Hello all! I present to you my submission for our server's latest prompt challenge, where my task was to write a story using the time of sunset, and the added challenge of "The story must open with the end of the time duration, then rewind to the beginning and play through again".
Hope you guys like it <3
~~~
"You lasted longer than I thought you would," she says between breaths, and even nowâcompletely fucked out, thighs still tremblingâshe's got that fucking pleased little smirk on her face.
You don't have the energy to respond, just managing to flip her the bird while you stare at the ceiling, pulse still racing.Â
There are scratches down your back that sting when you shift position, her nails having carved you up badly when you'd finally pinned her against the mattress.
The sheets are ruinedâno saving them. Not with the mix of sweat, cum, and whatever's left of Yujin's makeup smeared across the fabric. She's sprawled beside you, chest still heaving, her hair a complete disaster fanned across the pillow. Her sundress is crumpled by the door, one strap torn clean off.
Yujin rolls onto her side to face you, and you can see the aftermath of everything that just happened all over her body. Her lipstick is smeared from her mouth to her jaw, dark bruises already forming on her neck and collarbones. Cum is still leaking from between her thighs, making a mess on skin that's flushed and marked with your fingerprints.
"Worth it though, right?" She traces a finger down your chest, lazy and satisfied, like she's admiring her handiwork.
"You're impossible," you finally manage.
"You love it."
She's not wrong.
~~~
Six hours earlier, you'd been stupid enough to think this would be a normal date.
Yujin had texted you that morning with a simple "pick me up at 2 <3" and you'd thoughtâfine, easy. Lunch, maybe walk around, watch the sunset over dinner. Standard relationship stuff. You should've known better the second you pulled up and saw what she was wearing.
The sundress is light blue, thin cotton that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact she's not wearing a bra. It hugs her waist before flowing down to mid-thigh, and when she bounces over to the car, you can see everything move in ways that make it very clear she planned this outfit specifically to fuck with you.
It's working.
"Hi baby," she says sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat and leaning over to kiss your cheek. Innocent enough, except her hand lands directly on your thigh and stays there while she buckles her seatbelt.
"You're evil," you tell her.
"I'm adorable." She grins, adjusting the dress that's already riding up her thighs. "Where are we going?"
The drive is only ten minutes, but Yujin makes it feel like an hour. Her hand doesn't leave your thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns while she chatters about her week. Every time you glance over, she's doing something designed to distract youâadjusting her hair so the dress pulls tighter across her chest, crossing and uncrossing her legs, biting her bottom lip while she looks out the window.
You watch her take a slow sip, eyes locked on yours.
"What?" she asks, like she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.
"Nothing," you mutter, taking a drink of your own coffee and trying to focus on literally anything else.
She leans forward on her elbows, and the neckline of her dress dips low enough that you can see the curve of her tits. "You seem tense."
"I'm fine."
"Mm." She doesn't believe you, and that little smirk says she knows exactly why you're tense.
You finish your coffees and decide to walk through the nearby park since the weather's nice and you're clearly a masochist. Yujin loops her arm through yours, pressing close enough that you can feel the heat of her body through that thin dress.
"Isn't this romantic?" she says, full of fake innocence as her free hand traces up your arm.
"Very," you say flatly.
She's already sliding that hand down, lacing her fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands to rest at her hip where the dress cinches.
The park is busier than you expectedâcouples on blankets, families with kids, people walking dogs. Yujin doesn't seem to care. She steers you toward a quieter path lined with trees, and the second you're out of immediate sight, she stops and turns to face you.
"I want a picture," she announces, already pulling out her phone.
"You take like fifty pictures a day."
"And I'm going to take fifty-one." She steps close, arm around your waist, phone up for a selfie. You're about to smile when her ass presses back against your crotchâa deliberate roll of her hips.
You grab her waist on reflex.
The camera clicks.
Wow. That is not a graceful expression.
"Perfect," she says, grinning at the photo before tucking the phone away.
She doesn't move away from you. You don't let go of her waist. She leans her head back against your shoulder.
"You're being very well-behaved so far."
"I'm being patient."
"And how long do you think that'll last?" She turns in your arms, and suddenly you're face to face with her, close enough to kiss. Her hands slide up your chest, fingers playing with the collar of your shirt. You can smell her perfume, feel her breath against your mouth.
"Yujinâ"
"What?" Those big, innocent eyes blink at you, like she's never done a thing wrong her entire life. Her thigh presses between your legs, just enough pressure to make her point. "We're just taking pictures, baby."
Someone walks past on the main path and you step back, mostly to maintain some semblance of dignity in public. Yujin just laughs, bright and delighted, before grabbing your hand and pulling you back toward the park exit.
"Come on, I want to look at the shops before dinner."
The boutique she drags you into is small, full of expensive clothes and a bored-looking attendant who barely glances up when you enter. Yujin immediately starts browsing through racks, pulling out dresses and holding them up against her body.
"What do you think of this one?" A black one that would barely cover her ass.
"It's short."
"That's not a no." She grins and drapes it over her arm, moving to the next rack. You follow behind. Her fingers trail over the different materials, hips swaying just a little more than necessary.
She disappears into the dressing room with three dresses, and you lean against the wall outside to wait. The curtain doesn't close all the wayâyou can see flashes of movement, the sundress pooling at her feet. Then her hand appears, crooking a finger at you.
"I need a second opinion," she calls out.
You glance at the attendant, who's fully absorbed in her phone, and slip behind the curtain.
Yujin is standing in just her panties. Holding up one of the dresses in front of her body.
Not wearing it.
The dressing room mirror shows everythingâthe curve of her bare tits, those panties sitting low on her hips, the cheeky smile that says she knows exactly what sheâs doing.
"Well?"
"You're not even wearing it," you point out.
"I wanted to see your reaction first." She drops the dress entirely, closing the small distance between you. Her hands find your belt, fingers tracing the leather. "Are you going to do something about it?"
"There's a person right outside."
"So you'll have to be quiet." She's already popping the button on your jeans, and fuck, her hand sliding into your boxers is not helping your resolve.
You grab her wrist, stopping her before this gets completely out of hand. "Get dressed. We have dinner reservations."
The look she gives you is pure frustration, but there's need underneath it. "You're no fun."
"I'm RESPONSIBLE."
"I don't like responsible," she pouts, but she lets you pull her hand away and picks the sundress back up. You slip out before you do something stupid.
She emerges a minute later. Doesn't buy any of the clothes she tried on.
She does, however, grab your ass when you're walking out of the store.
"An Yujin."
"Hand slipped!"
The restaurant is one of those places with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. You'd picked it specifically because Yujin mentioned wanting to watch the sunset over dinner.
Romantic as hell. Seemed like a good idea this morning.
Youâre having second thoughts.
The golden light of the sunset coming through the windows catches in Yujin's hair when she sits down, makes her skin glow in a way that's entirely unfair. She's gorgeous in normal lighting, but with a sunset behind her she looks⊠unreal.
"This place is beautiful," she says, and she actually sounds genuine for once, looking out at the water where the sun is starting to paint the sky in shades of orange and pink.
"Yeah," you manage, trying to focus on your own menu and not the way the light is hitting her.
The waiter comes by and you both orderâshe gets the salmon, you get the steak, and she requests a wine she definitely can't pronounce but sounds expensive. (She knows youâre paying, after all). She's suspiciously polite, ordering without any funny business.
Then the waiter leaves and you feel her foot slide up your calf.
"Yujin."
"What?" Sheâs staring at the sunset like sheâs never done a thing wrong in her life.
"We're in public."
"I'm just getting comfortable." She blinks at you as her foot reaches your thigh and stays there, and you become very aware of how thin her dress is, how the sunset behind her makes it⊠almost see-through in placesâŠ
The wine arrives and she takes a slow sip, eyes on you over the rim of the glass. When she sets it down, her hand disappears under the table, and a second later you feel her fingers on your knee, sliding up your thigh with clear intent.
"Can't you just wait for the food," you plead, grabbing her wrist under the table.
"I'm not hungry for food." She leans forward, and the neckline of her dress dips dangerously low. The sunset behind her creates this halo effect that would be romantic if she wasn't currently trying to get her hand on your cock in a public restaurant.
You don't let go of her wrist, keeping her hand firmly on your thigh and nowhere else. "Behave."
"Make me," she says, and there's that fucking smirk again.
The food arrives. You let go of her hand so the waiter can set down the plates.
Yujin thanks him sweetly. He's barely gone before her hand is backâmaking it all the way to your crotch before you can stop her.
She palms you through your jeans, and fuck, you're already half-hard from her teasing all day. Her fingers trace the outline of your cock while she cuts into her salmon with her other hand like nothing's happening.
"How's your food?" she asks conversationally.
"Yujin, I swear to godâ"
"You should try the salmon, it's really good." She takes a bite, and her hand squeezes you just enough to make you bite back a groan.
The sun is almost touching the horizon now, the entire sky turning brilliant shades of orange and red. The light hits her face and she looks like a fucking angel.Â
An evil little cock-teasing angel whoâs decided getting you off under the table is way more fun than eating.
"You're so hard already," she murmurs, leaning closer like she's sharing a secret. Her hand works you through the denim, and you're trying to keep your expression neutral while she's clearly enjoying watching you struggle.
"Stop," you say, but it comes out strained.
"You don't want me to stop." Her thumb finds the head of your cock through your jeans, rubbing in slow circles. "You've been wanting to fuck me since I got in your car."
She's not wrong, and you're done.
You grab her wrist, pull her hand away. Harder than necessary. "We're leaving."
"But we haven't finishedâ"
"Now, Yujin."
Pure triumph on her face. This is exactly what she wanted.
She doesn't argue, just grabs her purse while you flag down the waiter and hand him your card without even looking at the bill.
The sun is halfway below the horizon when you walk out, the sky on fire with color, and Yujin is practically skipping to the car.
She beats you to the passenger side, slides in with that pleased smile still on her face.
You're barely in the driver's seat. She's already leaning over the center console, hand on your thigh again.
"That was mean," she says, not sounding very sorry at all.
"You started it." You turn the key and pull out of the parking lot faster than necessary, and the sky is deepening nowâbrilliant orange fading to pink and purple at the edges.
"So you're admitting I won?"
"I'm admitting I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."
The way her breath catches is supremely satisfying, but she recovers quick. "Promises, promises."
Her hand slides higher on your thigh and you grab it, pinning it in place. "You're going to make me crash."
"Then drive faster."
"You⊠want me to make our crash worse?"
"Just drive, idiot!"
The sunset is in your rearview mirror now, the sky ahead darker where night is already creeping in. You make it maybe two minutes before her other hand finds your belt, and you have to move your grip to catch that one too.
"Yujin."
"What? I'm just sitting here." She's absolutely not just sitting thereâshe's shifted in her seat so that dress is riding up her thighs, and when you glance over at a red light, you can see the lace edge of her panties.
"You're insane."
"You love it," she says again, and manages to get one hand free to palm you through your jeans. You're fully hard now, have been since the restaurant, and her touch makes you grip the steering wheel hard enough that your knuckles go white.
The light turns green. You have to let go of her to shift gears.
She takes full advantageâgets the button of your jeans open before you can stop her.
"Jesus Christ, Yujinâ"
"Keep your eyes on the road, baby." Her hand slips into your boxers, fingers wrapping around your cock, and the feeling of her actually touching you after hours of teasing makes you groan.
You catch her wrist but don't pull her away, too far gone to pretend you don't want this. The sky outside is streaked with the last colors of sunset, deep purple and orange, and her hand is stroking you slowly while you're trying to drive through downtown traffic.
"Let me reiterate. You, me, a semi-truck, all meeting in less than a second if you don't get your stupidly smooth hand off my cock."
She laughs but settles back in her seat, pulling her hand away with clear reluctance. You make it three more blocks before you have to pull over at another red light, and the second the car stops you're hauling her in for a kiss.
It's messy and desperate, her mouth opening for you immediately, and your hand finds her thigh, pushing that dress up until you can feel the heat of her through those thin panties. She's soaked, and when you press against her she makes this needy sound that goes straight to your cock.
Someone honks behind you and you realize the light's green.
"Fuck," you mutter, pulling back and trying to focus on driving. Your hand stays on her thigh though, high enough that your fingers brush against the lace edge of her panties every time you shift.
The sun is gone now, just the afterglow painting the sky, and you can see your building up ahead. Yujin sees it too, and her hand goes right back to your cock, stroking you through your open jeans.
"Almost there," she purrs, and you don't know if she means the building or something else entirely.
You pull into your spot and kill the engine, and then you're both out of the car and you're crowding her against the door, kissing her hard while she fumbles with your keys. She gets the door open and you're inside, kicking it shut behind you, and her back hits the wall in the entryway.
"Now?" she asks breathlessly, and there's triumph in her voice even now.
You don't even dignify her with an answer.
The dress hits the floor before you've even moved away from the door, and Yujin's hands are already pulling at your shirt, yanking it over your head while you work your jeans down. She's in just those lace panties now, and you can see the wet spot where she's been soaked for hours.
"Took you long enough," she breathes, but you shut her up by shoving her harder against the wall and kissing her like you're trying to devour her whole.
Your hand slides between her legs, fingers pressing against the soaked lace, and she gasps into your mouth. "You've been wet all fucking day, haven't you?"
"Since the car," she admits, hips rolling against your hand. "Maybe before."
You hook your fingers in her panties and drag them down her legs, and the second they're off you're dropping to your knees. Her eyes go wide.
"Wait, I thought you were going toâoh fuck!"
Your mouth is on her pussy before she can finish the sentence. Tongue dragging through her folds.
She tastes as good as she looks.
Your hands grip her thighs, holding her against the wall while you eat her out like you're starving for it. Maybe you are, after the torture she's put you through today.
"Oh god, oh f-fuck, yesâ" Her hands fist in your hair, and she's trying to grind against your face, shameless and desperate. You focus on her clit, sucking it between your lips, and her whole body jerks.
You don't. You work her with your tongue until her thighs are shaking, until she's practically sobbing, and when she cums it's with your name broken on her lips and her pussy clenching against nothing.
She's still trembling when you stand up and kiss her, letting her taste herself on your tongue. "Bedroom. Now."
"Fuck the bedroom," she pants, already reaching for your cock. "Right here."
Her hand wraps around you and strokes, and you're so fucking hard it almost hurts. But you catch her wrist, spin her around so she's facing the wall, and kick her legs apart.
"You wanted this so badly," you growl against her ear, lining yourself up. "So take it."
You push into her in one thrust and she cries out, hands splaying against the wall for balance. She's so wet and tight that you have to pause, breathing hard, trying not to cum immediately like a teenager.
"Move," she demands, pushing her hips back. "Fuck me already."
"Greedy, aren't we?"
You pull out and slam back in, and the sound she makes is perfectâbroken and needy and so fucking desperate. You set a brutal pace, one hand on her hip and the other sliding up to grip her throat, not squeezing, just holding her in place while you fuck up into her.
"Yes, yes, fuck, harderâ"
The angle is incredible, and you can feel her getting wetter with every thrust, slick dripping down her thighs. Your grip tightens on her hip, hard enough to leave marks, and she loves it, pushing back to meet you.
"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, voice rough. "Teasing me all day just so I'd fuck you like this?"
"Yes," she gasps. "Knew you'dâah!âknew you'd s-snap eventually."
You pull out suddenly. She whines at the loss.
Then you're turning her around, lifting her up. Her legs wrap around your waist automatically. You push back inside her, using the wall for leverage.
"Oh fuck, so deepâ" Her nails dig into your shoulders, and you can feel her pussy clenching around you, tight and perfect.
You kiss her while you fuck her, messy and hard, and she's moaning into your mouth. The angle has you hitting the spot inside that makes her gasp every time, and her tits are pressed against your chest, nipples hard.
"Gonna cum again," she warns, "don't stop, pleaseâ"
"Cum on my cock," you tell her. "Let me feel it."
She does, her whole body tensing and then releasing, pussy spasming around you in a way that almost takes you over the edge. You carry her to the couchâfuck the bedroomâand lay her down, pulling out just long enough to flip her onto her stomach.
"Ass up," you command, and she scrambles to obey, presenting herself to you.
The view is impeccableâher pussy swollen and dripping, cum already leaking out of her. You push back inside and she moans into the cushions, and this angle lets you go even deeper.
