#asa x reader

A white towel. Tucked under her arms, barely secure, showing way too much leg and the curve of her shoulders. She's dripping—fully dripping—water pooling on your doormat. Her hair is soaked, and there's shampoo suds sliding down the side of her face.

"My water's out," she says, like this is completely normal. Like she's not standing there practically naked. "Can I use your shower?"

You open your mouth. Close it. Your brain is trying to process several things at once and failing spectacularly. You're pretty sure you're doing a damn convincing cosplay of a fish out of water.

"I—what?"

"Water. Out." She tilts her head and more shampoo slides down toward her eye. She squints, annoyed. "Middle of washing my hair. Building maintenance isn't answering. So can I use your shower or not?"

"Oh. Uh. Yeah, of course, I just—"

She's already walking past you into your apartment before you even finish the sentence. Just strides right in, leaving wet footprints on your floor, completely unbothered by the fact that she's in a towel in her neighbor's apartment.

You close the door slowly, still trying to catch up to what's happening, decidedly looking anywhere besides your neighbor's… very attractive legs… 

Stop being a pervert.

"You live alone, right?" she asks, glancing around. Her eyes land on the pile of dishes in the sink, the controller on the couch, and the bag of chips you left open on the coffee table.

"Yeah."

I can tell, her eyes say.

"Good." She spots the hallway leading to what she correctly assumes is the bathroom. "That way?"

The fuck does 'good' mean?

"Yeah, second door, but—"

She's already heading that direction. You follow, because what else are you supposed to do? 

She stops at the bathroom door, hand on the handle.

"Towels?" she asks.

"Uh, cabinet under the sink. But you already have—"

"This one's wet." She says it like you're being slow on purpose. "I'll need a dry one after."

"Right. Yeah. That makes sense."

There's shampoo dripping dangerously close to her eye now and she wipes at it with the back of her hand, still holding the towel secure with the other. "You got conditioner?"

"I... don't think so?"

She looks at you like you've just admitted you don't own furniture. "What do you mean you don't think so?"

"I use, uh, the three-in-one—"

"Oh my god." She laughs and shakes her head. "Of course you do. Whatever, I'll survive. Thanks for this, by the way."

And then she's in your bathroom, door closing behind her, and you're standing in the hallway trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

The water starts running and you're still standing there like an idiot.

You force yourself to walk back to the living room. You sit back down on the couch. Pick up the controller. Stare at the screen without actually seeing it.

There's a girl in your shower. A naked girl. Not even just a naked girl.

It's Asa. Your hot neighbor who you've exchanged maybe twenty-four words with total. Who you've definitely noticed in the hallway, in the elevator, that one time she was getting her mail in running shorts. And now she's naked in your bathroom, using your terrible 3-in-1 soap, probably judging every aspect of your life.

You unpause the game and die instantly because you're not paying attention. The water is still running and you're trying so very hard not to think about what's happening not even ten feet away.

"Hey!" Her voice cuts through the sound of the shower.

You duck and nearly drop the controller. "Yeah?"

"Your water pressure is amazing!"

"Oh. Uh. Thanks?"

What the fuck are you supposed to say to that?

"Way better than mine!" she continues, and you can hear the smile in her voice. She's genuinely enjoying this. "I might have to come over every time!"

She's joking. Probably joking. You hope she's joking because your brain cannot handle the thought of this becoming a regular thing.

The water runs for another few minutes. You're hyperaware of every sound - the shower shutting off, the cabinet opening (she's getting one of the towels), the bathroom door unlocking.

"Hey, do you have a—"

She opens the door and leans out, and your brain short-circuits for the second time today because she's wrapped in your towel now. Your dark blue towel that's way too big for her, tucked under her arms, her shoulders and collarbones still wet.

"—hair dryer?" she finishes.

You blink at her stupidly. "Huh?"

"Hair dryer. Do you have one?"

"Why would I have a hair dryer?"

She looks at your admittedly short hair, then nods like that's fair. "Right. Okay. I'll just..." She gestures vaguely at her wet hair.

"I have, uh..." You try to think. "A towel? Another towel?"

"That's fine. I'll just air dry." She steps fully out of the bathroom now, padding barefoot across your floor, leaving little wet footprints. "You mind if I wait a bit? I don't want to go back to my place like this."

"No, yeah, that's fine. Totally fine."

She settles onto the other end of your couch, tucking her legs under her, completely at ease in your towel in your apartment. You're still holding the controller, game paused, trying to figure out where to look that isn't directly at her.

"You can keep playing," she says, nodding at the screen. "I'll just sit here."

"Right. Yeah." You unpause and die immediately again.

She laughs. "You're terrible at this."

"I'm distracted."

"By what?" There's something in her voice that makes you look at her, and she's got this expression on her face that's not quite innocent. Like she knows exactly what she's doing. She tilts her head.

"By... the current situation."

"What situation?" She's absolutely fucking with you now. "I'm just sitting here."

"You're sitting here in a towel."

"Would you prefer I wasn't in a towel?" She grins slyly. "Because I can work with that."

Your brain stops functioning.

She shifts on the couch. Or at least you think she does—you're trying so hard not to stare at where the towel is tucked that you don't notice her getting closer until suddenly she's right there. Not on her end of the couch anymore. Right next to you, her thigh almost touching yours.

"You know," she says, and her voice has dropped lower, "I've been thinking."

"About what?"

"About how we live on the same floor." She leans in slightly. You can smell your body wash on her skin. "Same building. Same floor. Same water line."

Your eyes flick to hers. She's got this look on her face—amused, knowing.

"So if my water's out..." she continues, a shit-eating grin forming on her face. "Why isn't yours?"

Oh.

Oh.

"You—"

"There we go," she says, and then she's climbing into your lap.

The controller falls to the floor. Your hands automatically go to her waist—to steady her, to stop her, you're not sure—but she's already settling her thighs on either side of yours, towel riding up dangerously high.

"Is this okay?" she asks, but she's already leaning in.

"Yeah," you manage hoarsely. "Yeah, that's—"

She kisses you before you can finish. Her lips are soft and she tastes like your toothpaste (she used your toothbrush? Jesus). Then her hands are in your hair and you're kissing her back before your brain even has the chance to catch up.

She makes this little pleased sound against your mouth, pressing closer. The towel is the only thing between you and you can feel the heat of her through your sweatpants. Your hands tighten on her waist and she grinds down slightly, testing.

You groan into her mouth and she pulls back just enough to grin at you.

"Thought so," she says cheekily. 

Then she's kissing you again, harder this time. Her tongue slides against yours and her hips roll forward, grinding against the bulge in your sweatpants. You're already getting hard and she can definitely feel it.

"Asa—" you start, but she catches your bottom lip gently, tugging at it with her teeth and whatever you were going to say disappears.

Her hands slide down from your hair to your shoulders, then lower, fingers curling in your shirt. "Off," she murmurs against your mouth.

You help her pull it off, and then her hands are on your chest, tracing the lines of muscle. She pulls back to look at you properly, appreciation clear in her eyes.

"Not bad," she says.

"Thanks, I guess?"

She laughs, then kisses you again. This time when she grinds down you thrust up to meet her and she gasps, breaking the kiss.

"Bedroom?" you suggest.

"Not yet." Her hands go to the towel tucked at her chest. "I want you to touch me first."

She pulls the towel loose and it falls away.

Fuck.

You've thought about this—of course you've thought about this, she's gorgeous and lives twenty feet away—but imagination doesn't even come close to reality. She's right here in your lap, completely naked, skin still slightly damp from the shower.

Your hands move without conscious thought, sliding up her sides to cup her breasts. She arches into the touch, head falling back.

"Mmph~ yes," she breathes. "Like that."

You thumb over her nipples and they harden under your touch. She rocks her hips against you again, more deliberately now, and you can feel the heat of her even through your sweatpants.

Wait. Why should you just sit here and let her control everything?

The thought clicks something into place. Your hands tighten on her waist and you stand up in one smooth motion, taking her with you. She yelps in surprise, legs wrapping around your waist instinctively.

"What are you—"

You set her down on the couch, on her back, and settle between her spread thighs. "My turn," you say.

Her eyes widen slightly, then darken. "Okay then."

You kiss down her neck, her collarbone, taking your time. She's squirming under you, impatient, but you ignore it. Kiss between her breasts, down her stomach, lower.

"Oh fuck," she breathes when she realizes what you're about to do.

You kiss the inside of her thigh, then the other one, deliberately avoiding where she wants you. She makes a frustrated sound.

"Stop teasing, you fu—"

You lick up through her folds and she chokes on whatever she was going to say. She's already wet, and the taste of her makes you groan even louder than she does. You do it again, slower this time, and her hips jerk up.

"Ahhn~ fuck—yes—"

You find her clit with your tongue, circling it, and her hands fly to your hair. She's making these breathy little sounds, "ah—ah—" every time you hit the right spot.

"Right there," she pants. "Don't stop, please don't stop—"

You slide two fingers into her while you work her clit with your tongue and she practically sobs. She's tight around your fingers, already clenching, and when you curl them to hit that spot inside her she cries out.

"Oh god—nngh—oh fuck—I'm—"

She cums with a sharp gasp, thighs clamping around your head, pussy pulsing around your fingers. You work her through it until she's pushing at your head, oversensitive.

When you pull back she's sprawled on your couch, chest heaving, looking so very wrecked.

"Holy shit," she mumbles.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, a wide smile on your face. "Bedroom now?"

"Yes. Fuck yes." She sits up, then notices the bulge straining against your sweatpants. "But first—"

She drops to her knees on the floor and your brain short-circuits for the third time today.

"Asa, you don't have to—"

"I want to." She hooks her fingers in your waistband and pulls your sweatpants down. Your cock springs free—you weren't wearing boxers—and her eyes go wide. "Oh. Okay. That's..."

"What?"

"Nothing." But she's grinning as she wraps her hand around you. "No complaints here."

Then she leans forward and takes you in her mouth.

"Ohhhh fuck—"

She can't take all of you—you're too big—but what she does take feels incredible. Her tongue works the underside while her hand strokes what doesn't fit, and you have to brace yourself against the back of the couch to stay upright.

She pulls off with a wet pop, looking up at you with those big eyes. "Good?"

"You know it's good."

She smirks at that, then takes you back in her mouth, deeper this time. You can feel yourself hitting the back of her throat and she moans around you, the vibration making your hips jerk.

"Asa—fuck—if you keep doing that I'm gonna—"

She doubles down, sucking harder, and you have to physically pull her off before you lose it.

"What's wrong? Gonna blow a load down my throat already?" She pouts.

"Bedroom," you say roughly. "Now. Before I pump everything I have into that mouth of yours."

"Promise we can try that next time?"

Next time. Fuck.

"Yeah. Promise."

You pull her up and kiss her hard, tasting yourself on her lips. Then you're half-walking, half-stumbling to the bedroom, stopping every few steps because you can't stop kissing her.

You get her to the bed and she climbs on, crawling backward, completely unselfconscious in her nakedness. You strip off your sweatpants the rest of the way and follow her.

"How do you want me?" she asks.

"On your back. Want to see your face."

She grins and lies back, spreading her legs. You settle between them, lining yourself up, and pause.

"You sure about this?"

"If you don't fuck me in the next ten seconds I'm going to lose my mind," she says flatly.

Good enough.

You push inside slowly. She's tight—so very tight—and you have to go slow or you'll hurt her. She's making these little whimpering sounds, "oh—oh god—you're so big—"

You're halfway in and you pause, letting her adjust. She's trembling, stretched around you, and you lean down to kiss her.

"You okay?"

"Very okay. Keep going."

You push in the rest of the way and she moans, nails digging into your shoulders. Fully seated inside her, you have to stay still for a second or you're going to lose it immediately.

"Move," she pants. "Please move."

You start with slow, deep thrusts. She's so wet that the slide is easy, and the sounds are obscene—slick and dirty. She's moaning with every thrust, "yes—fuck—yes—"

"Harder?" you ask.

"Harder."

You give her what she wants. Snap your hips forward, really driving into her, and she nearly screams. Her legs wrap around your waist, heels digging into your ass.

"There—right there—mmph—oh fuck—"

You can feel her getting tighter, clenching around you rhythmically. She's close again.

"Touch yourself," you tell her. "Want to feel you cum on my cock."

Her hand flies between you, fingers working her clit, and within seconds she's cumming. Her pussy clamps down on you like a vice and you have to stop moving or you'll follow her over the edge.

"Oh my god—oh fuck—" She's shaking through it, eyes squeezed shut.

When she finally goes limp you pull out and flip her over.

"Ass up," you tell her.

She scrambles to comply, getting on her hands and knees, presenting herself to you. The view is incredible—her ass displayed, her pussy glistening and swollen from being fucked.

You line yourself up and push back in, and from this angle you go even deeper. She moans into the pillow, back arching.

