#gabbiserra

She smiled. Or at least, showed teeth. It wasn’t fake. Just… automatic.

Her wrist still ached from the finals. Her thighs were killing her. She hadn’t had a proper nap since the medal ceremony. And someone kept trying to straighten her hair for photos.

⸻

Gabbi hated this part.

Not because she wasn’t grateful. She was. Deeply.

But the noise after the silence of training—the flash of cameras, the endless 축하합니다! and “What’s next for Korea’s fencing queen?”—all of it pressed in on her like armor she couldn’t take off.

She looked around for Iseul, her one consistent lifeline in this chaos. Iseul appeared from the side, phone glued to one hand, coffee in the other.

“Two minutes behind schedule. The media wants a shot of you waving,” Iseul said, handing her the drink without looking up. “And for God’s sake, fix your bangs.”

Gabbi took the coffee. “You fix them. You’re my handler.”

“I’m your PR manager, not your stylist. Don’t upgrade me without a raise.”

They fell into step like clockwork. Iseul moved like a current through the crowd, shielding her without being obvious. Gabbi sipped. Bitter, slightly burned. She didn’t mind.

As they reached the car, Iseul clicked open the door and said, “Oh, also. We’re going to a thing tonight.”

Gabbi froze mid-sip. “What kind of thing?”

“Low-key dinner. Few mutuals. You’re not in the press run anymore, so technically you’re free.”

“I just landed. I smell like airport.”

“You smell like gold. Put on real pants and come.”

Gabbi groaned but said nothing. She already knew she was going.

⸻

That evening, Seoul was humid. The sky hung low like it was waiting to rain but never would. The dinner was on a friend-of-a-friend’s rooftop in Itaewon: half mood lighting, half haphazard fairy lights, definitely Instagrammable—if Gabbi ever remembered to take pictures of anything.

She arrived in black joggers and a hoodie. Iseul gave her a look. She ignored it.

The table was already half full. Some models. One solo artist she vaguely recognized from a YouTube thumbnail. And then there was someone across the table, pouring himself a drink with the casual ease of someone who knew he was being watched.

Gabbi didn’t recognize him.

Tall, lean, decent jawline. He looked like he probably acted. Or modeled. Or maybe was just annoyingly symmetrical by default.

Iseul leaned in, low voice: “That’s Lee Do-hyun. Actor. Real name’s Lim Dong-hyun.”

Gabbi blinked. “The guy who dies in Youth of May, right?”

“No,” Iseul said. “That was the nurse.”

Gabbi shrugged. “Whatever. Everyone looks like they’re about to die in that show.”

“You’re so culturally bankrupt sometimes.”

“And yet here I am. National treasure.”

Iseul groaned. Gabbi took another sip of her drink.

⸻

They didn’t talk until dessert, when she reached for a tangerine and he reached for the same one.

She let go. He let go at the same time.

The fruit dropped, rolled, and bumped against her phone.

She looked at him. “Just take it.”

He looked amused. “You reached first.”

“Yeah, but you’re the actor.”

“And you’re the one with the medals.”

“Touché.”

A pause.

Then he asked, “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Gabbi shrugged. “I don’t watch a lot of TV.”

That made him smile. “That’s a first.”

He didn’t press her. Didn’t make a show of being recognized. Just leaned back, let her talk about anything but fencing or fame.

She didn’t realize until much later that they’d spent nearly forty minutes talking about local chips, Olympic village food hacks, and the exact ratio of milk to cereal.

No pretense. Just… people.

⸻

When they left, Iseul fell into step beside her.

“Not bad for someone who ‘hates dinners,’” she said.

Gabbi didn’t answer right away. She was still thinking about the actor. Not because of his face, though sure, fine, he had one. But because he didn’t ask for a photo. Didn’t even ask if she wanted to follow each other.

She opened Instagram that night, stared at her chaotic finsta (@jabgab), then flipped to her official (@/jangjihye). Iseul had already uploaded a clean shot of her at the airport.

Caption: “She’s back. Seoul, say hello to our champion.”

Gabbi sighed, dropped her phone, and pulled the blanket over her head.

Somewhere under it, she mumbled, “Lim Dong-hyun, huh…”

She fell asleep thinking of tangerines and cereal.

⸻

🧾 End Notes:

was that okay? did it make sense? if it made you smile (or mildly curious), hit that heart or reblog so i know this isn’t just a ghost post.

🧾 & Author's Note: