Felix: You've not slept in days, Chan
Chan: This song won't finish itself
Felix, stroking Chan's hair: You're going to leave me in bed alone? how will I ever rest, so cold in such an empty, loveless bed, without my dear darling to comfort me in his loving arms? Would you not care to warm me up?
Chan: Are you trying to seduce me into sleeping
Felix: Is it working
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The problem started at 9:12 a.m. on a Wednesday when Park Evelyn was in full glam, half dressed for a luxury skincare campaign, and absolutely not emotionally prepared to be attacked by her own past.
Her phone buzzed once against the vanity.
Then again.
Then six times in rapid succession.
Normally, she ignored the Aussie Line group chat until she had finished eyeliner, because none of them could be trusted to behave before noon. But the sheer violence of the notification rhythm made her glance down.
Aussie Line 🦘🔥 (18)
That alone was suspicious.
Then it jumped to:
Aussie Line 🦘🔥 (24)
Aussie Line 🦘🔥 (31)
Evelyn narrowed her eyes and unlocked the screen.
The first thing she saw was a photo.
A terrible, devastating, career-ending photo.
For one full second, her brain did not process what she was looking at.
Then it did.
And the sound that left her body was so abrupt and offended that her hairstylist physically jumped.
“What happened?” the stylist asked, hand frozen mid-curl.
Evelyn stared at her phone like it had personally betrayed her.
“Death,” she said flatly. “My death.”
On the screen was a trainee-era photo of her, Chan, and Felix in a JYP practice room so old she had forgotten the floor used to be that color. The image quality was abysmal. The lighting was fluorescent and cruel. Chan looked about nineteen and sleep-deprived. Felix looked fifteen and suspiciously delighted by whatever was happening. And Evelyn—
Evelyn looked like a crime against aesthetics.
She wore an oversized purple hoodie with what appeared to be bleach stains on one sleeve, two completely mismatched socks, and no visible sense of self-respect. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a half-dead bun with a pencil stuck through it for reasons no one would ever fully understand. Her face was bare. Her expression was mid-shout. And, most horrifying of all, she was holding a convenience-store sausage on a stick like she was about to use it as a weapon.
There was worse.
Chan, in the background, was pointing at the camera with the deeply betrayed look of someone who had just realized a photo was being taken without consent.
Felix had apparently taken the selfie from a low angle specifically chosen by Satan.
And scribbled across the front of Evelyn’s hoodie in silver marker were the words:
NO FEAR JUST VIBES
Evelyn closed her eyes.
Then opened the chat.
Jake:
I JUST FOUND THE HOLY GRAIL
Rosé:
OH MY GOD?????????
Danielle:
WAIT THAT’S EVE????
Hanni:
No I’m sorry this is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.
Jennie:
I’m crying. Why are you holding that sausage like a divorce lawyer?
Lily:
This photo has a criminal aura.
Felix:
NOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Chan:
Delete it.
Jake:
Absolutely not.
Rosé:
Chris looks like he’s about to report this to management.
Jennie:
He looks like management.
Danielle:
EVELYN’S SOCKS DON’T MATCH 😭😭😭
Hanni:
The pencil in her hair?????
Lily:
The hoodie slogan is worse than the sausage somehow.
Felix:
i was young
i didn’t know angles yet
Jennie:
You knew exactly what you were doing.
Evelyn inhaled once.
Then began typing with the calm fury of a woman about to erase multiple people from existence.
Eve:
Where did you get that.
The reply was immediate.
Jake:
classified source
Eve:
Jake.
Jake:
fine
someone sent it to me from an old backup folder and i made the choice to serve the community
Chan:
That is not what community service means.
Rosé:
I need the full folder.
Eve:
You need prison.
Her hairstylist, who had clearly been trying not to read over her shoulder and failing miserably, made the mistake of catching a glimpse of the photo reflected in the mirror.
Then she burst out laughing.
Actually laughing.
With sound.
Evelyn turned slowly. “I need you to be professional.”
“I’m so sorry,” the stylist said, which would have been more convincing if she weren’t still visibly shaking. “But your socks—”
Across the room, her makeup artist held out a hand without looking up from cleaning a brush. “Show me.”
“No.”
“Show me.”
The stylist had already abandoned all loyalty and crossed the room with the phone.
Three seconds later, the makeup artist gasped so hard she had to set the brush down.
“Oh, this is bad.”
“You are both traitors.”
“It’s the sausage,” the stylist said weakly, wiping under one eye. “Why are you holding it like that?”