"Fuck—yes—"

You grab her hips and really fuck her now. Hard, fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. She's moaning continuously, "ah—ah—ah—" with each thrust, and you can feel your orgasm building.

"I'm close," you warn her.

"Inside," she gasps. "Cum inside me—"

"Asa—"

"Please—wanna feel it—"

You reach around to rub her clit and she screams into the pillow, gripping your sheets, cumming again. Her pussy spasms around your cock and that's it—you're done. Your orgasm slams into you and you bury yourself deep, cumming hard, filling her up.

"Fuck—fuck—Asa—"

You can feel yourself pulsing inside her, pumping her full, and she's moaning at the sensation. When you finally stop you collapse on top of her, both of you breathing hard.

After a long moment, she speaks.

"So," she says, voice still muffled by the pillow. "Same time next week when my water mysteriously stops working again?"

Seriously, you just want to fit in with the Gen Z. Sneakers to meetings instead of dress shoes, or that you’d rather win a deal over a poker table than through bloodshed (Brain over brawn, as you dubbed). Or…rob them suckers in broad daylight by getting too fucking good at making even your enemies cackled at your 174th rendition of your Dad jokes. Either way, the underworld doesn't quite know what to make of you — an heir of a gangster family who grin too much, joke too often, and somehow still had half the city under your thumb with what you promptly called "business senses".

“Boss, you can’t keep calling blackmail ‘mad rep,’” your right-hand man groans as you both step out of the backroom of the casino. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap perfume (home, sweet home).

You brush a bit of ash off your sleeve. “Why not? Sounds more professional. Classier. Like something I can put on my LinkedIn.”

He sighs. “…You threatened to release a video of the guy cheating on his wife.”

You grinned. “Exactly. That’s high-stakes negotiation. Will be my first line in my bio.”

The rest of your crew wait by the cars outside — black suits, too much gel, and enough bad jokes to make the cops quit their job out of secondhand embarrassment. One of your underlings nod, half-impressed, half-concerned as he follows you from behind. “You really are unorthodox, boss.”

“That’s one word for it,” you said, stretching. “I prefer…unpredictable.”

Because that is your thing. You don't rule with terror or tradition. Leverage is how you roll — those that make rival bosses sweat in their suits the moment you mention the files. (Wait, you're basically the loan shark. Huh. That sounds less impressive now saying that out loud.) The point is that you always had something on someone — the mayor, the port inspectors, the CEO of Lottemart, even that one police chief who thought he was untouchable. Your web of blackmail keeps everyone dancing on the palm of your hand. Every other gang in the city either hates you or owes you. Sometimes both.

One of your guys flicked his toothpick and said, “Boss, word on the street says the Enami clan aren't happy about us taking the port deal.”

You tilt your head. “The Enami? The traditional ones? You mean the boomers who still bow before slicing someone?”

“They’re saying they’re gonna ‘teach us respect,’ if we keep going to be rowdy.” another added, air-quoting the phrase.

“Respect’s earned, not taught,” you mutter, lighting a cigarette. “Besides, I’ve got enough insurance on half the gangs in this city. They won’t risk a war.”

“Yeah, but boss, they’re not like the others,” he said. “Old-school type shyt. Tight discipline. No leaks. They don’t play dirty like we do.”

“Hey, don’t say we play dirty, dummy.” You exhaled a plume of smoke and smirked. “But they are really stinky boomers.”

Truth is, the Enami Clan is really something. Old money, old rules. They are the kind that still bowed before portraits of their ancestors and treated “honour” like currency. No gambling, no shady trades, no jokes (or none that you and the gang can really trace off, they totally have graveyard jokes). Just clean-cut precision, discipline, and ruthlessness.

And then the supposed daughter. Or mysterious, whatever works. You never see her before, only heard stories. How she once fought off a dozen armed men during an ambush and left the last one crawling back to deliver a message: “Try again, and I’ll aim for your throat next time.”

A little dramatic, sure. But she is Enami blood through and through. Living up to the clan name. According to words on the street, you heard.

And uh…you have crossed paths with her men plenty of times. You clashed, sometimes violently, but never fatally (yet). There was always this silent line neither side dared to cross. You don't go directly after her, and neither is she.

It worked….well, until tonight.

You don't arrive home until midnight, still humming from the adrenaline of the day’s deals, when you notice the unfamiliar cars lined up outside the estate. Black. Polished. Not something that you associate yourself with. 

“Young master?” your butler calls from the hall. “Your father’s in the dining room. He’s... entertaining guests.”

“Guests?” you echo, loosening your tie. “Since when does he entertain anyone who doesn’t owe him money?”

The butler doesn't answer — just look pale, which is never a good sign. So you just dismiss him for the night (for his own good). Kicking off your shoes, you loosen your tie, and halfway through debating if you had the energy to shower when you hear it. Voices. Calm. Polite. Out of place in a house that usually echoed with your boys cackling and the constant curse of "fuck" from your old man.

You followed the sound down the hallway and stopped just shy of the dining room. And there they were.

Your father sat at the head of the table, back straight, expression unreadable (very different from his usual laidback self). Across from him—a man in a crisp black yukata, posture perfect, aura colder than the grave. His hands fold neatly, movements deliberate, measured. And beside him sits a girl. Good guesses are, around your age.

You notice her eyes first — dark, steady, and completely unimpressed by your existence. Her hair frames her face in sharp, clean lines; her kimono is immaculate, not a wrinkle in sight. Everything about her screams discipline and control, right down to the way she barely blinked when you stepped in.

You clear your throat. “Wow. Didn’t know we were doing a period drama.”

Your father’s gaze flicks up. “You’re late.”

“You say that like it’s not my defining trait, Dad.”

He ignores you, gesturing to the empty chair across from the girl. “Sit.”

You hesitate, glancing between the strangers. “Jeez, you could at least tell me who I’m sitting with before I get scolded again.” Still, you obey, partly because you respect him, and partly because the last time you ignored that tone, you end up cleaning blood off the floor for three hours.

The older man spoke first — his voice deep, controlled, with a faint edge of authority that made your instincts straighten. “You must be his son.”

You flashed a grin. “Well, where are my manners? Good evening to you, sir. And you are…?”

He doesn't answer immediately, potentially trying to measure what kind of trouble you were in. You give him a playful bow in return, because really, who didn’t love a little mischief in the house?

Then your father leaned back, steepling his fingers. “You’re both aware of the… tension between our groups.”

You tilted your head. “You mean the nerf war?”

The older man’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

Your father sighs. “As much as I enjoyed the passionate young blood, it’s gone too far. And we think there is only one way to stop it.”

You laugh under your breath. “Please don’t say marriage. Every time someone says that in a movie, it always go shit at the end.”

Neither side breaks even a chuckle.

You blinked. “...Wait.”

“You’re going to marry her.” “I’m sorry, what the fuck?”

He continued like he didn’t just throw a grenade into the room. “The groups need peace. Everyone needs peace. And there’s no better symbol of unity than between you, our children. You’ll court her properly. Publicly.”

You turn to the girl, who was still staring at you with the same flat and surgical calm. “No offense, but are we both hearing this shit correctly?”

She tilts her head slightly. “Unfortunately.”

“Well, that’s comforting.” You lean back in your chair, smirking despite the chaos in your head. “Guess this makes us… allies?”

“You talk too much.” “And you glare too much, I guess that’s equilibrium.”

Your father pinches the bridge of his nose. “Enough. You’ll be seeing more of each other from now on. Learn to get along.”

You raise a brow, turning to the girl again. “Well, I’m gonna need your name before I start practicing my couple introductions.”

She finally spoke, voice calm and quiet, but sharp enough to leave a mark. “Asa. Enami Asa.”

You blinked once. Twice. So this is her. Ah…

The air between you two suddenly gets heavy, even the sound of a chair creaking feels like a gun cocking. Asa sat perfectly still, posture sharp, her eyes trained on the steaming cup of tea in front of her. You aren't sure if she was trying to calm herself or calculate how fast she could stab you with the spoon.

Anyway, your hand is already reaching for the gun holstered under your jacket. “Ah….just saying, your men started this.” 

She shoots you a glare that could have sliced steel. As expected, her hand is already on her katana. “Mine don’t act without orders.”

“Yeah? Then maybe you should check your communication, missy.”

“You’re not funny.” “Funny’s how I cope with being blamed for your fucking mess.”

And that was it. That was the spark. Both of you squared up, tension sharp enough to make the air crackle. You could see her hand twitch near the hilt of her blade. Yours flexed around the grip of your gun. The distance between you shrinks, hard to tell whether you were about to kill each other or kiss just to end the argument. (If you two kiss, then that will be too short of a read.)

Then, from outside, a gunshot rang out. The noise snapped both your heads toward the door. Shouts followed — names, threats, the distinct crack of glass and metal colliding. Yay, plot continues. 

Immediately, you bolt for the courtyard, and Asa right behind you. "Goddamn it, these fuckwits."

Outside, chaos has erupted (as both of you suspected). Men from your side and hers are at each other’s throats, fists flying, blades flashing, gun barrels gleaming under the neon haze. The shouts blended into a single roar. Anger, confusion, loyalty. All tangled together.

One of your men yells, “Boss! They’ve taken you hostage!”

“I’m right here! You dipshit!”

At the same time, Asa’s lieutenant shouts, “Miss Asa! Are you alright?”

“Do I look kidnapped to you?”

Neither side listens. The fight grows exponentially, the noise rising, and for a second you feel the weight of everything snapping simultaneously. So you did the first thing that came naturally — that being raising your gun and firing one clean shot into the air. The echo booms through the courtyard, cutting through the chaos like a whip. Every head turned.

And beside you, Asa drew her katana — the blade catching the light as it hisses out of its sheath. The sound alone makes both sides freeze.

“Oi, fuckwits! Put. The. Weapons. Down.”

Asa stepped forward beside you, her presence commanding in a way that even made your own men hesitate. “If anyone moves,” she said coldly, “I’ll consider it treason.”

The crowd freezes, leaving only the gushing sound of the wind past the cherry trees lining the courtyard.

You holster your gun, turning to your men with a strained smile. “Now that I’ve got your attention, let’s clear up a few things.” You clap your hands together. “Nobody’s kidnapped, nobody’s captured, and nobody’s dying tonight.”

Asa crosses her arms. “What he said.”

The shock that rippled through both sides is almost funny. You feel every pair of eyes flicking between the two of you, confused and tense (which is fair).

And then, because apparently your life wasn’t absurd enough, the words escape your mouth before you can stop it. “Also, a small announcement while I have everyone's attention,” You glanced at Asa. “uh….We’re married.”

Asa gives you a sideways glance that could’ve killed a lesser man. “…Unfortunate as that may be,” she mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s true.”

Gasps spread through both sides like a wave.

“The hell you mean wife?!” one of your men blurts out, looking scandalized.

“It’s true,” a calm, commanding voice confirmed from behind was your father, standing with Asa’s. The two old men exchange knowing looks, clearly proud of this ridiculous plan they hatched. "We approved their marriage."

You sigh as you turn back to the sea of confused faces and add, “So yeah, you can all stop trying to kill my wife now.”

For a few seconds, silence hung thick… until your side erupts into a chorus of cheers.

Your side, a bunch of loud, rowdy degenerates who think subtlety was a myth, cheers. “Boss got married?!” “Damn, finally!” “She’s way outta your league!” "He's buying rounds for us tonight dawg!!" "You can get laid? What?"

Meanwhile, Asa’s men bow slightly, muttering restrained congratulations like they were at a funeral. The contrast is so fucking absurd that you can't stop a small laugh from slipping out.

“Something funny?” 

“Just wondering if it’s too late to file for divorce,” 

She turns away, sliding her katana back into its sheath with a soft click. “You wouldn’t survive the paperwork.”

“Maybe not,” you admitted, holstering your gun. “But I’d die trying.”

The crowd still roared in celebration — your men drinking, hers bowing, both sides unknowingly cementing an alliance that would make them unstoppable.

And all you can think, as you look at the woman now bound to you by name and circumstance, is that peace had never felt so damn annoying.

-

It starts the morning after that deal of a lifetime. Eh… rephrase it, the curse of a lifetime.

The Enami heiress has finally moved in.

You are fresh out of your sleep and barely dragging yourself out of bed when your courtyard are crowded with the same set of black cars, their engines humming low like a threat. Men in suits flow out of them like shadows, carrying polished cases and folded kimonos wrapped in white cloth. Every motion is crisp. No wasted movement. No talking. Not even a cough. 

Your own men, bless their dumbass hearts, gather near the gate — some gawking, some whispering, one or two are half-convinced you were about to be assassinated in your pajamas (rude).

“Boss, they’re really here.”

You squint, coffee mug in hand. “Dude, you don’t say. What gave it away, the line of samurais or the death stares?”