You fuck her hard, hands gripping her hips. The wet sounds of your cock driving into her pussy fill the room.
She's babbling nowâwords barely coherent, just broken pleas and your name and "yes" over and over.
"So fucking perfect," you groan, watching your cock disappear into her. Wet coating your shaft. Dripping down to make a mess on the couch. "Look at you, taking it so well."
"More," she gasps. "Harder, p-please, I needâ"
You give her what she wants, slamming into her with enough force that she has to brace herself against the arm of the couch. Her pussy clenches around you, still sensitive from cumming twice already, and you can feel how close you are.
Your hand slides around to find her clit. She practically screams, body jerking. "Can't, too much, I can'tâ"
"Yes you can." Your fingers rub tight circles. "Cum with me."
She's shaking, thighs trembling, and you can feel her getting tighter. You lean over her, changing the angle, and she sobs out something that might be your name.
"Gonna fill you up," you warn, thrusts getting erratic. "Gonna cum so deep inside you."
"Please," she begs, "please, I want it, want you toâfuck!"
She cums first, pussy spasming around your cock, and that's all it takes to drag you over with her. You slam in one final time and cum hard, spilling deep inside her while she moans. You can feel it flooding her, so much that it starts leaking out around your cock even while you're still inside her.
You stay buried in her for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, before finally pulling out. Your cum immediately starts dripping down her thighs, obscene and perfect, and she's so thoroughly fucked that she just stays there, ass in the air, too wrecked to move.
"Bed," you finally manage.
She makes a sound that might be agreement. You both stumble to the bedroom, collapse onto the sheets.
You should probably stop.
You don't stop.
You're on her immediately, pinning her wrists above her head, and she gasps when you push back inside her. She's oversensitive and so fucking wetâcum from earlier mixed with how turned on she still isâand the slide is almost too easy.
"Sure you can handle one more round?" she teases, but her legs are already wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper.
"You started this," you remind her, rolling your hips. "We finish when I say we finish."
She moans, head falling back against the pillow, and you take the opportunity to bite down on her neck, hard enough to leave another mark. Her pussy clenches around you in response, and you can feel how swollen she is, how thoroughly fucked.
You let go of her wrists, brace yourself above her.
Her hands find your back. Nails dig in immediately, dragging down your shoulder blades as you thrust into her.
The sting is perfect.
"Fuck, Yujinâ"
"Harder," she demands, and her nails scrape down your back again, definitely breaking skin this time. "Give it to me harder!"
You shift the angle, driving deeper, and she cries out. The bed frame is hitting the wall with every thrust, and the sheets are getting soaked beneath herâsweat and cum and her pussy dripping everywhere.
"Look at me," you tell her, and when her eyes meet yours they're glazed and desperate. "This is what you wanted all day, isn't it? To get fucked until you can't think straight?"
"Yes," she gasps, nails carving new lines down your back. "Yes, god, don't stopâ"
You don't. You fuck her hard into the mattress, one hand gripping her hip while the other slides up to wrap around her throat. Not squeezing, just holding her there while you fuck her apart.
She's babbling again, that incoherent mix of your name and "fuck" and "please," and you can feel her getting close. Her nails are brutal on your back, scratching hard enough that you know you'll be marked for days.
"Gonna cum again?" you ask, and she nods frantically.
"Can't help it, you're so deep, I can'tâ"
"Do it," you command. "Cum on my cock one more time."
She does, and it's like her whole body seizes up. Her nails rake down your back viciously as she screams, pussy clamping down so tight around you that it's almost painful. The sensation drags your own orgasm out of you, and you bury yourself as deep as possible, filling her up for the second time.
You can feel it mixing with the first load, so much cum that it's leaking out around your cock, soaking into the sheets beneath you. When you finally pull out, the evidence is everywhereâher thighs covered in it, the sheets stained, her pussy absolutely wrecked and dripping.
You collapse beside her, and she immediately sprawls out, chest heaving. Her makeup is completely destroyed now, smeared down her face, and her hair is a disaster. She looks thoroughly, completely fucked.
Perfect.
Your back is on fire where she scratched you, and when you shift, the sting reminds you of every mark she left.
"You lasted longer than I thought you would," she says between breaths, and even nowâcompletely fucked out, thighs still tremblingâshe's got that fucking pleased little smile on her face.
You don't have the energy to respond, just managing to flip her the bird while you stare at the ceiling, pulse still racing.
~~~
Sorry for the wait! I have a big project waiting to go, and also maybe another Twice smut that should be out within the next week or two :)
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Note: Oh you think that Mina one was an anomaly? Nah, we're going angsy with this one.
I had so much fun writing this fr. Special thank you to @kwilquib for hosting the prompt, and @wonyology for being my first victim lmao.
Man, I'm so down bad for Wonyoung wearing this black dress ughhhh...
Also cover made by me yippee. might keep doing this for future fics
TW: angst, a sht ton of swearing
(7.8k words)
You stare at the cracked ceiling of your room, the kind that peels like old sunburnt skin, while your cracked phone screen glows dimly in your hand. Numbers mock you from the banking appâso small they could fit on a grain of rice. Rentâs coming, tuitionâs next, and the electricity bill has a lovely red stamp on it that screams FINAL NOTICE. Your part-time job? Pays you in tips so tiny you could lose them under the fridge.
The math doesnât add up no matter how many times you punch the calculator app. Subtract rent, minus groceries, minus bills. Whatâs left is the kind of figure that makes you wonder if air counts as a meal.
$31.08. What the fuck are you going to do with only $31.08?
You roll over on the mattress, staring at the wall like maybe the paint will start peeling out money instead of flakes.
And then your phone vibrates. Ding.
The group chat you muted weeks ago lights up your screen again.
âParty tonight. Big one. Come through.â
âNo excuses, man. Weâre dragging you if you donât.â
âYou need to stop being depressed and live a little.â
You sigh, tossing your phone onto the bed like it personally wronged you. These obnoxious fucker again. The âfriendsâ you managed to cling onto through sheer luck and timing, the rich kids with wallets heavier than your entire life savings. The kind who use champagne bottles as water guns and laugh about failing a class because they can just retake it next semester with their daddyâs money.
You know how this goes. Theyâll invite you, claim itâs all in good fun, then spend the night poking at you like youâre their charity case. The âordinaryâ one. Whatever their favourite punchline is.
But before you can type out the usual excuseâwork, studying, not feeling wellâanother message drops. âRelax. Weâll cover your entry. Drinks too.â
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.
Theyâll pay. Free food. Free drink.
For a second, you imagine staying as you are: laying down, maybe getting up to your desk, staring at the blinking cursor on your half-finished assignment, pretending the instant noodles taste better than cardboard. Then you imagine an open bar, food that isnât from the clearance aisle, and a night where you donât have to think about overdue notices in exchange for ridicule.
You exhale, a bitter laugh slipping past your lips. âScrew it.â
Your phone buzzes again, like itâs mocking your surrender. âKnew youâd cave, dumbass. Donât embarrass us too much.â
You mutter to yourself as you pull the least-wrinkled shirt from your closet, âYeah, because Iâm just here to make you fuckers look good, right?â
Still, you iron it. You button it up. You force your hair with the last spurt of your hair spray into something presentable. Downing that canned coffee you forced yourself to like to stay awake. Because at the end of the day, you donât have the luxury of saying no.
Not when everything around you is crumbling, and a free night out will at least make you forget about your reality.
-
âŠmaybe rotting at home was better whatever this grand party was.
The moment you step through the grand hotel doors, you feel like you should be working at the back of the kitchen instead. Marble floors, chandeliers dripping crystals, a string quartet in the cornerâitâs the kind of environment where even the air feels expensive. Everyone is dressed like theyâre either nepo babies or they actually are nepo babies, and you⊠youâre praying no one notices that your shirt has a frayed cuff or that little stain you couldnât get rid of.
Your "friends", meanwhile, are already in their element. They throw their jackets at the coat check like itâs a sport, grab champagne flutes from silver trays like itâs water, and slide into the crowd with ease.
âYo, relax, man,â one of them claps you on the back, nearly knocking the glass out of your hand. âWe told you already, tonightâs on us. Just⊠donât brood in a corner, alright?â
Remember, free food.
You force a smile and give them an uninterested "sure". But itâs hard to smile when your head keeps on doing mental math the whole time. Rent: $740. Utilities: another $120. Tuition deposit: looming like an execution date. Your brain is buzzing louder than the music, and every time your friends laugh, it feels like youâre sinking deeper into water you canât swim out of. But you hover beside them anyway, because then you can get it out of the way as soon as this parade is done and bolt straight home.
Although, thatâs when you notice her. Damn it, was her name again?
Oh right. Jang Wonyoung.
The room reacts instantly at the clacking of her heels. Heads turn. Voices lower. Youâve heard the name tossed around campus like itâs some kind of brand. The Jang Corporation heiress. Top royalty. Samsung-level of wealth (or probably more). People whisper about her the way they whisper about exam leaksârare, untouchable, never meant for the likes of you.
And seeing her in person? Yeah, it makes sense.
Sheâs radiant in a way that makes the room tilt. Every step, every glance, itâs like she was choreographed for perfection. Diamond earrings brush her jawline, her silk dress flows like liquid, and the casual flick of her hair has more grace than your entire existence. Heads turn. Conversations falter. Sheâs that girl, the one who doesnât have to try.
Not that it matters. Sheâs definitely not your type. Too polished, too arrogant, too unreachable. Youâve got bigger problems than pretty girls with a last name that can open multiple estates.
So you stand there, nodding when your friends introduce her in passing. âAh, Miss Jang, hey! It's been a long time. This is our guy, donât mind him, heâs shy.â She gives you the briefest glance, a polite nod, then goes back to sipping her wine. Perfect. Easy.
Until it isnât.
Because suddenly, a crowd of suitors descends on her like moths to a flame.
âMiss Jang, Iâve been meaning to ask, would you care for a drive in my fatherâs new Maybach?â
âYour dress is stunning tonight. Did you have it tailored in Paris? I could recommend ââ
âYou know, my familyâs hosting a gala next week. You should come. Weâd be honoured.â
The voices overlap, desperate, performative. Funny enough, you can see it in her expression: the strain behind her perfect smile, the boredom hiding in her eyes. She doesnât want this. But they donât care.
And then she looked at you, as if you two shared the same distaste towards this obnoxious crowdâŠthen moved slowly towards you. Wait, towards you?
You freeze as she closes in, perfume wrapping around you like invisible silk. Her arm slips through yours, firm, warm, and terrifyingly deliberate.
âBabe,â she says smoothly, loud enough for the whole group to hear. Her smile blooms, but now itâs sharp, purposeful. âSorry I kept you waiting.â
Babe? Who's babe now? Did she forget that she just dismissed you with her eyes only just then?
You blink, brain scrambling for words, but nothing makes it past your throat. The suitors stop mid-sentence, their faces contorting in disbelief.
âHim?â one of them sneers.
Her grip tightens on you, nails grazing your sleeve. She tilts her head, still smiling, but her voice dips just enough to sting. âYes. Problem?â
No one answers. No one dares. They scatter, muttering half-hearted excuses, their pride leaking out of them like popped balloons.
You, meanwhile, are still processing the fact that her arms are still wrapped around yours. Before you can speak, she tugs you away, heels clicking across the marble. Past the champagne, past the murmur, through a velvet curtain and into a quieter, dimly lit VIP lounge. She finally releases you, her expression cool and unreadable, like nothing just happened.
You blink at her. âWhat the actual fuck was that?â
âQuiet.â She doesnât flinch. Too busy to check her black nails than to look at you. âSix months. Pretend to be my boyfriend. Iâll pay you.â
You furrowed your brow. â...What bull shit is this?â
Finally, her eyes flick to yours. Theyâre sharp, clear, cutting right through you. âDonât make me repeat myself. Six months. You play the boyfriend role, and youâll never have to worry about money again.â
You laugh, bitter. âOk, I donât know who the hell you think I am, but Iâm not some fuckingâ â
âDo it or else.â She cuts you off, her tone flat, dismissive. Like youâre already signed, sealed, delivered.
âOr else what?â you snap, more from panic than pride.
Her lips curl into something that isnât quite a smile. âOr else I tell everyone here that you threatened me to call you babe. And trust me⊠theyâll believe me.â
Your blood runs cold. âY-yeah fuck nââ
âWhat are you gonna do then, broke boy? Waggling your tail behind those three guys? You think I didn't notice?â
You want to cuss her out, walk out, reclaim the last scrap of dignity you have left. But the image of your unpaid rent flashes in your head. The tuition deadline. The electricity bill threatens to snap your life in half. The measly amount of money you have left imprinted in your mind.
$31.08.
This whole thing is a mistake. One big, humiliating, insane mistake. Yet.
ââŠHow much?â you mutter, hating yourself already.
âYou already told me nothing,â she interrupted, plucking the coffee menu from the stand and flipping through it like she was at a salon. âYou mumbled, cursed, and sulked. Thatâs not communication.â
Your jaw clenched. âI didnât agree to anything.â
Her eyes flicked up then, sharp enough to slice. âYou did, actually. The second you stayed in that room and asked how much. That is consent, sweetheart. Donât you know your contract law?â
You leaned back in your chair, muttering under your breath. âWhat bullshit...â
âAnyway, letâs not waste my time.â She set the menu down and folded her hands neatly. âLetâs establish terms again.â
âTerms?â
âAs I said, six months,â she cut in again. âYouâre my boyfriend in public, in front of suitors, family, business associates. No exceptions.â
âAnd private?â you asked flatly.
âPrivate?â She let the word hang in the air like she was savouring it. Then she smiled, mocking, victorious. âYou donât know me. I donât know you. Separate lives.â
You laughed, bitter. âGreat, so Iâm just an act.â
âCongratulations, you caught on quick.â She tilted her head, studying you like a lab rat whoâd done a trick. âBut donât worry. You won't have to work at Starbucks for cash. You work for me.â
âI donât like being owned.â
âYouâre not owned,â she corrected, sweet as poison. âYouâre hired. Big difference.â
That one stung, but you swallowed it down. The rent. The bills. The constant choking fear of falling behind. Those words kept your mouth shut when every bone in your body wanted to stand and leave.
âAnything else?â you muttered.
âYes. Next, not falling for each other.â She said it so casually, like she was warning you not to step on wet paint.
âTsk.â You scoffed. âDonât flatter yourself. Youâre not my type.â
âGood,â she replied instantly. âAnd youâre definitely not mine even in my next life. So we agree.â
There was silence for a beat, filled only by the hiss of the espresso machine and the low hum of chatter. You thought maybe that was it until she slid a crisp folder across the table.
You froze. ââŠWhatâs this?â
âYour new role.â
You opened it and almost choked. Resumes. Certificates. Company IDs. Bank statements. All meticulously crafted. You werenât just anyone anymore. According to this file, you were a bright young intern at Samsung, on the path to middle management glory.
âThisâŠâ Your voice cracked. âYou forged all this?â
âSuch an ugly word.â She sipped her iced Americano, perfectly calm. âI prefer⊠curated.â
âAre you fucked in the head? If anyone finds out ââ
âThey wonât. I won't get caught.â She leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand, her gaze locking onto yours. âAnd neither will you, if youâre smart enough to play your part.â
Your hands tightened around the folder. âThis is blackmail.â
âThis is survivalâŠwell for you, I suppose.â She corrected it smoothly. âUnless, of course, you want to go back to your dignity and struggle with rent while I find someone else for the role.â
You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out. The images of unpaid bills, of your landlordâs cold eyes, of the suffocating weight of reality⊠they were louder than your pride.
âThought so,â she said, victorious, before pulling a sleek pen from her bag and sliding it across to you. âSign it.â
You stared at the pen like it was a blade pressed against your throat. âYou really think you can justâŠdo shits like this?â
Her smile widened, serene and smug. âOh no. I donât think. I know.â
Your lips curled into a snarl, but your hand still reached out, almost on its own. You signed. The sound of the pen scratching against paper felt like shackles clamping onto your wrists.
âGood boy,â she said softly, leaning back in her chair as if the deal were sealed with your dignity.
You wanted to argue, to flip the table, to tell her you werenât anyoneâs dog. But all you could do was sit there, staring at the ink drying on the contract, knowing youâd just sold yourself into the most humiliating role of your life.
