she speaks. “you don’t like it?”

“i feel like i should be holding a bouquet and crying.”

she looks you over again, this time more directly. then she casually nods toward the rack.

“try the black one.”

you pause. “that one’s yours.”

“no, mine’s the velvet one. that’s silk.”

you look at it. its off shoulder and fitted around the waist and hips.

“i’m not trying to match with you.”

“we’re not matching.”

“we’re both in black.”

“we’re both breathing too. wanna fight about that as well?”

you shoot her a look. “you suggested it.”

“you’ll look better in it.” she says flatly.

there’s a silence that you don’t know how to fill yet. so you just walk over to the rack and grab it.

when you disappear into the bathroom again, aeri’s voice rings from the phone.

“she does this shit on purpose.” she says.

karina doesn’t respond. instead, she glances down at her phone with a tight jaw and reaches for her lip gloss.

when you come back out, you immediately busy yourself by adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric over your thighs.

her eyes do that one thing again. they’re barely lingering, like she’s afraid of being caught. there’s no reaction or words. only a look.

you turn towards her. “too much?”

she lifts one shoulder in a half shrug gesture. “better than the bridesmaid one.”

“that’s not a compliment.”

“didn’t say it was.”

you scoff but the heat in your face betrays you. she doesn’t say anything else, grabbing her heels before standing and brushing past you without another glance.

you stay behind for a second then follow after her, grabbing the fine chain of jewelry on the rack as you go. the miu miu pendant gleams in your hand. it was delivered by the same stylist earlier.

karina’s already at the front door of the penthouse by the time you’re slipping into your heels. she doesn’t wait.

“clock’s ticking, princess.”

you roll your eyes and grab your coat, catching up with her at the elevator.

“i still think they should’ve let us go separately.” you mutter as you press the ground floor button.

“they want a show and we happen to be one.” she says simply.

“hey. can you put this on?”

she blinks, clearly surprised. “what?”

“the necklace.” you mutter, holding it out without looking at her. 

she takes it without a word but there’s something in the way she lifts her hands behind you.

you tilt your head slightly, exhaling quietly.

her fingers graze the back of your neck and you flinch. not because it’s cold, but because it’s her. you’re close enough to feel the warmth of her breath as she fastens the clasp.

“there.” she murmurs.

you glance at her reflection in the elevator wall. she’s already stepped back with her arms crossed. like she didn’t just touch you like that.

“thanks.” you say flatly, adjusting the pendant.

“could’ve said please.” she replies quickly.

“i also could’ve asked someone else.”

she hums like she’s unbothered but you see her glance at your lips before she looks away.

then the elevator dings.

you both walk out in sync, heels clicking against the floor.

“wives. stunning as ever.” the concierge greets with a knowing grin.

you groan. “he’s doing it again.”

karina offers a smile that’s too charming. “he’s just doing his job.”

you elbow her, but not too hard. “stop feeding into it.”

“you asked me to help with your necklace in an elevator. that’s wife behavior.”

“it was for the brand. don’t make me throw my heel at you.”

“right. for the brand.”

the car’s already waiting for you outside. the driver opens the door and your “wife” slips in first. you follow, adjusting your coat and smoothing the fabric of your dress as you settle beside her.

“i’m not holding your hand.” you say.

“wasn’t asking.”

“…unless someone asks for a picture.” she adds casually.

“fake couple of the year.”

“we’d win.” she says without hesitation.

you sigh and glance at her outfit. it’s good. like, annoyingly good. you hate how good she looks. or rather, you hate that she looks good standing next to you. like this whole thing is real.

the city speeds past the window in blurs of warm light and for a few seconds, neither of you speak. the only sound is the click of karina’s nails against her screen and the occasional sound of fabric shifting when your legs accidentally brush.

she’s warm beside you and it’s annoying.

you glance over and realize she’s scrolling through the event seating chart, already planning where to sit and how to pose.

you on the other hand, just want to make it through the evening without getting caught drinking too much champagne or rolling your eyes on camera.

you pull your phone out and text aeri under your coat.

you

if i disappear halfway through the party it’s because i pushed her in the fountain

aeri 🧸

Y/N U CAN’T

you

u act like she doesn’t deserve it 🙄 

aeri 🧸

this would be a perfect enemies to lovers kdrama 🥹

you 

blocked

the blonde girl glances over then, lips barely twitching. “texting your fan club?”

“plotting your demise.”

she finally looks up and when your eyes meet, it’s brief, but it lingers. long enough to make you shift in your seat and look away first.

ew. you hate that.

the car slows outside of the venue, flashes already going off like the cameras were waiting specifically for this car to pull up. and honestly, they probably were.

your phone buzzes again.

aeri 🧸

make her laugh

yk they’ll eat it up

btw you guys look scary when you’re both silent

but its rlly hot

two hot scary gays 🤤

you sigh, slipping the phone away as the driver stops the car.

karina straightens her spine and adjusts her coat collar, fingers brushing the edge of her neck “ready?”

“don’t touch me.”

she huffs a laugh. “you wish i would.”

another fake smile. but your neck still tingles where her fingers were and her gaze lingers just a little too long before you both step into the light.

the flashes are disorienting at first.

“karina yu! over here!”

“y/n, who are you wearing?”

“is it true the two of you— ?!”

questions fly like migrating birds but you keep walking. you’ve done this before. being born into this environment taught you how to smile just right. chin tilted slightly, eyes soft but unreadable, lips parted enough to look like you might be about to say something scandalous.

karina walks half a step behind you at first, hands tucked into the pockets of her long black coat. she’s practically glowing under the camera lights. you hate that you notice. hate even more how well your silhouettes match.

she leans in slightly. “you’re slouching.”

you don’t look at her. “i’ll stab you with my heel right here.”

still, you straighten up.

the event handler ushers you both up the carpeted stairs and into the line for press photos. you stand with your hands at your sides. she shifts closer, barely brushing your shoulder. cameras shout your names and the lights start again.

her smile is elegant. yours is more cocky.

“closer, please! give us one for the fans!” someone calls.

you exhale through your nose. you really don’t want to, but karina’s already doing it, stepping closer like it’s nothing and brushing your arm like this isn’t war.

she leans toward your ear, voice soft so the mics won’t catch it. “you want them to think you’re the reluctant one or the mean one tonight?”

you turn your head. “i am the mean one.”

click.

the camera catches the moment your gaze meets hers and it’s way too intense and way too pretty. and you know it’s going to be on some fan edit by midnight with a stupid caption like “the way they look at eachother.”

you’re about to step away when someone from the pr team catches you both.