He blinked. “The cars.”

“Ah, my big brain lads,” you sighed, scratching your neck. “Truly the backbone of this established organisation.”

You stand there barefoot, coffee mug in hand, watching the whole circus unfold like a reality show you definitely didn’t audition for. If Architectural Digest came over to film your ‘new shared home,’ you’d probably look more at ease.

And then she steps out.

Perfect posture, face calm, eyes unreadable. Not a single hair dares to move without permission. She gives your house one quiet glance, like she was measuring whether it deserved to still exist, then simply walked past you without a word.

That’s how your, um, “married life” began.

Days bleed into each other like bad coffee stains. The house, once loud and messy, now feels like someone had pressed mute.

You remember when it used to be alive — your men yelling over fried rice at 2 A.M., arguing about whether to use bleach or detergent, laughing too hard over nothing. Now they whisper like the air will chill them out. Every time she enters a room, they will be straightened up, bow, and suddenly remember how manners worked.

At dinner, she sits on one side of the long table, posture straight, barely touching her food. You sit at the other, leaning back, cracking jokes to your crew, pretending the icy atmosphere didn’t bother you.

“So,” you attempt one night, halfway through a meal, “are you allergic to talking, or is it just a family thing?”

Her chopsticks don't pause. “It’s a you thing.”

"You’re starting to sound like my dad sometimes.” “I’ll take that as an insult. Now leave me alone.”

The guys sitting nearby tried not to choke on their rice.

You don't mind her sharpness. If anything, you find it kind of fascinating, you know? It's rare to see someone looking so calm while clearly wanting to break your nose. But what you don't show was the quiet irritation bubbling under your easy grin. Because back then, her people cross paths with yours on the streets — and it is not always pretty. She’d injured some of your men before. You’d seen the scars, the stitches. They were your family, your brothers.

You never bring it up, because it will be too petty at this point. You just smiled, joked, and told yourself you’d be the adult in the room. Fine, if she wants to live like a ghost, you’ll just live around her.

So that’s what you do.

You cook, clean, keep the place running as usual whenever you don't have to go out and terrorise the world with another rendition of your Dad jokes. Make breakfast for your guys, scold them for eating too fast, then give them extra servings just in case they're still hungry, make sure everyone has clean sheets. They joke that you were more of a mother than a boss. And to be honest, you're close to a mother figure to them so you just let them say whatever.

Sometimes, her men come over, usually for bandages or food when things go south, and are definitely thrown off by seeing you in an apron while covered in flour. You treat them the same way you treated your own. They always looked startled, like kindness was some foreign language.

“Since we’re…family now, tell your little miss not to kill my guys next time,” you say to one of them once, half-smiling as you patched a cut on his arm.

He bowed awkwardly. “She… doesn’t mean to, sir.”

You snorted. “Yeah, and I don’t mean to overcook rice, but it still happens.”

It is easier that way. Easier to play nice than to sit in silence with someone who made your chest feel like a bomb waiting to go off.

Then comes that midnight.

Well, saying midnight at your house is kind of a stretch. It barely feels like night, really. The main room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a desk lamp and the faint red ember of your half-burned cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee. The papers in front of you look the same as they did an hour ago — trade reports, ledgers, call logs — all the things you tried to cram in your head while waiting for the outside to calm down.

The rest of the house is dead quiet. Your men long gone asleep, scatter around the guest rooms and couches like lazy guard dogs. Even the city outside seems to hold its breath. You like this hour when it doesn't go rowdy.  Well, ignore the gun holster half-unbuckled on your hip (just in case).

That is, until you hear the faint creak of the front door.

You glance up, expecting one of your guys sneaking in from a late-night run. But the steps that followed are slow, deliberate. Heavy with exhaustion, yet steady. You knew immediately it wasn’t one of yours.

Then she appears. Your wife-on-paper. Asa.

Her usually clean kimono? ruined. Soaks through with red, the fabric clinging to her frame. Her katana dangled loosely in one hand, its tip leaving small drops of blood along the wooden floor (damn it, it took ages to mop it all up last time). A faint cut marks her cheek, and her eyes are distant, almost empty, even.

You rise from your spot, the floor creaking under your feet. “You’re back late,”

She doesn't answer.

“Rough night?” you add, standing now with one hand still on your gun not out of fear, just habit. (Weird habit, don’t ask.)

She gives you a single glance. “Stay back.” 

You ignored it, picked up a towel from the table instead and walked toward her, slow but sure. “You’re bleeding.”

Her grip on the sword tightened. “It’s not mine.”

“Doesn’t make it look any better,” you say softly, lifting the towel.

That is when you hear it.

A sharp whistle cut through the air. The flash of steel catches the lamplight as her katana shoots upward, a cold edge kissing your throat before your brain fully catches up.

You? Flinching? Not even once.

Your gun is already up, cocked and aimed square at her chest, your finger resting on the trigger. The two of you stood apart — breaths mingling, reflections trembling on the thin surface of her blade.

Her eyes never waver. Neither are yours.

“You have a bad habit of pointing that thing at people, Enami.”  “And you have a bad habit of not listening,” 

Her eyes, cold and violet in the low light, refuses to waver. You wonder, for a brief moment, if this was how it’d end: not a war, not a deal gone wrong, but a dumb fucking misunderstanding between a "married" couple too stubborn to look away. But then…

Grrrrrrhhh. 

A low, unmistakable rumble echoed between you. It takes a second to realize it came from her. You blink. She froze, eyes flicking down as if maybe she could glare her stomach into silence.

And you? Well, you tried not to laugh. You really tried. But the twitching on your lips betrays you before your brain could stop it.

"Don’t.” “I didn’t say anything,” 

“You’re thinking about it.” “Yeah, probably.”

She glares at you, cheeks faintly pink from embarrassment. The katana lowers an inch. Well, not much, but enough for you to slide your gun back into its holster with exaggerated care.

You gesture toward the kitchen with a tilt of your head. “Come on. Before you eat someone alive.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you interrupt, already walking ahead. “You never do, big child. Man, and here I thought I'm the immature one.”

You don't have to look back to know she follows (surprisingly) — the soft scrape of her shoes against the floor was enough.

In the kitchen, you flip on the small overhead light. It buzzed weakly, casting long shadows across the tile. You set your gun on the counter, reaching for the wet towel again, and turned to her. “Sit.”

She stands there, still gripping her sword, as if the chair might explode if she touched it.

You sighed, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of her. “Fine. Stand, then. Friggin' tough crowd.”

You press the towel lightly against her cheek. She gets stiff, but doesn’t stop you. The blood comes off in dark streaks, revealing the pale skin beneath. Your hand moves carefully, slow enough that she could push you away at any second. She doesn't(phew). When you finally pull back, her face is clean again — and up close, you noticed how tired she really looked. Eyes rimmed with faint shadows, shoulders drawn tight from holding too much.

Her voice comes out quiet. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’d rather not wake up tomorrow to a starved princess in my kitchen and a blade to my chest.”

She huffs, almost a laugh, but not quite, and turns her face slightly away. “You talk too much.”

“Only when the person holding a sword to my neck earlier looks this dead.”

Her lips twitch. Just a bit, but you catch it — the tiniest hint of a smirk, like she wants to be annoyed but couldn’t help herself.

You turn around and head to the counter, cracking two eggs into a pan. The oil hissed instantly, the smell of fried yolk and soy sauce filling the air. You grab a bowl, scooped in leftover rice, tossed it all together. Quick, simple, warm — the kind of thing that grounds a person back to life. 

When you finally set the bowl down on the counter, steam curling up between you, she hesitates. “You really made this now?”

You roll your eyes. “Nah, it just materialized outta thin air. Sit, princess.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line — but she sat, picked up the chopsticks, and took a bite. Her shoulders dropped just slightly. The kind of release that happens when warmth finally reaches someone who’s been cold for too long.

You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “See? Not poisoned.”

“You really don’t know when to shut up.” “And yet, here you are, eating my food, bleeding on my floor. Still. Imma have to spend the whole day tomorrow mopping it.”

“Shut up. I'll bring someone over to do it.” “You better.”

You watch her eat in silence, her movements small but methodical, like she was trying not to enjoy it. The blood on her blade has dried by now, but the air feels…lighter. Not peace, exactly — just… less uhh…bloody. But it's more fascinating when you catch it — that small shift in her expression when she thought you weren’t looking. Her brows unfurrow, her lips curved slightly, and her foot tapped against the counter rhythmically.

When she catches you watching, she immediately straightens up, scowling. “What?”

“Nothing,” you turn away with a smirk. “Just realizing I should’ve made two bowls.”

“Too bad,” she mutters, snatching the last spoonful with an annoying kind of satisfaction.

And for the first time since she’d moved in, maybe since the marriage itself, the house is not as cold and shivering as back when she first moved in. Just… alive.

-

Things get strange as fuck a month later or two. One word: Domestic. Somehow it spreads outside of your household.

The room smells like expensive whiskey, cheap cologne, and a fuck ton of bad decisions. A long table separates you from another gang. The polished wood reflects the dim chandelier light so hard people will think this is a respectable meeting. 

(It is fucking not.)

"Let's not waste anymore time, my guy." You spin a card between your fingers. "You can have the port route, but I get 90% of the cut and access whenever I want."

The rival boss (understandably) frowns. "What the fuck? You're basically robbing us!"

"Oh wow, you realise it so fast! Good work, champ."

A few of your guys snickered behind you. One of them whispers, “Boss is in a good mood today.”

"Dude, boss, always in a good mood."

The rival boss leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “You’re asking for too much.”

“And you’re hiding too much,” you shot back instantly.

Yep, that shuts his antics, alright. You just let him marinate the situation. Then, to put salt into his wound, you casually reached into your jacket and slid a thin envelope across the table. It stopped right in front of him.

"The fuck is this?" "Open it, my guy. A little bribe to you."

He opens it, and it is definitely not a bribe (lol). His expression is satisfying to watch - a tightening of the jaw, the vein pop on his forehead. But he can't do shit. And that energy channels to the rest of his "little" gang.

"Page 11's my favourite, by the way. About your little…fun."

He freezes as soon as he flips to that page. "Where…where did you…?"

"I have my source."

"It's fabricated." "Sure, then I'll leak it. You don't mind right?"

Silence again. He stares at you, weighing other possible options that don't exist. You lean forward slightly. “Ok, look, I’m not here to ruin your life. I’m here to make a deal. You get to keep your operation. I get my cut. Everyone goes home happy.”

A pause, before you add casually. "And please make up your mind quickly and wrap this up. My wife's waiting."

Well that is a shift, alright. So sudden that everyone blinked, even the terrified boss. "Your…wife? Are you married?"

"Yep. Terrifying woman. Sharp blade enthusiast. Not someone I’d make them keep waiting.”

One of your guys coughs to hide a laugh. Another just straight-up fails and snorts. "The boss has priorities now." Someone else mutters.

"Shush, you lot."

The rival boss stares at you like he tries to figure out if this was a bluff. It is. But it also kind of is not.

"You're kidding." "Nope. So can you just deal?"

"…Fine."

You don't even let him finish. You stand up immediately and clap your hands once. “Great talk. Love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Wait—shouldn’t we finalize—”

“You’ve got my guy for that,” you said, already grabbing your coat. “He loves paperwork. Don’t you?”

"Wait, boss, the fu—" "You do now."

Your men try their best to contain their giggles as you walk out like you haven't just strong-armed a deal in under 10 minutes. “The boss really said ‘my wife is waiting’ and ended the negotiation,” “Man’s gone soft.” "Boss, please go buy flowers for Lady Boss when you get home."

You flip them off.

-

By the time you arrive home, the sky has sunk into the deep and quiet blue. You step through the gates, rolling your shoulders to let off all the stress, already tugging your tie loose. And it seems like the boys have it rough too — some groans, some sigh, and some groans a second time. 

You slip off your shoes, and then a click. The front door slides open behind you.

Huh, Asa is here.

Standing in the doorway like she has been cut straight out of the night. Not drenched in blood this time, thank fucking god, but not exactly untouched either — slightly uneven sleeves, a faint crease where there shouldn't be one, a few strands of hair escape and rest against her (puffy) cheeks.

"You're early." She says.

'You're early too."

'Well…I live here." “Funny. So do I.”

…The silence stretches just long enough to get awkward. And then…a very poorly hidden snicker comes from one of those fuckwits. You both turn at the same time, and of course, they are absolutely eavesdropping. One of them duck behind the couch like that would save him. It doesn't.

"Can you all just go wash up?"

"Sorry boss," one of them says, grinning shamelessly. “Watching our boss come home early for his wife is more entertaining.”

“You wanna keep that attitude, or you wanna keep your kneecaps, dude?”

"Boss, you love us too much to do that."

Behind Asa, her men stayed behind like statues…until one of them cleared his throat.