You leaned back, exhaling through your nose. ââŠGreat. Canât wait to meet the in-laws.â
Her smirk deepened. âOh, donât worry. Thatâs next week.â
You nearly choked on your own spit. âWHAT THE Fââ
-
You had been told to âdress nicelyâ for tonight, but Wonyoungâs definition of nice was apparently closer to a corporate gala than what you pulled together. A shirt that had seen too many washes, a blazer with one loose thread, and shoes that squeaked if you pressed too hard on the heel.
When you arrived at her familyâs mansion, the difference between your world and hers slapped you in the face before you even touched the brass knocker. The gate alone was taller than your apartment building, the hedges trimmed like soldiers in formation. It literally looked like it had been pulled straight out of one of those glossy real estate magazines that you ripped the pages off to cover the mold on your wall.
She opened the door herself, arms crossed, eyes scanning you in a slow, judgmental sweep. âHm. Passable,â she said flatly, before leaning in close enough for her perfume to brush your skin. âDonât speak unless spoken to. Smile. And remember, youâre a Samsung intern, not⊠whatever you usually are.â
âI know,â you muttered, tugging on your sleeves. âYou already drilled it into my fucking head five times.â
âSix,â she corrected with a faint smirk. âAnd itâs still not enough. Also get rid of your foul mouth.â
Inside, her parents sat in a living room large enough to host a wedding reception. Her mother rose first, elegant and poised, while her father looked up from the leather armchair, his expression somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.
âThis must be him,â her mother said warmly, extending a hand. âThe young man you told us about.â
âYes, Mom,â Wonyoung replied smoothly, her tone dripping with the practiced sweetness you had never once been privy to in private. She squeezed your arm just hard enough to remind you of your role. âThis is my lovely boyfriend. Heâs an intern at Samsungâs headquarters.â
That single lie rolled off her tongue like silk, and you had to nod quickly before her parentsâ eyes bored through you.
âYes, ma'am. Itâs⊠an honour,â you said, fumbling slightly, but catching yourself at the last second. You forced a polite smile, praying it didnât look too strained.
Her father stood behind, brow raised. âSamsung? Which department?â
You froze for a beat, but Wonyoung slipped her hand over yours on the couch, nails biting into your skin under the guise of affection.
âR&D,â you said quickly, voice steady only because you knew sheâd dig deeper into your hand if you faltered.
Her father leaned back, studying you. âImpressive. Competitive to get in. You must be very capable.â
You nodded again, feeling your stomach churn. âI⊠do my best, sir.â
Throughout the dinner, you spoke only when asked, each word carefully filtered through the silent threats in Wonyoungâs sharp glances. She filled in the gaps flawlessly, weaving a story around you as though she had rehearsed every lie for weeks. She laughed at your forced anecdotes, painted you as ambitious, dedicated, dependableâthe kind of son-in-law any parent would be proud of. You wanted to sink into the floor. Every compliment was another stone on your chest. But when her father finally nodded in approval, you felt her hand relax ever so slightly over yours.
As soon as the front door closed behind her parents, she let go of you like you were nothing but a used prop. âNot bad,â she said, already beginning to head inside without a glance back. âYou didnât embarrass me. You might actually be useful.â
âGlad to be of the fucking service,â you muttered under your breath.
She paused, half-turning with a smile. âCareful. Props donât talk back.â
The days that followed turned into a routine, or rather, a performance. Hand in hand, you walked across campus with her, her fingers laced with yours in a grip that felt more like possession than affection. Cameras, phones, whispers, all part of her stage. She leaned close enough to make hearts flutter around you, her laughter spilling like honey into the ears of every spectator.
âBabyâ sheâd say loudly, brushing her hair back with exaggerated fondness, âwalk me to class, please?â
The crowd would melt. Youâd play along, smile like a fool, even squeeze her hand. And when the crowd dispersed, when the attention shifted elsewhere, sheâd drop your hand like it burned her.
âThatâll be $3000 for you.â sheâd say casually, slipping a bill into your pocket like she was tipping a waiter.
"Wow." You clenched your teeth, forcing yourself to swallow your pride. âA fine example of humility, Jang Wonyoung.â
âSo what?â she cut in sharply, eyes gleaming. âYou agreed to this. Donât start acting like youâre the victim.â
You grinned through your teeth, sliding your own card across the counter, your stomach twisting at the price (even you got paid handsomely). When the last witness turned their head away, she straightened up and shoved a stack of folded bills at you beneath the table.
âReimbursement,â she whispered, tone dripping with mock kindness. âFor being so obedient.â
You wanted to throw it back at her. To stand up, tell everyone it was all bullshit. But then you thought of your empty fridge, the rent overdue notice peeking from under your door. You kept the money, like you always did. Eating away your shame was better than eating nothing.
And she knew it. Every smirk, every command, every choreographed laugh reminded you that she wasnât your girlfriendâshe was your leash-holder. And you were the dog that agreed to wear the collar.
At least your wallet is happier now. But were you?
Were you really?
-
Her room was too clean.
That was your first thought when she waved you in with the laziest flick of her wrist. It was supposed to be another âhome dateâ arranged to keep up appearances for her parents, but tonight was different. For the first time, you properly took in her space.
The desk was ridiculously enormous, covered in a thin stack of papers, a sleek MacBook, and one of those Montblanc pens youâd only ever seen locked behind glass in department stores. But the strangest thing? Despite the money on display, the open workbook in front of her was smeared with pink highlighter and frantic chicken-scratch notes stood out.
Wonyoung was slouched in her chair, hair tied back messily, staring at an Excel sheet like it had personally insulted her.
âCorporate Finance. Week five.â She groaned, stabbing her pen at the screen. âWhy is this shit so hard? Discounted cash flow? Net present value? IRR? What the fuck is this...â
So even the glamourous princess could be foul with her tongue. Huh.
You leaned against the desk, peering down at her assignment. The Excel sheet was a disaster: columns misaligned, formulas broken, random cells filled with â???â.
ââŠWhy donât you just, you know, pay someone to do it?â you asked flatly, because honestly, wasnât that her whole way of life? Throw money at problems until they disappear.
Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. âIf I could, donât you think I wouldâve already? Daddy said if he catches me outsourcing work again, heâs cutting off my platinum card. No Amex, no driver, no weekend spa trips.â She said this as if it were the cruellest punishment imaginable.
You raised a brow. âSo basically⊠your entire ecosystem of survival. What a fucking cheat.â
She clicked her tongue. âDonât act like you donât get it. Youâd die without money too. The difference is, youâd just starve. Iâd lose my whole lifestyle.â
You wanted to argue, but she wasnât wrong. Still, you glanced back at her sheet and sighed. âAlright, move over. Let me see this shit.â
Wonyoung blinked. âYou? What are you gonna do? Throw some sad, broken-man wisdom at my work?â
âBroke-man wisdom probably has more accuracy than⊠whatever the fuck this is.â You gestured to her file. âLook, this assignment isnât that hard. Youâre just overcomplicating it.â
She gave you a dubious look but shifted over, chair squeaking as you pulled it toward the desk.
âOkay, so.â You pointed at the problem statement. âTheyâre asking you to evaluate a projectâfigure out if itâs worth investing in. First step: you take the projected cash flowsââ
"Wait. Cash flow is just⊠money in and money out, right?â
âBasically. But you need to think in terms of time value of money. A dollar today is worth more than a dollar tomorrow.â
She blinked. âWhy?â
âBecause of opportunity cost. You could invest that dollar today, earn returns, so by next year itâd be worth more. Thatâs why you discount future cash flows back to present value.â
ââŠOkay, fine, professor.â She rolled her eyes but leaned forward anyway, watching as you typed out the formula.
"Not a professor but whatever." You sighed, but continued anyway. "See this? NPV equals the sum of all future cash flows divided by (1 + discount rate)^t. If itâs positive, you take the project. Negative, you reject it."
Her brow furrowed, lips pursing slightly. She scribbled it down on her notebook in messy handwriting.
âAnd IRR?â she asked quietly.
âUrmâŠInternal Rate of Return. Itâs basically the discount rate that makes your NPV equal zero. Companies like to compare it to their hurdle rateâif IRRâs higher, the investmentâs good.â
She actually nodded this time, no sarcasm. ââŠOkay. That kind of makes sense. Wait, so the discount rate⊠what even is that?â
âThink of it likeâŠuhâŠthe required rate of return. Usually, itâs tied to the cost of capital. You know, like WACCâWeighted Average Cost of Capital.â
Her nose wrinkled. âThat sounds awful.â
âIt isâŠbut it matters. A companyâs not gonna put money in something unless the returnâs higher than the cost of funding it.â
You kept explaining, fingers flying over her Excel sheet on the screen, fixing formulas and formatting. She leaned closer, chin resting on her palm, quietly absorbing.
âSee? Clean. NPV is positive, IRR is twelve percent. The project's viable.â
ââŠYou make it look easy,â she muttered, almost grudgingly.
âShit's not easy. You just panic instead of thinking.â
She gave you a side-eye. âDonât act all superior. You probably learned this to survive, huh? Counting pennies on your grocery runs.â
âBetter than not knowing what the fuck an interest rate is.â
Her mouth fell open. âI do know! Itâs⊠itâs that number the bank slaps on your credit card!â
"Fuck, damn." You snorted. âRevolutionary insight. Harvard Business School is fucking shaking.â
She shoved your shoulder lightly, cheeks puffed. ââŠShut up. Iâm trying.â
For once, the edge in her voice wasnât mocking. She was actually⊠frustrated. Vulnerable, even. You caught yourself staring at the way her brows furrowed as she chewed on the end of her pen, scribbling half-legible notes.
âYouâre not that damn bad at this, you know,â you muttered.
Her head tilted. âDonât fucking lie.â
âWell, I fucking not. You justâŠâ you tapped her notes ââŠdonât trust yourself enough to think through the steps.â
Silence lingered between you, broken only by the clacking of keys. Finally, she leaned back with a sigh. ââŠThanks. I guess.â
-
At first, earning your new role as her impromptu tutor was like dragging a cat into a bathtub. Sheâd slump back on the leather couch with her legs crossed, diamond earrings swinging, staring at her phone while you were trying to explain the difference between gross margin and net margin.
âWonyoung, you canât justââ you sighed, tapping the whiteboard app on your tablet. âRevenue minus cost of goods sold. That's a gross margin. But if you subtract operating expenses, then you get net. Write it down.â
She didnât even look up, lazily twirling her straw in a pink cocktail. âMhm. So⊠if I spend 50k on a Chanel bag showcase and sell it to my friends for 70k, the gross margin is⊠twenty, right?â
âNot⊠exactly.â You pinched your nose. âOne, you donât âsellâ bag showcases. Two, youâre missing fixed costs. Venue rental, staff, lighting, the security guard who looks like he eats diamonds for breakfastââ
Finally, she looked at you, pouting. âUgh. Why do you make it sound so boring? Just say yes.â
âFuck no. Because your professor wonât.â
It was the only time you could afford to be blunt with her, the only arena where her usual intimidation lost ground (it's most likely because she wanted to get her black cards back). Sheâd glare at you like she was two seconds away from firing you, but instead of snapping back, sheâd lower her eyes and quietly jot something down in her notebook.
The sessions became so frequent that you started to notice her picking up your habits without even realizing it. Her notes were no longer scattered scrawls but tidy bullet points, structured exactly like yours. Her readings, once untouched, were now highlighted in the same rhythm you used. And every so often, youâd hear her mutter your exact words under her breath, â...you fucking serious?â in that clipped, annoyed tone that used to be yours alone. Basically, she swore more often just like you.
But it didnât stop there. One night, around 2 AM, your phone lit up. You groaned, rolled over, and saw her name.
You picked up, voice rough. âWhat.â
âExplain elasticity again.â
ââŠYou fucking serious?â
âYes, I am fucking serious. If demand is elastic, price goes down, sales go up, right? But then why did Apple make their phones more expensive and still sell more?â
"You fuckingâŠ" You sat up, rubbing your temples. ââŠ.Because not everything is elastic. Luxury goods, like the stuff you waste your allowance on, are often inelastic. The higher the price, the more it screams status. People buy it because itâs expensive.â
There was a pause on the other end. Then a quiet laugh. âSo Iâm a walking case study?â
âGlad youâre self-aware, Jang Wonyoungâ you muttered, collapsing back onto your pillow. âNow let me sleep, will you?â
âMm. Fine. Thanks, babe. Sleep tight.â
You hung up, staring at the ceiling. Wonyoung, of all people, studying at 2 AM? You didnât know whether to be annoyed or impressed.
Other times, sheâd drag you out against your will.
You once had to storm into the VIP lounge of a Gangnam club because she wouldnât stop spamming your phone. She was waiting with a notebook open among champagne bottles and expensive fruits.
âSit.â She patted the seat beside her, like you were some kind of dog.
You groaned. âYouâre seriously making me teach you here?â
âYes. I already skipped three classes. You said I was wasting time.â She slid her notebook closer, eyes uncharacteristically big and expectant. âDonât let me waste it, my shitty boyfriend.â
Her tone was bossy, but her hand was already clutching a pen like she was actually ready to listen. Against your better judgment, you sat and explained how Porterâs Five Forces worked while bass shook the glass walls. She nodded, tapping her nails on the page, lips moving as she whispered the concepts back to herself.
And somewhere along the way, you picked up her habits too.
She had that habit of twirling her pen when she thought, and you caught yourself doing the same when trying to find the right word to explain to her. She'd waved her hand dismissively whenever she rejected an idea, a gesture so effortlessly elegant you slap yourself for accidentally mirroring it when the waiter offered drinks. Worst of all, you just start drinking whatever overpriced she always brought.
But thenâŠher grades began to climb, not spectacularly, but enough to make her happy. Her first decent midterm came back with a solid B+. She shoved the paper into your face before you even stepped into her place.
âLook! I passed!â she beamed. âDo you know how many people thought I was going to fail out? Hah!â
You gave her a once-over. âNot bad. Still not an A though.â
âExcuse you?â She smacked your arm with the rolled-up paper. âThis is basically an A for me. You should be honoured. My dad didnât even believe I wrote the essay myself.â
ââŠDid you?â
âYes!â She puffed out her cheeks, glaring at you. âI stayed up all night, typing and deleting. And donât give me that shitty grin, I only cried twice.â
You chuckled despite telling yourself not to. âFine. Good job.â
Her eyes widened, then she smiled a little too brightly. âY-you actually mean that?â
âWhy would I waste my damn energy lying to you?â
For a moment, she froze, lips twitching. Then she turned away, suddenly shy. ââŠWell. Keep complimenting me like that, and maybe Iâll even aim for an A next time.â
-
You thought it was a phase.
Maybe something she did when she was bored, the same way she bought limited-edition heels and forgot about them a week later. But three months in and the pattern stayed.
One evening, you were hunched over your laptop at your tiny dining table, Excel open, cells glowing with endless columns of projected revenue and sponsorship figures. Your wrist ached from typing, but your pen spun absentmindedly between your fingers (three twirls, catch, three twirls, catch) the same nervous tic youâd noticed sheâd been doing with her Montblanc pen for weeks now.
The door opened without so much as a knock.
âAgain?â you muttered, not even looking up.
Of course, the Jang Wonyoung barged in without asking, as always, a plastic bag of snacks in her hand. She always did that annoying twirl, showing off her favourite Tommy Jeans black dress that hugs her tightly (you never see her wear that outside, though.) Instead of sitting across, she dragged the chair and sat beside you, throwing the bag on the table like she owned the whole room.
âYa, did you hear the latest about the Han family?â she said, words muffled slightly as she chewed. âTheir eldest son got caught cheating in his MBA program. Total fucking scandal. The dean over there is trying to keep it quiet, but everyone knows.â
You didnât look up. âYou sound way too damn happy about someone elseâs shit.â
Her grin widened, sharp and satisfied. âOf course I am. He once told me I âlacked the work ethic for graduate schoolâ when we first met. Look how that fucker turned out.â She leaned closer, tilting her head toward your screen. âWhat are you even doing this time? Looks like hell.â
âQuarterly projections,â you muttered. âNot that youâd care.â
âTrue,â she said airily, throwing a piece of Haribo into her mouth. âBut if you run out of numbers to stare at, I can tell you about which department store CEO just got blacklisted by LVMH for faking luxury collaborations.â
You finally looked at her, brow furrowed. âWhyâŠdo you even know these things, Wonyoung?â
She smirked, popping another into her mouth. âBecause gossip travels faster in penthouses than it does in classrooms. You wouldnât understand.â
You shook your head, returning to your spreadsheet, but she didnât leave. Instead, she slouched in her chair, one elbow propped against the table, scrolling through her phone with idle taps. The silence wasnât heavy anymore. Just⊠there.
