#bebe bada

Throughout your entire career, you were never a fan of being in front of a camera. Always being riddled with nerves and anxiety, it made growing up relatively hard. It’s what caused your mother to push for what she believed was best for you. Which all parents usually do, but your mother went the extra mile to ‘better’ you.

There was always a looming thought in your mind—whether to thank or be angry at your mom. Because, as traumatic as your childhood was, she’s what got you into dancing in the first place. When you stepped into a ballet studio at the age of seven, you almost peed in your tutu while watching all the other experienced kids doing pliés and pirouettes. The experience left your stomach queasy, and your head spinning a bit—their incredibly slim yet lean figures could put negative thoughts in your head within an instant.

It was bearable… for the most part.

Yet at a young age, you begin to realize how negative adults can really be with kids, just like how your ballet instructor can be. Your mom forced you to stay in ballet, mainly because of a month's deposit she made on the class. So you had to stick it through, even if your teacher made your emotional self cry every night.

Regardless of those variables, you still found dancing fun. After you ended ballet, you've just danced at home in your room. It usually meant your fluffy socks gliding against the carpet of your room while wearing some random shorts and a large shirt. You would even act like you weren’t doing anything when your mom walked into your room, silently breathing heavily in an effort not to be caught out of embarrassment. 

Despite all your efforts, your mom isn’t stupid. She knew all about your dancing, especially with all the thumping on the upper levels of the house. So, to her, maybe, just maybe, to help you get out of your shell, she could put you into another class.

Fortunately, she did because you spent a week dancing the exact choreography you learned the day of. It didn’t necessarily help all the pent-up anxiety within you, but it did help with your confidence.

After a couple of years of doing so, you had finally began to have found a love for commercial dance classes. Not only did you find a new talent to be proud of, but it’s also when you started to meet your long-time friends.

Leejung was one of the first few of you met. When you were about fourteen years old, your parents realized how seriously you were beginning to take these classes, and realized that moving to Seoul would be beneficial for you. 

Once that happened, your first class introduced you to many of the Korean choreographers you’d see today. When you turned eighteen, you decided this was something you wanted to pursue.

So even without liking the camera and media, you went into all of it headfirst. Making a name for yourself on social media, taking as many classes as you can, and even trying to set up your own classes.

It was working as well, and everything seemed to be going great. There was nothing in your way.

Your parents were still hesitant about the career choice, but your father, being himself, was your biggest advocate when it came to your mother and your passion. 

Thank the universe she didn’t—or else you would’ve never met Bada.

The woman who you’d consider to be the love of your life. It was a pretty lackluster first impression, both of you sweating and dancing in the middle when called to do so. Bada’s a social butterfly—if she figured she liked your look and personality, she would personally go out of her way to talk to you.

You like to think she saw you as interesting enough to even be friends with, when it clearly became more than that. There wasn’t any opposition to being in a relationship; it was just something you never really thought about.

Since your main focus was getting out of your shell, you never really had a crush.

Yet when Bada came into your life, you were easily swept off your feet by the woman, which was just common for anything Bada does. By the time you realized you had some inkling of feelings for her, both of you were in the dance studio alone, and she had almost kissed you before stopping herself.

When that happened, you took a leap of faith. There wasn’t much thought behind it, but you kissed Bada the following week after another class you guys shared. From then on, there were dates, hangouts, and kisses until it finally became official between the two of you.

Then came the rise of Street Woman Fighter. The first season was an undeniable hit, people like No:ze and even Lee Chaeyeon gained more popularity than intended.

Long story short, after the first season, Bada had begun curating her own dance crew, BEBE. It was at a point in time when both you and Bada now had bigger careers. Your girlfriend had worked with multiple SM artists by then, while you worked with artists from multiple companies, and both of you were becoming somewhat known names in the dance scene.

Even teaching in multiple classes that same year. Getting close to certain students helped with the completion of the crew, and she even asked you—well, that’s how you find yourself here, seated first in the fight zone of the building with Bada beside you.

You feel sweat clinging to the palms of your hands as you rest them at the edge of your seat, right beside your thighs. 

There’s a feeling of warmth that settles right above your hand, looking over to see Bada using her hand to hold your. She gives a soft smile, mouthing if your okay and you nod.

The atmosphere felt a bit suffocating, especially when a video starts playing on the large monitor. You could feel how you almost jolt up from the loud volume and some groups began to talk about BEBE.

A lot of what each crew said was expected. How you guys haven’t been a crew for a long time, Bada and her copy cats, Bada overshadowing everyone else, blah blah blah.

You mentally prepared for what they would say about you guys… well, mostly that is.

“Y/n-nim… seems to look really cold, no?” You watch as Mina Myoung points at your photo, the rest of Deep N Dap nodding along. “She looks really mean,” JJ says, in a more innocent manner.

The next clip is 1Million watching videos of your dancing, and Lia Kim tilts her head, obviously confused for some reason. “I don’t really see anything special here,” their youngest, Harimu, tells them, and Lia claps once. “That’s exactly what I couldn’t put into words, Bada just seems like the star of the crew.”

“She’s popular for this mysterious facade she has on social media, right?” Yeni questions and Chocol nods. “Is she popular for her dancing or just the mysterious vibe of not showing her face much?” Halo asks, and you see the rest of the women shrug.

You huffed out the long breath you had been holding in, unsure of how to respond, but it was clear in the way your jaw clenched. Mnet had done a very good job of creating a dramatic atmosphere, and you didn’t know they would kind of push the boundaries of your insecurities.

Shouldn’t have thought so highly of them in the first place. You couldn’t be mad about it all since a lot of it was the truth. Glancing over to your right, Bada’s face is being hit by the cool-toned lighting, the rush of red on her cheeks growing darker from festering anger after each word a person spoke.

Her fist clenched hard, seeing the colors of her knuckles fading into white. With cameras all around, it was difficult to grab her hand or do anything outwardly comforting. The best you could do was brush your finger up against the back of Bada’s hand, and you can see how her shoulders relax from your peripheral vision.

That only lasted for about ten seconds, because as soon as the video ends, the room is filled with the sounds of slamming as you and the girls watch stickers being placed right next to your names.

Bada, despite being popular like everyone said, only got two stickers—from very obvious people, you might add.

You knew Bada well enough by now to know about the history between her and Redy, while she worked with Redlic quite often. There was something at the tip of your tongue about it all, but as you're about to whisper about it to Bada, the monitor shows multiple stickers slamming right beside your name.

Six to be exact.

Not knowing whether to find it amusing or outright disrespectful, a scoff escapes your lips as you look a bit shocked. It was clear that you weren’t as well-known as your girlfriend, and you believed you had gone past that era of feeling like you were overshadowed by her aura. Yet standing here made you feel that same anxiety and frustration—the same feelings you had when the first comment of you and Bada showed up in some YouTube comments.

You even remember the first time reading it. The comment was under a video of a choreography made by you, and Bada had joined the class last minute, to everyone’s knowledge. In the video, you had put everyone in groups except Bada to show her off. 

Not many people knew you two were together, but it didn’t mean you weren’t going to be proud and show her off. In your mind, it isn’t clear if that choice of yours was a mistake or not when you read, ‘I usually dislike Y/n’s style of dancing, but Bada-nim made it work and I love it!’

Reading the comment threw you off, and Bada even noticed it. There was a point in time when you distanced yourself because of it. 

That was at the beginning of your relationship, and you had to learn to grow from it. There’s also no denying that gaining your own fanbase certainly helped the matter. 

Bada’s eyes shift towards you, seeing how your face has become a shade paler at the silence. You have a brilliant girlfriend, and she knows you get into your head… like a lot.

She knew it was likely going to be worse this time since you didn’t take kindly to badmouthing. Constructive criticism was something you could handle, maybe one tear will roll down your face, but you tend to keep your head up high.

Now, comments like these—they’re a big problem. Due to being so harsh on yourself, Bada could already feel the breakdown coming. It wasn’t something she ‘wanted’ to be aware of, but you gave her enough signals that it was going to come soon.

The hair combing, the cracking of your fingers, the way you’d press your lips shut tight, and how you would begin rotating your wrist as if you’re stretching. Within a minute, you had done all of that in order as you took your seats.

You couldn’t even focus for the rest of the show, just constantly spacing out. Like, even with everyone being hype about Jam Republic, Kang Daniel, or Shonwu, you just sat in the corner beside Bada, just staring at the floor as if it were a void.

There was a tug on your sleeve, bringing you out of your head, and you looked up to see Bada holding on, waiting for you to come along with her. Quietly, you get up, not saying a word, as Bada gives you a hug while bringing you up the stairs.

All of the girls were mentally prepping for battles, more excited than nervous, but when Lusher realized you hadn’t voiced your opinions at all, she carefully warned the rest to tone it down.

As you changed at the deeper end of the hideout, Bada kept looking at you, her worried eyes saying it all. You could see how the tail ends of her brows turned down while glancing every once in a while. “Unnie, should I have everyone head out first?” Lusher whispers to the eldest, who only watched as you paced back and forth like you were keeping yourself busy with something. “Yeah…” Bada mumbles, just keeping track of you.