“quick interview. play nice.” they say.

you force your expression into something neutral as you and karina are ushered toward the mic.

the interviewer is smiling so wide that it’s kinda scary. like she’s so excited to be the one who landed the two of you. “y/n! karina! you both look absolutely incredible tonight. tell me— was the coordination planned?”

you open your mouth, but karina beats you to it with a sugary voice. “not at all. we just think alike.”

“scary, isn’t it?” you say with a dry smile.

the interviewer laughs. “there’s been so much buzz around you lately. everyone’s obsessed with your chemistry. how does it feel to have the internet calling you the most stylish couple of the year?”

karina glances at you and hums. “i think we’ll let the outfits speak for themselves.”

you cross your arms. “speak louder than her, at least.”

karina doesn’t react. she tilts her head and looks at you like you’re a puzzle that she can’t figure out. “i think i’m getting used to the sound.”

the interviewer blinks like she caught something in that moment but she keeps it moving.

“and last question. karina, would you ever consider walking in one of y/n’s shows?”

you raise an eyebrow and turn toward her, clearly amused.

she barely hesitates. “if she designs something worth wearing.”

you scoff. “guess i’ll have to start designing dresses with no personalities.”

she smiles with teeth. “perfect. you’ll have something to wear too.”

the interviewer is too stunned to speak for half a second before nervously laughing. “you two are—” she gestures vaguely, unsure of what to say. “unreal.”

you just smile sweetly, grabbing karina’s arm for the camera. “we know.”

there’s more flashes and buzz. the interview wraps up and you’re both guided into the main venue, shoulders bumping as you step inside.

you don’t look at her again but you feel her looking.

the event is dripping in excess. chandeliers like galaxies hang overhead with velvet walls and champagne towers. you fall in step in beside karina and immediately spot the flashes of press still hovering near the entrance, but you’re safe for now. it’s more exclusive inside.

karina doesn’t say a word when a waiter passes, simply grabbing two glasses of champagne and handing you one. you take it without looking at her.

you wander towards the corner, already recognizing half a dozen industry faces. that one creative director of some company you can’t stand. there’s a singer with their latest muse on their arm. and, of course, you can’t forget the permanently lurking cameras pretending to capture all the “natural moments.”

you’re mid sip when karina’s hand brushes your collarbone and you freeze.

“what are you—”

“your necklace.” she murmurs. her fingers are careful, almost tender even, adjusting the pendant so it lies flat.

“it was crooked.”

you give the blonde girl a skeptical look. “and that bothered you?”

she doesn’t answer, offering you a slow blink and dropping her hand like it didn’t leave heat trailing down your spine. before you can say anything else, a voice steals your attention.

“y/n, you look beautiful. who let you leave the house looking like that and not put you on a runway?” it’s sana, also known as the gossip queen. she’s sipping something from a martini glass and already looping her arm through yours.

“fashion’s newest hostage. have you met my prison guard?” you deadpan.

karina lifts her glass in an idle toast. “charmed.”

sana laughs. “she’s prettier in person. meaner, too. i like her.”

“don’t encourage her.” you mutter.

you’re pulled into more greetings and cheek kisses. karina floats a few feet away, effortlessly slipping into conversations. she doesn’t hog attention. it’s just magnetized to her. designers ask who she’s wearing, some leaning in too close. you try not to look but she finds your eyes through the crowd every few minutes like she’s checking if you’re still there.

you don’t know why that makes you feel steadier.

at one point she’s beside you again, half empty glass dangling from her fingers. your own drink is gone. hou’re about to gesture to a passing waiter when she wordlessly hands you her glass.

you hesitate.

she raises an eyebrow. “scared of my lip gloss?”

you take it and sip slowly. it’s still cold, barely touched.

she doesn’t look away and you pretend not to care.

───────────────────────

the event drags on. hours feel like days. eventually, you’re pulled into one last photo and handshake with someone who couldn’t name a single piece your entire bloodline has designed.

by the time you get back into the car, your heels are throbbing. karina settles in beside you with a sigh that you swear is real.

“finally.” she mutters.

“thought you liked playing dress up.”

“i like the check that comes after.”

you don’t have the energy to roll your eyes. you tilt your head against the window, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. 

“you did good tonight.” she says softly.

you turn your head. “what?”

her gaze is forward, voice quiet. “you looked good and didn’t throw a drink on anyone. impressive.”

“…thanks?”

she shrugs. “don’t get used to it.”

you laugh under your breath and let your head fall against the seat.

when the both of you step into the penthouse, you’re done. the coat’s halfway off your figure, heels discarded by the door. you kick them towards the corner and shuffle across the floor.

karina follows wordlessly, no more interest in bickering with you.

you flop onto the bed. your shared bed. “don’t touch me.” you mumble into the blanket.

karina walks into the closet and you hear the zipper of her dress a moment later.

you don’t mean to turn your head. you don’t mean to look.

but you do.

half of her form is a shadow, hair falling out of its updo as she changes into an oversized shirt and nothing else. she effortlessly takes out her extensions and you see the curve of her back.

then she’s gone again, disappearing into the bathroom.

you stay where you are, face half buried in the comforter and dress bunched awkwardly at your waist. you can hear the shower start a few moments later, water pressure shaking the pipes like the penthouse itself is sighing along with you.

you close your eyes. not to sleep, but just to rest.

the sound of the shower doesn’t stop you from thinking about tonight. no amount of cameras or flashes could make you forget about her hand adjusting your necklace with that softness.

you hear the water turn off and stir, blinking yourself upright again.

when she steps out of the bathroom, she’s wrapped in a white towel.

she glances at you for just a second, eyes flicking from your face to your legs and back, before turning toward the closet.

“don’t slip. if you bust your ass on the floor, i’m not carrying you.” you mutter, standing and peeling off your dress. “you’d be lucky to touch me.”

you scoff, already walking past her. “delusional.” you shut the bathroom door before she can respond.

the shower still holds some warmth, and you sink into it like you’ve been waiting all night.

you dry off quickly after and walk back into the room in one of your own oversized shirts.

karina’s already in bed, lying on her back and scrolling through her phone with the brightness way too high. you flop into your side.

she doesn’t move. “you always smell like strawberries and flowers.”

“are you sniffing me right now?”

“i’m just saying. you always do.” she shrugs it off, but there’s a flicker of something in her voice.

you roll over, facing away. “stop being weird.”

she doesn’t respond immediately, but the glow of her phone finally dims.

you hear her exhale through her nose aou hear the sheets shift. her knee brushes yours under the comforter. barely.

“you snore.” she says way too casually.

“do not.”

“you did last night.”

“you’re making that up.”

“i should’ve recorded it.”