Another night, you were sprawled in the lounge, a half-warm can of cheap coffee on the table, a documentary murmuring from the TV. She slid onto the couch beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed, dropping her bag onto the floor without a care. You didnât even flinch anymore. Sheâd been barging into your place too often for it to feel foreign.
âHye, want to know which dumb rich guys are secretly dating a B-list actress?â she asked suddenly, eyes glittering with mischief.
You gave her a deadpan look. âNot particularly.â
She leaned in anyway, lowering her voice conspiratorially. âI wonât tell anyone else. Just you.â
You exhaled, exasperated. âWhy me?â
She blinked once, then smirked. âBecause youâre boring enough to keep secrets.â
"Rude.â
âAccurate,â she shot back without missing a beat. Then, as if remembering something, she reached over, plucked your can of coffee from the table, and took a swig.
You frowned. âThatâs mine.â
âMhm, fuck that. Your shit, my shit.â she hummed, ignoring you, her long fingers wrapped around the dented aluminum. She tilted her head back, swallowed, then lowered the can with an approving look. âUgh. I hate that I like this now.â
Your brow arched. âDidnât you once call itâwhat was itâârecycled battery acidâ?â
âMy point still stands.â She smirked, setting the can back down but keeping it close to her side of the table, as if it was hers now. âBut itâsâŠaddictive. And way cheaper than the syrupy shit I used to waste thirty bucks on.â
âWelcome to the commonerâs economy, princess.â you muttered.
âDonât use that tone on me, mister.â She tapped her nails against the aluminum, a habit that mirrored the way you always fidgeted with your pen. âItâs just⊠practical. Convenient. Doesnât come in an obnoxious cup with my name spelled wrong.â She shot you a sideways glance, her grin playful. âHappy? Youâve fucked me up.â
You kept your face straight. âFinally, some good shit Iâve taught you.â
She laughed, leaning into you, the sound bubbling up without her usual effort to control it. âWow. Youâre actually proud. Cute.â
âI do not remember saying thatâ you dismissed, unknowingly did her usual gesture like it was natural.
âSure, sure.â She settled more comfortably against your shoulder, like sheâd done it a hundred times before. Her hair tickled your arm, her perfume faint but familiar. She lifted the can again, took another sip, then sighed contentedly, her lips quaking into a softer smile this time.
âAnd becauseâŠI guessâŠurmâŠâ She paused, eyes still on the screen but voice low. ââŠyou actually listen.â
The documentary droned on in the background. Outside, neon lights bled through the blinds, painting the room in shifting pinks and blues. You were itching to push her off. To tell her you werenât her diary, werenât her late-night therapist, werenât her safe little vault for secrets. But you didnât.
You sat still, feeling the slight weight of her head, the warmth of her shoulder against yours, the soft clink of her nails against the can she stole.
And you realized, somewhere between each impromptu session and whispered gossip under neon lights like this, that the spoiled heiress who once saw you as nothing more than a background actor had started toâŠwarm up.
And you, without realizing, had started tapping your pen against notebooks in the same unorthodox rhythm she tapped her nails against glasses. Your head tilted the same way hers did when listening. Sometimes when you walked away from her driver waiting at the curb, you caught yourself dragging your feet just like she didâstretching out those last few seconds like you didnât want the evening to end either.
At first, you dismissed it as habit, camouflage, a side effect of spending too much time together. But you couldnât deny the pattern.
She laughed harder at your blunt, unpolished jokes than at any half-hearted punchline from the hordes that kept licking her boots. She didnât argue back as much during case studies, even when you yelled at her for the fifth time in a week about mixing up fixed costs and variable costs. And sometimes, in the silence after your scolding, while she typed notes furiously into her laptop, her gaze would wander back to you. Not to her âfake boyfriend.â Not to her impromptu tutor. But to something else, something she herself couldnât seem to name.
And against your better judgment, against all the bitterness youâd buried toward her kind of world, something cracked inside you.
Maybe you were wrong about her. Somehow.
And just as quickly as it appeared, the thought crumbled. Because she pulled away.
No messages.
No heads up.
Nothing.
Then one night you stumbled upon her again online, flashing lights bouncing off champagne towers, her name trending on Instagram stories full of sequins and afterparties. She fit there too perfectly, sliding back into the neon world of heirs and heiresses like the late nights of canned coffee and whispered gossip had been nothing but a detour.
She had vanished from your life like it was nothing. And you felt stupid for letting yourself think otherwise but just a contract.
You dropped whatever flicker of hope had sparked inside you. Snuffed it out before it could grow. Of course she wasnât different. Of course she was just like the rest of them - throwing you away when you're out of use. You shouldâve never expected anything more. It was over for you.
To her howeverâŠit wasnât.
She hated how much she thought about you even after another Long Island. She hated how fake her laugh sounded when another rich kid told a joke, because she could only remember the way hers spilled out wholeheartedly at you, uncaring of your judgement. She hated how she heard your crude voice every time she glanced back at her Macbook.
And she hated most of all that she missed you.
She tried to drown it in neon lights, in alcohol and shallow conversation. But nothing worked. Not for a second.
So when you finally confronted her, it wasn't anything dramatic nor passionate. It was worse.
Her lips twitched. âThatâs what youâre starting with?â
âYou came. I came. Now sit.â
It wasnât a request. And she hated how obediently she sat down anyway.
For minutes, neither of you bothered with the old charade. No leaning close for show. No playful act for the regulars to whisper about. Just silence, broken only by the clink of your spoon against the espresso cup. The same rhythm you had picked up from her.
Wonyoung hated every second of it. She could see the indifference in your face, the way your eyes wandered off as if you had other things on your mind. And she hated the fact that she could recognise that particular rhythm from the tapping. The hollow laughter or the unfiltered curse would be far better than that constant noise right now.
âSo thatâs it?â she snapped suddenly. âYou donât care where Iâve been?â
âYouâve been at parties,â you replied, eyes fixed on your drink and stopping the spoon. âCongratulations. Want me to clap?â
Her chest tightened. âYouâre heartless. I disappear for fucking weeks and thatâs all you have to say?â
âSo fucking what?â At last, you looked at her, your gaze sharp enough to cut. âPeople come and go, Wonyoung. You signed me for six months. Nothing more, nothing less.â
Her throat closed. âSo thatâs all I am to you? A contract?â
âI was a contract to you too. Mutual transaction, Wonyoung.â
The bluntness hit harder than a slap.
Her nails dug into her palms. âWhy do you always do this shit? Pretend you donât care, like youâre above everything, like nothing fucking touches youââ
âBecause none of this shit touches me.â Your tone was steady, too steady. âYou donât get it. Youâre spoiled, Wonyoung. You run to me when itâs convenient, then crawl back to your perfect little world the second it scares you. Donât act like this is more than what it is.â
Her breath hitched, tears threatening, but her pride held. âYou really think thatâs all Iâve been doing? Using you? Playing with you?â
âYes,â you said without hesitation.âWhat else?â
Her chest rose and fell sharply, like she was trying to keep herself from drowning. She bit down on her lip, eyes flashing with something raw. âYou think I wanted this? You think I fucking planned toââ she stopped herself, words catching.
You didnât move.
âI cannot change my feelings for you,â she blurted out. The tremor broke into rawness, eyes wet, hands trembling on the table. âBelieve me, I fucking tried.â
And a part of you wanted to forgive her. Ached to. Because she enjoyed your bitter canned coffee. Because you caught yourself chewing at straws the way she used to. Because she laughed for real with you and let herself listen without pretending she already knew. You wanted to reach across the table. You wanted to tell her you could try, just try.
But you didnât. You smothered it down, buried it under the weight of everything you knew about her world. You couldnât afford to believe it. Not from her.Â
Anymore.
âWell,â you began, soft yet merciless, âI canât change my despise for you either.â
Her head jerked back as if youâd struck her. âWhatâŠ?â
âWonyoung.â You breathed, exhaling all the thoughts that you were bottling up. âI already donâtâŠlike your kind of people, especially those who whine and play around. BeingâŠfriends with you was the furthest I could go, and thatâs me being generous.
You swallowed, unsure if the word âfriendâ rolled off your tongue was sweet or bitter. "But this?â You pushed the expensive coffee cup aside like it was trash. âThis was a contract. And you broke it. Itâs over.â
Like you were clocking out of a shift.
Her body trembled as the tears finally fell, one after another, slipping down her flawless face. Her voice cracked as she screamed, âYouâre really ending it like this?! Just like that?!â
You stood, hands sliding into your pockets. ââŠThank you for the past six months, Jang Wonyoung.â
And you got up from your seat.
On the table, beside her untouched latte, you placed a small, neatly wrapped box. Inside was a silver pen â unbranded, practical, the one youâd once caught her admiring when you were scribbling notes beside her. Her birthday was only a few days away. It was the only kindness you allowed yourself.
You didnât wait to see her reaction. Didnât dare.
The bell chimed as you walked out, dragging your feet unconsciously â just like her.
You walked into the street, your thumb already scrolling through job postings, your teeth chewing at your fingernail the way she used to chew straws.
A barista gig near the university. A bookstore clerk position. A part-time teaching assistant role if you got lucky. Anything to keep moving. Anything to keep the light on your head and food on the table. Anything to not get back to the time where you only had $31.08 on you. Anything but thinking about the girl crying her heart out behind you.
Because for her, it was never just a contract.
But for you, it had to be. Even if youâd already betrayed yourself by leaving her that gift.
Tonight should have been one of the best nights of your life.
Instead, it feels like the end of the world.
See, you had the whole thing planned out months in advance. How the proceedings would go from start to finish. It was gonna be special; people would go crazy. They'd cheer, celebrate, and scream your name so loud you'd feel like you're on top of the world.
None of that happened. What you were left with is a broken dream and absolute heartbreak.
Time flies when you're having fun. At least that's what was supposed to happen.
Tonight should have been the triumphant climax of all your hard work and patience. The culmination of five long years of diehard, borderline obsessive fandom. Years of saving little by little, counting the days, making countless prayers to a God that's mostly indifferent, until, finallyâyour pleas had been heard by the powers above. One simple announcement on a Wednesday morning:
IVE is coming for their world tour.
You've been a fan since debut. Anticipated the months after Yujin and Wonyoung finished their time in IZ*ONE. Almost five years since you knew they'd be the one, you'd only seen them from behind screens, in other people's cameras, and curated content. Years pass; they take over Korea, eventually the world. You have no place in it. But you're still waiting.
For lack of a better word, you're obsessed.
Not in a stalkerish, 'I'll follow them to their place and bother them' way. Fucking no. You know your boundaries as a fan. Rather, the kind that teeters along the line of parasocial and absolute dedication. Their influence is all over your bedroom: posters that plaster the walls, shelves of magazines with them on the cover that you carefully maintain from dust, binders upon binders of photocards both common and rare, but most importantly, albums of every version that you consider sacred. The crown jewel of your hypercapitalist consumption.
The family says you're wasting your time and money. Your friends laugh it off and call you quirky, steering conversations away from K-pop whenever possible, because they know you'll go into 30 minute tangents that somehow lead into IVE. At least they're understanding. Or highly tolerant.
They don't really know just how deep it goes. How much these six women mean to you, beyond the music and the fact they're so unbelievably pretty. That's a given.
But back to the matter at hand:
You've had the dates marked on the calendar the moment the official announcement hit. After five years and two world tours, they were stepping foot on home soil for the first time. Your territory. Not a festival with only 30-45 minutes per performer, not even as a one hour headliner. A full blown concert. They'd missed you the first go around, and for many days and nights, you'd cursed everything. Lamented that the only way you could ever remotely get close to these girls was to take a flight elsewhere, and the process was already a battle of its own.Â
Not anymore. That risk was gone; the only thing you needed to secure was the ticket. You'll worry about what happens after.
And you'd been preparing. Waiting for the day when you could finally take from an account that had been storing bits of leftover money from your salary or allowance, four years of slow-burning patience and hope.
It was enough. More than. Except it wasn't.Â
You were not taking any chances. You used every dirty trick in the book; bots, third-parties, people who only accepted a small fee in exchange for direct links to skip the impossibly long queue, to get an unassailable advantage even during presale. The people were yearning for more K-pop concerts, and at last, they were blessed. In a place where live music is few and far between, you weren't the only one starved. Anyone, regardless of their public recognition, could come and sell out if they went; that's how dry it's been.Â
All those efforts weren't for naught. You're right where you want to be: front row. Exactly where they'd be passing by every now and then.
The rest could take care of itself.
 Even through your earplugs, you can feel the ground moving beneath and the collective noise of thousands piercing your eardrums. The way the roar of the crowd reverberates everywhere, the bass of the speakers thrumming throughout the arena.Â
You're ready. Everyone is ready.
Anticipation pulses through your veins. You're counting the minutes till they take the stage. Lightstick on one handâthe latest versionâyour phone in the other. Your bag feels heavy, but the adrenaline makes you soar. Not even the stash of freebies from other fans, tour merch you'd bought at a rinkydink tent after waiting in line for hours, and an album and some photocards you hope they'll sign keeps you down.
This is your second concert, actually. You promised they would be your first, but circumstances got in the way. So you wound up flying off elsewhere to see another group instead. But finally, after four years of watching behind screens, of saving what little money you can, of building a shrine to the girl group of your dreamsâit's all led to this.
The lights go dark. The crowd lets out a thunderous roar. Nothing else matters anymore; only you and the stars on that stage.
They emerge like angels descending from heaven to bless the ground you're stepping on. In all black leather looking lethal. It's a tired saying, but screens do little justice to how godly they are in real life.
And for the most part, it's everything you wanted and more. They move at a breakneck pace, performing one song to the next, even completing their solos with hardly any opportunities for them to speak until past the first hour (when they formally introduce themselves). Then they do their trademark hits. At one point, the crowd barks; you cringe, but they revel in it, so it's now tolerable. Your ears may be hurting, your arms are sore holding up their lightstick, and your body is being put through hell and back crammed inside a crowded pit, but you're having the time of your life.
You don't think in the moment; the music is still booming, and your fervor is still at a fever-pitch. They come out for the encore and spread everywhere. A member or two comes around your area every now and then. You hold up a sign. One handcrafted from love and patience. They glance, but their attention ends up with someone else. Even when you wave harder, they give hearts, blow kisses, but not of them land on you.Â
Something shifts. Your zeal flickers. They're now giving their farewell speeches, and fans are shouting mid-speech: they laugh, giggle, get them to answer back. You're still holding up the sign in the hopes one of them will acknowledge it, but their gaze fixes up ahead. They do their final two songs, and the cycle repeats: a member passes your way, you hold up a sign, they look everywhere except you. Each pass, each distant gaze chips away at your heart.
And after two hours, it ends.
Confetti springs everywhere, they're waving goodbye, headed in your direction as a collective. Fuck concert etiquette now; you have your sign held up to the sky. Just a flicker, a single point of recognition is all you want. Their gazes move from left to right, mostly at the seated lower boxâbut they look past you again. To the people beside you. Everywhere but you. Then they turn away. They've given you the cold shoulder.
They take their final bows and walk to the back of the stage, still waving as the panel closes in front of them, and then they're gone for good.Â
The stage lights come back on. Staff usher out the crowds, telling them to leave as the cleanup crew steps in. VIPs are told over the speaker to stay put. You are staying put, but your excitement has completely died. Your body leans on the barricade, folding in utter disbelief, giving out after enduring so much: the frenzied movement of the crowd, the energy you exerted waving your lightstick and sign, a general lack of sleep, and the fact that none of the girls looked at you even once.
But the night isn't quite over yet. There's still a send-off. And one way or another, you will leave with something.
âââââ
Waiting is its own torture.