The third oldest began ushering out each member, explaining that you two would follow.

“Babe?” You hear her call out while walking, but your legs wouldn’t seem to stop working on their own. They just kept going and going and going.

That was until you heard her call out again, and it was the thing that made you pause. “Are you okay?”

Those damned trigger words. 

You feel the tears pooling in your eyes, looking down as you try taking deep breaths to hold them back. “Yeah,” you tried telling her, or yourself even, but your trembling voice made it clear that if you didn’t cry it out now, you’d be crying on the stage later, and she knew you wouldn’t want that.

Bada opens her arms, one hand in a beckoning motion—her welcoming you into her arms. You shuffle over to where she’s seated, sitting on her lap softly as you lay your head in the crook of her neck.

Her warmth was good enough to calm you down, her scent could’ve drowned your worries at that exact moment. 

But once you feel the palm of her hand running up and down your back softly, the water works begin to fall. The sounds of your sniffles and whimpers filled the room as her arms wrapped around you.

She feels your tears wetting her neck, due to your lashes fluttering against them ever so lightly. “T-This show makes m-me feel stupid. They made me l-look like a joke,” you talk through your tears, gasping for air throughout your sentence as you couldn’t stop the emotions overcoming you.

You feel Bada caressing your head, hushing you to say everything is okay. She even presses a few light kisses on the top of your head, and it seems to be doing the trick.

She had felt your breathing become far more relegated, how you stopped shaking and stopped gripping her shirt. 

Bada leans back, sweeping the strands of hair out of your face, then taking the pad of her thumb to wipe away the tears staining your face.

“They’re just trying to stir drama,” she whispers in your ear, making sure the production team wouldn’t hear, and you nod, ultimately agreeing with Bada.

Due to everyone changing, it was a quick camera break, and Bada was about to make the most of it. 

“One, I’m sure everyone here respects you. Two, you are the most talented, strong, hardworking, beautiful woman in the whole wide world,” she tells you, stretching out her arms to signify the size of the world.

Her nose scrunches up while doing so, making you giggle. The reaction has her looking at you with a smile, taking you into her arms once more. “There’s that beautiful smile I know and love.”

She softly moves you off her lap, seating you right next to her as she goes over to get her cap next to the door, then places it on your head. You feel how it shimmies down your hair, the large brim covering you, likely, irritated and puffy eyes.

“Let’s go out there and kill it?”

The large soccer field practically shimmered beneath the harsh afternoon sun, the kind of weather the players had long grown used to. From a distance, Bada stood sipping from her water bottle, eyes tracking the ball as it was kicked between teammates.

“They’ve been working real hard these past few days,” came a voice from her right. She glanced over to see the coach, arms crossed, watching them as well.

“Well, you were a little harder on them last week,” Bada pointed out with a half-smile, hoping to earn a laugh. “They’ve been coming in extra sore ever since.”

The coach just scoffed, still disappointed in the team after last week. “Maybe if they didn’t spend every other night partying.”

“C’mon, Coach. Cut them some slack. We finished one of our toughest matches not long ago,” Bada tried again, her voice easy, but the older woman just gave her a look.

“You did. But I didn’t hear anything about you going out after. So at least someone still has their priorities straight.”

A frustrated sigh followed. “At least the new girl wasn’t as bad,” the coach muttered under her breath.

Bada set her bottle down and jogged back toward the field, calling over her shoulder, “She’s not one to give in to peer pressure!”

The coach’s laugh was low and amused behind her.

“Was she complaining about us again?” Lusher asked between heavy breaths, collapsing beside you as practice eased up for a moment.

“Yeah. Nothing new,” Bada replied with a shrug.

“I don’t get why she acts like we party every night,” Tatter chimed in, trying to steady her breathing as she stepped beside them.

“Because you were,” Bada said flatly, earning synchronized eye-rolls from her best friends.

“We stopped, though!” they both shouted at the same time, their matching tones causing Bada to snort—and the coach to shoot them a glare from across the field.

“Fifteen-minute break, everyone! I’ve got a phone call,” the coach shouted before jogging off the turf.

The team quickly scattered, many plopping down on the grass with heavy sighs, a few even lying flat on their backs. Bada made her way to her bag, unwrapping a piece of candy and popping it into her mouth. The sugar melted quickly on her tongue, and she hummed at the sweet flavor. She had a soft spot for sweets—it was her favorite little way to calm down.

But as she turned to rejoin the group, her eyes landed on someone unfamiliar approaching the field.

A smaller figure walked across the grass, face mostly hidden behind sunglasses, a black mask, and a cap pulled low. It was suspicious enough to make Bada squint.