Evelyn glared at the ceiling. “I hope all of you lose one very specific shoe.”
Her phone buzzed again.
Felix:
for the record
i look adorable
Eve:
You look like an accomplice.
Felix:
still adorable
Chan:
Why does she look like she’s about to fight a PE teacher?
Jennie:
Chris I’m obsessed with the fact that you are judging her when you’re in the back looking like a tired single father.
Rosé:
WAIT HE DOES
Danielle:
HE REALLY DOES
Hanni:
This is the most aussie line photo ever taken.
That, unfortunately, was true.
There was something painfully specific about the whole image. The fluorescent despair. The snacks. The chaos. The exhausted body language. The fact that none of them looked polished or future-famous, just like three half-feral trainees barely held together by sarcasm, ambition, and convenience-store sodium.
Still.
It needed to die.
Eve:
Jake, if this reaches the public internet I will personally leak your yearbook haircut.
Jake:
bold of you to assume i’m ashamed
Jennie:
He should be.
Lily:
He absolutely should be.
Jake:
wow the energy here is ugly
The door to Evelyn’s dressing room opened just then and her manager stepped in, iPad in hand.
“Five minutes until first look.”
Evelyn nodded without looking up.
Then the manager noticed the expressions on the stylist and makeup artist.
Then, suspiciously, “What happened?”
“No,” Evelyn said immediately.
The stylist handed over the phone like Judas for thirty silver coins.
The manager looked.
Silence.
Then a slow blink.
Then the tiniest, most fatal twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Evelyn pointed at him. “If you laugh, I’m cancelling the campaign.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You are in your soul.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m actually more interested in the phrase on the hoodie.”
“Everyone in this room is dead to me.”
The manager handed the phone back with visible restraint and said, far too evenly, “We’ll need that slogan never to resurface in your branding.”
“Oh, thank god that was my concern too.”
Her phone buzzed again.
Jake:
guys there’s another one
Evelyn froze.
The chat exploded instantly.
Rosé:
DROP IT
Chan:
No.
Felix:
jake i’m warning you
Danielle:
PLEASE
Hanni:
Actually yes please.
Jennie:
I have coffee. I’m seated. Continue.
Lily:
This better be worth the lawsuit.
Evelyn typed with both thumbs now.
Eve:
There is no “another one.”
Two seconds later, Jake sent it.
This one was worse.
Infinitely worse.
The second photo had been taken in what looked like a dorm kitchen or a break room with bad yellow lighting. Chan was at the counter in a black tank top and sweatpants, holding a rice cooker lid in one hand and looking deeply offended by the existence of photography. Felix sat on the floor in the corner with a blanket around his shoulders like a burrito child. And Evelyn—
Evelyn was standing on a chair.
On a chair.
Wearing striped pajama pants, one sneaker, and what looked like a training uniform jacket halfway zipped over a T-shirt that read BORN TO YAP in massive red letters.
Her hair was down this time, wild and unbrushed. She was reaching dramatically toward the top shelf of a cabinet with the same sausage-on-a-stick from the first photo clenched between her teeth like a pirate dagger.
Evelyn put the phone face-down on the vanity.
Very carefully.
The room went silent.
Then the makeup artist made a sound so choked it bordered on medical distress.
“Same sausage?” the stylist whispered.
“The same sausage,” the manager confirmed, sounding awed.
Evelyn covered her face with both hands.
From beneath them, her voice came out muffled and murderous.
“I’m going to kill Jake in a way that becomes folklore.”
The phone buzzed on the table like a small possessed animal.
She picked it up again out of spite.
Jake:
THE CINEMATIC CONTINUITY OF THE SAUSAGE
Rosé:
I’m crying actual tears.
Jennie:
No, because why are you on a chair in one sneaker like a woman escaping war.
Danielle:
BORN TO YAP 😭😭😭😭😭
Hanni:
Who made that shirt for you??
Lily:
The sausage continuity is deeply upsetting.
Felix:
OH MY GOD I FORGOT ABOUT THIS NIGHT
Chan:
How did you forget? She almost broke her ankle.
A fresh wave of horror washed over Evelyn.
Eve:
CHRIS WHY WOULD YOU ADD CONTEXT
Chan:
I’m setting the historical record straight.
Jennie:
No, now I need the full story.
Rosé:
Immediately.
Jake:
oral history project begins now
Felix:
we got back from practice and the good ramen bowls were on the top shelf
Danielle:
and this led to… that??
Felix:
she said “watch a professional”
Chan:
She was not a professional.
Eve:
I hate memory.
Hanni:
No the fact that you said “watch a professional” in one shoe is making me dizzy.
The dressing room dissolved into laughter again. Even the manager had lost the battle now, shaking his head as he typed something into the iPad with a smile he was pretending did not exist.
Evelyn stared at her phone and considered every choice that had led her to this point.
Then she made a new one.
She opened her private chat with Chan.
Eve:
control your people
The reply came almost immediately.
Chris:
Which one?
They’re all unusable.
She inhaled sharply through her nose.
Eve:
You are included in “they.”
Chris:
That’s fair.
Then, before she could continue:
Chris:
For the record, you were funny in those years.
Evelyn paused.
Her irritation cooled by one degree.
Just one.
Then she typed:
Eve:
That is not the issue.
Chris:
It’s part of the issue.
She stared at that for a second.
Because, annoyingly, he was right again.
The photos were horrifying. Catastrophic. Evidence of fashion crimes and compromised judgment. But beneath all of that, there was also something else. Something warm and stupid and a little bit painful in its own way.
The kind you don’t recognize properly until years later when success has dressed itself over everything and made the old days look smaller than they felt.
Her phone dragged her back to the group chat with another explosion.
Jake:
WAIT WAIT WAIT
there’s video
Evelyn made a sound no human should have to make at 9:23 a.m.
“No,” she said aloud.
The entire room looked at her.
“No what?” the stylist asked, alarmed.
“There’s video.”
The manager straightened. “Of what?”
“I don’t know yet, but if it contains the sausage I’m resigning.”
She opened the file.
The video quality was somehow even worse than the photos. Shaky, grainy, taken vertically because Felix was, apparently, born to do emotional damage. The timestamp in the corner read 2017/11/03 00:41.
The video opened on Chan at the kitchen counter, already tired and saying, “I’m telling you this is a bad idea.”
Then the camera swung wildly to Evelyn—on the chair, in one sneaker, holding the sausage like a pointer and saying in a terrible fake accent, “Christopher, excellence requires risk.”
Felix laughed so hard in the background that the phone camera dipped toward the floor.
Then came the moment of pure ruin:
Evelyn reached for the top shelf, the chair wobbled, Chan dropped the rice cooker lid with a bang, and Felix shrieked with laughter while Evelyn somehow managed not to fall by windmilling violently and yelling, “I HAVE IT, YOU COWARDS.”
Then she held up—not ramen.
Not bowls.
A single jar of instant coffee.
The video ended with Chan saying, “You almost died for coffee you don’t even drink.”
And Evelyn, still on the chair, replied in perfect, awful clarity:
“THAT’S NOT THE POINT, IT’S ABOUT WINNING.”
The dressing room went so silent that Evelyn knew—before anyone said a word—that she had become an anecdote.
The manager sat down very slowly on a stool.
The stylist put both hands over her mouth.
The makeup artist whispered, “Oh, this is historic.”
Evelyn looked into the middle distance.
“I want a new face,” she said.
The group chat had become lawless.
Jake:
SHE ALMOST DIED FOR COFFEE SHE DIDN’T DRINK
Rosé:
I CANNOT BREATHE
Jennie:
No, because the line “it’s about winning” explains your entire personality.
Danielle:
THE FAKE ACCENT?????
Hanni:
“Christopher” has ended me.
Lily:
This is not a friend group. This is a documentary about survival.
Felix:
I AM ACTUALLY CRYING
Chan:
Why did you still have this video?
Jake:
felix sent me the archive zip last year and apparently god wanted this today
Felix:
i didn’t know what was in it!!!!!!!!
Eve:
Felix. I’m going to throw you into the sea.
Felix:
that’s fair
Rosé:
No, sorry, I need this framed.
Jennie:
Same.
Eve:
Anyone who prints this will be removed from my will.
Jake:
you’re 26
Eve:
Exactly. Start fearing my paperwork.
A knock sounded on the dressing room door.
“Two minutes,” a production assistant said.
Evelyn nodded in a daze.
The assistant left.
Her manager stood. “All right. You need to pull it together.”
Evelyn looked at him. “What if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll still walk you to set, but with less sympathy.”
“How much less?”
“Almost none.”
She rose from the chair, smoothing her outfit into place with what dignity she could gather from the wreckage of her former life. The stylist did a final sleeve adjustment. The makeup artist checked under her eyes, probably for evidence of laughter-tears.