“…Lady Asa also concluded her duties ahead of schedule,” “…She prioritised returning. With haste.”

Her head turns just slightly. "That's enough."

It's subtle, but you somehow catch the red hue on her cheeks. She's…embarrassed? Your stone cold wife-on-paper?

"Damn, rush home for me?" "Don't be absurd."

"Mhm. What a coincidence, then." "It is not a coincidence."

You walk in together…well, try to. Ok, just imagine the scene straight out of a romcom - a very awkward one. You both step forward at the same time towards the hallway. Pause. Adjust. Then step again. Pause again. Cha cha real smooth.

"You go first, Asa."

"No, you." "Please, lady first."

"I don't need your courtesy." "Well I wasn't offering much."

And the audience (your boys) is groaning. “Oh my god.” “This is painful.” “I’ve seen middle schoolers with more games.” "Why is our boss so embarrassing…"

"I can still hear you, you lot." "We know."

Beside you, Asa exhales, a mix of irritation and resignation that this is her household now. You glance at her, and she glances back. And…both of you away immediately.

"I'll go prep dinner." "…Fine."

You take a few steps and….

"…make me more…" 

You immediately turn back. "What now?"

"You heard me." "Nuh uh, I have loose brains. Please say again, my dear ... wife." Never know one word can make you both cringe and embarrass at the same time.

"…Fine. Give me more." Asa sighs. "Happy?"

"Yeah, yeah."

And of course, the audience gossips. Firstly, from your side: “She said make enough.” “That’s basically a love confession.” Then, her side: “…This is… unexpectedly normal.” "Hope she will get a lot."

"Why are both our sides so nosy…" "You tell me…husband."

if you’d have asked your childhood self where you’d be in your twenties, you never in a million years would have expected this.

your knee bounced up and down, restless against the pleated fabric of the le sserafim dorm couch. across from you, chaewon watched in silence, her stare steady and unreadable. it wasn’t disappointment. it wasn’t frustration. it wasn’t pity either. whatever it was sat heavy between the two of you, stretching out the quiet until it felt suffocating. she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, unmoving behind the coffee table, her lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back words she didn’t want to say yet. her voice cut through the stillness, sharp and persistent.

"when did it all start?"

the question echoed inside your head like a bell that refused to stop ringing. you knew exactly what she meant, but the weight sitting in your chest made it impossible to speak the truth. shame curled in your stomach, anchoring you to the couch.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about." you lied, eyes darting anywhere but at her. the words came out dry and sharp, like something sour you had no choice but to swallow.

chaewon shook her head, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips before she finally stepped around the coffee table and lowered herself onto the couch beside you. with the distance gone, you had no choice but to meet her eyes. her face was drawn tight with concern, but beneath it was something softer, something like confusion that she couldn’t quite mask. she didn’t let up.

"y/n, don’t play stupid with me now. why are you so reluctant to talk to me?" her voice dropped, softer this time, almost unsure. "when have i ever made you feel like you can’t?" 

the vulnerability in her voice was all it took for everything to finally crack open. the frustration that had been building inside you surged forward, breaking free as sobs shook through your body. you lurched forward and felt her arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you into the safety of her shoulder. you cried harder than you had in years, not since you were fourteen and your parents sat you down to tell you your beloved pet was gone. but this sadness was different. it felt like grief that hollowed you out, like something inside you had splintered and left you struggling to hold the pieces together. part of you was thankful the dorm was empty, the other members busy preparing for the upcoming ‘different’ comeback. you weren’t sure you could handle their quiet concern or the weight of their sympathetic stares.

"i’m sorry, chae," you mumbled through your sobs, your arms tightening around her waist as if afraid to let go.

"hey, no, no, why are you apologizing to me?" chaewon’s brows pulled together in concern, her voice soft and steady as she instinctively began to rock you back and forth. her hand found the small of your back, drawing slow, soothing circles, trying to ease the tremors still rolling through your body.

"i made a mistake," you choked out, barely louder than a whisper. the words clung to your throat like they didn’t want to leave, heavy and sharp, weighed down by the shame you could no longer suppress.

chaewon’s arms tightened around you, anchoring you to her warmth. she didn’t say anything right away, giving you space to breathe, to find your footing. when she finally spoke, her voice was even softer than before. 

“talk to me," she coaxed, patient and careful, like she was afraid to push too hard but needed you to know she was right there, ready to catch whatever you couldn’t hold on to anymore.

you took a deep breath, letting it rattle through your lungs as you tried to gather the courage. the words sat heavy in your chest, but there was no turning back now. finally, you spoke.

“it started when we met.”

__

past

the energy backstage hummed like a slow building current, thick with hairspray, heat, and the collective nerves of idols pacing polished floors in their stage outfits. someone from the sound crew was yelling into a walkie, his voice half swallowed by the bass leaking from the main stage monitors. across the corridor, makeup artists huddled near mirrors, adjusting stray strands and patting down foreheads, while stylists crouched on the floor, arms filled with lint rollers and spare in-ears. you were standing with the rest of le sserafim near the waiting area, makeup carved sharp to match the mood of the performance and a dark brown trench coat tight around your frame to combat the arena's cold conditioned air. you were set to go on after txt and just before illit, the kind of lineup that kept your stomach in knots no matter how many stages you’d done.

no matter how many times you’d been here before, performing in front of fans at music bank, the nerves never seemed to completely fray. 

you’d rehearsed ‘hot’ until your joints felt fused with muscle memory, the choreography living in your spine even when the music wasn’t playing. still, the thought of the audience made your breath catch in the back of your throat. fans, seniors, label staff, cameras broadcasting to god knows how many countries. it was so numbingly daunting. especially considering it was your first performance back from a hiatus.

chaewon was beside you, quietly mouthing the chorus under her breath, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket like she was trying to keep every last ounce of warmth close. kazuha stood a little apart from the group, leaning against the wall with one heel pressed to the baseboard, head tilted like she was listening to something no one else could hear. yunjin adjusted her belt with a short sigh, chewing at the inside of her cheek. eunchae held her water bottle like a lifeline, wide-eyed as she stared at the screen above the hallway showing the live feed from inside the venue.

you stayed still. part of you wanted to stretch again, or check your reflection in one of the handheld mirrors scattered across the benches, but your body didn’t move. the adrenaline had started to creep in already, making your pulse feel a beat too fast under your skin.

chaewon leaned in just slightly, her shoulder brushing yours as she glanced down the hallway.

“you okay?” she asked under her breath, voice low enough to disappear under the buzz of staff calls and monitor feedback. she didn’t look at you directly when she said it, but you could feel her watching anyway.

you nodded once, too fast to be convincing. “yeah. just cold.”

she huffed a soft laugh, barely audible. “you always say that when you're about to freak out.”

you cracked a smile, or tried to. your face didn’t quite cooperate.

“how’s your leg?” she added, quieter now.

you shifted your weight subtly, the movement instinctive. it didn’t hurt, not exactly. not anymore. not in the way it did when you first fell wrong during rehearsal, when the whole room had gone sideways with pain and panic, or in the weeks after when even watching the others practice felt like swallowing glass. but you still felt it, like a ghost in the muscle.

“it’s fine,” you said. “tight. but fine.”

chaewon finally looked at you then, head tilting the slightest bit. “don’t push it.”

you nodded again, this time slower. “i won’t.”

the injury had pulled you off the last cycle of promotions, and even though everyone was supportive, there was a quiet pressure in your chest that hadn't gone away. something about being away too long, about having to prove you still belonged here. you’d come back in time for end-of-year rehearsals, cleared for stage just weeks ago, and every performance since had felt like walking on a wire.

chaewon’s hand brushed yours for a second, nothing more than a touch, and then she stepped back into place as the call came through the earpieces.

“le sserafim, standby.”

you felt your body move before your brain could catch up, following the rest of the group toward the stage entrance. only, before you could step too far, you’re stopped at the feeling of a lean body knocking into you. your shoulder jerked slightly from the contact, slightly dazed. it wasn’t hard. more of a fleeting bump, the kind that happened constantly backstage with too many bodies moving through tight hallways. still, something about it snapped you out of your thoughts like cold water poured down the back of your neck.

“sorry,” came a voice, low and smooth, so casual it almost didn’t register.

you turned, expecting a rushed bow from a staff member or maybe one of the rookie groups shuffling into their next camera queue. instead, your gaze landed on her.

not framed by a screen. not softened by filters or distant from across a press conference room. she was right there, close enough that you could make out every detail. her presence hit you before your brain even had time to register it properly.  

karina. there was something absurd about seeing her in person. she wasn’t supposed to look like that up close. flawless skin, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, that slight smirk playing on her lips like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had. you’d seen her before, who hadn’t? her pretty face was almost everywhere you looked. but this was different.

her outfit clung to her like it was built around her frame. the black crop top, bold with white lettering, sat sharp above her waist. her camouflage jacket hung from her shoulders in a way that looked effortless but deliberate, like it was meant to fall just so. she wore a belt low on her hips, her entire look edged in something that felt like danger wrapped in gloss. gold hoops caught the light as she turned slightly, and the chain around her neck only made the entire picture feel more untouchable. her makeup was heavy but immaculate. smoky eyes that gave her an almost feline sharpness, lips painted in a soft gradient that contrasted the fierceness of everything else. her hair was loose and wild in the best way, falling in soft waves that framed her face with a kind of studied mess. and her face—god, her face. she looked like a portrait. so symmetrical it almost hurt to look at her for too long. so composed it made you forget how to stand.

her eyes flicked toward you, cool and unreadable, and in that moment it felt like the world around you fell silent. the chaos of backstage, the pounding of your own pulse, even the call in your earpiece faded into nothing. 

you didn’t mean to stare, but the moment stretched longer than it should have. your gaze locked onto her as if your body had forgotten how to look away.

“it’s– karina– i’m– you’re—” you stuttered, the words tangling before they even left your mouth, your brain scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

you weren’t the type to get rattled. years in the industry had taught you how to keep your expression measured, how to stay centered even under the weight of bright lights and louder voices. you’d stood beside artists who had ruled charts before you’d even auditioned, and still managed to hold your ground. but there was something different about this– about her. she didn’t feel like just another idol.

karina tilted her head, just slightly, like she was watching a familiar reaction play out for the hundredth time. the look on her face wasn’t smug, but it was clear she knew exactly what effect her presence had.

she took a small step back, almost unnoticeable, and let the light from the stage hallway catch the side of her face. it brought out the shimmer along her temple, the warm gleam of her earrings, the perfect stillness of someone who didn’t need to say much to own the space around her. her smile curved, a subtle upward tilt that said she wasn’t surprised by your reaction in the slightest.

“i know who you are, too,” she said, voice low but steady, with none of the awkwardness you were currently drowning in. “you’re the one coming back from hiatus, right?”

you blinked, caught between confusion and disbelief. “wha–?”

“you’re hard to forget,” she said, her tone steady, neither flirtatious nor performative. there was no pause for effect, no expectation in her eyes. it was just something she believed, something she thought you should know. “it’s good to see you again.”

she didn’t linger, didn’t wait to see how you’d react. her voice had already landed, leaving you to stand in the echo of it.

her manager approached from the side, moving with the kind of quiet urgency that only came from years of shepherding someone through back hallways and call times. they said something under their breath, too low to make out, and karina nodded in response, already shifting forward. the moment ended as easily as it had begun, her silhouette gliding back into the tide of backstage traffic, the space where she’d stood still warm in your memory.

you hadn’t even noticed you’d stopped breathing until your lungs drew in sharp, like surfacing after too long underwater.

“hey,” chaewon said softly, reappearing at your side, her hand wrapping around your wrist with a gentleness that steadied you. “you good?”

you nodded, slower this time, like your body had finally caught up to itself.

“yeah,” you swallowed. “i’m good.”

the voice in your in-ear sounded again, a warning you were running out of time. chaewon practically dragged you up the stairs leading to the main stage. the bass from the opening bars was already humming through the soles of your boots, the kind of low thrum you felt more than heard.

you took a breath and stepped forward, coat shifting around your frame as you moved into position. but even as the adrenaline surged, even as you slipped back into the choreography that had been burned into your bones, one thing refused to quiet.

the place where her shoulder brushed yours still tingled beneath your coat, like her presence had branded itself into your skin.

no matter how sharp your lines were on stage, no matter how many cameras found your face, the imprint of her gaze clung to the back of your mind like it had nowhere else to be.