“you’re sick.”

“you like it.”

you do. and you hate how much you do.

but instead you groan and throw the comforter over your head. “goodnight.”

you hear her turn onto her side behind you. except this time, she’s closer than before.

“night, petal.”

you’re still smiling when you fall asleep.

THINGS START TO SHIFT WITHOUT warning. or perhaps the warning signs were always there, hidden behind the way she says your name and looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching.

it begins with the press. you know, photoshoots, events and interviews. before, it was your names side by side in headlines some skepticism, but now they become one. the jeon-yu duo. they refer to you as y/n yu now.

“natural chemistry.” one reporter calls it, voice dripping with fascination. obviously, karina doesn’t flinch. she’s used to pretending for the cameras.

but lately, it’s not pretending anymore. at least not completely.

the first time it catches you off guard is during a vogue shoot.

you’re halfway through a pose when the photographer sighs and mutters something about needing “more intimacy.” karina’s arm slides around you without any hesitation, hand resting against your side while her thumb grazes the bare skin above your hipbone.

she doesn’t even look at you. then she leans in and murmurs “relax, petal.” quiet and just for you.

you don’t relax, but you don’t pull away either.

then it was the variety interview.

you’re both seated across from a roundtable of hosts. she’s in a tailored white blazer with her hair down for once. the conversation trails from your projects into your “new life together.”

“you seem more in sync now. is it just practice?” one host says, half teasing.

“she knows me. it’s not practice, it’s routine.” karina replies easily, hand resting lightly on your thigh under the table. you think it’s just a reminder to behave.

you almost snap at her, until she slides her thumb in one slow circle over your knee.

you say nothing, letting her speak for both of you.

at some point, the edits go viral. there’s loads of fan compilations and screenshots. popular ones are the clips of the two of you holding hands on red carpets or sipping from the same glass at the afterparty. you’re drunk in that clip, dress hiked up slightly as you tip your glass of champagne to karina’s lips. she takes a sip without hesitation even though your lipstick is smudged onto the glass.

“do you guys even like each other?” a designer asks one night somewhere between events.

she smirks and speaks. “you’d be surprised.”

you don’t say anything. you’re still replaying the way her hand skimmed down your back when she zipped up your dress. there was no reason for her to touch you like that. there was a stylist.

but she did it anyway.

now, you’re exhausted. today’s shoot ran two hours over because the photographer was indecisive. apparently the lighting was wrong and your heels were five inches too tall. and most annoying of it all? karina’s perfume was clinging to your dress and they made you retouch your face six times.

when you return to the penthouse, it’s past midnight. you kick off your shoes so hard they hit the baseboard.

karina tosses her jacket onto the back of the couch with a sigh. “don’t throw things.”

“don’t act like you care.”

she pauses in front of the mirror, removing her earrings with the elegance of someone still being watched. “i don’t.”

“great. so stop telling me what to do.” you tug your hair free from its clip.

it’s silent for a moment before she talks again. “you looked okay.”

you scoff. “oh, good. yay! thanks for the approval, karina. must be so nice being you.” you head towards the living room, shedding your earrings with annoyance and tossing them onto the coffee table.

she turns to look at you, leaning against the island with crossed arms. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you know. you could walk onto a red carpet in a trash bag and still make the best dressed list.”

“you think this is easy?” she asks, voice dropping.

“i think you’ve had everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter.”

“you don’t know shit about what i’ve had handed to me.”

you step closer towards the blonde. “oh, please. spare me the sob story. you’ve been the golden child since birth.”

“and you’ve been the mess everyone has to clean up after.”

that stops you.

it’s not the words, no. it’s the way she says it. like it’s been waiting on her tongue. it felt like she meant it.

your throat tightens. “wow.”

karina exhales, but she doesn’t take it back. she looks at you, tense and tired and so clearly not just angry at tonight.

“don’t act like you don’t know it. you show up late and roll your eyes in interviews. you literally can’t go one week without some crazy headline— and somehow i’m the one that’s fake? at least i show the hell up.”

your voice cracks before you can stop it. “don’t say that shit, karina. i do show up. i showed up when i didn’t want to. hell, i signed the same papers you did. i’ve been smiling through all of this shit while you just stand there looking sad and acting like i should be grateful to be in this with you.”

“you should be.”

your breath stops.

her eyes widen like she didn’t mean to say that, not like that, but it’s too late. you heard it.

you swallow. “fuck you.”

she looks at you like she’s stuck between wanting to fix it and wanting to say more.

you shake your head, throat burning and vision blurry for a second too long. “god, you’re—”

“what?” she snaps. “say it.”

“you don’t care about anyone but yourself. that’s why nobody actually likes you. they just want what you have. ” you say with a shaky voice.

her expression falters. you regret it the moment you say it, but you don’t take it back. neither of you do. not tonight.

she turns and walks down the hall.

you drop onto the couch and let the silence swallow you.

───────────────────────

the morning after, the apartment is still. the sun bleeds through the beige curtains, casting soft gold across the floor. you’re still in last night’s clothes, curled pathetically on the couch underneath a throw blanket that doesn’t even cover your legs.

you didn’t sleep much. at all, if that.

you hear her before you see her, footsteps leading into the kettle starting in the kitchen.

you stay on the couch, eyes half lidded while you fling an arm over your forehead. you can hear every little sound of movement, especially her phone buzzing on the counter.

then you hear her speak. you almost don’t register it until you realize that she’s not calling you. she’s on the phone.

“…she’s not like that.”

“no, she’s not. she’s difficult, yeah. but not— she’s not a mess.”

your stomach turns. her voice is low, but not cold. tired, maybe. it’s soft in a way that you’ve never heard when it’s directed at someone else.

“i know what people say about her, but it’s not true. she cares. she still tries when no one gives her credit for it.”

you can practically hear whoever’s on the other line doubting her.

“yeah, well. maybe i care. maybe that’s the fucking problem.”

your heart stutters and you shift slightly. the couch creaks.

fuck.

her breath catches in the kitchen.

she doesn’t say anything else. you hear the sound of her hanging up before she stands still for a long time. you stay where you are.

finally, she leaves the kitchen. her footsteps trail off toward the bedroom and the silence returns, leaving you alone with your racing heart and thoughts.

and that’s when you realize that something has already changed. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.

so you don’t bring it up.

not when she walks out of the bedroom hours later, dressed in a towel with her hair slicked back like she’s waiting for you to ask what you heard.

you don’t.

instead, you get up, allowing the day pass with minimal words exchanged. the silence between you is no longer hostile. it’s unfamiliar.

and when night falls, rain begins to as well. you’re both silent in bed again. there’s no pillow barrier this time, but your backs still face each other. you’re texting aeri.

you

you up?

we fought last night

like bad

she starts typing.

aeri 🧸

u two need to make out alr

wait til she begs tho

hollon ima call u

you let out a half silent laugh. it’s loud enough to make karina stir.