“Uh… can I help you?”

“You actually can,” you replied, voice a bit muffled by the mask. “I’m trying to give this to my sister—she left it at home this morning.”

You raised the large water bottle like a peace offering. Bada blinked, trying to piece together the situation while glancing around for context.

“Who’s your sister?”

“Nakyoung.”

Bada’s expression changed in an instant. “Oh.” She turned around and yelled, “Kyoung-ie! Your sister brought your water bottle!”

Nakyoung perked up at once, leaping to her feet. “Unnie!” she called out, practically skipping over to you.

“I can’t believe you came all the way here just to bring this,” she panted, taking the bottle from you with both hands.

“I couldn’t let my dear baby sister pass out from thirst, could I?” you teased, pulling down your mask and sliding your sunglasses to the top of your hat.

Bada froze.

Her eyes widened like she’d just seen a ghost. Or more accurately, a celebrity she never expected to find at a soccer field in Seoul.

Was that—was that Kim Y/n?

Not that it was rare to spot an idol in the city, but you had made such a name for yourself overseas that people barely expected you to still be in Korea, let alone casually show up like this.

“Wait—you’re her sister?!?” Bada practically yelled, voice pitching with disbelief.

“Uhm, yeah?” you said, a little amused by her expression. “You didn’t tell them?” you asked your sister, giving her a look like she’d lost her mind.

Before Nakyoung could respond, Xinyu came barreling toward you, eyes wide with excitement. “Wait! I’m a huge fan!” she gasped, grabbing your hand and shaking it furiously. “Can I get an autograph?”

As Bada watched the interaction, her brain started connecting dots she hadn’t even known existed.

She looked from Nakyoung… to you… then back again.

“Hold on. BIBI is your sister too?!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, her shock way too genuine not to find funny.

Nakyoung grinned proudly. “I have the coolest sisters ever!”

“That she does,” came a new voice. You turned your head to see Lusher and Tatter walking over. Tatter reached out, gently patting your sister on the head, a soft smile on her face. “You’re so lucky.”

You glance at the time on your phone and sigh, tugging Nakyoung gently by the sleeve. “Alright, little one, I’ve gotta bounce. This pit stop was just lucky timing—I have a shoot in Gangnam in, like, an hour.”

Nakyoung’s face drops a little. “Already?” She pouts, clutching her water bottle like it were her emotional support plushie. “But wait—wait! You should come to my game this weekend!”

You raise a brow. “Game?”

“It’s a home game! Coach said it’s important, and you’re always working, but… it would be really cool if you could come,” Nakyoung says with a hopeful smile. “Hyungseo-unnie can come too!”

Now that makes you pause.

You tilt your head, pretending to think, though the sight of your youngest sister looking that excited already has you caving. “Alright,” you smirk, “I’ll clear the day. I’ll even drag her out of the studio. You know how she is, always keeping herself busy these days.”

Nakyoung cheers, throwing her arms around your waist in a quick hug. As you're hugging her back, your gaze lifts and meets Bada’s again. She’s still standing there, awkwardly polite, still lowkey starstruck, and you can’t help but smile.

“Thanks, by the way,” you say, addressing the taller girl directly. “For looking out for her. I know she’s a pain sometimes, but she really talks about you a lot. Said you helped her with training the other day?”

Bada’s caught off guard—again. She straightens up a little, rubbing the back of her neck. “Oh—uh, yeah. Just some footwork drills. She’s a fast learner.”

“She better be,” you chuckle. “But really… thanks. Let’s me know she’s in good hands.” You shoot her a sincere smile before turning to Nakyoung and ruffling her hair. “Alright, I’m off. Don’t slack off just because you saw my pretty face today, yeah?”

You throw a wave to the rest of the girls nearby and walk off with a casual coolness, your mask pulled back up and sunglasses sliding into place. The moment you're gone, Bada’s still frozen in place, staring at the spot where you’d just been like she’d seen a ghost—or, more accurately, a goddess.

“Dude…” Lusher walks over, blinking at her. “Did you short-circuit?”

“She definitely short-circuited,” Tatter joins in, nudging Bada’s side with a knowing grin.

“I’m fine,” Bada mutters, but she doesn’t sound too convincing. Her ears are red, and she’s still gripping the wrapping of her candy like it were a stress ball.

“You sure?” Lusher singsongs. “Because it kinda looked like you were about to faint when she thanked you. Should we call the medic?”

“I said I’m fine,” Bada repeats, shaking herself out of the daze before letting out a small breath. “I just… I wanna win this weekend.”

That earns a pause from both Lusher and Tatter. Then the teasing practically writes itself.