__

the practice room was quiet except for the low hum of the heater in the corner, a steady, almost soothing sound against the silence. you sat cross-legged on the floor, your hands resting loosely on your knees, absentmindedly stretching your fingers and wrists while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely. two full days had passed since the performance, but karina’s presence refused to fade. it kept replaying in your mind, like a song stuck on repeat, subtle but impossible to ignore.

her face slipped into your thoughts at odd moments. when you were tying your shoes, when you caught your reflection in the mirror, even during quiet moments when nothing was demanding your attention. it wasn’t just the fact that she was famous, or how every detail of her appearance was sharp and flawless under those unforgiving stage lights. it was something deeper than that. you could still hear the tone of her voice, calm and steady, without any hint of performance or pretense. the way she spoke to you was simple and straightforward, but it carried a weight that suggested she meant every word. her certainty had caught you off guard, and you couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind. it was strange how something so small could linger like this, how the memory of her had settled quietly inside you, pulling at your thoughts in a way you hadn’t expected.

you found yourself replaying the moment she brushed past you backstage, how her shoulder had lightly touched yours for just a second, but it left a strange warmth that lingered longer than it should have. even now, you could almost feel it, like a quiet spark beneath your skin.

chaewon settled against the mirror, her back resting lightly on the cool glass as she glanced your way from the corner of her eye. there was a quiet patience in her gaze, like she was giving you space but still keeping track of you. across the room, yunjin was half sprawled on the floor like she’d been poured there. she looped a hair tie around her fingers with the slow boredom of someone who was pretending she wasn’t waiting for a cue to speak. the silence hung for another beat before she cracked it open.

"so," yunjin said, twirling the elastic. "are we just gonna sit here breathing at each other like a lofi-girl youtube live stream?"

"don’t encourage her," chaewon replied under her breath, a habitual comment whenever the younger girl would stir the pot. 

"i’m just saying," yunjin went on, ignoring the warning like she always did, "if i wanted to watch two people avoid talking, i’d go back to my last situationship."

you didn’t say anything. you weren’t even sure what mood you were in. just the dull ache of overstimulation and not knowing what to do with yourself. practice had ended, no one was filming, and you were just left with too much of your own brain.

“you’ve been kind of quiet lately,” chaewon said softly, ignoring yunjin’s comments with a subtle eye roll as she turned her full attention your way, curiosity embedded in her soft gaze. “everything okay?”

you forced a small smile, trying to sound casual. “yeah, just tired i guess. being back on stage, it’s a lot.”

yunjin nodded. “we get it. it’s a lot for all of us sometimes.”

chaewon gave you a look that said she wasn’t convinced. “you’re not telling us everything.”

you hesitated, the weight of keeping your thoughts to yourself pressing down. “it’s nothing. just nerves. i’m still getting used to stuff again.”

chaewon’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but she didn’t press. instead, she leaned her head back against the mirror, watching you like she was waiting for the right moment to push a little further. yunjin stayed quiet for once, her usual teasing energy simmering down as the room settled into a softer, quieter kind of tension. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt fragile.

you shifted your weight, letting your fingers fidget against the fabric of your sweatpants. the truth sat heavy in your chest, but you weren’t sure how to shape it into words that didn’t sound ridiculous. how could you explain that it wasn’t the comeback, or the pressure, or even the exhaustion that had you tangled up like this. it was one moment, one person, one look that kept resurfacing no matter how many times you tried to push it aside.

“you know,” yunjin finally said, her voice lighter now, as if trying to ease the edge of the silence, “it’s okay to admit when something’s got you in your head. we’ve all been there.”

"or someone," chaewon added softly, like she was testing the waters, her eyes still fixed on you, steady and patient.

your stomach twisted, the words clawing at your throat. you stared down at your hands, thumbs pressing into each other in a nervous rhythm. the name hovered at the edge of your tongue, ready to tumble out before you could stop it. you hated how easily she occupied your mind, how quickly her name wanted to surface.

only, before you could say anything, the sharp click of the practice room door opening cut through the moment. you all turned as your manager stepped inside, his head poking through the doorway, eyes scanning the room before landing squarely on you.

"y/n. company meeting."

"now?" your voice came out confused, your brows pulling together. no one had mentioned any meeting to you.

"yes. let’s get moving," he said with a quick nod, already stepping back into the hallway, expecting you to follow.

you rose to your feet automatically, your body moving before your brain had the chance to catch up. behind you, you could feel chaewon and yunjin exchanging glances, their confused stares following you as you trailed after your manager and disappeared down the corridor.

every time you opened your mouth to ask your manager what the meeting was for, something held you back. maybe it was the way he walked ahead without looking back, or the tension in his shoulders that made you think twice. the words sat heavy on your tongue, but never quite made it out. you told yourself you’d ask at the elevator, then in the hallway, then right before the door. but each time the moment slipped past.

by the time you finally worked up the courage to speak, you were already standing outside the meeting room. the door loomed in front of you, quiet and familiar. you had been in that room more times than you could count, but something about it felt different now. the lights inside were already on, shadows shifting through the frosted glass, and your heart began to thud with a dull, uneasy rhythm. inside were the other managers, already seated and waiting. at the forefront of them was a familiar face, sumin. his eyes met yours the moment you stepped through the door, a small smile tugging at his lips.

his face was weathered in a way that spoke of long nights and too many years in the industry. though still young by most standards, he was clearly older than your own manager, who barely looked past his twenties. sumin had to be in his mid-thirties, if not a little older. there was something steady about him, something that made the room feel more serious the moment he looked your way.

he was already seated when you walked in, scrolling through something on his tablet, a half drunk coffee sweating on the table beside him. you barely had time to sit before he spoke.

“we’ve been reached out to,” he said, tapping once on the screen without looking up. “sm wants you to participate in a special stage.”

your brows lifted slightly, but you didn’t say anything right away. special stages came up all the time, especially with award season approaching. sometimes it was a group number, sometimes backup for a bigger act. but rarely did the spotlight land on you, and definitely not like this.

you settled in slowly, your voice cautious. “okay... what kind of stage?”

he tapped the screen once more before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. his expression was calm, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, something that made your stomach tighten just a little.

“they want a duet with karina from aespa.”

you blinked. the name settles over you like a quiet shift in atmosphere, not loud or dramatic, but enough to stop your thoughts in their tracks for just a moment. karina. the same girl who had been circling your mind without pause for the past two days, refusing to leave no matter how many times you tried to shake her off. you could still see her face clearly in your memory, almost annoyingly so. delicate features sharpened by confidence, eyes that held your gaze a little too long, and lips that moved with a softness that made everything she said feel like it was meant only for you.

“me and karina?” you asked, trying to keep your tone even. “just us?”

he nodded once. “just the two of you. high profile. one performance only.”

you sat back in your chair, the weight of it starting to settle. it wasn’t just any special stage. it was the kind people talked about before and after. clips that trended. gifs that never stopped circulating. and now, for some reason, they wanted you in it. 

“the team said you match well, in contrast and intensity. they want a dance stage, so there won’t be any singing. something dark and gritty.” he paused, then added, “they asked for you, specifically.”

you stared at the floor for a second. your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror wall. tired, slightly hollowed out from the week’s rehearsals. not someone who seemed particularly suited for a ‘concept-heavy duet.’

but still, you said “okay.” 

he didn’t look surprised. just gave a short nod and went back to his tablet.

you weren’t sure what you’d just agreed to. not really. but her name echoed in the back of your mind like a half-formed thought you couldn’t shake.

__

current day

“it started then? y/n, it’s been months.” chaewon’s voice was soft but edged with disbelief, like she was trying to process the weight of what you were finally admitting.

you exhaled, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. “yeah. time flew by, i guess.”

she shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. “when did everything get complicated?”

you paused, searching for the words, feeling your chest tighten with the memory. “after a few practices together. i don’t know exactly when. it wasn’t one moment. things just... shifted.”

chaewon arched a brow, her arms folding across her chest as she leaned in a little closer. “things don’t just shift without a reason. run me through it. from the beginning.”

you nodded, your throat dry as the scenes unfolded in your mind. “it was awkward at first. not in a bad way, just... careful. we were both professional. polite. she was warm, but reserved, like she was holding back a version of herself until she figured me out. and i was trying not to read into anything.”

chaewon’s gaze softened, but she stayed silent, letting you keep going.

“the first few rehearsals were strictly business. we went through the choreography, fixed timing, adjusted spacing. every move was so precise, so close. i kept thinking about how close we had to get for some of those lifts, how her hands felt steady on my waist, how her breath would catch for just a second after a hard set.”

you swallowed, the words catching a little as you spoke them out loud. “and then little things started happening. small stuff. she'd linger after practice to chat. offer to go over a part one more time even when we didn’t need to. she’d compliment me, not in a forced way, but like she genuinely meant it. and every time, it got a little harder to stay neutral.”

chaewon hummed under her breath, her expression unreadable now.

“sometimes i’d catch her looking at me when we weren’t even dancing. like she was studying me. like she was waiting for me to say something first. and i kept pretending not to notice because i didn’t want to ruin whatever... whatever was building.”

you trailed off for a moment, the weight of it thick in the air.

“and eventually it wasn’t just practice anymore. we started texting. we’d stay late to talk. sometimes she’d show up early just to see me before anyone else got there. i tried to convince myself it was just friendship, but every time she smiled at me like that, i felt it. like my chest would tighten and i’d forget how to breathe for a second.”

chaewon let out a quiet sigh. “so you let yourself fall.”

you looked at her, the vulnerability raw in your voice. “i didn’t even realize i was falling until it was too late.”

__

past

anticipation buzzed through hybe the moment word spread that you would be performing with karina. the excitement was immediate. you, arguably the strongest dancer in le sserafim, maybe even one of the most skilled female dancers in the entire company, set to share the stage with the industry’s untouchable ace. karina wasn’t just popular. she was the kind of idol other idols admired, the one who turned heads without trying, who carried a presence that seemed almost unfair. her reputation spoke for itself. an idol’s idol.

“that’s so exciting!” eunchae practically bounced up and down when you got back to the dorm after sumin informed you of the stage. she clasped her hands together and grinned widely.

and it was exciting. even through the nerves crackling under your skin like static, you couldn’t deny the rush of it. the thought of seeing karina’s pretty face again, of spending real time together, stirred something light and breathless in your chest. maybe you’d become friends. maybe you’d exchange numbers, share advice, trade stories only idols understood. maybe, if you were lucky, this wouldn’t be the last time you worked together.

if only you’d known at the time that you’d be getting more than you bargained for. 

the practice room smelled faintly of pine cleaner and sweat, the kind of lived-in scent that clung to wood floors and mirrored walls no matter how many times they scrubbed it down. it was your first time ever stepping foot into the sm building. the room was practically filled to the brim already with choreographers as you pushed the door open slowly, half expecting to be alone.

karina was already there, too. 

she stood near the center, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she watched her own reflection, quietly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. her cropped hoodie clung just above the waistband of her track pants, rising slightly every time she moved. her hair was down, the strands falling past her shoulders in a way that looked entirely accidental but probably wasn’t. a familiar choreographer stood on her side, regailing information off a clipboard held firmly in her hands. but through it all, the noise and chatter, karina’s eyes glanced up at you through the mirror when you entered. 

maybe you imagined it in your daze, starstruck by her sharp eyes and pretty lips, but you could’ve sworn her eyes lit up when they landed on you. it felt almost cinematic. like a slow motion scene in real time where your breath knocked clean from your lungs. only, before you could sit in the moment a second longer, the choreographer followed karina’s gaze and turned to face you. you recognised her. 

“oh, y/n!” lee yejin bowed ninety degrees, clipboard tugging under her armpit. 

you bowed back, relief coursing through you. truth be told, in a space as unfamiliar as this sm building, you were happy to see a familiar face. yejin was one of the choreographers to work with you on ‘hot’, a kind and creative woman you got along with through the entire comeback process. something told you this was your managers doing. 

the corners of your lips quirked up into a small smile. “yejin.”

“it’s so good to see you again! i’m so excited to work with you both. so, we have a vision here, and i think it’s going to be absolutely groundbreaking. if there’s anything you-“ 

yejin’s voice fell on deaf ears. you nodded along with her words, blips of them registering when you needed to give half measured ‘yes’ or ‘no’s’. but your attention kept drifting off to the girl behind her. 

you watch her stretch in silence. her movements were clean, intentional, grounded. there was a stillness to her that made you feel like any sudden motion might shatter something delicate. if only you noticed that she was sparing you glances, too. that you were both stealing glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking. 

yejin clapped her hands once, snapping your attention back. “okay! before we get started, let’s officially introduce you two.”

you blinked, suddenly aware of how fast your pulse was thudding in your ears. as if you didn’t already know who was standing in front of you.

“y/n, this is karina. karina, this is y/n,” yejin said with a bright smile, like the formality wasn’t a little ridiculous.

karina turned fully to face you now, her expression softening into something warmer. “it’s really nice to meet you properly,” she said, voice even, steady, but with a gentle edge of sincerity that landed heavier than it should have.

you dipped into a short bow, your hands clasped politely in front of you. “nice to meet you, too. i’ve… heard a lot about you.”