“you’re loud when you text.” she mumbles into her pillow.

“you’re annoying when you exist. stop being nosey.” you shoot back at the blonde out of habit, but there’s no threat behind it. it’s soft.

“hard to ignore when you keep sighing like someone broke your heart.”

you roll over. “bold of you to assume you didn’t.”

her head turns, eyes catching yours in the faint moonlight. the rain gets louder.

a long moment passes before she speaks. “i’m not sorry for what i said.”

“i’m not either.”

then there’s a longer silence. you can only hear the sound of rain pattering against the window.

“but i didn’t mean all of it.” she adds.

you fully turn towards her now. “which part?”

she doesn’t look away. “the mess part. i was mad, but that doesn’t mean i was right.”

“i didn’t mean what i said either.”

karina watches you with an unreadable expression. then she nods slowly, like that’s enough for now.

you both lay there for a while. she shifts closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth between you.

you want to reach for it.

“are you still mad at me?”

you stare at her. she’s been barefaced for hours, and her voice isn’t even trying to be indifferent. it’s oddly cautious. you realize that no one sees this side of her but you.

you shake your head. “no. i’m just tired.”

her shoulders slump as silence envelops you once more.

“you’re really pretty when you’re not talking.” she says, barely teasing.

you scoff, pushing her hand away. but you’re smiling and she sees it.

she shifts closer under the covers and her knee brushes yours.

you could blame the heat under the blankets, or maybe even the leftover adrenaline from the fight. but when your eyes flick to her lips, it’s none of that.

she leans in. so do you.

her hand grazes your jaw, noses brushing against eachother. both of your eyes flutter shut.

then— your phone vibrates. loudly.

you both freeze, foreheads touching.

aeri 🧸 is calling…

“seriously?” she breathes before flopping back with a quiet for fuck’s sake.

you stare at the ceiling, heart pounding.

“i wasn’t going to kiss you.” she says suddenly.

you hum, half bitter. “sure.”

“i wasn’t.” she repeats, but she doesn’t sound sure anymore. you don’t believe her.

you answer the call and karina stays next to you the whole time, one arm folded behind her head as she stares up at the ceiling too. but the difference is, she looks like she’s waiting. waiting for the next moment. the next time you look at her the way you just did.

you can’t stop thinking about how she might’ve done it if aeri waited another second. and how much you kind of, maybe, really wanted her to.

THAT WAS THREE WEEKS AGO. you haven’t brought it up, and neither has she. which means you’ve been living in that silence where everything feels like it’s leading somewhere and neither of you are willing to admit it.

but the thing is, it changed everything. because nothing’s really happened since.

you haven’t gotten that close off camera again. not even close. she’s been soft ignoring you. you barely speak at events unless someone’s watching, but she still zips your dresses and straightens your necklaces like muscle memory.

and that brings you to now, the night before your official launch. you should be panicking. refreshing your notes. checking every tag on instagram. but instead, you’re at a ysl afterparty, buzzed off champagne and dressed to match karina.

she’s somewhere in the room in a structured black ysl suit. you’ve already taken the joint pictures for press.

so you decide to distract yourself. you’re standing near one of the tall glass walls, half lit by the glow of the city. it hits your face perfectly as you tell a chaotic story to a small circle of models and minor celebrities who are visibly enraptured by you.

“…and then i realized the room wasn’t even ours. we were in the wrong suite the entire time.”

laughter erupts, drinks clinking against eachother. you’re grinning with warm cheeks, tongue looser than usual.

you don’t notice the guy step a little closer until his voice cuts in low and playful. “you always cause this much of a scene?”

you look at him, a little thrown off. he’s tall and polished, the kind of man publicists love to pose you next to. his hand grazes yours when he takes your empty glass, setting it on the nearby table.

“only when it’s fun.” you say breezily, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

“i feel like i should get a warning.” he says, tilting his head, and then he catches your hand. he lifts it and brings it to his lips with a kind of precision that makes your brows lift.

you let him. well. sort of.

he kisses your knuckles gently. you’re not even looking at him. you’re looking at karina in the reflection in the glass.

she’s across the room between two editors, nodding politely at whatever they’re saying. but her gaze is stuck on you. her lips ate pressed into a line that doesn’t match the outfit she’s wearing. then she starts walking.

“excuse me. she’s needed.” karina says smoothly, appearing at your side like she’s always belonged there.

“by who?” the guy says with a chuckle, clearly trying to keep the moment alive.

“by me.” she says quickly. her voice isn’t playful. it’s sharp enough to slice through the air between you.

her arm wraps around your waist then she pulls you away. you let her.

“you okay? you look a little tense.” you ask lightly the second you’re around the corner and near the exit.

she doesn’t answer, turning to face you.

you lean against the wall with a teasing smirk. “what? you jealous?”

karina’s eyes narrow. “no.”

“oh, come on. he was cute.” you continue.

“you’re not taking this seriously.”

your smile slips. “what?”

“this. us. you don’t take it seriously.” she says, gesturing between you.

you stare at her. “that’s funny. cause i’ve been showing up to every event. standing next to you and leaning into every touch like this is real.”

“it’s not just about events.”

“then what is it about, karina? because when the cameras go off, you vanish. you avoid me. don’t act like i’m the one faking it.”

“god, you don’t get it.”

“i don’t. i really don’t. because you never say anything. you just look. leave me. or pull me away like you own me.”

“what if i want to?”

you let out a breath.

karina steps closer and her voice drops. only you can hear it. “you’re not the only one confused by this. you think i haven’t wanted to kiss you since that night? i’ve been trying not to all night. but then you let him—”

“prove it.” you cut her off. “prove it then, karina.” you repeat breathlessly.

and then she leans in and kisses you. hard.

her hands cup your face, jaw tilting as her mouth meets yours like she’s been starving for this moment. your heart thuds in your ears as one hand snakes to your hip, thumb caressing it the same way it did in that photoshoot weeks ago.

you gasp against her mouth. she swallows it.

and then, just as suddenly, she breaks it. her eyes are wide when she steps back, mouth parted. she looks like she’s realizing something she can’t say out loud.

you don’t move. you just watch as she turns and walks off.

then you lean against the wall again, dizzy as you try to blink away the lightheaded feeling her lips left against yours.

she tastes like vanilla.

you fish your phone out of your bag, hand shaking.

you

aeri

karina just kissed me

you don’t even get to send a third message before aeri’s voice cuts through the air like she’s been waiting in the wings.