You're scrolling through your camera roll in the meantime, scanning, assessing all the photos and videos you've taken. None of them do justice to how they truly shine with your own two eyes, even with the occasional blur and shake. Being a hair's width from them, breathing the same air as themâit should have been enough. It isn't.
There's no point of contact. Not a single photo, not a single second, not even a single frame in any of the footage you've checked where at least one of the girls meet you or your lens, even when they're right in front of you. Nothing at all.Â
You were too caught up in the heat of the moment to truly notice. How they'd get the ones beside you or behind you, but never exactly you. The way they'd skip past in favor of someone else. Maybe it's only coincidence; so far, you haven't analyzed every video frame by frame.
Doesn't matter right now. The staff are making the announcement, ushering in clusters of VIPs into the backstage pen where send-off happens. Perhaps this is how the universe corrects; that this is the twist that tonight will bring to give you the happy ending you dreamed of.
When they lead your section in, you follow along. Carefully monitoring the environment, the groups that have already flanked the front rows ahead. There's hardly any space left to fit in, nor is there enough room around the corners. At this point, you'd be three or four people behind, some behemoths, others carrying obstructive signs. If they couldn't see you up front, they definitely won't see you now. But your eagle-eyed gaze catches on the far right edge of the room: a tiny, intimate zone beside a concrete pillar that is an island in and of itself.Â
So while no one's watching or paying attention, you stake your claim: a prime spot before anyone else even considers it. Given the circumference of the lounge, they're bound to walk past you again. This time, you'll correct those mistakes.
The others pick up rather late, take their spots beside you. No matter. You're still in a prime spot, right as they're about to exitâor where they'll start first. Either way, that interaction you've been chasing is all but guaranteed. Surely.
For a few minutes, everyone waits. Across your vantage point, some push and assert their presence, but for the most part, it's all calm, tense excitement. One last chance to see their favorites up close. But for you, one last chance to prove you meant something.
From a distance, a door can be heard swinging open. The ripple comes quietly at first, like the calm before an incoming tsunami. And then, a thunderous roar echoes around the intimate room.
They're here. Again. Still wearing their encore fits. Still unbelievably ethereal.Â
Etched on their features are tired but steady little smiles. But they're not complaining, nor does the idol veneer crack. It's only been 40 minutes since the concert ended, and they were performing for almost two and a half hours straight. Yet here they are, waving at everyone like they can go another round. They're professional as ever, even when signs and albums and phones are being harshly thrust upon their faces.
Your items are ready: a pen, their latest album, the same A4 sized sign you've been raising on and off throughout the show, now ragged and worn, and a set of photocards, one for each member to sign. There's also a handwritten letter in your bag that you plan to bring out when they get close. And somehow, even after two hours of shouting and yelling, you still have a voice. You'll expend the last your lungs can produce if it means they finally see you.
They're starting from the other side of the room, and you watch them deliver their best. From left to right, they settle into fanservice like it's muscle memory.
Gaeul calmly waves at anyone she sees. She looks at a girl's banner with her photos on it and a message printed in big Hangul font. Points at it like it's the most precious thing in the world. Then she leans forward to pose for another fan's phone, and it's like the spotlight is shining just for her. She asks them to show the photo, and after a brief inspection, nods in approval before moving on.
Leeseo's moving like a ball of charisma. Her smile is sunshine incarnate. She's energetically active on her feet, but grounded at the same time. She meets a half-heart from a girl and completes it. Then another. And another. Someone presents their Erang-e plush in front of her, and she tickles the fabric like it were her own. Someone's trying to reach out for a heart from behind a trash bin, and she meets them halfway. Doesn't matter that her hair's touching the chute; she's gonna meet them all.
Rei's the chattiest of the bunch. Hand to her ear, playfully making everyone shout louder, listening as everyone calls out her name. And somehow, in the midst of the commotion, she can single out a specific voice to find them. A fan holds up a sign asking her to do that stupidgesture, and she does exactly that with her cheeky trademark grin. The crowd roars its approval as they all collectively shout 'six-seven!', sharing a laugh with them before moving on.
Wonyoung is exactly who she is: an untouchable princess, grace given human form. Her movements are effortless, but deliberate; she keeps herself distant from the barricade, but she's the most attentive and keen-eyed (though they all are).She points at every girl in the crowd, her skin radiant under the pale orange lights, and she floats along the line with her usual style. Someone asks her to do her legendary twirl, and she delivers, leaving that section swooning. Another asks her if she can have her photocard with her face signed; she claps her hands together gently and bows apologetically. To compensate, she playfully waves her fingers around in the shape of her signature and blesses their camera.
Liz quietly scans the crowd. Takes her sweet time to find someone holding a banner clearly breaking venue rules, with a clear message: Kim Jiwon you're unreal! She gently laughs and blows a kiss directly at the lucky fan, who almost immediately fucking loses it. Much like her older member, she keeps a respectable distance from the barricade, but her eyes quickly work through those holding her photocards, banners, and makes sure she points out every single one. Someone asks them to pose with Rei; of course she hesitates, but Rei obliges and the chemistry is undeniable.
And finally, Yujin makes the girls in front berserk. She knows she's got them all hooked. The slight hint of her toned midriff is enough for them to go feral. She keeps the motions simple: wave, then heart. Rinse and repeat. But every now and then, she'll tease her bare shoulder off the cut part of her shirt, or lift the bottom to make her stomach clear, and she relishes in being gawked at.
Slowly but surely, the members make their trip around the line. Trying to find every face possible, trying to acknowledge everyone in the room. Staff and security closely flanking each girl gesture subtly, whispering behind tightly knit hands. A little bit faster please. We have to go.Â
And they try. Even with the pressures of time, they try. Most of the love and affection end up falling in the first three rows; anyone below 5'5 and those in the back are hidden behind taller, more demanding heads and a cloud of unruly banners, signs, picket fans, and cellphones. It's bad luck and poor optics at play.
Not you. You're in the right spot. The place perfectly suited for them to find you as they finish their walk around the line.
So you wait. Each step forward they take makes you tenser, more anxious. The thought starts out innocuous:Â what if they don't see you, what if they stop right before your section, what ifâ
No. There's no way they wouldn'tâ
But not right now. They're about to turn the corner, one member after the other. Gaeul first.
Phone in one hand, sign on the other. You've returned the photocards and album back into your bag, knowing they've actively refused to sign anything other than air. Company rules or whatever bullshit, it's not gonna happen tonight. That's what fansigns are for, probably. Any interactionâeven a second of clear recognition through your lensâis more than enough to complete your night.Â
You're screaming her name now. Still harsh, still as loud as it was two hours ago, even when the cracks occasionally show. She's completing a guy's heart, mere spaces beside you. Waves to someone in the back holding a Dal-e plush. The guy you've been beside with the whole concert shows her a banner with her head photoshopped wearing an orange around her head, and she laughs, pointing at it and asking if she can hold it for a photo. Her gaze shifts quickly, and you can feel her eyes tilting in your direction. This is itâ
But she snags right before you make direct eye contact, stops on a dime and turns on her heel, walking away from your section, slowly, waving off to the crowd in the distance. Ouch.
So you try again. Rei bounds in next, smiling from ear to ear. She hi-fives a kid and gently pats her head, then does her trademark aegyo for a fan holding a sign saying he traveled from the Philippines just to see her. Right there, dancing along the barrier, she's just one glance away from finding youâand she doesn't. Much like Gaeul, she turns around and heads the other way, done with your section.
The pain doesn't ache, at least not right away. Your smile quirks just a tad. Hope isn't completely dead yet. Not until they're all saying goodbye. Still four more chances. Surely.Â
The worst thing imaginable isn't about to happen, right.
Leeseo steps in, still lively as ever, still infectious. She completes a heart from someone in the third row, pushing through the wall of bodies between her and the fan sandwiched in there. But that's pretty much it; she takes a step back to wave at the surrounding area, which somehow feels intentionally hurtful and personal since her gaze completely erases your presence, and blows a kiss spanning everyone but you. Then like the members before her, she proceeds to look the other away and back to the center.
Still keeping her distance, Wonyoung points and shoots. Blesses every fan she finds with her magic fingers. A girl holds up a paper asking her to make a wish since it happens to be her birthday, and she pauses. Closes her eyes, softly puts her hands together for a brief moment of prayer, and then blows a magic candle in her direction. She spots a fan in the fourth row holding up a peach-shaped sign with a picture of Yujin and her together from one of their fansigns. Yujin spots it and joins her in winking at that lucky son-of-a-bitch. Then Wonyoung spins away in the opposite direction.
At this point, it feels like you're fighting an uphill battle. No matter how much you scream their names, they don't hear you. No matter how hard you wave your sign, it simply doesn't exist. In their eyes, somehow, you seem to be like transparent glass that they see right past.
You don't break, at least not completely. Your knees begin to crumple, your heart splintering into fractures. You barely manage to keep the tears at bay, trying to avoid causing a scene, especially in a private, intimate setting like this, with all the phones around and the idols you adore standing right there.Â
Your gut tells you it's over, to give up and accept the harsh and brutal reality that you're nobody, but your heart believes in miracles.Â
It's only delusional until it works.
Fortunately, Yujin hasn't completely turned away yet. She's moved back in the line to entertain what you assume to be a personal friend, and Liz is now going ahead. So you focus on her instead. She blinks, waves tirelessly at every fan she can see. Someone dressed as her from the Eleven music video (Elizabeth Helga Muller, obviously) catches her eye, and in a rare moment, she steps forward to pose for her camera. But it's fleeting; she steps back just as quickly as she bounded, and returns to waving at everyone within her line of sight. Even so, you appear invisible to her; she stops right at the fan beside you, pointing her face on the guy's shirt and takes her leave.
And finally, Yujin. Back to completing your section, she laughs at a sign held by a guy saying he's cray cray for her. She winks at a fan's camera, then poses by flaunting her bare, toned shoulder for good measure. The screams climb a pitch higher, much to her amusement. You're screaming her name loudly; you don't know where this second wind came from. Desperation, most likely. Like if she doesn't find you within the next five or so seconds, you're probably going to explode.
Nothing like that happens, obviously. But the pain doesn't hurt any fucking less. If she was holding a knife, then she twisted it into your heart, took it out, and then stabbed you again for good measure.Â
So yeah. Of course she doesn't see you either.Â
One last time, all six girls gather at the center of the lounge where everyone can see, and they wave in every direction. Yujin yells out "Thank you for coming! Safe travels everyone!" to a roar of approval from the crowd. Then they leave, in the direction where they entered fromâfor good.Â
It's only after Liz, the last member to disappear past the door, when reality finally sets in:
You are nothing to them. You mean nothing to them. They don't love you like that.Â
The tears come falling down. Slowly at first; little drops here and there, the occasional sob and sniffle shadowing the blind, carefree joy that had been stretched thin the moment the stage lights came back on. But it waterfalls almost as quickly, trickles onto the floor like storms on a dark, gloomy sky. Your head bows almost instinctively, like you've laid someone or something you love to rest after watching them die. And something did:Â a piece of your heart. Actually, the whole goddamn thing.
You didn't ask for much. You didn't even want them to read your sign anymore; a simple eye contact from even just one member was all you wanted. A glimmer of recognition from the people you loved unconditionally, through highs and heartbreaks, and they couldn't even deliver that. Four years of waiting. Of hoping. Of praying for a moment where they could see you, and it never came.Â
At first, you thought of the whys, the hows. Where it all went wrong. Nothing makes sense. You had signs like everyone else. Their lightstick in your hand. By the grace of God, you were posted up front row. Screamed their names like it was your religion. There were countless moments, opportunities, frames where you swear they would have 100% found you, but no. Three different avenues to see you, just once, even for a tiny glimpse, and you were completely invisible.Â
In the end, you were nothing. You've been nothing. It took this, a brutal wake-up call for you to realize that.
The world you know has been reduced to blurs and white noise. Your knees have given up; you've let your body melt onto the metal post like all the adrenaline keeping you afloat has finally run dry. Even as the crowd begins to disperse, as security and staff usher out the VIPs since they have to clean house for tomorrow's event, you remain there. Frozen. Unwilling to let the impossibility of the situation fully sink in.Â
Eventually, you push away. Your legs move of their own accord, slowly walking away from the place where your heart was crushed. To avoid being hounded by the staff, probably not; the world keeps turning. Life goes on.Â
Here's the harsh, cruel reality of fandom: the biggest, core memory defining nights of your life is just another Saturday to them. For them, it's another date on an already tiring marathon, another stopover to a massive paycheck. They always say the same things, about how much they love all their fans, love the place they're performing in, and it's all in the oh-so obvious rehearsed script. You should have known this by now; the screen containing their script was right next to you on the floor.
But for the four years you've waited, it was real. And for those two hours or so, you wanted it to be true. Instead, it turned out to be a fucking lie. You peered through the magician's hat and instead of finding a rabbit, there was nothing at all.
The only thing left is a heart that's been completely hollowed out.
âââââ
Suddenly, everything feels louder, more oppressive. More tilting than the floor you'd been standing on for hours.
The walk out of the venue feels like a slow-moving procession to your fandom. Instead of leaving in joy like everyone else, you're walking away defeated and dejected. Your shoulders are slouched, head dipped to avoid human contact, the bag holding your merch barely clinging to your hand.Â
You feel alien. Actually, you are.
All around you, people are celebrating. Fans, families, friends moving along in high-spirits, comparing interactions, texting loved ones, sharing pics and fancams that are worth a few hundred likes on social media at the bare minimum. 'Gaeul pointed at my banner!' 'Wonyoung blew me a kiss!' 'Rei laughed at my sign!' 'Liz took a selfie with me!' 'Leeseo completed my heart!' 'Yujin danced Genie for meâ'
Every win is a personal attack; every smile and laugh is an insult. Nevertheless, you quietly soldier on.Â
Outside, lampposts guide your way around the mostly lifeless parking lot. The crowd behind you becomes dark blots the further you get away: some hail cabs, others leaving in organized carpools, the rest walking to nearby hotelsâsame as you. The noise fades the deeper you go. It's here, when the only thing you can hear is the crunch of gravel on the floor, is where you finally feel well and truly alone. Walking by your lonesome in this empty night, it's as if you're returning to the dark, empty void where you belong.
At the outer edges of the car park, you come across a dumpster. One side of the lid is open, reeking of God knows what kind of trash. You lift your plastic bag containing evidence of tonight's wreck: half a dozen unopened photocard packs, a white tour shirt and matching gray hoodie, a handmade sign you spent countless tries perfecting and fucking up, quirked up with each member's distinct personalities, aesthetic preferences, and MINIVE stickers, and finally, the group's lightstick dimmed out.
And much like an alcoholic waking up after a hangover, you begin questioning your life choices.
I should have just followed this group instead. Should have never gotten into K-pop. Should have just stayed home. Wasted all that time, effort, and money to be treated like shit. Could have made my money back if I just sold my ticket, maybe more in the secondary market. Some desperate fuck would have paid for itâ
Four years of support. Of waiting. Of hoping. For nothing.
You flinch just remembering. It's in vivid detail: how they glossed over you, how their gazes flicked over and right past you, as if they had actual malicious intent. How they must have perceived you. Like they knew you were there, somehow, and actively chose to avoid you like you were carrying the plague. It doesn't make sense, because tonight never did.Â
Your hands are trembling uncontrollably. You're unknowingly shedding tears that didn't escape the first time. The heart has finally understood, and is now telling you this: they hate you. They don't love you like that. Anger has taken grief's place.
So you crumple the bag. Crushing all its contents, but they don't breakânot quite. The clothes are wrinkled. The packs are still mostly in place, hardly scratched, and the sign is partially bent, but mostly intact.Â
God, you just want to smash it against the dumpster now out of sheer frustration.
Perhaps this is a sign of mercy. That one man's trash is, indeed, another man's treasure. Fine.
So you let your hand hover over the opened side of the bin. Let go.
But you're hesitating, unwilling to pull the trigger, even as your fingers loosen their grip. Letting go means you're done with this life for good. And you're not quite sure what will happen after that.
Suddenly, your breath hitches. Your brain registers something: a touch. Behind you. On your shoulder.
So you stop.Â
Turning around slowly, you're expecting venue security ordering you to stop loitering. You'll say 'Just a moment, I'll leave shortly,'Â or some fan asking about your experience, probably flexing their interaction and pretending to commiserate when they just want to inflate their ego or something. No amount of excuses can hide the pained look on your face. And you'll quietly tolerate it, because you don't want to ruin your night any further by affecting others who are there for themselves too.