“same,” she replied, and there was the faintest hint of something playful behind her eyes. “looking forward to working together.”

her gaze lingered a second longer than it needed to, holding you there. you tried not to read into it, but your skin prickled anyway.

“alright!” yejin said, cutting the tension before it could swell. “let’s walk through the choreography. we’ve got a rough draft set, but i want to see how you both move together before we finalize spacing and transitions.”

the word together hung in your head as you followed yejin to the center of the room. karina moved alongside you, close but not too close, and for a brief second, your shoulders nearly brushed.

you couldn’t help but wonder if she noticed the space narrowing, too.

they pressed play. take me to mars poured into the room, the bass low and deliberate, crawling across the floor like something alive. your bodies moved in sync, mirrored but not matching, each beat pulling you closer. the choreography was sharp but sensual, built on tension. every step narrowed the space between you, like an invisible thread pulling tighter with each count.

yejin and the other choreographers moved fluidly around you, watching with practiced eyes. you could feel their gazes tracking your frames, adjusting angles in real time, but none of it seemed to reach you fully. your focus stayed locked on the girl across from you.

karina danced with a kind of contained energy, every movement precise but loose, like she was barely holding back a stronger current beneath the surface. her gaze flicked up every few counts, meeting yours in quick flashes before dropping back into the steps. it made your stomach flip every time. the first contact came fast. on the turn of the next eight count, your arms swept into an intertwined movement, palms grazing as your bodies shifted past each other. the warmth of her skin against yours was brief, but enough to spike your pulse. her fingertips brushed yours like she was reading you, testing the weight of the space between you.

your breath hitched, but you didn’t miss a beat. if she felt it too, she didn’t show it. her face stayed composed, but her eyes flicked to yours again, just for a second. a glance that didn’t need words.

when the moment came, the one where your hand hovered near her waist, where your face came just shy of touching, you felt it. the falter. it was barely anything. a pause no longer than a breath, but enough to notice. her fingers hesitated before landing on your collarbone, a little too soft, a little too late.

after a few run-throughs, yejin clapped once. “that’s good for today. we’ll refine the arm transitions next time. don’t overthink it. the more you do it, the more natural it’ll feel.” they scribbled something onto the clipboard, glanced between the two of you, and added, “great work, both of you.”

then the choreographers, lead by yejin left, pulling the studio door shut behind them with a soft click.

the silence that followed was almost jarring. no music. no directions. just the sound of your own breathing, fast and uneven, as the adrenaline started to fade. karina was still standing at center, arms back at her sides now, her expression unreadable.

you let the quiet stretch a little longer, both of you standing there in the center of the studio, caught in something that didn’t quite have a name yet. after a moment you took a slow step toward her, pulling the words from the space between you like they’d been hanging there the whole time.

“so,” you finally say, your voice soft but steady, “what do you think about all this? the choreography, the concept... everything?”

karina lets out a slow breath, her eyes flicking down briefly before returning to you. “it’s different,” she admits. “i wasn’t sure at first. it feels raw, kind of vulnerable. but i like that. it’s honest.”

“did i make you uncomfortable?”

her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected the question to be so direct. she opened her mouth, then closed it again. finally, she let out a breath, not quite a sigh.

“no,” she said, shaking her head. “not really.”

you tilted yours, not buying it. “but something was off. i could feel it.”

she looked down for a second, her fingers brushing against the hem of her hoodie. “it’s just…” she paused, her voice quiet. “i didn’t expect to be doing a choreo like this with a girl.”

you nodded slowly, letting the honesty settle between you. “yeah. me neither.”

karina glanced up again, meeting your gaze for the first time since the song ended. her voice stayed soft. “i thought it would feel different.”

“and did it?” you asked.

she hesitated. “yeah. but not in a bad way. just… surprising.”

karina shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her arms folding loosely across her chest. she looked over at you, her expression curious but careful, as if she was testing the waters, trying to figure out how much to say and how much to hold back.

you swallow, feeling the weight of her gaze as it lingers on you, steady and unreadable. the air between you shifts, growing dense with something unspoken, something just beneath the surface. it hums quietly, tension curling around the edges of the moment like smoke. after a pause that stretches longer than it should, karina finally speaks, her voice low, almost hesitant.

"do you want to run through it again? just us this time."

you nod, maybe too quickly, grateful for the excuse to move, to shake off the stillness pressing against your skin. the room suddenly feels different. quieter. more private. the kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound too loud in your own ears. without the others, without the eyes and voices and pressure, the space closes in. not suffocating, but intimate. familiar in a way that makes you uneasy and excited at once.

karina steps to the side and taps the speaker. the low, deliberate pulse of the bass rolls out across the floor like a slow wave. you both move into position, muscle memory taking over. the choreography returns easily, but now it carries a different weight. a sharper edge. it’s not just movement anymore. it’s something else.

there’s no one to count the beats. no one to correct your lines. just your body and hers, responding to rhythm and instinct. to each other. every movement is charged. every glance feels like a question. every brush of her fingers sends heat crawling beneath your skin. the air vibrates with it. something electric, something fragile.

your eyes lock again, mid turn, and you realize there’s a conversation unfolding between you with no need for words. it lives in every shift, every breath, every mirrored motion. your bodies speak in silences, in touches that last just a second too long, in the way she watches you like she’s waiting for something. at first, it was just about the routine. the shape of the steps. the mechanics. but now, something else threads through it. you move when she moves, catch her rhythm without needing to think. you dip when she dips. you spin when she spins. her fingers graze your waist, trail along your jaw, and even though she doesn’t say a word, it’s all there. unspoken but loud.

"you learn fast," she murmurs, her gaze flicking toward the mirror, not quite meeting yours.

"so do you," you reply, but your voice is softer now. like you’re both trying not to break whatever this is. whatever it might become.

the moment passed, but something in it stayed with you, clinging to your skin like static. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it pulsed quietly beneath the surface, impossible to ignore. later that night, as your manager drove you back to the dorm, the city lights blurring past the window, your thoughts refused to settle. they circled around one thing. or rather, one person. karina.

you kept replaying it all in your head. the way her body moved, precise and fluid, like every beat was something she was born to feel. the way she looked at you during that final run, eyes locked, unreadable and intense. it had made your chest tighten, your breath catch, like your body had picked up on something your mind couldn’t yet name.

you told yourself it was the routine. the high of dancing well. the natural chemistry that comes with hours of practice. but even as you stared out the window, pretending to listen to whatever song your manager had playing, you knew that explanation wasn’t enough. it wasn’t just the steps. it wasn’t just muscle memory or partnership.

something about her had shifted something in you. and now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shift it back.

before you knew it, several sessions had come and gone. each one bled into the next until time stopped feeling separate from movement. you grew attuned to her, how her body flowed with the rhythm, how she anticipated changes in tempo before they even landed. instinctively, you adjusted your own movements to match, to compliment her lines with your own. and she did the same. without words, you learned each other’s timing, each other’s weight and pace, until it all clicked into something seamless. but it wasn’t just your bodies falling into sync. somewhere in between the stretches, the water breaks, and the long hours under dim studio lights, you started learning the smaller things too. how she liked her coffee, the songs she played when no one else was around, the way her laugh softened when she was tired. she asked questions that lingered in your mind long after practice ended, listened closely when you answered.

you learned that she hated the cold but always carried a hoodie in her bag, just in case. that she cracked her knuckles when she was thinking too hard, and that she danced even when there was no music playing. she told you about the time she sprained her ankle during a middle school performance and still finished the routine with tears in her eyes and a smile plastered on her face. in return, you told her things you didn’t usually say out loud. how you got stage fright right before every show, how you used to practice in your bedroom with the door locked and the lights off.

you fell into rhythm, not just with the music but with her. the choreography smoothed out, every transition clean, every beat hit with intention. there were still details to polish, still corrections and notes, but you could feel it coming together. the routine lived in your limbs now, familiar and natural, like muscle memory laced with electricity. not quite stage-ready, but close. so close you could taste it.

today was the fifth session. the bass echoed low through the studio floor, reverberating up your spine as the track looped for the third time. you exhaled, rolling your shoulders back as you caught your breath. sweat clung to your skin, strands of hair sticking to your neck. you were tired. just yesterday you were singing and dancing across the stage at mcountdown performing ‘hot’, running between shoots and interviews, and just narrowly making it on time for a company dinner. today, you wanted nothing more than to collapse on the cold floor.  

across from you, karina stood with her hands on her hips, chest rising and falling in sync with the beat still playing from the speakers. her expression was unreadable.

“again?” you asked, grabbing your water bottle off the ledge beneath the mirror.

“mm,” she nodded, wiping the side of her neck with a towel. “you were a little early on that last transition.”

you raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “i think that was you.”

karina’s mouth twitched, something dangerously close to a smile ghosting over her lips. but she didn’t argue. instead, she walked toward the speaker to restart the track, her silhouette backlit by the soft overhead light. the air in the studio was warm and thick with the scent of sweat, fabric softener, and whatever expensive perfume she always wore that clung to the inside of your lungs.

you moved back into position, eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

“from the chorus?” she asked.

“yeah.”

the music swelled, and you both dropped into motion. each step, each beat, choreographed to bring you closer. your movements mirrored one another, bodies shifting with practiced ease. but the closer you got, the harder it was to ignore the electricity simmering just beneath the surface. it had been building all week. maybe longer. the brush of her arm when she passed too close. the way her gaze lingered too long when you weren’t looking. the deliberate softness in her voice when she said your name.

karina stepped into you for the partner moment, hands on your hips, her body sliding just barely against yours. her touch was firm, professional. but her breath hitched. just for a second, and her hands stayed there too long. you held her gaze in the mirror.

“your count’s off,” she said, but her voice was lower now, less sure.

“no, it’s not.”

only silence followed when the music ended, fading into static and stillness. you didn’t move and neither did she. your reflection looked back at you.  two figures standing too close, eyes locked, tension drawn taut between you like a wire about to snap.

karina stepped back a half inch, but it was pointless. the charge in the air didn’t go anywhere.

“why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, voice calmly measured.

she blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. her pretty features twisted up into a small confused frown. “like what?”

“like you’re trying not to.”

her expression cracked, just slightly. she sighed, shaking her head dismissively. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

karina didn’t answer. her eyes were on your mouth now, flicking back and forth between your collarbone and eyes like she was searching for an out to the conversation. lowe and behold, she found one. 

“we should go again,” she said finally, retreating behind something safe and professional as she hit play on the record for the nth time that session.

only when the music started, she didn’t move right away. she stepped behind you instead. slowly, deliberately. her hands found your waist like muscle memory. 

“fix your posture,” she said, but her voice was hoarse now.

your stomach tightened. 

she stood close, so close you could feel the rise and fall of her breath brushing softly against your neck, just beneath your ear. the air between you was thin, heavy. her chest, warm and steady, pressed lightly into your back, and your body tensed without meaning to. the contrast was jarring. her hands were cold, fingertips like little jolts of static as they slid down your sides, slow and deliberate.

goosebumps bloomed in her wake, a shiver chasing the trail she left behind. she didn’t rush. her fingers paused at your waist, then tightened, just enough for you to feel her there, claiming that space. her breath hitched. maybe yours did too.

the room felt suddenly smaller, the silence stretched and loaded with everything neither of you was saying. the weight of her touch, the heat of her body, the sharp sting of her cold hands. it all sank into your skin like a question waiting to be answered.

you watched her through the mirror, the way she studied you with that same quiet intensity she always wore. eyes dark, lips drawn into a firm line, her expression unreadable. she didn’t blink much. just let her gaze roam over you, slow and deliberate, like she was cataloguing every inch. 

you weren’t naive. you knew she didn’t need to touch you like this. she didn’t need to correct your stance, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. she especially didn’t need to do it with both hands. not this slowly. she knew it, too. that knowledge hung between you like a thread, neither of you acknowledging it but both of you feeling the weight of it in every careful motion, every inch of space that no longer existed.

she touched you carefully, as if the wrong move would have you crumbling in her grip. her touch was cautious, curious. 

karina wasn’t sure what it was about you that made her so confused. every carefully crafted belief she had was tested the very minute you stumbled into her life. every religious idea embedded into her mind, every self deprecative whisper that told her she was wrong for finding beauty in another woman. with your waist between her hands, your body reacting, your stomach clenching taut and your head tilting slightly so her breath hit your neck— she decided then and there that you were like a drug. 

she tried to tell herself to step away, she really did. she tried to push her attraction to you into the deepest depths of her mind, forced herself to think about the allure she found in tall men like jaewook with coy smiles and handsome features. each and every time, she failed. the intoxication smell of your perfume permeated her senses. the intoxicating way your breath hitched when her right hand drifted up from your hip, nails lightly grazing your back beneath your shirt, lived in her mind like a memory she would never be able to shake. everything about you, she craved. no amount of gospel would ever equal the way she knew she’d commit to you like you were holy. 

whatever guilt she felt in that fleeting moment immediately evaporated when her body reacted on instinct. karina gently turned you around so you were facing her, closed in between her arms. the second you were face to face, she suddenly pushed you against the mirror she ogled you down through only seconds before. a quiet gasp slipped past your lips when your back met the cold surface, but it was her eyes that undid you. 