“oh my god, finally.”

you jump. “what— where did you come from?”

“i have ears. and i saw that. it was hot. but what the fuck took you two so long?”

you stare at her, searching for words. but your hands search for a glass. of anything. “she’s so— ugh.”

“she has a death wish, huh?” you say dramatically, eyes wide.

aeri laughs. “a fat crush. but go off.”

you throw a macaron at her. it bounces off her shoulder and lands somewhere under the couch, lost to the ysl afterparty dimension forever.

“i hate her so bad. she had to do that in a suit. with her hands on my—“ you groan, covering your face.

“say it. say ‘my waist.’” aeri says.

you screech into your hands.

“she kissed me like she meant it.”

“do you want her to do it again?”

“yes. and no. i wanna slap her.”

aeri nods, sipping from her own glass.

you groan. “this is your fault. you told me to wait til she begs. i was literally normal before i met you.”

“you’ve never been normal.” she says, patting your thigh. then she straightens suddenly, eyes lighting up.

“oh. my. god. that’s him. i have to go.”

“what?”

“that’s the actor from that french vampire show! he’s wearing the suit with the mesh undershirt. i have to go.”

“aeri—”

“drink water! look at his hair—“ she squeals, already walking away.

you’re left in a half lit corner, few drinks deep, dressed to match your fake wife who kissed you like you were her real one. and now you’re alone. again. you reach for another glass anyway.

───────────────────────

by the time your security appears at the exit with karina beside him, you’re definitely drunk. but you look good. like, really good.

and there’s definitely going to be a viral clip later of her hand wrapped around your waist as she guides you out the building in front of the flashing cameras. she holds you like you’re fragile. you smile like nothing’s wrong.

but karina sees everything. you stumble as you make it towards the entrance, fingers clinging to her jacket.

and she doesn’t say anything when the car door shuts and you slump back against the seat, barely holding yourself up.

her nails click against the screen as she opens her phone and sees it. the photo of your kiss. your first kiss.

it’s blurry and taken from a distance. but anyone can see how breathless you look as her hand cradles your jaw like it’s muscle memory.

the internet thinks it’s romantic. it starts trending immediately.

you’re still slouched against the seat, legs crossed and arms folded. you refuse to look at her. not after she kissed you like that and then walked off like it meant nothing.

you tell yourself it’s fine. that you’ve felt worse. but then she breathes and it’s like your whole body remembers.

karina sits beside you, perfectly fine in her suit. one hand rests against her thigh, the other one scrolling through her phone.

you can feel her looking through the photos. in your head, you know one of them is already trending.

“you’re going viral again.” she says coolly with the same lips that were on on yours twenty minutes ago.

“cool. add that to the list. ‘makes out with fake wife in public.’” you mutter. she doesn’t respond.

instead she leans back, exhaling like she’s already tired of this. as if dealing with you is exhausting. “you’re drunk.”

“wow, thanks for the update. next breaking story? you’re a coward.”

“you’re blowing it out of proportion.”

you scoff. “really? you kissed me like it meant something and then walked away like i had cooties.”

karina’s head turns slowly, exhaling. “cooties? y/n. god, you’re— such a problem.”

your eyes narrow. “then stop looking at me like you want to make it worse.”

she doesn’t answer. even though you want a verbal one, the way her jaw clenches is enough.

the car glides into the garage. and the second it stops, you’re out the door with your heels in hand. walking barefoot into the elevator like you’re on a mission. karina stares at them like she wants to take them for you.

you don’t wait for her. she still follows.

“you’re upset.”

“ding! next question.”

“because i kissed you?”

you spin on your heel. “because you always pull away, jimin.”

her name hangs between you. it’s the first time you’ve said it to her.

you can see her expression change.

“you always disappear. or worse, act like it didn’t happen. like i’m the one imagining shit.”

karina exhales. “we agreed not to make this complicated.”

“yeah? well guess what. you complicated it when you started looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like you felt something.”

her mouth opens then closes. then she backs you up without touching you until your spine hits the wall just outside of the bedroom.

“you think it’s easy for me? i told you i’ve wanted to kiss you since that night.”

“then do it again. if it mean nothing, do it again.” you glare. you’re not even sure if you’re making sense anymore.

her eyes drop down to your lips.

“you’re drunk.”

you shove past her. “like i said. coward.”

“spoiled brat.”

“you like it.”

“you wish.”

you get to the bedroom first. your fingers fumble with the zipper of your dress before you give up entirely.

karina walks in behind you.

you turn to face her, arms out. “you gonna help or keep staring like a creep?”

she crosses the room quietly, one hand lifting to the zipper. it slides down slowly, making your breath hitch.

your dress falls and then she turns, pulling the blanket back on the bed like she didn’t just undress you with her hands.

“bed.”

“make me.”

“you’re sleeping while standing up.”

“your fault.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“and you’re so obsessed with me that it’s embarrassing.”

karina looks at you and something in her expression falters. just for a second. then it’s gone.

she straightens up. “get in bed.”

you crawl in. she tucks the blanket over your legs. her fingers brush your bare thigh.

“you kiss everyone like that?” you ask.

“only the girls who drive me crazy.”

“mm. should’ve gone for him them.” you hum.

karina flexes her jaw. “i’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

“no you’re not.”

“you can’t stop me.”

“you kissed me first.”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

“nothing. everything.” you whisper. and then you both go quiet.

she stares at you for a moment. then she turns off the light. she stays beside you, but neither of you sleep for hours.

───────────────────────

“i feel like death.”

aeri doesn’t look up from her phone across from you, scrolling with her thumb. “but you look like a million dollars. and someone who’s about to have a phenomenal launch.”

“can you at least look at me when you compliment me? makes it feel authentic.” you roll your eyes.

she raises an eyebrow, giggling away at something, or someone on her phone.

“you are like papa.” you mutter once she completely ignores you.

“don’t compare me to your emotionally repressed wife.”

“fake wife.” you correct, stabbing your straw into the untouched iced coffee beside you.

“emphasis on fake. she kissed me like it was real and then left me painkillers on the nightstand like we’re married and going through a divorce.”

aeri just hums. it’s her way of saying you technically are without actually saying it.

“she didn’t even leave a note. not even a ‘good luck baby’ or something. don’t i deserve compensation for the way she tried to shove her tongue down my throat then disappeared?” you add, flopping dramatically against the back of the chair. your stylist audibly grumbles from behind you.

“maybe the pills were the note.”

you scoff. “aeri, be for real. he leaves me mints everyday. does that mean he’s in love with me too?”

you gesture to the man fixing your hair before crossing your arms.