“Win in front of her,” Tatter repeats, eyebrows raised high. “Or win her over?”

“Ohhh, that’s what it is,” Lusher snaps her fingers. “You’re trying to score off the field, too.”

“Would you two shut up?” Bada groans, shoving them lightly, but she’s smiling—helplessly, hopelessly smiling. “She’s a gorgeous human, okay? Might as well show off a little.”

Tatter grins. “So you admit it?”

“I’m not saying anything else,” Bada mutters, but her friends are already giggling, and she doesn’t even try to stop them. Not this time.

After all, you weren’t standing in front of her anymore, so admitting it out loud didn’t feel that terrifying.

Well, maybe Bada spoke too soon. Games like this always felt a little terrifying, AND it’s in front of you? 

She almost wanted to curse herself for jinxing the feeling from a few days ago.

The game had already started by the time you and Bibi arrived. Both of you had your masks on, hoods up, hats low—though yours still let a few strands of hair slip out, letting people guess if they stared long enough. But no one was really looking. All eyes were on the field.

Bibi leaned back against the stadium bleachers, legs crossed, arms folded under her hoodie. “You think she’s nervous?”

“Nakyoung? Probably more focused than nervous,” you said with a small grin, scanning the field until you found the familiar headband she always wore during games. “This is her thing.”

And it was. Nakyoung was quick on her feet—literally. It was already the third quarter, and the score was 4-1, her team holding the lead, but not without a fight. The opposing team was hungry, intense, and nearly caught up during the second quarter. Every play felt faster than the last.

But it was Nakyoung’s next move that got the crowd to hold their breath.

She had intercepted a risky pass near midfield, and in one clean, confident motion, she turned, dribbled past two defenders, and launched the ball forward with a low, sharp cross—right into Tatter’s path. Tatter didn’t even hesitate. One touch, bottom right corner.

Goal.

The crowd roared. Tatter’s fist pumped toward the sky, and Nakyoung threw her arms around her teammate in celebration. Her face lit up with a wide, blinding grin as she turned toward the stands—and spotted you.

She waved with both arms, full body rocking side to side like a kindergartener on sugar. You laughed under your mask, nudging Bibi. “God, she’s such a dork.”

“She’s our dork,” Bibi murmured, barely looking up. “She’s grown, though. That pass? Clean.”

“She’s been practicing with Bada,” you said. “It shows.”

And as if summoned, Bada’s gaze flicked to the bleachers too, searching—until it landed on you. You waved, subtle but enough for her to know you saw her. Her eyes widened for a second, then softened.

Back on the field, the energy had changed, and the game was quickly picking up its pace. The other team was pushing harder now, forcing Bada’s team to play smart. No mistakes were allowed.

When the whistle blew to signal the end of the third quarter, the players jogged off to the sidelines. Water bottles were passed around, and coaches spoke in clipped, sharp tones.

But Bada? Bada was quiet, towel slung over her shoulders, one knee up on the bench as she stared out at the field like she was solving an equation.

Lusher nudged her. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Bada said, almost in a daze. “I’ve got something.”

The coach raised a brow when Bada slid into the huddle with a plan, scribbling something quick on the whiteboard. No one questioned her. She was the star player and their captain for a reason.

So then it marked the final quarter, and the fans were on edge. The opposing team got more physical, more aggressive. It was a miracle they didn’t get a card for that slide tackle. But Bada stayed calm and waited for her moment.

Then it came. A slight misstep from the other team, and Bada took the chance.

She stole the ball just past midfield and sprinted, weaving past defenders like they were cones. One fake after another, then following up with a spin that left the last girl reaching for nothing but air. And then—

From what looked like an impossible angle just outside the box, she shot.

It curved, kissed the top crossbar, and dipped straight into the back of the net. The whistle shrieked, with the crowd exploding at the insane goal.

Bada just stood there for a moment, chest heaving, sweat dripping down her jawline. Her teammates swarmed her, but her eyes drifted to the stands again.

You were already on your feet, clapping like crazy.

Bibi didn’t show much emotion, but even she looked mildly impressed. “Okay. That was sick.”

“She’s showing off,” you murmured under your breath, the edge of your mask twitching into a grin.

The players hit the locker rooms after, the field slowly clearing out. You leaned against the chain-link fence with Bibi beside you, both of you waiting.

“I thought we were meeting her at the front,” Bibi said, glancing at her phone.

“She asked me to meet her here,” you replied, eyes still scanning. “She’ll come out the back with her team.”

You didn’t have to wait long, but Bibi said she’d rather wait in the car instead.

Bada was the first one out, hair damp and messy from the quick shower, jersey traded out for a plain oversized hoodie. What caught your eye wasn’t even the clothes—it was the lollipop she was sucking on.

She slowed when she saw you, hand slipping the candy from her mouth as she approached.

“Are you out here waiting for me?” she asked, teasing, though her tone was soft.

“Not you,” you deadpanned, nodding behind her. “Nakyoung. But hey, congrats on the game. That last goal was disgusting.”

Bada laughed, the nervous kind that edged on shy. “Disgusting in a good way, right?”

“The best way,” you said, eyes catching on the lollipop in her hand. “Is that… is that lemon-mint?”

Her brows raised. “Yeah—how’d you know?”

“It’s my favorite.”

Bada blinked like she was processing that you were a real person with things like preferences. Then she held the candy in her mouth and dug into her duffle bag without a word, giving you a fresh, unopened lollipop. “Take it.”

You caught it easily, smiling behind your mask. “Bribing me with candy?”

“Maybe,” she said, then hesitated—just for a second. Then she added, “Actually…”

She stepped a little closer, close enough that you could smell the scent of her freshly sprayed perfume, even with the strong peppermint scent of the lollipop she wasn’t currently eating.

“I know you’re busy. And probably surrounded by people all the time. But…” Bada shifted the lollipop to the other hand. “Do you wanna go out sometime?”

Your heart definitely stuttered at that.

You blinked, caught off guard, not by the question itself, but the way she asked it—so chill, but you could tell it took a lot to say it out loud. There was no cockiness behind it, just quiet hope.

You pulled your mask down slightly so she could see your smile. “That was smooth. You rehearsed that?”

“Only, like… for the past few days,” she admitted with a breathy laugh.

“Well…” You glanced down at the lollipop in your hand, twirling it once between your fingers before looking back up at her. “Guess I kinda have to say yes. Would be rude not to after getting free candy.”

Bada’s face lit up like she just scored again.

“I’ll text Nakyoung,” you added. “She’ll probably scream.”

Working has never been a problem for you—you love making money. Since you were a kid, you've hustled through odd jobs. At some point, it was yard work at 9, tutoring by 13, dog sitting at 16, and nannying by 18. You’ve always had this drive to find work that paid well, because with money, you could live life on your own terms.

So when you were out and about one day and stumbled across a bartending gig paying over 18 dollars an hour, you didn’t hesitate. You called the place immediately to schedule an interview.

At 25, finding a job that could help you stay afloat in Korea wasn’t just a win. That’s always been the goal in the country—just survive.

It’s all you’ve ever known, especially after your father walked out on you and your mom. And now, with your mother incredibly sick, the pressure is on to find well-paying jobs that are really taking a toll on you. Thankfully, all those years of grinding paid off—you’ve managed to cover the medical bills, the prescriptions, and everything else your mom needs.

You got the job without any problems. A week of training went by in a blur due to the sticky floors, loud music, and learning how to pour drinks without spilling any of it. Your feet ached after most shifts, but money was money. Plus, there was something weirdly comforting about the chaos for you.

Your first official day felt like any other packed nightclub: too many sweaty bodies, half-hearted pickup lines tossed your way, and the constant stickiness of spilled liquor that you eventually stopped noticing. Jackie, your coworker behind the bar, was quick to warn you about the place’s infamous late-night wildcard.

“Senior DJs coming in tonight,” she muttered while wiping a shot glass. “It’s Bada. Try not to get caught with her.”

You gave a nod but didn’t comment because you didn’t care about gossip like that; the goal was just to avoid those kinds of people. But later that night, when the crowd’s energy pretty much flipped the place around the moment the bass dropped and a tall figure made her way to the DJ booth like she owned the place, you realized she enticed you.

There was something about her. The way her hoodie sleeves were half-pushed up, the way her head bopped to her own beat, the control she had over the room from her presence alone. Her hands on the deck looked long and slender, her smirk—lazy, crooked—made something settle deep in your gut. You hated to admit it, but Jackie’s warning did little to shake the quiet energy pulling you in.

You did your best to keep your distance, though. You were here to make money, not to flirt with apparent grade A douchebags.

But that only lasted a couple of weeks.

One night, Bada bailed at the last minute. Jackie muttered something about her flaking again and rolled her eyes so hard you thought they’d get stuck. You came in late for your shift and were expecting the usual DJ everyone came in for, but instead, your gaze landed on someone different—an unfamiliar girl on the high stage, hair curly and volumous, a cute smile tugging at her lips as the beat thumped into your chest.

She wasn’t exactly Bada, but somehow the energy was similar… this one just seemed much cuter and much more approachable.

During your break, she stepped off the stage and wandered over, tapping lightly on the bar counter.