“this is wrong,” karina whispered, her voice low and wrecked, almost like she was pleading with herself more than with you. her hands still rested at your waist, but there was a tremble in them now, like she was on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she should fall into.

your eyes searched hers, the reflection of the two of you in the mirror blurring behind her. you didn’t look away. “does it feel wrong?” you asked, barely above a breath. your tone wasn’t challenging. it  was gentle, honest, like you were offering her a lifeline instead of an excuse.

she blinked, slow, as if the question hit something deep in her. her jaw clenched, the war playing out across her face in full view. “i don’t know what i’m doing,” she admitted, and it cracked something open in you.

“then stop thinking,” you said, voice soft but certain, and that was all it took.

karina surged forward, her mouth crashing into yours with a desperation that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. it wasn’t tentative. it wasn’t careful. her kiss was messy, searing, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs and left no room for second thoughts. her hands slid up your sides, fingers curling under the hem of your shirt, clutching like she needed to ground herself in your skin.

you kissed her back just as hungrily, your hands finding her jaw, her hair, anything you could hold on to. there was heat everywhere. between you, around you, pulsing through every inch of your bodies as they pressed together. your back arched slightly against the mirror, the cold glass a sharp contrast to the fever in your blood.

karina groaned softly into your mouth, her fingers digging in just a little deeper, her lips parting like she wanted to drink you in, like she didn’t know how to stop now that she’d started.

whatever guilt she thought she’d feel was drowned beneath the tide of want, swept away by the way you kissed her like you’d been waiting for this moment just as long. her mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses that left your skin burning.

“tell me to stop,” she whispered against your throat, breath hot and shaky.

you didn’t. you tilted your head back and pulled her closer. her fingers curled against your waist, possessive, desperate, like she thought you might disappear.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” she breathed, the words so quiet you barely caught them, but the weight of them slammed into you like a wave.

her voice was raw, frayed at the edges, like the feeling had clawed its way out of her chest. she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and blown wide with something far past want. it was too much, too fast, and not nearly enough.

“i think about you all the time,” she continued, barely pausing for air. “when i shouldn’t. when i’m alone. when i’m with other people. and i hate it. i hate that i want you like this.”

you stared at her, stunned by the intensity pouring out of her like it couldn’t be stopped, like she’d cracked open and spilled everything she was too scared to say until now.

“but i do,” she whispered. “god, i do. and right now, i don’t think i can pretend i don’t.”

she trailed kisses down your throat again, each one slower than the last, lips parting just enough to taste. her hands traveled with her mouth. up your sides, around your ribs. not quite touching, but close enough to make your breath catch.

“you drive me crazy,” she murmured, lips barely grazing your collarbone. “i’ve tried so hard not to want this.”

“then don’t try,” you whispered back, voice trembling.

that was all the encouragement she needed. she tugged your shirt over your head in one fluid motion, eyes devouring you like she couldn’t believe you were real. her touch followed, fingertips dragging down your torso, lingering in reverent, slow passes like she wasn’t in a hurry. like she wanted this to last.

you reached for her, fingers sliding beneath her hoodie, needing to feel her just as bare, just as close. her skin was warm, soft under your touch, muscles tense as if holding back. she helped you pull her top off, and suddenly you were chest to chest, skin to skin, heat rolling off her in waves.

her mouth was back on yours in an instant, hands framing your face now, like you were something delicate, something sacred. she kissed you like prayer, like apology, like surrender.

nothing had ever felt more like heaven than it did coming apart in karina’s arms. 

__

current day

at some point, the others came home. you heard them before you saw them. shoes kicked off by the door, the rustle of jackets, the low hum of familiar voices echoing down the hall. normally, you would have greeted them, maybe even joined in on the quiet chaos of winding down after a long day. but tonight, you stayed curled on the couch, chaewon’s arm around your shoulders, your body still trembling in the aftermath of everything that had come undone.

they paused in the entryway. you could feel the weight of their curiosity before they even stepped into the room. yunjin was the first to cross the threshold, all teasing grin and raised brows. until she saw your face. the moment she caught sight of your tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes, the expression melted off her like ice in warm water. all that was left was quiet concern. her mouth opened, like she was about to ask something, but sakura shot her a warning look sharp enough to cut glass.

whatever question was on yunjin’s tongue died instantly.

the rest of the girls lingered for only a moment. kazuha gave you a gentle nod, eunchae hovered like she wanted to come closer but didn’t know if she should, and then, one by one, they dispersed down the hallway without a word. no one asked. no one pried. not yet.

the silence they left behind felt heavier than the noise.

chaewon didn’t speak right away. her arm was still around you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, grounding you. the silence stretched for a few moments more, just long enough to make you wonder if she was waiting for you to say something first. but then, quietly, she broke it.

“do they know?” her voice was soft, but steady.

you shook your head. “no. just you.”

chaewon nodded slowly, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face with a kind of gentle care that made your throat tighten.

“do you… want them to?” she asked.

you hesitated, staring at the space where the others had just been. your voice came out small. “i don’t know.”

chaewon’s brows pulled together. not judgmental, just thoughtful. “you don’t have to tell them. not if you’re not ready. but you can’t keep letting this eat you alive.”

“i thought i could handle it,” you whispered, blinking hard. “i thought keeping it quiet was the right thing.”

“maybe it was. at first,” she said gently. “but things change.”

you nodded, eyes burning again. “i didn’t think it would get this far.”

chaewon leaned back a little so she could see you better, her expression quiet but fierce in its protectiveness. “y/n… are you in love with her?”

the question knocked the breath from your lungs. you didn’t answer right away. you couldn’t. but she saw the way your jaw clenched, the way your eyes dropped, the way silence folded in around you again.

chaewon let the silence settle again, but only for a breath. she looked at you closely, the kind of look that felt like it could see past your skin, straight into the mess you were trying to hide. her voice was quiet when she asked, but there was no mistaking the weight behind the question.

“when did things start to go south?”

your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. your fingers curled tightly into the hem of your sleeve, knuckles pale. you weren’t sure which moment to name. when the first lie slipped from your mouth? when she started pulling away? when you realized her idea of safety didn’t include you?

“i think…” you started, swallowing hard, “i think it was always heading this way. but i didn’t want to see it.”

chaewon’s gaze didn’t waver. “tell me.”

you took a deep breath.

__

past

you knew what you were getting into. you truly did. in moments of silence, your mind subconsciously drifts back and forth between all of the stolen moments and the late nights where you felt like you were the center of her world. but of course, you remember her warning. a warning laced in sweetness and compassion, but one that you should’ve known would keep her from ever truly being yours; wholly and completely.  

you swallow when you remember a particular time in one of the many hotel rooms of daegu. she’d just snuck in with her face mask pulled up over her mouth, but still you were rocked by her beauty. you don’t think you could ever truly get used to the absurdity of how gorgeous she was. 

the minute you let karina in and shut the door firm behind her, she practically raced to take you into her arms. discarding her face mask haphazardly, she pulled you in close and towards the bed. she wanted so badly to be close to you that it physically hurt her. she pushed her face into your neck as she held you tight, her breath warm against your neck, her nose cold from the trekk she’d made through the cold hotel elevators. but you didn’t mind. not when she held you like you were the one and only thing she needed. 

her fingers traced idle patterns over the fabric of your sleeve, but you could feel the tension underneath her soft touch. she had been quieter than usual all night, and even now, curled into you like she never wanted to move again, her mind felt far away.

“you okay?” you asked softly.

her hand stilled for a moment. “mm-hm.”

you waited. you knew her well enough to know that when she got quiet like this, it wasn’t nothing. she was trying to find the words, but the words scared her.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” you whispered, brushing your hand gently through her hair.

another beat of silence. her breath hitched slightly. “it’s not you,” she said finally, her voice barely audible. “you know that, right? it’s never been you.”

“i know,” you whispered, but your chest tightened anyway.

she shifted, sitting up just enough to meet your gaze. her eyes were glassy, wide, full of something heavy she’d been carrying for too long. “it’s just… this isn’t like other places,” she said softly. “it’s korea. you know how it is here. you know what happens.”

you swallowed, nodding. “yeah.”

“it’s not just the fans,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly now, words starting to rush like she was afraid she might lose the courage to say them if she didn’t spill them all at once. “it’s the companies. the sponsors. the media. even my own family. it’s not just about me being happy. it’s about all the people who depend on me. all the people watching. waiting for me to slip. and if this ever got out—” she broke off, biting her lip. “we’ve seen what happens to people here. to idols who don’t fit what they’re supposed to be.”

you reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “i know. i’ve seen it too.”

“they ruin you.” her voice cracked. “the headlines. the rumors. the fake stories. the comments. people get blacklisted, abandoned by their own companies. brands drop them overnight. fans turn on them like they never loved them to begin with. even if it’s not true, even if it’s just speculation, it’s enough to destroy someone’s career. to destroy their life.”

her fingers tightened around yours. “sometimes i think about what they would say. about you. about me. what they would write. how fast it would all unravel.”

you stayed quiet, letting her speak, not wanting to interrupt the dam finally breaking.

“i’ve worked so hard for this,” she whispered. “i’ve built everything on being perfect. being who they want me to be. i know it’s stupid, but i’m scared. i’m scared of losing it all. of losing you, even. if it all fell apart, i don’t know how i would survive it.”

your heart ached. “you wouldn’t lose me,” you said softly. “not ever.”

you meant it. with every fiber of your being, you spoke your words and committed to them like gospel. you knew as well as she did that keeping your situation private was the best for your careers. still, when your mind then drifted between all of the instances it felt like more, the tug in your chest sweltered into a sharp ache. 

another hotel room in busan. the room was quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only came late at night, when the world outside slowed down just enough for you to breathe. thin streaks of city lights slipped through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting faint reflections on the walls. everything felt distant. the traffic below, the cameras, the eyes always watching. here, inside this small bubble, it was just you and her.

the door opened with a gentle click, barely louder than a breath. she slipped inside, her movements careful, deliberate, as if even the air might be listening. the moment her eyes met yours across the dimly lit room, her shoulders relaxed, her entire frame softening as though she had been waiting all day for this exact moment.

you sat on the bed, legs folded beneath you, watching her with a small, involuntary smile pulling at your lips. “hey,” you whispered.

“hi,” she breathed, her voice a quiet exhale as she crossed the room to you. her bag slid from her shoulder, forgotten on the floor as she climbed onto the bed beside you, immediately curling into your side like muscle memory. her head rested against your chest, one arm slung across your waist, her fingers lightly brushing your ribs. the weight of her pressed into you in a way that felt grounding, like you were anchoring her.

your hand found her hair, fingers slipping through the soft strands, tracing lazy paths over her scalp. you felt the tension leaving her body piece by piece with every stroke. she let out a long, quiet sigh, like she had been holding her breath all day and could finally let it go.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in silence, not because there was nothing to say but because neither of you needed words to fill the space. outside these walls, everything was complicated. endless obligations, careful glances, coded answers. but here, where no one could see, it was easy. you could be soft with each other. you could be real.

“i missed you,” she whispered eventually, her voice barely more than a breath against your skin.

your chest ached, the words both sweet and heavy. “i missed you too.”

her fingers traced idle patterns on your side, drawing invisible shapes as her breath slowed. “sometimes i wish i could just stay here,” she said quietly. “never leave. never have to pretend again.”

you kissed the top of her head gently, feeling the familiar sting behind your ribs, the one that always came when you thought too hard about all the ways you had to stay invisible. “me too.”

her voice grew softer, more fragile. “it’s scary, you know. how badly i want this. how badly i want you.”

you held her closer, your hand smoothing down her back in long, soothing strokes. “i know,” you whispered. “i know.”

she exhaled again, and for a few precious seconds, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. just her breath, warm against your collarbone. just your fingers in her hair. just the steady thrum of both your hearts, tangled up in something that felt impossibly tender, impossibly dangerous, and impossibly good.

you remembered the stolen moments at award shows and group stages, the ones where she would find you between the noise. 

the music still throbbed faintly through the walls, distant now, like a heartbeat fading into the background. backstage was a maze of shadows and hurried footsteps, voices calling out instructions as crew members darted back and forth. but for a brief moment, tucked away behind a heavy curtain, there was a pocket of quiet that belonged only to the two of you.

karina slipped through the gap, moving quickly, her eyes darting once over her shoulder before they landed on you. the moment they did, the tension in her shoulders softened, replaced by that familiar look that always made your stomach flutter. like you were gravity, and she was helpless against it.