Her phone buzzed again.
Against all wisdom, she looked.
Felix:
for the record
you were kind of iconic
That one hit differently.
Because of course it did.
Beneath the stupidity, beneath the public humiliation of being perceived in those outfits, there was a thread of affection running through all of it. None of them were laughing because they were embarrassed for her.
They were laughing because they knew her. Because they had known her then too. Because the distance between the trainee on the chair screaming about winning and the woman in a campaign dressing room now was both enormous and weirdly small.
She typed back before she could overthink it.
Eve:
you are all sick in the head
The chat lit up.
Jennie:
True.
Rosé:
deeply
Danielle:
but lovingly!!!
Hanni:
Speak for yourself, I’m here maliciously.
Lily:
No, that’s Jennie.
Jennie:
Correct.
Chan:
Can everyone stop before she walks onto set and kills someone.
Jake:
one last thing
Eve:
JAKE.
There was a long pause.
Then:
Jake:
fine
i’m done
for now
For now.
Those two words sat there like a bomb with a visible timer.
Evelyn pointed at the phone. “If there is a ‘for now,’ there are more.”
The manager winced. “There are definitely more.”
“Oh, I’m not surviving today.”
“You are,” he said, steering her toward the door. “Because you have a schedule, and humiliation is not a valid reason to cancel.”
“It should be.”
“It’s not.”
The set was bright and sterile and expensive in that way skincare campaigns always were—white backdrops, soft gold props, a monitor village full of people pretending glamour happened naturally. Evelyn moved into position, smiled when instructed, angled her face toward the light.
For approximately four minutes, she managed to behave like a professional adult woman with an established career.
Then her phone buzzed on the side table.
She ignored it.
The photographer adjusted a lens. “Beautiful. Chin slightly down.”
Evelyn complied.
Buzz.
Ignored.
Another shot.
Buzz.
Longer this time. Several in a row.
Her manager, standing just off set, looked down at her phone screen as it lit.
Then betrayed her immediately with his face.
Evelyn stopped mid-pose. “What.”
He tried and failed to compose himself. “You should finish the shot.”
“What did they find?”
“Evelyn.”
“What did they find?”
The photographer looked between them, confused. “Do you need a second?”
“No,” Evelyn said at the exact same time her manager said, “Yes.”
The manager handed over the phone with the solemn expression of a man delivering military casualties.
Jake had sent one final image.
This time it was a collage.
Four trainee-era photos stitched together into one hideous masterpiece with pink glitter text across the top that read:
AUSSIE LINE ORIGINS: NO FEAR JUST VIBES
The photos included:
The sausage selfie.
The chair incident still.
Chan asleep face-down on a practice room table while Evelyn drew eyebrows on his water bottle with a marker.
Felix wrapped in three hoodies at once while holding up a handwritten sign that said I MISS REAL TOAST.
Evelyn stared.
Then zoomed in on photo number three.
Then looked back at the screen with renewed, righteous horror.
Eve:
CHRIS WHY WERE YOU ASLEEP LIKE THAT
Chan:
I was tired.
Jennie:
This is not a defense.
Rosé:
The water bottle eyebrows are killing me.
Danielle:
WAIT I JUST SAW FELIX’S TOAST SIGN 😭
Hanni:
No because “I MISS REAL TOAST” is somehow the saddest thing here.
Lily:
This collage belongs in a museum about bad decisions.
Felix:
NOT THE TOAST ONE
Jake:
i could make merch
That did it.
Evelyn left the group chat.
Not muted.
Not archived.
Left.
The dressing room-level betrayal of it made the manager gasp.
“She left the chat,” he whispered, reverent.
“Good,” Evelyn said. “Let them feel loss.”
The phone immediately began receiving private messages instead.
Felix:
EVELYN COME BACK
Rosé:
oh my god she left
Jennie:
That’s fair actually.
Chan:
Jake, now you’ve done it.
Jake:
worth it
Lily:
No one speak to me, I’m saving the collage.
Eve:
LILY?????????
Lily:
For internal research only.
The photographer, who had been politely pretending none of this was happening, cleared his throat. “Ready?”
Evelyn inhaled slowly.
Smiled.
Stepped back under the lights.
“Ready,” she said, with the grim serenity of a woman who had seen her own worst archival footage and lived.
She got through the next fifteen shots on pure discipline.
Turn. Soft smile. Hand to cheek. Eyes to camera. Pivot. Reset.
Eventually the rhythm took over enough that she almost forgot the destruction waiting in her phone.
Almost.
Then, during a setup change, one of the junior assistants scurried over with visible excitement and asked, “Unnie, is it true you used to wear a shirt that said Born to Yap?”
Evelyn slowly closed her eyes.
Her manager looked at the ceiling in defeat.
“How,” Evelyn asked, very calmly, “did that leave the group chat.”
The assistant froze. “I—um—someone showed the stylist from another room who showed—”
“Excellent,” Evelyn said. “The infection is airborne.”
By lunch, three separate people on set had asked whether the sausage had symbolic meaning.
By one-thirty, her makeup artist had started referring to one specific lip color as “No Fear Just Vibes red.”
By two, her manager had to physically confiscate the collage from a lighting assistant who was “just making it the lock screen as a joke.”
By three-thirty, Evelyn rejoined the group chat because, according to Rosé, “silent treatment doesn’t work on people this mentally unstable.”
The moment she re-entered, the messages exploded.
Felix:
SHE’S BACK
Danielle:
WELCOME HOME
Hanni:
Coward. I respected the exit.
Jennie:
No you didn’t.
Hanni:
Correct.
Jake:
i was about to post chapter 2
Eve:
There are chapters?????
Jake:
metaphorically
Chan:
Jake.
Jake:
fine literally
Eve:
I’m calling your mother.
Jake:
she’d probably ask for the collage
There was no point fighting it now.
The thing had escaped containment. It had become lore, which was worse than scandal and somehow more permanent.
So Evelyn did the only thing left.
She retaliated.
She opened her own photo archive.
Scrolled back.
Found exactly what she needed.
And sent it to the group chat without warning.
It was a trainee-era photo of Jake at what looked like some pre-debut dance practice, wearing an aggressively side-swept haircut that defied geometry, with giant headphones around his neck and a varsity jacket three sizes too large. He was mid-blink and holding a protein shake like it had emotionally disappointed him.
The caption Evelyn added was simple:
Eve:
counterattack
The response was immediate and catastrophic.
Rosé:
OH MY GOD JAKE?????????
Jennie:
No because that hair is criminal.
Danielle:
THE SWEEP 😭😭😭
Hanni:
This is visually loud.
Lily:
Excellent work, Eve.
Felix:
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Chan:
That’s bad.
Jake:
where did you get that
Eve:
classified source
Jake:
you witch
Eve:
feel my pain.
That restored balance.
Not peace. Never peace.
But balance.
By the time Evelyn finally got home that night, heels in one hand and dignity in the other, the group chat had settled into a weirdly affectionate afterglow of mutual destruction. People kept sending old photos. Nothing as catastrophic as the sausage saga, but enough to turn the day into a rolling disaster museum.
She changed into an oversized shirt, washed off her makeup, tied her hair up, and collapsed onto the couch with her phone still in her hand.
The chat buzzed again.
Felix:
serious question though
can someone send me the collage
i want it
Evelyn laughed out loud into her empty apartment.
Then, because she was weak and because she understood exactly why he wanted it, she saved the collage from the chat, stared at it for one long second, and realized it had somehow become less humiliating over the course of the day.
Still terrible.
Still incriminating.
But also—
The beginning.
Before the stages. Before the campaigns. Before the awards and schedules and airport reunions and polished versions of themselves the world got instead.
No Fear Just Vibes, indeed.
Her phone buzzed with a private message from Chan.
Chris:
You survived?
Eve:
Barely.
Three dots appeared.
Chris:
For what it’s worth, that first photo made me laugh.
Evelyn smiled despite herself.
Eve:
Because I looked insane.
Chris:
Because we looked like us.
That quieted her for a second.
She looked back at the collage.
The terrible hoodie. The socks. The toast sign. The marker eyebrows. The one sneaker. The sausage, for reasons history would never fully justify.
We looked like us.
And they had.
Before everything sharpened. Before image and timing and career taught them what to smooth down and what to keep hidden. Back when exhaustion was uglier and joy was louder and none of them knew how much they would end up meaning to each other.
Her phone buzzed again.
Lix:
btw
i’m making “no fear just vibes” a sticker pack
Evelyn immediately typed:
Eve:
I hope your charger only works at one specific angle.
Then she saved the collage to favorites.
Just in case she ever needed proof that before all the success and polish and public versions of themselves, Aussie Line had started exactly as it should have:
Badly lit. Deeply embarrassing. And laughing hard enough to make it worth keeping.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