With a heavy sigh, you're glancing up from the ground, expecting the inevitable. Your lips are already moving, mumbling some made-up alibi: "Sorry, I was justâ"
The words die just as suddenly as they come. It isn't security nor a random fan, none of that: it's much, much worse.
Six distinct figures are standing there, lined up in their usual position from left to right, several breaths away, under the same streetlamp as you. No barriers, no staff keeping you apart; just some K-pop idols fresh off a concert, wearing the same clothes from the same crime scene where they broke you.
Nothing about tonight makes any goddamn sense anymore. The image is difficult to comprehend, but you're staring wide-eyed: why on God's green earth is IVE outside at an empty parking lot. You saw them leave with your own two eyes. How they glossed over you at every single opportunity. How they would narrowly avoid making direct contact, as if you were declared persona non grata. And now, they're here. Actually looking at you. Without obstructions.
Yujin's a step closer compared to the others, but their eyes all share the same expression: concern, regret, apologetic. Her smile is there; not the stage-friendly, upbeat grin that makes her Popo, but a fraction: willfully restrained, delicate.She's twiddling her thumbs, casting her gaze down to the ground, trying to find the appropriate words to say. And when she does, it comes out just as small as her lips:
"Hi. We didn't mean to startle you."
It doesn't quite register; not at all. Seeing them is one thing, but hearing Yujin herself actually talking to youâafter seemingly ghosting you the entire night, after you've tried so hard to get their attention, even just one memberâis another.
"We didn't realizeâ" Rei starts. She's got her hands behind her back, also tilting her eyes down to the pavement, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Her usual energy is equally as dialed down as Yujin's smile, inhibited to something safer, more intimate. "We were waving goodbye, and then I turned to my left, and I saw someone crying. I thought I was just tired, or that it was tears of joy, but I saw you, crumpled at the barricade, and I knew something was wrong."
"Yes," Leeseo interjects. Her smile beams, but it lacks her usual energy, reading the roomâor space, in this case. "I also saw you too. Or at least I thought I did. I didn't realizeâwe missed you."
"But by then, it was already late. Staff told us to keep moving, and we couldn't come back to you," Gaeul finishes.Â
Their voices are quiet. Too quiet. The entire time you saw them, you'd watched them remain steady and persistent through exhaustion and one tiring choreography after another. Now, they feelâhuman.
Liz doesn't say a word; rather, she gently places both her hands close to heart, eyes closed, quietly shedding a tear, letting it fall down her cheek. And Wonyoung, being, wellâWonyoungâsoftly nods along in agreement, her hands folded together, keeping her gaze on you.Â
As one unified group, they lean forward. And with one shared voice, they lower their heads.
"We're sorry."
Formally. Ninety degrees. Their hair fully blocking their faces. The kind reserved for when words aren't enough to atone for a grave mistake.
When they straighten up, Yujin's the one speaking on their behalf. "I know this seems like a lot to take in, but" âshe pauses. Swallows her throat, closes her eyes for a flash before looking you in the eye againâ "We see you now. We're here. And we are so, so sorry."
And to be quite honest, you don't know how to react. Because you've experienced more lifetimes within the last three hours compared to every other day you've been living on this earth until now. Tonight has thrust you into one roller coaster after another. It's a miracle you haven't thrown up yet, but you'd rather just get off the ride, actually.Â
To say that all of this is hard to believe would be an understatement.
"No." The word comes out naturally, inaudible, like you don't want them to hear you now, after you already spent your vocal cords and your lungs screaming their names to high heaven. Instinctively, you're stepping back like a trapped animal, haunted by the ghosts you tried calling out to no avail. "This isn't" âyou say, hoarse and worn, flinching and wincing in light pain as your shoulder bumps the closed lid of the dumpster you were ready to toss your life intoâ "You're notâ"
"We are," Rei gently interjects. She takes a step forward, joining Yujin. The girls maintain a respectful distance, even as you stagger away. "This is real.We're real."
"No, no. You can't make me believe." You're smiling, but it's deranged. Laughing a little, too. Not because you're happy to see them, but rather the utter insanity of this situation and everything leading up to this moment. "This has to be some kind of joke."
You're scanning your surroundings now, waving your arms around like you've caught their scheme: hidden cameras, boom mics, skeleton production staff, expecting the rug pull that you're not actually talking to IVE at all. Or at least, the same idols you've seen on stage and on screen. "Alright, you got me guys. I enjoyed the prank, but you can stop now."
"It's really just us," Gaeul insists. She looks remorseful. The way she constantly assesses you,then flickers away when you meet her gaze halfway, uncomfortable watching you acting lost. Or she's sorry for herself. How they made you like this. You don't fucking know anymore. "No cameras. No staff. This is justâus."
"Sure,"Â you snicker, and your reply comes out a little higher, a tinge more angry than intended. The idea is just ridiculous, even for your own delusions, and you explain it best: "because why would any K-pop group be looking for some random fan at 10 in the evening after finishing a concert when they should be flying out now. Is that right?"
Leeseo flinches slightly. Almost imperceptible, but you catch it because Wonyoung's right there to hold her while she's trembling. And through the seeming hurt and a shed tear, she manages to speak steadily:Â "Weâwe ran out. Our manager said no. They said we were in a hurry and needed to go. But we insisted otherwise. Just for you,"Â she sniffles. "You wereâ"
"Shattered," Liz completes, facing her despondent member, sharing in her pain. "You looked really, really sad."
You don't bother denying. God, you weren't even trying to hide the fact you looked absolutely destroyed. It's one of the few times where being alone actually helped; every other fan was too busy celebrating their interactions to notice you falling apart, and they saw through that.
"But why? Why here? Why now?" You find your voice somehow, teetering between confusion and anger, and you're not holding back. It doesn't matter you're shouting at the very idols you loved so dearly; there's only pain, despair, and an innate urge to validate your feelings. "I was there. Soundcheck. The concert. The send-off. Three different opportunities where you could have seen me. Even just once. But you didn't. Youâ"
"We messed up. We know," Yujin interrupts, sounding smaller than before. It's genuine pain, taken from a place that feels sincere, like you directly took a shot to their heart. "But we did see you. You were front row, closest to the main stage. And at the corner during send-off. You were holding a sign. Itâit's justâ"
"âoverwhelming," Rei completes her member's sentence as Yujin sputters. You've never seen her look this deflated, thisâdowntrodden. Same for the other members. "We try. There's so many of you, but we try our best to reach you all. We know how much you give to supporting us, and we do our best to give that love back. But sometimes" âher gaze flickers to the floor, to the girls, their hearts and minds moving as oneâ "people slip through the cracks. Sometimes we miss them, and believe me when I say: it pains all of us. Staff tells us to keep moving, and we try to stay and accommodate you all for as long as we can. It happens. But it doesn't mean we love them any less. It's just" âshe sighsâ "a hard lesson for us to do better next time."
Honesty stings. As painful as it sounds to hear, and even with the sincerity emanating from their tone, some part of you feels like this is rehearsed. Like they've had this situation happen before. Fanservicey bullshit to make everyone feel included, somehow, even when the evidence is right there.Â
"But,"Â Wonyoung starts, careful to make sure each word is chosen deliberately and carried by the wind. She's placed Leeseo in Liz's care and steps forward slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. Stopping inches from you, her mole's now visible, her hands a touch away. "it's never personal. I swear, we never meant to ignore you intentionally."Â
You're shaking your head, firmly in denial. Only someone who willingly ignored you would make such a pathetic, lazy excuse.
"You don't have to believe what we say, nor do you have to forgive us," adds Gaeul. She's stepping forward too, sharing the same distance from you as Yujin and Rei. "But we just needed to come here and apologize. To you. Personally."
You can't stress this enough:Â nothing makes any fucking sense anymore.
"Butâwhy me?"Â you argue. You're losing your mind, your brain going around in circles. "You had other fans. They probably got ignored too. Fans who actually deserveâ"
"You were alone,"Â says Yujin, and the world comes to a full stop. It's delivered quietly, just like every other word, but the impact is far more devastating. And the reason is right there, standing mere inches away from you: the very people that made you feel like you belonged somewhere, now outwardly expressing your inner feelings. "Everyone was with friends or family, or if they were crying, it was tears of joy. But youâ"
She pauses. Releases a held breath that feels heavier than it should. And when she opens her mouth again, a tear happens to escape her eye. "You were walking like you had nowhere to go. Like you had nothing left."
So when you were contemplating what would happen next had you thrown everything in that dumpster, you really meant it. They were your everything, your purpose. They made you feel special without ever being aware of your existence. And when they looked past you like you were air, the foundation of your life was shaken to its very core.Â
They saw you as nothing. Fuck, you were nothing. And that is more heartbreaking than any relationship.
The tears follow naturally. Again. Really, what else can you do other than fall apart. Of course you wanted them to see youâwhat fan wouldn't want their favorite idols to notice themâbut not like this. You, at your lowest, shaking uncontrollably, drowning in your own guilt and shame, overwhelmed by so much. Meanwhile, they're standing there, apologizing for something that's not even their fault.Â
This should have been a joyous moment, something you can happily tell your friends over and over and remember for a lifetime; now you just feel like shit for making them go out this far for something that, by all accounts, is an accident. They have better things to do and places to be, but no: they're right there, trying to mend a broken heartâyour heartâand you feel all the worse for it. You're so caught up in your own grief that you don't realize that the bag containing their essenceâthe very bag you were intending to throw awayâslips from your clasp, clattering to the ground.Â
Liz takes a step forward. Suddenly stops. She's held back by Yujin and Gaeul, and she immediately understands. Leeseo doesn't; she rushes past everyone, ignoring the panicked shouts of the other members. Crouches down and picks up your bag off the pavement. Carefully brushing away the dust and gravel, she holds it delicately like a prized treasure, but her gaze snags on your lightstick, completely dimmed, and turns it back on.Â
Leeseo waves it around with one hand, holding your bag on her free shoulder. She's copying the way you were cheering for them hours ago. The tears have mostly dried out. Only wet tracks remain in its wake, no more noise when you sniffle; just a deep, aching hollowness burying itself deep within your heart. And when you see them through tear-stricken eyes, they're a little too close for comfort, even though they're mostly looking after their youngest. A little too intrusive, like you're an ant being studied under their magnifying glass, and you're burning up.
"It's okay," she reassures you, holding it out for you to reach. "We're here. It'll beâ"
"It's fine,"Â you suggest, even though you damn well don't believe yourself. You're swiping your eyes with the back of your hand, brushing aside the last of your tears that have left you vulnerable. "I'm fine. I'm justâ"
Laughter comes naturally. Not the hearty, whimsical kind, but the broken, forced type that you turn to whenever you need to cope with something painful. "You said it yourself. I was in the front row. Spent the last few years of my life supporting the only people I loved almost as much as my family. Spent so much of my time and money on you that my friends think I'm crazy" âyou're shaking your headâ "and I wouldn't care because you mean that much to me. You have no idea the countless nights I cried because you'd announce a show, or some event, or some new pop-up, we couldn't even have thatâthat you were something I thought was impossible. Until tonight.
You huff, shaking your head, looking unhinged because even talking feels like a gauntlet in and of itself: "All I wanted was just a glance. I didn't even want anything like a selfie or a heart anymore; I stopped trying the moment you wanted to ignore me. A sliver of eye contact" âyou motion with your fingersâ "that's all I wanted. And you couldn't even give me that. And now you're here, apologizing in front of the dumpster like that's gonna make everything better."
Almost immediately, every member's face cracks, and they bow their heads, instinctively, unable to look at you. They're hurt. Broken. Not because you hate them, but of the realization of just how much you've dedicated yourself to them, only to be treated like nothing, even if it was unintentional. They simply nod, accepting the harsh, scathing truth, because that's exactly what happened:Â they broke you.
"You're right," says Yujin, still kowtowing, almost muffling herself. "Nothing can make it better. Nothing we can do can change what happened. But we're so, so sorry."
The others bow in agreement with her, unanimous.
When you look up and see them like this: frail, fragile, hurtâsomething changes again. Maybe you went a little too far.Maybe you shouldn't have said that. At the end of the day, you're just a fan, and idols are still human. There's still boundaries, ones you've overstepped on. This feels like a violation.
You've exhausted your heart to the point where you can only feel empty. No more tears, no more anger. Just cold, unforgiving exhaustion.
"I'm sorry," you start again, letting out a sigh that feels forced out from the depths of your lungs. "I justâI don't know what to believe anymore, andâ"
"We know,"Â says Rei, quietly interjecting, slightly tilting her gaze up to meet you. When she talks, there's a bit of her sassy wit coming out: "And I know that tonight's been too much. Not just for you, but us too. Mostly you. I mean, where do we even startâ"
Somehow, in the midst of all this tension, her little quip manages to make your lips quirk. Just a tad, but that's enough. That's Naoi Rei for you.
And the girls catch on. The space between you begins to soften to something lighter.Â
Leeseo holds out the lightstick again, barely scratched, still glowing. You don't reach for it; don't bother trying. It feels like sacrilege to take it back after your attempt at severing that connection. It's theirs now rather than your own.
"I don't know what to make of all this," you remark, because no amount of logic can make heads or tails of what's happening right now. You should have left this all behind. They should have carried on with their lives. Instead, you're both here, in the middle of nowhere, trying to meet halfway. "I was ready to throw this all away. Forget this night ever happened. And then" âyou're gesturing at all six membersâ "you happened."
"It's our fault," says Gaeul, now meeting your gaze once more. "We should have seen you then. Once we were leaving the send-off lounge, we felt something was wrong. And by the time we saw you, you were broken, and we couldn't come back."
"We're not asking you to forgive us," repeats Yujin, stepping forward, her hands folded together. "nor do we want you to pretend it's anything but our fault. We failed you, and we had to apologize. It's simple as that."
No matter how many times they insist, it never really sinks in. You always keep coming back around to blaming yourself.
"Butâyour schedules," you argue, unable to accept, not for lack of trying, "Don't you have a flightâ"
"That can wait,"Â Yujin answers, and for the first time in a while, there's conviction behind her voice. "There will be another flight. There's only one of you. What matters now is that we do this. We do at least one thing right. We make sure you" âshe hesitatesâ "that you get what you wanted. What you deserve."
And to be quite honest, that'll do. Not because you fully believe themânot at all, actuallyâbut rather you'll likely just go back and forth until one side inevitably concedes. You've already spent most of the day in battle: struggling behind long merch queues the length of your weekday rush hour, jostling for barricade like new sneaker drops, visualizing interactions that never happened, fighting inner demonsâthe list goes on and on.
"Okay," you breathe out, closing your eyes and letting out a deep breath. "Okay."
Leeseo steps forward, shimmies your bag off her shoulder and hands it back alongside your lightstick with a smile. "Please keep these. They belong to you. For next time."
As you take your items back, you can't help but mutter:Â "There almost wasn't,"Â and it makes her frown.
"I'm sorry we made you feel this way," Leeseo says, reaching for your hand. You let her. Soft, gentle, delicate, like the kind, sweet girl she is on screen. "Just so you know that this is real. We're real. We're notâwhatever monsters you think we are."
"I don't think you're monsters," you reply. "I just felt hurt."
"And that makes us monsters," she insists, her eyes twinkling with welled up tears as you stare back. "What kind of idols would ignore one of their innocent fans? Monsters, am I right?"
"Seoâ"
"Just let her apologize," Wonyoung gently chimes in, smiling slightly, her head slightly dipped, now holding Leeseo's hand. "The point stands. You tried to get our attention, we looked past you, and you were hurt, so we had to apologize. No need to complicate it any further."
"You don't have to accept our apology," Liz repeats, driving home that point over and over, and she's right behind Leeseo now. "If you wanted to hate us, then that's fair. Your hatred of us is completely justified. But at least we were able to say sorry, and you listened. That's all we can ask from you."