“there you are,” she whispered, already closing the distance.

her hand reached for yours, fingers slipping between yours with practiced ease. the warmth of her palm sent a tiny spark up your arm. you smiled as she tugged you gently back into the narrow space behind one of the stage drapes where no one could see.

her skin still glowed under the remnants of stage lights, faint glitter clinging to her collarbone and neck, her lips still painted perfectly from earlier. you watched her for a moment, taking in every detail, the adrenaline still humming softly beneath her skin.

“you looked…” you started, but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

her lips curved into a knowing smile. “i know.” she leaned in, voice dropping slightly, playful. “but i want to hear you say it.”

you exhaled a quiet laugh, your free hand sliding up to rest lightly on her waist. “you looked incredible.”

she hummed softly, her body swaying closer to yours, her eyes sparkling under the dim lights. “it’s the outfit, isn’t it?” her voice was teasing, but her gaze dipped to your lips for the briefest second before returning to your eyes. “the way you were looking at me during the performance was very… distracting.”

“was i that obvious?” you whispered.

“completely.” her smile deepened, her fingers tightening around yours. “i could feel your eyes on me the whole time. i liked it.”

the air between you grew warmer, heavier, not uncomfortable but charged in a way that made your breath catch slightly. the press of her body was subtle but deliberate, her fingers brushing lightly over the inside of your wrist, tracing gentle circles like she couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

“you’re really playing with fire,” you murmured, voice low, the smallest edge of teasing creeping into your tone.

“maybe i like playing with fire,” she whispered back, her voice silk-soft but charged. her face was close now, close enough that you could see the faint shimmer on her lips, smell the faint trace of her perfume, feel the ghost of her breath against your mouth. “it’s only dangerous if someone catches us.”

“they’re everywhere,” you breathed, but neither of you made any move to pull apart.

“i know.” she smiled, biting her lip. “but you’re standing so close. you’re making it very hard to behave.”

your hand slid up her waist, fingers splaying gently across the small of her back, drawing her closer until there was barely a sliver of air between your bodies. her breathing quickened just slightly, her eyes never leaving yours, pupils dark and wide.

“then don’t,” you whispered.

for a moment, it felt like the entire world shrank to the space between your mouths. but just before your lips could meet, voices rose from the other side of the curtain, snapping you both back into the reality waiting just beyond this sliver of stolen time.

she laughed quietly, soft and breathless, forehead falling against yours. “one of these days, i’m going to get us into so much trouble.”

you smiled, savoring the warmth of her so close. “i’ll take my chances.”

she squeezed your hand one last time, reluctant but already starting to pull away, her smile still lingering like the echo of a kiss that almost happened. “later,” she promised softly.

and then she was gone again, slipping back into the noise and lights, leaving behind only the memory of her breath on your skin and the electric hum still sparking through your veins.

of course, your mind drifted to those moments. moments where she touched you like you were some kind of delicate scripture she so badly wanted to commit to memory. 

her room was quiet, wrapped in the soft glow of a single lamp that pushed back the darkness just enough. the light was warm and low, curling into the corners and leaving gentle shadows in its wake. shoes were scattered by the door, left where they had fallen. her makeup was gone, wiped away to reveal bare skin that caught the dim light and made her look almost unreal. she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs drawn up slightly, wrapped in loose sweatpants and a simple camisole. she looked tired. but she was beautiful in a way that made your chest tighten. beautiful in a way that felt too fragile to name. it made your breath hitch.

you closed the door behind you, the quiet click echoing like a secret between you. neither of you spoke.

she moved first. she stood slowly, her movements smooth but deliberate. she crossed the small space between you with a quiet kind of confidence, stopping just close enough that you could feel the heat of her skin. her eyes lifted to meet yours, wide and searching. there was something raw in them. something she had been holding back.

“does this mean something to you?” her voice was quiet. steady, but careful, like she was afraid of what the answer might be.

you looked at her. you felt the weight of her question settle heavy in your chest. “does it to you?”

her hands rested on your arms, then climbed to your face, then tangled in your hair as her body pressed against yours. the kiss deepened, pulled, turned rough. she backed you into the wall, her breath hot against your neck. you didn’t know how it turned into the bed, or when your shirt came off, only that when her fingers traced the skin above your waistband, you let her.

it was fast and breathless and intense, like everything unspoken between you poured out through touch.

you swallowed, a feeling of bile rising to the back of your throat. some part of you felt almost guilty. you knew the conditions. hell, you may as well have wrote half of them. still, somewhere along the way, the hotel rooms lost their meanings. the pit stops between shows made you feel like more of an afterthought. 

you just didn’t expect it to come to a collapse just three days before the special stage during a shared interview. 

the studio was too warm, the kind of warmth that made the skin feel tight and the breath shallow, like the air itself was trying to press you down. above, the lights buzzed softly, casting a false glow over everything, as though the moment could be softened by something as simple as studio lighting. between takes, the silence had stretched unnaturally long, not heavy enough to feel like tension to anyone else, but sharp enough that every second vibrated beneath your skin. you hadn’t seen her since that night. not in a way that mattered. not in a way that left you pretending you didn’t still carry her fingerprints on your body.

she entered just before filming began, her arrival quiet but impossible to miss. her hair had been cut, dark waves now framing her face perfectly, falling just below her shoulders in soft, deliberate layers. the light makeup made her features look delicate, almost impossibly so under the brightness of the cameras, and the dark blazer draped over her cropped top hugged her frame with an effortlessness that made your stomach twist. she looked beautiful. too beautiful. like nothing had ever happened, like the late nights and the trembling hands and the whispered confessions had been nothing more than some fever dream you had failed to wake from.

the host’s voice, bright and unrelenting, filled the air almost immediately, eager to direct the scene, to keep things light and marketable. they asked the usual questions, the rehearsed ones, the ones meant to make the viewers at home smile and feel as though they were seeing something candid and sweet. promotions were mentioned, schedules were discussed, jokes about long working hours and friendly banter exchanged. and through all of it, you sat beside her, close enough for your knees to brush, the contact igniting a strange ache inside you, an ache that made you resent your own body for still wanting to be near hers.

the conversation shifted, as you both knew it eventually would, to the dynamic between you. the chemistry. the playful teasing your fans adored. the host grinned widely, their excitement almost palpable as they leaned into the question. "so," they said with a sparkle in their eye, "what’s it like working together? there’s clearly some amazing chemistry here."

karina answered with the ease of someone who had perfected this performance long ago. her smile was flawless, the kind that looked natural to anyone who hadn’t seen the version of her that came apart beneath you. "we clicked quickly," she said, her voice light, her tone effortless, "very professional."

the word professional struck you with a force you hadn’t braced for. as though the stolen glances and secret rendezvous in the quiet hours had been some kind of contract fulfillment. as though the nights where she had whispered your name like a prayer, where you had held her as she cried because she was so afraid of what this all meant, had simply been part of the job. like the trembling in her hands when she first kissed you hadn’t meant anything at all.

and then came the question that you had felt looming in the air, inevitable and cruel in its timing. the host grinned again, voice lilting with playful curiosity. "last question," they said with a theatrical pause, "ideal types?"

karina didn’t hesitate. not even for a moment. her answer was as smooth as it was devastating. "i like someone dependable," she said with a soft laugh that made your skin crawl, "funny, strong. like… a guy who’s confident. someone who knows what he wants."

for a moment, it was like your heart forgot how to beat altogether. you had never expected her to speak your name into this space. you knew better than to think she would take that risk. you hadn’t wanted her to confess you, not here, not like this. but the ease with which she had erased you, the casual way she made you invisible, carved into you with a quiet brutality you hadn’t prepared for.

the host leaned forward, emboldened by her answer. "oh, very specific," they teased. "tall? handsome? does he work in the industry?"

karina’s gaze drifted somewhere distant, not meeting anyone’s eyes as she added, "maybe. someone who can handle the spotlight. someone my parents would approve of. someone stable. safe."

the word safe echoed through your mind, splintering into every corner of your memory. safe. was it safe when she had pulled you into her arms after long days, when her voice broke as she told you she didn’t know how to want you and still fear you at the same time? was it safe when she had whispered that no one had ever made her feel like you did, that she had never wanted anything like she wanted you? was it safe when her body had trembled beneath your hands, when her lips had found yours in the darkness where no one could see? nothing about what you had shared had been safe. it had been terrifying and thrilling and raw, but never safe.

the host chuckled, still completely unaware of the quiet devastation unfolding between you both. "ah, you have high standards! love that."

the noise around you blurred, the studio shrinking into a narrow tunnel of light and heat. your heartbeat pulsed painfully in your ears, the air growing thinner with each breath you tried to take. but she kept smiling, as though her words hadn’t just gutted you in front of the entire world. she smiled because that was what she was trained to do. the perfect answer. the perfect idol. the perfect fiction. the one who could never claim you. not here. not now. and maybe not ever.

the host, still entirely too cheerful, finally turned to you. "and y/n? what about you?"

you smiled. it was slow, deliberate, and held together by sheer will, even though your entire chest felt like it might collapse inward. you could feel her answer hovering in the space between you, still thick in the air, suffocating and heavy. your voice came out steady, but every word scraped against something raw inside you. "i think i like someone who’s not afraid."

the host blinked, leaning forward slightly, as though sensing the shift but unable to comprehend it.

"someone who isn’t scared to claim me," you continued, your voice quieter now but impossible to mistake. "publicly. fully. not just when it’s easy."

the silence that followed was not soft. it was jagged and brutal, cutting through every false smile in the room. you didn’t need to look at her to feel her shift beside you, but you turned anyway. you met her eyes, wide and full of something that looked like panic, or maybe shame, or maybe the sharp realization of what she had just done. she opened her mouth slightly, as though words might come, but nothing did.

the host gave a small, nervous laugh, desperately trying to break the tension that now choked the air. "oh—mysterious! sounds like there’s a story there!"

but you weren’t listening. not to the host. not to anyone. you stared ahead, your gaze fixed somewhere distant beyond the cameras and the lights, beyond the stage where you had been reduced to a secret that no one would ever be allowed to know. your words hovered, irreversible and final, hanging like an open wound between you both. unapologetic. and for the first time, you felt your heart begin to fracture in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to mend. she was afraid. she had always been afraid. and maybe, no matter how much you had given her, no matter how much you had held her trembling hands in the dark, she always would be.

that wasn’t something you could carry for her anymore.

you felt your heart rip in two.

__

current day

when you finally finish regaling chaewon with the story, you see it in her face. not right away. she stays quiet at first, her expression still, eyes fixed on some invisible point just past you. the room feels too quiet, like even the air is holding its breath. but then her brows pull in slightly, her mouth presses into a thin line, and her fingers curl tighter where they rest against the fabric of the couch. it’s not anger exactly. it’s something quieter. deeper.

frustration. secondhand hurt. the kind that doesn’t explode, but settles heavy in her chest, in her shoulders, in the way she blinks like she’s trying to process too many things at once. her silence isn’t cold. it’s protective.

“you didn’t deserve that,” she says finally, her voice low and steady, but there’s a sharpness to it now. “any of it.”

you don’t answer right away. there’s a lump in your throat, thick and unmoving. you’re not sure what response would even be fair. you’re not blameless. you knew what you were getting into. still, hearing it out loud, from someone who’s always been a step outside the storm, makes it feel real in a way you weren’t ready for.

“i told myself it was worth it,” you murmur, eyes locked on your hands. “that it didn’t matter if it hurt, as long as it meant something.”

chaewon shakes her head slowly, a breath leaving her like it’s been sitting there too long. “but it did matter. it does. you can’t keep setting yourself on fire just to keep something warm that won’t stay.”

your throat tightens. “i know.”

she shifts beside you, reaching out to gently touch your wrist. her hand is warm. grounding. “you love her,” she says, and it isn’t a question. it’s just the truth, spoken softly enough not to break you.

you nod, eyes burning.

“but love isn’t supposed to feel like this all the time.”

you don’t say anything, because you know she’s right. because deep down, you’ve known it for a while.

chaewon squeezes your wrist, just once. “whatever happens next, you don’t have to go through it alone. even if she’s not there... i am.”

your chest tightens and you nod, afraid that saying anything will split you open. chaewon doesn’t speak. she just stays beside you, quiet and solid, like she’s holding the space steady so you don’t have to. still, your mind drifts.

you think of karina. the way she held you like you were hers, kissed you like it meant something, then acted like none of it ever happened. how she made you feel seen, then vanished into silence. how she smiled through that interview and said she liked confident men, like you weren’t sitting right there.

to make matters worse, you still had to see her again. the special stage was in three days. you ignored your managers calls when you hauled yourself home and into chaewon’s arms, her comfort the only tether you had keeping yourself to reality. truthfully, you didn’t think you could face her again.

still, chaewon held you.