“Hey,” she said, voice almost drowned by the music. “Do you have snacks?”

You blinked, then grabbed a pack of crackers from behind the counter and handed them to her. “Only this.”

She looked genuinely grateful. “You just saved my life. I was starving—I’m Haechi, by the way.”

You gave her your name, and she smiled wider, soft, genuine, and she wasn’t someone in that building who didn’t give you club-kid energy, unlike everyone else. Over time, she started showing up more, filling in DJ slots here and there. You’d catch her waving at you from the booth or stopping by during your break just to talk. 

Likely just Bada not coming to work because Bada could do no wrong, and if that's what she wishes, she’s allowed to do it. Yet you were thankful at the turn of events.

Haechi has this bright, almost clumsy warmth that makes you feel like you were back in school, talking to someone you could become friends with.

And then, on one of those wild Friday nights, she was back again—only this time she was alternating sets with Bada, a relay that had the crowd going wild. The combination of the two brought in a bunch of people and tons of money, that’s for sure. The two of them switched off with perfect rhythm, like they’d done this a hundred times. And in between all that, Haechi still managed to make her way over to you during one of her breaks, plopping onto the barstool across from you like she had been doing the past few weeks.

You giggled at something she said— a dumb joke about her shoe coming off mid-set—and nudged a cup of soda toward her as a peace offering. She smiled, biting her straw, eyes a little too lingering. 

That kind of look she gave you didn’t go unnoticed. It had only been a few days of knowing each other, but it seems like Haechi Wang has a crush on you.

You didn’t mind it, it was harmless, and you even found it sweet.

But what you didn’t see was the sharp glance from the DJ booth, Bada watching from afar as the club lights moved around, hitting the bar every once in a while.

She hadn’t missed the way Haechi leaned far over the bar table, the way your laughter was silenced by the music yet so loud in action, the way your fingers lightly grazed Haechi’s hand when you passed her a napkin. She was mid-set, but her fingers had gone awry. She wasn’t even mixing properly anymore—just letting preloaded tracks carry the next twenty minutes.

She was watching. And for once, you seemed to have caught her attention, but who knows whatever Bada’s intentions are?

Without warning, she wrapped up her set early, just letting tracks play with prerecorded mixes. She weaved through the crowd, ignoring the drunk regulars calling her name, trying to grab her clothes as she walked by.

You were still behind the bar, laughing at something Haechi said again, elbow resting on the counter, when you saw her approaching from the corner of your eye.

And for the first time since you’d started working there a month ago, Bada walked right up to you.

“Hey,” she said smoothly, her voice clear even with blasting music and the loud murmurs of a combined crowd, as she leaned against the bar, eyes flicking from you to Haechi, then back again. “You’re new.”

Her hoodie was pulled halfway over her head, but that smirk—god, that smirk—was on full display. She extended a hand, confident, like she didn’t care if you shook it or not.

“I’m Bada.”

Her fingers brushed yours deliberately, her touch cool and slow like she was sizing you up in a single gesture. You didn’t move right away, but you weren’t looking away either, almost challenging her. There was a slight shift with the DJs, noticing Haechi tense slightly beside you.

“I’m Y/n.” You told her, because what else could you do?

The world seemed to slow down with the touch of her hand. She gave you this confident look that made her ten times more attractive than your initial thoughts about her. Below the hood, a cap covered her eyes a bit, adding to her mysteriousness.

Bada tilted her head, eyes locked on yours like she could already tell you weren’t the type to be scared off, which she already liked. And you… You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a very, very bad one. The interactions started small from then on. Just shots after your shift, staying longer at the club, even a cigarette offered between two fingers and a smirk you couldn't say no to.

Then it became this unimaginable thing for you.

You didn’t even realize it at first. One minute, you were trying to keep your head above water, working to pay for your mom’s medication, living paycheck to paycheck. Next, you were going out more than you were going home. You drank on nights that weren’t planned, stayed after your shift “just for a while” until the sun was creeping up.

All because of one damn woman.

Bada had a way of making everything feel liberating, even if it came with a hangover and hazy memories. She was chaos, and you’d usually be opposed to that, but she somehow made it work for you to enjoy. She’d look at you with this lazy grin, slip her hand into yours in the hallway of the club, and suddenly none of it felt like a mistake.

You were getting close to both of them—Haechi, who always smiled widely and brought you candies during her breaks, and Bada, who stole your breath with every glance your way. But it was Bada you were drawn to. You started craving her, the person who made your heart skip, even when you were told to do the exact opposite of that.