As she finishes speaking, the arena in the distance goes nearly dark. Only a few lights remain, particularly the big white letters spelling out the arena's name. Most of the crowd have dispersed; all that's left is a mostly desolate parking lot and presumably a team of managers and staff searching for their untouchable assets.Â
And speaking ofâ
"You should go," you tell them, ready to say goodbye, expecting the inevitable rug pull any moment now. "I appreciate that you did this and all, butâ"
"We promised ourselves that we'd find you and do it right. They can wait. You can't," says Yujin, and she's looking at the others, and they're all in complete agreement. She's smiling gently when she adds, "We can't change what happened back there, but we can make it up for you. If you want."
The spark that died in that venue flickers back to life. Your brows rise. You're hoping once again. Reckless, youthful hope. But there's always that underlying feeling, a lurch in your heart that's afraid there's something waiting around the corner ready to break it again.Â
"Are you sure?" you ask, hesitant, but secretly hoping again, just a little. "IâI don't wannaâ"
"None of itânone of thisâis your fault," Gaeul interrupts, gesturing around the small circle under the lamp post including you, firm but gentle. "Don't blame yourself for our mistakes."Â
"We'll be here," Liz assures you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "As long as you need us. We wanna do this right. If you want us to."
Wonyoung and Leeseo nod their heads in near-perfect harmony.
"And besides, there are better places we can talk in. Other thanâI don't know, in front of a dumpster," Rei quips, and it elicits a wave of little, but hearty smiles from the members. "I mean, it is a nice looking dumpster, to be fair."
You can't help but chuckle. Realizing she's broken through, Rei pokes your cheek. "There he is. That's our fan."
Yujin turns her gaze from Rei back to you. "So?"
This should be the easiest 'yes' of your life. They're offering themselves to you on a silver platter; even the most insane person would call you mad to turn down this generational opportunity. But you consider it: the 0.001% that feels like someone running up the score to ruin you so there's some kind of opposition. The trauma is real, still fresh in your mind. You've been through so much from just the last three hours alone. Trust, once broken, is difficult to rebuild.Â
And you're thinking as you nod, the most subtle of motions that it almost appears imperceptible, that you might regret this. But you're already moving with them.
"Okay. Let's go somewhere."
No one claps. No one cheers. Even their breaths remain held, like they're walking on holy ground. They just quietly smile with a calm, careful acceptance as they step into formation beside you, away from the dim light of the parking lot and into the complete unknown.
âââââ
The cafe is closed.Â
Of course it is. Tonight is just too good to be true after all.
It's only 10:27 in the evening and yet the whole placeâand street for that matterâhas already shut down. Your suggestion, a coffee shop across the venue, where you celebrated a fandom cupsleeve event marking the group's arrival in the country hours before the concert, now is justâdead. The commemorative decor is gone; only darkness and chairs stacked upside-down on top of tables and a closed sign hanging behind the entrance door like a middle finger to hope.
Leeseo's sticking her face against the glass like someone's gonna entertain them (nobody's home), while Liz entertains her. "Maybe if we knock on the windows hard enough, someone will openâ"Â
"I don't know, Seo. The sign says it's closedâ"
Meanwhile, the restâyou and the four others you never thought you'd be walking together withâcan only smile. But it's wistful, a fleeting moment of levity before reality sets in again.
"No, no. It's okay," you answer quietly, the words coming out faster than you thought. Shaking your head, regretting the decision to follow them, questioning why you're even here. Why are they still here. "Think all the stores are closedâ"
"Look. Over there."Â
Gaeul breaks the conversation, her gaze directed at a park just across the street. You've been walking for a few blocks, trying to find the few stores that are still open at this ungodly hour, except there's hardly anything left that feels appropriate for the people you're with. Mostly cheap eateries and 24 hour convenience stores. Even worse, the venue is no longer in sight, and you're 100 percent certain the managers are losing their mind, and this is your doing.Â
These last few stretches have been awkward. Quiet. Mostly the girls conversing among themselves in hushed whispers while you're out here being the worst navigator ever. Whenever you check on them, they're just smiling at you, nodding, but their eyes tell you otherwiseâsomething about guilt and regret. Yet they never look as hollow as they were on screen or even during the concert. You wonder what they could possibly be talking about: something about how you've only been crying every five minutes, that they just gotta endure at least a few more minutes before they can finally leave, that they're only doing this because they're idols and they don't want any bad PRâ
"This looks nice," says Rei, and you all stop in the middle of a stretch of park road with two benches positioned beside each other, shadowed by an imposing tree, whose leaves gently rustle with the nighttime wind. It's wedged near the main center, you think, the one with a fountain and a statue, but nestled away from the outside world.
They take their seats in the same position they're always in: Rei and Liz around the corners of the benches, Gaeul and Leeseo beside them, respectively, and Wonyoung and Yujin at the centerâusually.
Only now there's a conveniently empty slot between Wonyoung and Yujin. A you shaped void. Right in the middle.
Yujin pats her hand down on the unoccupied space. "C'mon. Sit."
It's supposed to be gentle, given how soft she sounds, but with six pairs of eyes staring at you, it feels more of a command. But you follow anyway. You've never felt this self-conscious, this aware of your surroundings and actions. How every little motion feels heavy and weighed with so much at stake. Every little twist, every little muscleâeven the way you breathe feels like it's being judged. Even if they're friendly looking.
"Wait," Leeseo suddenly rises from her spot, like an idea came to her. "Ice cream. Let me go get us some ice cream."
"Hold onâ"Â Yujin protests, but Leeseo's already ran off with a hand raised.
"I'll be right back!"Â she yells out before disappearing from view.
Your stare lingers a minute or so longer than you initially wanted. At the bushes in the distance, at the path she took to run out. All around you, gentle winds sweep away the leaves, brush against the walls, making a light clanging sound. The world here is quiet, peacefulâthe type that lends itself to self-reflection. And compared to the tight, suffocating crowds of the concert venue, you feel like you can breathe.
"She's been wanting ice cream the whole day," Rei casually remarks, facing you and reaching out to grab your shoulder. Her smile is warm and fond: not her trademark bubbly grin, not quite, but something a bit more restrained.Â
To your right, Wonyoung's kicking her legs while staring up at the night sky. The stars have come out tonight, and you're not referring to the idols surrounding you. One in particular shines brighter than the rest, drawing her complete attention. Liz finds a flower beneath her bench and plucks it, smelling and holding it like something precious. Yujin loops an arm around your shoulder, brushing strands of your hair with her free hand. Gaeul closes her eyes, posture upright, hands elegantly kept together, just soaking in the quiet atmosphere. Rei tries to make a silly joke, but you can only smile while she laughs at herself.
No one says a word. They let you stay quiet. You become something they look after: assessing, constantly checking every quirk of your lip, every twitch of your eyes, constantly assuring you that their time is yours, that this is yourmoment.Â
In all your time following them, you've known them only as idols. Performers. Role models. People who could do no wrong. Yet here they are, appreciating all the little things, like they've been given permission to stop and smell the sights, even if only for a few precious minutes.
Everything about tonightâfrom the show, to the dumpster, now thisâleaves your head spinning. Not even your dreams were thisâvivid.
"You alright?" Yujin asks, and you don't wanna tell them how you feel. Even if its valid.
"I don't know," you ultimately admit, looking down, feeling everything about you is tacky and shameful in their presence. "Thisâall feels like a dream. Or a hallucination. And if it is, I don't wanna snap out of it. I don't wanna wake up. Not now. Maybe never."
"But this is real," Liz replies, cupping your face. "You just have to believe."
No matter what they say, you just can't. There's always that sinking feeling, the inevitability in the back of your mind: maybe you're just tired and imagining all this, or they'll disintegrate into dust, or maybe the staff will finally come and force them away. Any second now, you'd be taken back to reality and life moves on as normalâ
"I'm back!"Â Leeseo shouts as she returns with a plastic bag flailing on her wrist. She's taking her sweet time, cheeks flushed pink, walking instead of rushing when she initially left. "They had exactly six flavors, so one of you has to share." Her gaze tilts over to you. "You don't mind, right?"
You nod, accepting without resistance.
One by one, she pulls out different colored packaged ice cream bars for each member, handing them left to right: strawberry for Rei, chocolate for Gaeul, pistachio for Yujin, mint chocolate for Wonyoung, vanilla for Liz, and finally, coffee for herself.Â
She saves you for last, seated tensely in the center. It's chocolate, the same flavor as Gaeul.Â
"I didn't know what your favorite flavor was, but everyone likes chocolate," she says with that sweet smile, pressing it into your hand, and you just can't deny her at all, even with guilt wracking your brain.Â
You unwrap the bar from its packaging, but you don't eat. Even when your stomach groans in protest, you just let it slowly trickle on your fingers and drip on the floor. Holding it feels like it's weighed with a lifetime of burdens. And it's not that you don't hate chocolate (for reference, your favorite is actually mango), but more just the absurdity of this whole damn thing.Â
IVE did their part: perform for two or so hours, two and a half if you count soundcheck. Finally, send-off that's at least 10 minutes long. Then they have the audacity to break whatever idol protocol and schedule they have just to chase you down, apologize, walk with you, and now even share ice cream in the middle of an empty park after a concert when it's almost midnight. You can never ask for anything ever again.Â
Someone's getting fired, you're completely certain. Fuck it, half the staff is getting sacked when they return to Korea. And knowing you're responsible for that makes you feel all the worse. They didn't have to go that far to find just onefan out of thousands, but also, this is far beyond your wildest dreams. Both sides can be true.
"Something wrong?" Yujin snaps you from your daze, and you instinctively look the other way before turning to her. The others have finished their ice cream bars, mostly, (Wonyoung's still halfway through hers) and yours is the only one that's completely untouched. "Come on. You must be hungry after all that waiting and cheering."
Leeseo frowns. "Don't like chocolate?" she asks, like you're judging her for the poor choice of flavor.Â
With just one single, concerned glance, you concede. You take your first bite, let the lukewarmness of the treat rest between your teeth, and for the first time in a while, maybe, just maybe, things might not be bad after all.
"Good?" Leeseo asks now, leaning her head forward, her smiling gradually returning as you gobble through the snack. "Mom told me ice cream always makes you feel better."
You give her a nod and a little smile, one that feels reminiscent of a ray of light peeking in the midst of a cloudy day.Â
She's elated. Her idea worked. But she's not celebrating, not quite. You're getting somewhere, and that's what matters.
"It's so pretty," Wonyoung suddenly remarks, and everyone turns their attention to her. She's transfixed on the stars above still, watching the same one in the sky shining brighter than the rest. "So lovely. Haven't seen them out in so long."
"But it's always there," you casually remark.
"I know. We don't ever see them much these days, but it's a nice reminder that they are always there for us, even if we aren't."
Your mouth twists, understanding but tired to get the full context. They hardly ever see the night sky given their schedules and commitments. They don't have room to breathe. Giving them room like thisâto slow down, to pauseâis something rare to them.
Leeseo takes back the wrappers and popsicles into the plastic bag, not asking permission. Doesn't need to.Â
No one speaks. Neither do you. You soak in the gentle breeze, the slow passage of time, the way the world stops spinning and justâbreathe. For a moment, you're all alone again. Reduced to your own thoughts with nothing except what's in your head, but it feels clearer now. Your chest feels lighter. Everything's gonna be fine.Â
Then you feel the nudge on your shoulder and the echo of someone's throat clearing.
"Look," Yujin starts, and the others straightens up imperceptibly, turning their attention on you. "We should apologize. Properly. For what happened."
Really, they shouldn't. It's an accident, it happens. They've done their part as performers. Meanwhile, you have nothing. You're not entitled to anything from them.
So you vocalize it. "You don't have toâ"
"We know," Rei interrupts. "We know we don't have to. But we want to. Need to."
And you just concede because you'll listen anyway. Or they'll never stop insisting. Both.
Gaeul nods in agreement. "Something was up when we left. It felt" âshe furrows her browsâ "off. It felt like we were missing something. Or in this case, someone. We didn't realize that was you until we finally looked around."
"But it was too late," Liz adds, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "We were already being ushered off, and we couldn't argue with the staff. We couldn't justâturn back. So we have no one to blame but ourselves."
Leeseo squints her eyes. Her gaze shifts to something deeper, more alert, the kind that looks mature and foreign for someone of her age. "I was thinking about the people in the front, at the barricade. I thought I reached everyone. Gave them a heart, a hi-five, anything to make sure I saw them. And I did see you, near the corner, but" âshe pinches the bridge of nose with her fingers, trying to think ofâan excuse maybeâ "I just didn't. I never tried. And I'm sorry."
"Me too," Wonyoung says, inching herself a little closer to you on the bench. "I saw your sign. Flashes of it, but not the whole thing. And staff were pressuring us to move quicker, so we did. We were so focused on staying on track that we forgot about you. I shouldn't have. It's my fault."
"It's on all of us," Rei corrects, reaching over to place a hand on your knee. "We ignored you. Doesn't matter if it was intentional or not, you were hurt because of us. You didn't do anything wrong; actually, you did everything right. We simply justâmessed up and forgot about you."
Every apology feels like another stake driven to your heart. A reminder of the cruel reality that even trying your best simply isn't enough.Â
"You don't have to," you insist again, shaking your head lightly, looking like you're the one committing the crime by making them share this openly. "I'm just one fan. Out of hundreds. Thousands. I know you can't see everyone. It happens. Butâ"
"But what?" Gaeul asks, gentle and disarming, and you feel all the more shameful, like you're being interrogated, no matter how delicate they sound.
You sigh. Rei's hand lingers on your knee as you stare down on the park pavement. Your bag containing tonight's memories is still there between your legs. You just wanna curl up and hide away from the world. From them. Let all this pain and despair bubble within. No one cares. They don't have to know everything. Your feelings are mostly invalid.
"We won't judge," Yujin says. "Promise. You can tell us how you feel, and we'll understand."
The six pairs of concerned eyes don't help convincing you in the slightest. But you admit anyway, because you might as well bring it all to God:
"I just wanted you to see me." Every word sounds like a confession to a priest who's probably gonna condemn you to hell for committing the sin rather than forgiving and acknowledging your fault. "I wanted some kind of recognition. A sign that I mattered to you. That I belonged. Because youâyour musicâmattered to me. More than anything else."
They let it sink in for a moment, their eyes dawning with new understanding. Then Wonyoung holds out her hands, palms wide open.
"Can we see it?" she asks. "The sign you made for us? What else did you bring?"
Your cheeks burn, but you let out a laugh that's more pained than eager. "It's nothing. I saw what the other fans made. Mine is justâslop compared to what they brought. You don't have to. It's not as meaningful as you think it is. Probably ruined cause I crumpled it anyway, too."
"Don't be like that," she replies, correcting but kind. "Please. We want to see it."
You hesitate, because Lord knows it's true you made your sign with middle school arts and crafts, barely held together by glitter, MINIVE stickers, and prayers. But it's out of the bag anyway and you hand it over alongside a wrinkled letter folded in half, one you never bothered to pull out once as they were seemingly barred from accepting any letters during the send-off.
Wonyoung smoothens out the creases around the letter's edges as the members lean over each other's shoulders to read closely. The sign itself is very simple by design: You Make My Universe Spin written in big text while almost every space is covered in something, whether stickers from their merch or glitter or other colorful things, but they focus on the letter more. You watch the way their brows furrow, how their lips read each word several times over (occasionally audible), examining every little detail meticulously.Â
"Thank you," she finally faces you, sounding so saccharine and smiling so sweet it's melting your brain. "You really made all this for us? It's beautiful. Really."
"Noâno it isn't." You're deprecating yourself, trying to play off your efforts as nothing but a sham. "It's nothing special," you insinuate, trying to take back the sign and letter but she holds them away from you. "You probably read letters and signs that are moreâmeaningful than mine."
"But this is your letter, right? Your sign?" Gaeul chimes in, pulling on your arm gently to draw your gaze. "You made it, which it makes quintessentially yours. No one has that. Only you. And that makes it special."
"You don't understand," you're still arguing, because you feel it isn't enough. That what you can do will never be enough. "Everyone else had elaborate setups, funny jokes, stuff that actually made you happy or laugh. Mine's just shitâ"
"No." Yujin's denial is firm and stops you clean in your tracks, but her stare is warm. "Stop downplaying yourself. It's amazing. The fact you went out of your way to make these says a lot. We see the effort. Youâre amazing."