“girl, i’m gay.” he says.

“but you treat me better than karina.”

“she’s gay too.” aeri deadpans.

you look at her. “okay? i’m just saying, being gay doesn’t make you a good person. or a good fake wife. stop defending her.”

your stylist muffles a laugh behind you.

“i’m not defending her.”

“you totally are. but it’s fine.” you sigh dramatically.

“you sound like you caught feelings.”

you glare at the pink haired girl before speaking. “what i better not catch is her walking in here like nothing happened.”

“and if she does?”

“you’re still defending her like she didn’t ghost me while we share a bed.”

“you mean the california king?”

“our shared bed.” you repeat, sipping your coffee.

aeri begins scrolling again. “i’m actually kind of obsessed with you two.”

you tap your nail against the cup. “i cursed her in my head. don’t get comfortable.”

“you’re so annoying.” aeri grins, but she sounds endeared.

you groan and glance at the time. twenty one minutes until your first collection walks down the runway. the final outfit you chose is hanging up, zipped and untouched. you haven’t even changed yet.

“i don’t even know if she’s coming. and i don’t know if i want her to.” you mutter.

“she’s in love with you. of course she’s coming.”

you try to ignore the way your pulse quickens. “maybe she’ll finally do something on brand for once.”

aeri raises a brow. “you mean something that’s oddly thoughtful?”

before you can respond, a knock echoes throughout the room from against the dressing room door.

“if that’s an interviewer, ignore them.” you say instantly.

your assistant makes eye contact with aeri then heads to the door anyway.

“don’t open it!” you repeat.

but it’s already creaking open. your stylist turns around.

“oh. it’s your wife.” she says in a surprised tone.

you whip your head around so fast your earring nearly flies off.

she’s calmly standing in the doorway, wearing a matching cream suit with stitching that looks suspiciously similar to the one you’re about to wear.

and then her eyes meet yours.

“you’re not dressed yet.”

“what happened to hello?” then you slowly look over her clothes. the realization hits you like a freight train. “you color matched our outfits?”

aeri looks between you two, silent.

karina fully steps into the room now. “yeah. you say it like i don’t watch you.”

aeri sighs dreamily.

you spin around to face her. “don’t encourage her.”

the blonde is already walking towards the hanger to unzip your piece. your stylist stares at her like he might kick her out. you kinda want him to.

“you came.” you say, quieter now.

karina doesn’t even hesitate. “why wouldn’t i?”

“maybe because you ignored me like i was a bad tinder date.”

“you were asleep.”

“that’s never stopped you before.” you mutter.

her brows rise in an amused manner. “you want me to wake you up next time?”

“i want you to stop acting like everything’s fine when you literally mouth fucked me against a wall and then left before sunrise. why did you come?”

someone coughs awkwardly in the background. aeri stands and your stylist follows, ushering out the assistant with a look. the door closes gently behind them.

karina sighs and steps closer to you. “do you want to fight or do you want to get dressed?”

“why not both?” you lift your chin in defiance.

her fingers find the zipper on the hanging bag with a sigh.

“stop doing that. you kissed me first.”

“you kissed me back.”

“you left painkillers on my nightstand like we’re divorced.”

she turns to face you again, holding your outfit in one hand. “i was trying to be nice.”

“be meaner then.”

“you wouldn’t survive it.”

you try to come up with a comeback, but your brain stops functioning when she sets the hanger down and reaches for your waist instead.

her fingers skim your sides. “arms up.”

you hesitate.

“i’m not going to try anything.” she says, but her voice is smug.

“unless you ask.”

“i’d rather die.”

you raise your arms anyway.

she helps you out of your robe with a kind of gentleness that only makes you more feral inside. her touch is light but it lingers over your skin. it’s like she knows what she’s doing.

“stop looking at me like that.” you murmur.

“how?”

“like you’re about to kiss me again.”

she fastens the hooks at the back of your dress. her mouth is near your shoulder now.

“don’t tempt me.”

you glance at her through the mirror. she’s already looking at you with fascination in her eyes.

“tighten the corset a little.” you say.

“don’t tell me what to do.”

“karina.”

“i got it.”

she tightens it, knuckles brushing against your spine.

“we still have ten minutes.” she adds quietly.

you hold her gaze. “so?”

her hands pause at your back. “so… you still haven’t said thank you.”

you scoff. “for ignoring me?”

“no. i’m basically your unpaid assistant right now.”

“you’re basically my emotionally unavailable situationship.” you shoot back.

“you say that like i’m not here right now.”

you hate how your chest aches. “showing up isn’t the same as being there, karina.”

that leaves a silence between you two. her hand lingers at the small of your back, thumb pressing into the fabric.

you turn around to face her with a sigh. “you’re so full of yourself.”

“you’re dressed like my soulmate.”

“because you picked the outfit!”

“we were gonna end up matching anyway.”

your jaw tightens. she reaches around you again, taking a necklace into her hand.

“you look good. you’re beautiful.” she mutters.

“you didn’t answer me.” you say.

“about what?”

“why you came.”

karina’s fingers still and her voice softens.

“because you’re about to walk out there and show the world exactly what you’re capable of. and if i wasn’t here, it would be the dumbest decision of my life.” she says.

you look at her.

“that’s not saying much. you’ve made a lot of dumb decisions lately.” you mutter.

“you’re my favorite one.” she replies.

your lips part but nothing comes out.

then you swallow hard. “stop saying things like that.”

“why?” her voice is low. it feels like she’s not even trying to fight you anymore.

“because it feels like you mean them.”

her eyes flicker to your lips for just a second. “would it be easier if i didn’t?”

“yes. no. maybe. fuck.” you blink too many times.

she exhales like she’s been holding her breath this entire time. her fingers move to clasp the necklace around your neck with slow and gentle movements, and it feels like an apology.

you watch her in the mirror again. you hate her. her stupid, pretty blonde hair. the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. how her lips always look so kissable. you hate everything.

“please don’t tell me you came here to make it worse.” you say.

“i guess i sort of came too because i knew i already fucked it up.”

the clasp clicks into place. you spin to face her again. she’s too close.

“and what happens after this? when you leave again?” you ask, voice quiet.

“i won’t.” she says.

“don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“i’m not promising. i’m saying it. unless you don’t want me to stay.” she tilts her head.

you hate how bad you want her to. you hesitate long enough for her to notice.

“i hate you.” you mutter.

“i know. you’re pretty when you do.” she almost smiles.

you stare at her and she stares right back. it would be so easy to just close the distance.

but your name is called from the other side of the door. “five minutes!”

“fix my hair?” you ask just to be difficult. she rolls her eyes like she already knows that, but obediently steps behind you anyway.

then she steps back. her hand slides down your waist as she does, like she doesn’t wanna let you go.

“i’ll be front row. just like we planned.” she says.

“we didn’t plan anything.”

she gives you a look, smirking like it’s already been decided.

“we matched, didn’t we?” then she walks out.

“i’m gonna punch her later.” you murmur to your ancestors, looking over yourself in the mirror. you take a few deep breaths, hands ghosting across the pendant before perfecting your smile, clearing your throat, and walking out.

───────────────────────

flashes blind you the second you step outside.

your heels click against the pavement, seemingly louder than everyone else’s, because you’re kinda the main character right now.

your show just ended fifteen minutes ago and people are already calling it the collection of the season. cameras shout your name, karina’s too, but you don’t break stride.

she’s walking next to you, hand firm on your waist, practically glaring paparazzi out of the way as her other hand waves security forward. she’s muttering something about how some of them are getting sued tonight.

you’re just smiling.

once you reach the car, karina opens the door for you like a gentlewoman (even though security is right there?). “you take one more slow mo step for the cameras and i’m pushing you.” she grumbles.

you laugh as you slide in. “jealous they love me?”

she has to stop herself from saying “i love you.” so instead she climbs in beside you, door shutting just as your phone buzzes.

aeri 🧸

IM W THE HOT FRENCH ACTOR AYEEEEE 👅👅👅

he looked at you suspiciously tho…

BUT UR GAY AYEEEEE 👅👅👅👅

ur welcome for the emotional support this morning btw.

you

thank u 🥹

do i have to pay a fee for therapy

and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do

which is like

nothing

so go crazy ahhh

“texting your lawyer?” karina teases.

“texting aeri so she can help me sue you for emotional damage.” you say sweetly.

“gotta sue yourself first. you kissed me too.”

“don’t flatter yourself.”

she hums. “too late.”

you roll your eyes and glance out the window, city lights blurring past.

she doesn’t look at you right away. her palm rests on your knee, thumb brushing absentminded shapes against your skin.

“you were insane.” she says, quiet but sure.

“what?”

“the entire show. and that last model with the corseted jacket? your brain is perfect.” she says.

your throat tightens a little. “oh.”

then she finally looks at you. “you don’t believe me? you’re trending again.”

you shrug, eyes still on the window. “i just… haven’t heard you say anything like that in a while.”

her thumb pauses for a second before it resumes. “doesn’t mean i haven’t thought it.”

you glance over at her. she’s not teasing or smirking. you can see the devastating softness in her eyes as she watches you. it’s stupid.

you blink fast and look away again.

“you looked like you owned everything in that room. even the air.” she adds.

“and i still almost had a breakdown in the bathroom.”

“that’s the secret to your charm. you make everything look good.” she says like it’s obvious.

you huff a laugh, barely managing to hide how much that lands. “i hate you.”

“i know.”

your lips part again, useless. you have no words. she just keeps doing this. keeps showing up and saying things that make you believe she means them.

your phone buzzes again, thankfully pulling you from the tension.

aeri 🧸

he asked if we’re dating 😭😭😭

i said no but i think he’s suspicious

should i kiss him anyway???

AND pls eat something or i’ll be mad

you smile, thumbs moving quickly before she can peek.

you

kiss him

make out w him

and i’ll eat bread just for u

karina leans closer, peeking at the screen. “is that aeri? tell her to use protection.”

“the last person she needs advice from is you. you raw dog emotional damage.”

she grins. “you love it.”

you refuse to answer that.

outside the car window, more camera flashes burst like fireworks as the driver pulls up to the curb. your heart rate kicks up and karina’s hand doesn’t move from your knee. the car slows in front of the restaurant.

you hesitate. “you sure you’re ready for another round of this?”

“with you? everyday.” she shrugs.

the door opens. you step out first, letting your gaze flick to the crowd and then back at her. just briefly.

she smooths her suit and joins you, hand on your back.

the flashes keep going even after the door shuts behind you. her hand doesn’t move from your back as you walk into the venue, long marble corridor echoing beneath your heels. she nods politely at the host who leads you through the front.

your names are on the list. y/n jeon-yu & karina yu.

the room opens up with candlelit tables and a stupidly elegant floral centerpiece you know your mom picked. you spot her instantly, already waving excitedly like she hasn’t seen you in years.

your father looks unimpressed, but even he stands when you approach. karina’s hand only leaves your back once you’re pulling out your chair.

“darling! you were exceptional. absolutely amazing. it was art.” your mom gasps.

“and you. you looked like you were in love.” her eyes flick between you and karina.

you choke slightly on your water.

“she means with the clothes.” karina says smoothly, helping herself to a slice of bread.

“of course. but the chemistry? oh my god, girls. i’ve been getting messages. they think you’re soulmates.” your mom says. karina stifles a laugh. you can hear her going “that’s what i said” in her head.

you roll your eyes. “those people also think i’m secretly pregnant. somehow.”

“maybe you are. would explain all the mood swings.” karina mutters beside you.

you kick her under the table. she kicks you back.

“i’m just saying. now that you’re actually getting along, we should start planning the real ceremony.” your mom starts again, clutching her wine glass with too much force.

both you and karina speak up. “no.”

but you go “nooo…” while she goes “no, thank you.” with that ridiculous perfect politeness.

your dad sighs. “this again?”

across the table, karina’s mother appears mid sip of her cocktail and glares. “you think your daughter made my daughter less uptight? please. jimin’s the one carrying this pr disaster on her back.”

“oh, whatever. if anything, your daughter is lucky mine even agreed to go through with this—“ your mom snaps, lifting a brow.

“you act like she didn’t beg.”

you open your mouth but karina beats you to it. “okay. alright. that’s enough.”

the table goes awkwardly quiet. then she speaks up in a softer voice.

“this is her night. and she was incredible.” karina says.

your mom stares. her mom sets down her drink.

you glance at karina who’s already looking at you.

“we’re proud of you.” your dad says gruffly.

karina’s mom nods without looking at anyone. “she was very professional, i suppose.”

your throat gets tight again. karina leans closer.

“they’re annoying. but they’re right.” she whispers.

you almost smile. almost.

“wanna fake elope just to spite them?”

she shrugs. “tell me when and where.”

your mom gasps. “what was that?”

“nothing!” you both say in unison, grinning now.

karina’s hand brushes yours beneath the table. and for the first time in weeks, you let it stay there. you’ll probably fight again tomorrow. but right now, she’s here and she showed up.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

jimin’s dorm isn’t like yours.

it’s not like anyone’s, really. it’s more an apartment than a student room — tall ceilings, white walls that haven’t yellowed, windows that stretch too wide for the building they’re in. there’s a couch that looks barely sat on and the scent that clings to the place smells like white musk and the soft kind of vanilla that only comes from a candle someone forgot to blow out.

this space is curated and soft in a way you haven’t seen much of lately.

you try not to think about how out of place you feel; how this isn’t like your lounge, where the cushions don’t match and there’s always an empty mug on the floor. how ryujin would be throwing popcorn at your head by now and yunjin would be complaining about the spotify ads.

here, you’re a guest.

you’re sitting on the floor beside her bed, knees drawn up, heart doing something inconvenient in your chest. minjeong and ningning are sprawled across jimin’s mattress like it belongs to them, shoes kicked off, snacks half-finished between them. a half-open bag of maltesers is wedged against minjeong’s thigh and she’s chewing on the last one with the smugness of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing.

“so,” she begins, voice bright. “what time’s the wedding?”

ningning throws her head back. “god, finally. i was starting to think this was just a fucked up situationship.”

your hands are tucked between your knees and the carpet, grounding yourself. it doesn’t help because the carpet is too clean and too soft and there’s nothing to hold onto.

“it’s not like that,” you mumble.

“please,” minjeong chuckles, shaking her head. “you’ve been looking at her like she’s the sun. or, like, the moon if you’re feeling broody.”

“she always looks broody,” ningning adds.

“true.”

jimin’s leaning against the side of her desk, arms crossed, eyes on you — amused, but not unkind. there’s a gentleness in the way she watches this unfold, like she’s letting them tease because she knows they don’t know the full story.

because they haven’t seen you unravel in the dark of your own room, they haven’t had to hold the silence when the weight of this thing made you too quiet to touch.

“leave her alone,” she defends eventually, and it’s playful, but it’s also hers. the way she says it makes them both settle.

minjeong shrugs, steals another m&m. ningning flops back into the pillow and scrolls through her phone like she didn’t just try to marry you off.

you glance up at jimin, just for a second. her mouth lifts on one side, but her eyes stay serious. she can read you too easily these days, probably always could.

your chest tightens.

this version of her…standing in her own space, defending you lightly, smiling like it’s normal, has made it harder to breathe. it makes you wish the guilt didn’t sit so high in your throat.

it’s worse when it’s good and it feels easy, like maybe it could’ve been this simple all along. you look away as your fingers tighten around the hem of your sleeve.

she walks over a second later and kneels in front of you. her hands land gently on your knees, thumbs brushing small circles into the fabric of your jeans.

you glance at the door, but it’s pointless. minjeong and ningning aren’t paying attention now, lost in whatever they’re laughing at on someone’s story.

“hey,” she says softly. “you okay?”

you nod, but it’s not convincing.

she tilts her head; waits.

you speak without looking at her. “i don’t know how to do this.”

she brushes her fingers along your knuckles. “just be you.”

that doesn’t help…being you is the problem.

being you means carrying everything you’ve been too afraid to say and it’s deeper than that — there’s a pit in your stomach that’s been growing since she asked you to come.

because this is the closest you’ll ever be to being part of her real life. and even then, it’s only half of one.

pressing your palms against your thighs, you try to breathe to slow your thoughts down long enough to match the pace of her touch.

“they’ll like you,” she comforts you in the softest voice. “they will.”

“they think you’re dating jaewook.”

jimin doesn’t say anything for a second. then, gentler: “not for much longer.”

you want to believe her….you really do.

minjeong coughs something that sounds like kiss her already and ningning groans dramatically.

she leans in to kiss you.

she tastes like mint and whatever tea she was drinking before you arrived. she doesn’t rush it. just holds your face like you’re something she’s still learning how to be gentle with.

you don’t realise your eyes are closed until she pulls back.

when you open them, minjeong’s holding up a pretend veil with one of jimin’s t-shirts, and ningning’s got her phone out like she’s documenting the whole thing.

“congrats on the engagement,” ningning smiles.

“don’t forget to invite us to the divorce.”

you roll your eyes, but your throat is tight. your laugh doesn’t land quite right.

jimin squeezes your hand but you’re not ready.

she stands first, offers you her hand.

you take it and follow her out, the door clicking shut behind you, too quiet for how loud your heart’s beating. she mumbles something like ‘get out of my room’ to the girls and all they do is laugh.

there’s a black rolls royce already pulling up to the curb when you step out; your throat closes. it glides to a stop so silently it feels rehearsed — as if the car has been choreographed to arrive exactly here, now, like a scene out of a film you’re not supposed to be in.

your first thought is that it’s blocking traffic. your second is: oh. it’s for us.

the driver steps out, immaculate in a pressed grey uniform. he rounds the car slowly, opens the door like he’s done this for a hundred different people, none of whom have ever had to stop themselves from visibly flinching.

jimin, of course, doesn’t react.

she simply squeezes your hand and murmurs, “one of dad’s cars.”

and that should be funny. and casual. but it lands like a stone in your chest.

the leather seats are too soft, even. you sit stiffly, unsure of what to do with your legs. she settles beside you, reaching for your hand again as if it’s second nature.

perhaps it is for her. maybe pretending she’s always allowed to touch you comes easier than the truth. you feel the car begin to move, the world outside drifting quietly by.

for a moment, it’s quiet between you.

then, because you can’t not ask, your voice slips in, barely above the low hum of the road: “what did you tell them?”

she blinks, turns to look at you, her expression unreadable. “my parents?”

you nod. “yeah.”

she exhales, presses her thumb into your knuckles. “i told them you’re a friend. someone i met recently. someone…special in my life.”

you look down at her hand in yours.

not girlfriend. not partner. and definitely not the girl i love. just special.

you breathe in through your nose. “what about jaewook?”

there’s a pause; you can almost hear the low thrum of traffic through the double-glazed windows. her fingers tighten slightly.

“don’t bring him up tonight,” she answers in a pleading tone.

you glance at her, but she’s already turned away, staring out the window. not cold, something like distant.

your chest aches with something you can’t name. it’s a deep, slow burn — like you’re being hollowed out in pieces.

she clears her throat softly. “what are your plans for the break?”

the change in topic is obvious, but you let it happen.

“working,” you answer. “studying.”

she hums. “you should come away with me.”

you blink. “what?”

“just for a few days. somewhere quiet,” she turns back to you, her eyes softer now. “we could get out of the city. clear our heads.”

you hesitate because you don’t know what that would mean. what you’d be. what she’d allow herself to be.

“depends,” you finally reply.