Then came that night. You barely remembered anything, just being there with Bada. You’d had more to drink than usual. Her arm was around your waist in the booth, and your head lolled onto her shoulder. You remembered her lips brushing your temple, her low voice in your ear saying something you couldn’t recall. Then it all went black from there.

When you wake up the next morning, your mouth is dry, your head is pounding, and you aren’t in your apartment.

Looking around the space, none of it seemed familiar, well, everything other than the sweater that gave it away. A gray hoodie with embroidered white flames on the sleeves told you exactly whose home this was.

Haechi.

Wrapped in a blanket on her small couch, shoes off, a glass of water already waiting on the table. She was sitting nearby in a hoodie and shorts, hair still a little damp like she’d showered while you slept.

“Hey,” she said gently. “You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “What... happened?”

“You blacked out,” she said. “Bada was too drunk, too, so I took you home, luckily, I was playing last night.”

You closed your eyes and exhaled, guilt crawling up your spine. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she replied, voice soft but firm. “But I have to ask…”

You looked over at her. Her hands were fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “…why do you keep staying around her?”

The question came out in a nervous manner, and it wasn’t supposed to hold much weight, but it did for some odd reason.

“She’s never going to give you what you deserve,” Haechi continued, eyes meeting yours. 

“You know that, right? She’s not… good for anyone, honestly.”

You didn’t answer. Because part of you knew she was right, like, for goodness' sake, the girl has you drowning in alcohol right now, and that wasn’t normal for you. But another part—the stupid part, the broken part, the part that saw the rare moments of tenderness—wanted to keep trying.

You didn’t know that Bada was standing in the hallway behind the closed door. She leaned against Haechi’s cracked doorframe. She’d come to check on you, maybe make some excuse about her picking up the jacket she let you borrow at the club, but your voices stopped her from knocking.

She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but when she heard Haechi ask the question—like it hurt to say it—kept her there. The way you didn’t answer was enough for Bada to hear.

The silence spoke volumes to the point it made her walk away and rethink everything about you.

And for once… she cared.

The next week was strange because Bada had just changed.

It wasn’t in a dramatic way, but it was clearly evident because you noticed. She stopped asking you to drink practically every night and started actually showing up to all her DJing sets. She waited for you after your shifts with a cold bottle of water, so cold that the beads of chilled water pooled on her palms. She would call or text if you got home safe, and when you said you were tired, she didn’t try getting you to come out to the party.

It was a bit jarring, to say the least.

You tried not to overthink any of it, but Haechi noticed, too. Her smile had started to fade when she saw the two of you together. The interactions weren’t out of the ordinary, having grown accustomed to seeing the two of you together. Yet, this time, she was seeing Bada in a completely different light. 

A version that had the possibility of treating you right.

She was distant—still kind, still friendly, but her eyes didn’t linger the same. She didn’t hang out during breaks anymore, not unless Bada was doing a set. 

“She’s trying,” you told her one night, during a slower shift. “She’s pretending,” Haechi replied, not believing the change happening right in front of her eyes. “Because she doesn’t like to lose.”

You wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come, and you weren't sure of everything either.

Then there were the other nights you weren’t bartending. When you came in late just to hang out or drop something off. You’d find Bada at the bar or by the booth, drink in hand, leaning too close to someone who wasn’t you. She wasn’t touching them, but her smile, the way she let them laugh at things that weren’t funny—it made your stomach twist.

She’d glance over at you once she noticed, maybe give a small nod, and sometimes that was enough to make you think about your decisions. Other times, it wasn’t.

Still, she never let it go too far, always coming back to you by the end of the night. You didn’t know if that meant anything to her, but it did to you, and you held onto it.

Then came the night she invited you over to her place. Her apartment, with its dim lights, had her playlist running in the background. Time went by quickly, unsure of how you even got there in the first place. Just sat down on her floor, shoulder brushing hers, and when she leaned in and kissed you, it felt like the world finally paused.

“I’m not good at this,” she whispered afterward, voice raspy against your neck. “But I’m trying.”

You simply believed her every word. It sounded desperate to erase any bad memories you had with her.

And when Haechi saw the two of you leaving together the next weekend, her expression was unreadable. She didn’t say anything, just offered you a small nod and went back to the booth.

But later that night, she caught you outside for a moment alone. “I just need you to know,” she said, hands shoved deep into her hoodie pockets, “if she breaks your heart, I won’t say ‘I told you so.’ But I will still be here.”

You smiled, eyes soft, not forgetting the clear sign of a good friend… or something Haechi hoped could’ve been more in the future. “Why?”

“Because I just want you to be okay,” she said.

It tore you up inside because you still chose Bada. Maybe you were just too blind to make the correct decision, but you weren’t going to regret it.