"Yes," Leeseo adds, her hand now intertwined with yours. "We keep these in our dorm. Sometimes we read them whenever we're tired or when we feel like we're lacking. And then we remind ourselves that you exist," she says, pertaining to the fandom at large, one they believe you have a place in, "and it gives us motivation to keep pushing. Because of you."
You were already crying halfway through Yujin's response. There's no point trying to fight the tears now. So they come gushing down, and everythingâthe last five yearsâalong with it. Wipe them away with your hand, they still keep coming.
"I'm sorry,"Â you sob out, "I'm so, so sorry. You didn'tâyou didn't have to do this. You deserve so much better than to talk to a crying fan because he thought he was entitled. You should be on that plane by now. You have other schedules, and instead of resting, I'm just wasting your timeâ"
"Stop."
The voice isn't quite clear; you're too caught up in your own spiraling feelings to stop, and you're still crying a river, hiding your face to notice whoâ
But then you feel them pulling your arms away from your face and into a hug. Yujin. Through tear-stricken eyes, it's her who's calling to you.
"Please stop. None of that is true. None of what you said is true."
You're crying into her shoulder now, into the fabric of her shirt. She loosens you from her ironclad grip, leaving just enough to grant you space should you want to fully pull back.Â
And you do pull away, but not completely; you willingly remain enveloped in her embrace, but there's more distance now, to the point where your gazes are meeting halfway. Yours, lachrymose and inconsolable, while hers is tender and warm.
"Please. Stop apologizing for nothing," she says gently, driving the point home that this isn't your fault, and you still don't quite believe it. You're shaking your head in denial out of instinct. "Us ignoring youâthat's on us. Not on you. Never you."
"Butâ"
"Stop. Please stop." Yujin cuts in sharply again, but there's no malice behind it. Her hands are resting on your shoulders now, lightly shaking you from your spiral, her smile a calming reassurance. "You're not thinking straight. Take a moment. Breathe."Â
Once isn't enough; even they know. Each inhale and exhale is a shudder that shudders deep through your bones. She smiles, asks if you feel any better, and you're better off saying nothing than admitting it hasn't helped in the slightest. They understand anyway.
"Just listen to us, okay? Please let us talk to you."
Almost indiscernibly, you nod. And she does too.
"Listen to me. We're gonna say this once, and I want you to hear every word we say."
A pause. To let you breathe. To let you prepare. Then she continues talking.
"You have nothing to apologize for, okay? Nothing. You went to our concert, brought a sign for us to see, a letter you wanted us to read, and who knows what else. You were expectant, like everyone else in that room," she says, pertaining to the send-off lounge, to all the people in the VIP section. "But you didn't get anything, and you were upset. That's normal. That's human."
You're already protesting, mouth half opened, but Yujin raises a finger, so you stop again.
"What happened back thereâwas our fault. Full stop," she continues. She lets out a sigh, followed by a shaky breath. "Our responsibility as idols is to make you feel seen. To make you feel like you belong. And we failed on that end. We failed you."
The other girls quietly affirm her. Meanwhile, you still have a million reasons as to why you don't deserve this much care and forgiveness.
"IâI still made you come out here," you insist, sniffling, wiping the tracks of tears down your face. "when you should be resting. I made you leave your van. Made you run out without staff in public. Delayed your schedules because I couldn't handle being ignoredâ"
"Which was our choice," Gaeul chimes in, pulling your hand away from your teary eye. "We knew we hurt you, and regardless of what staff wanted to tell us, we had to make it right."
"But that makes me entitled, does it not?" you argue now, and it sounds so feeble that you're surprised they haven't left you out of sheer annoyance. "I'm no better than a sasaeng or a stalker. I felt entitled to an interaction because I paid for it. Or that I deserved it for showing up. Because I wanted to feel validated."
They don't answer. Not immediately. Then it's Wonyoung's turn to speak up. She redirects your gaze toward hers.
"No you're not. You're not a stalker or a sasaeng or any of those things. Because you aren't following us to our schedules, or harassing us in our free time, or making demands, or shouting in our faces. In fact, we don't even know you. But you wanted the same experience as everyone else; we simply didn't deliver on our end. And again, that's entirely on us. You did everything right. We wanted to make it up to you, that's why we're here."
"But I am entitled," you insist, fighting an impossible battle just to prove you don't deserve this, somehow. Like you're irredeemable, irreparable. "When I saw the other fans around me getting your interactions and I got nothing, I grew angry. At you. And at them. I believed I deserved it too. I've supported you longer and harder. Since debut. Never missed a comeback. But seeing them rewarded and not me left me so bitter that I almost gave up on you. After supporting you for long, I was ready to drop you on a whim. Because I was entitled."
You see the gradual shift in Wonyoung's expression from sweet to something serious. Here you are, telling the truth straight from your heart, and by the way she assesses your features, it seems like a self-indictment more than a genuine confession, evidence enough to condemn you for good. But her hands find yours, and she holds them softly, as if to cushion you from what she's about to say.
"You're right," she starts, and even though you were waiting for the validation you've been desperately seeking, your chest lurches. Like you're being judged, and the punishment is eternal damnation. She hasn't said anything else, but it already hurts. "That'sânot a good thought to have. Butâas Yujin said, it's normal. It's normal to feel disappointed, frustrated even, when you give your heart to something you love and get nothing in return. That doesn't make you a bad person; it just means you're human, that's all. And sometimes, the best thing you can do is let those feelings wash over you."
You let out a heavy sigh. You're averting your gaze away from Wonyoung and to the ground, newly ashamed again for having such feelings. "It doesn't change the fact that I ruined my whole night because of it," you mutter, still trying to play victim. "I should have just been content to watch you perform. That's what concerts are for: to enjoy your music, your performances. If I wanted a proper moment with you, I could have just gone to a fansign or did a fancall. I became so obsessed with what I was missing that I never saw everything you were giving me on stage tonight."
Wonyoung lightly shakes her head, and she refuses to let go of your hand, even if you try to pull it away or brush her off. "That's also true," she affirms, and it feels like another shot to an already bleeding heart, another clean cut. "You're right that you should have focused on our performance. That being jealous isn't a good mindset to have. But you're already more aware than most others in your place, so that's something you can work on the next time you see us. And there will be one. Trust me."
God, you might as well be thrown the full book. Death sentence. Lifetime imprisonment without parole. Permanent banâyou name it. Not even the assurance of a probable next time makes you feel any better.
They see the frown on your lips. How you winced at Wonyoung's remark. Every word, no matter how brutally honest, has been spoken in the kindest, sincerest tone possible, and that's probably why it hits harder: it feels like a stern talking from your disappointed mother or parent figure, even though you're not that far off in age.
She's not finished yet. Her hands are still intertwined with yours. "Hey. Look at me."
You try; it feels like staring into an angel far beyond comprehension for your frail eyes. So you justâdon't. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve IVE.
But she tilts your face back to her gently, however letting you look anywhere you please, just as long as she's in your sight. "It doesn't matter, you know. Even if I didn't call you out, or if you had focused entirely on our performances. At the end of the day, we still didn't see you. We should have seen you. We should have given you just as much love as everyone else, and we couldn't deliver on that. That's something we take pride in as idolsâto make you feel like you belong and lovedâand we can't even do that for one fan. And you're right to feel hurt because we did that. You have every right to feel betrayed. You have every right to hate us."
"We're not saying it to make you feel better, or to make excuses," Rei adds. "We're telling you this because your feelings matter. You matter. And regardless of what you've told us, you're still a fan. We saw how much you cared, how you gave your heart freely to us, and we couldn't give it the love it rightfully deserved. And for that, we are so sorry."
Again, the tears just keep coming, even when you think you've completely run yourself dry. You were already in the process of breaking down as Wonyoung was talking about how they should have seen you, and even when they themselves admitted they were responsible for their own fuck up, you still feel like it's your burden for putting them in this position in the first place. It's a selfish thing to keep idols hostage, whether willingly or unwillingly.
"I don't deserve thisâ" you mutter out, freely crying as you don't realize the members closing in to wrap you in their collective warmth. Leeseo softly presses a handkerchief on your nose. Yujin loops an arm on your shoulder again. Wonyoung keeps your hands steady. Liz wraps an arm on your other shoulder. Rei straight up hugs you, with Gaeul and Yujin as fluffy collateral. And Gaeul presses her head against the shoulder where Liz's arm rests. "Iâwas almost ready to hate you. I almost threw everything away because of tonight. Iâ"
"We know," Wonyoung chimes in, softly shaking her head. "You have every right to hate us. Even after tonight."
"Your feelings are perfectly valid," Yujin adds. "Hate us. Be upset. Curse us if you want. Lash out at us if you have to. We deserve it. We deserve everything coming our way after what we did to you."
At the end of the day, this is simply not the kind of person you are. Chalk it up to fear or cowardice, you can't be angry forever.
"I can't,"Â you manage between sobs, crying on your shirt because you're suddenly self-conscious and staining their clothes with your tears feels like a cardinal sin. "I can never really hate you, even if I wanted to. Not when you've been my light for so long. That's all what I really wanted: to get close you, my light, and then it hated me back. And even when I was so close to giving up, I remembered how your songs and personalities kept me going. You were there when I felt like there was nothing to look forward to anymore. I was so close to" âyou hesitate, but you've already poured out your heartâ "ending things, but you made me feel like I can live another day. I just wanted to thank you for all that. That opportunity never came. But I can never hate you after everything you've done for me."
They've been gentle with you the entire time, steady and composed through every moment you've fallen apart. But now, with your admission, they finally open up too. Small, gentle tears, but they're sobbing nonetheless. The dam has finally burst.Â
You're drowning deep in your sorrows to notice how tightly they wrap you. Holding you like they're crushing the very embodiment of sadness running through your body. At some point, you cry into Yujin's shirt instead of yours, but she doesn't mind in the slightest. Nobody does. Your tears do all the talking. They just cuddle up close, keeping you warm, letting you pour all that pent-up emotion out. No one tracks how long it takes; even when the droplets are just tracks, the sobs are sniffles, and your anguish is nothing but background music to the city still awake this late in the night, they stay.
And when you finally come to your senses and they find your eyes red from excessive crying, Wonyoung gently wipes it clean with the handkerchief Leeseo offered. The trembling gradually stops; your breath stabilizes, and your chest feels lighter, somehow.
The girls let you gather yourself for a moment. Gentle rubs of your head, your arm, little reassuring smiles. They don't push, don't force it, just let you process everything at your own pace. It's still not enough, not really. You're gonna look back on this 10, 20, even 50 years from now, when they feel like a relic lost to time and feel the same level of awe and disbelief you had when it happened, and everyone's gonna think you're sharing some silly story that sounds like a telltale sign for Alzheimer's, but you've seen it with your own two eyes: they were right there. With you.
"Better?" Yujin gently asks, and it sounds like you're being asked about the meaning of life.
"Kind of," you answer, and it's only half-true: you're certainly in a better place now compared to an hour ago, but these things just don't die within days, let alone overnight. When you return to normal life, it'll be as if you've stepped into a whole new dimension, where everything is mostly the same, except you aren't.Â
"That's better than nothing," she says, caressing your cheek. "We'll take it."
Their nerves refuse to relax still. Always careful around the edges, tiptoeing on the delicate, fragile core of your heart, ready to catch you when you fall.Â
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," you mutter, shaking your head. "I wish we met in a better place, you know. Like at a fansign or maybe you saw me during the concert and I made you laugh or smile or something similar. Not you having to comfort me in a park letting me cry on your shoulder for God knows how longâ"
Gaeul pulls you in for a loose hug, brushing your head and temple. "We're here now, that's what matters. We chose to be here. It's never your fault, remember? You didn't do anything but be present like everyone else and be honest, and what you've shown us says a lot about the kind of person you are."
"But I don't deserve" âyou argue, snifflingâ "I don't deserve thisâI was ready to throw you awayâ"
"You absolutely do," Liz cuts in, her voice cracking slightly at the last word, holding your hand now. "You could have said no. At the parking lot. When we offered our apologies, when we asked if you wanted to walk with us" âshe stifles a sob tooâ "you could have said no. You could have thrown our merch, yelled at us, told us to go away, posted a hit piece online about how we hate our fans. But you didn't. You gave us a second chance."
"That's true," Leeseo adds, pressing the handkerchief on your nose. "You walked with us. Let us share ice cream with you. And you were honest about everything, including your own feelings. That's grace."
"I don't feel gracious," you insist now, because you're still looking for an excuse to feel like you don't deserve this love being freely gifted to you. "I feel pathetic. I mean, I'm a grown man crying over K-pop idols because they didn't notice me. Do you know how stupid that sounds?"
Yujin simply smiles wider. "That sounds like someone who cares so passionately about the people he loves. And there's nothing wrong with that."
"Right," Rei says. "I'd be concerned if you just liked us cause we were only eye candy for you. Or that you only like us because you want to use our achievements or our talent to put down other groups."
"That has nothing to do with him," Gaeul interjects. "Read the room."
"I'm just saying!" she lightly fires back, shrugging and causing you to chuckle a little.Â
The others immediately catch on. "There," Wonyoung points out your tiny, fragile grin. "We were looking for you. That smile. It looks natural on you."
You immediately look away, cheeks flushed a fresh pink. "I can't," you laugh, small and awkward, "I still think I don't deserve thisâ"
"Stop."Â Yujin tries to be straightforward. "You deserveâ"
"I just can't," you maintain, because you're tired of being silent. "There's more deserving people who should be here instead of me. Prettier, richer, more" âthe word dies as you struggle to find the missing pieceâ "stableâ"
"And?"Â Wonyoung raises her brow, perplexed by your argument, like the very concept is ludicrous and brain-dead. "None of that matters to us. You're our Dive. That's more than enough."
"We take care of all our Dives," Yujin says, one hand on your shoulder and the other constantly tracing your hair and your cheek. "Whether you're a debut fan or just starting since yesterday, whether you spent thousands on us or you only stream our music, and whether you've seen us already or this is your first time. You're all the same in our eyes. All equally deserving of our full love and attention."
"But you especially," Wonyoung finishes. "Because you were hurting and we hurt you."
Even if they actively probed your brain and rewired it so that you believe them with a 100% certainty, you just can't. It's the kind of doubt that religion spits out and negatively affects the people around you.
So you go back to those old ways, those old beliefs. "I don't know how to believe you," and you're crying again, because your heart is made of nothing but unshed tears and utter depression: "I can'tâI don't think Iâ"
"Then let us be the ones who decide." Yujin pulls you flush for another hug, and the others join in too. She looks at each and every single member, one by one, and they nod. Tender and sincere that it finally, finally feels like validation. "And we've decided you deserve this. You deserve so much for giving your heart to us."
"IâI'm notâI don'tâ"
"Shhh." She insists, so gentle and utterly disarming that whatever fight left in your spirit finally concedes. "Let us take care of you. Just for a little while."
Little by little, the girls rebuild your heart. Not with bricks and mortar, but with warmth and tenderness. Arms loop and enclose around you. Whispered praises in your ear that sound like comfort. For the first time, it feels like you're finally home.
Eventually, the shaky breaths completely fade. All the tears have been shed for a while now. And even the hollowness doesn't feel as bottomless as it used to. It's all because of them: their gentle hearts, their small reassurances, their sincere little gestures. Tonight didn't give you what you wanted; it provided exactly what you needed.
But time stops for no one. They gently disentangle themselves and sit up on the bench, but their gazes never depart. It's been quiet. A little too quiet. One glance and they see you: eyes puffy, still sniffling just a tad, but normal. Mostly normal. Like the very clinical definition of fine.
"So," Rei starts, reaching for the phone in her purse. "we should take some pictures."
"Huh?"Â you blurt out instinctively, tilting your head in the opposite direction, forgetting where she'd been seated.
"Duh. Selfies,"Â she repeats, lightly mocking like you were supposed to know the memo. She's already held her phone up, perfect angles and all, with the other members already engaged in idol mode. "We didn't have any during the send-off, obviously?"
Rei doesn't wait for you to get ready. She snaps the first shot: six perfect stars encircling an unaddressed elephant in the center of the frame. The girls unanimously approve of it; you don't. You look out of place. Like you're the one that's AI-generated in the photo.
"I'm keeping this," she remarks, mischievously smiling as she returns the phone back into her bag. "Now you. Your phone," she asks, holding out a hand waiting for you to give it to her. Less of a request and more a demand.
You scramble to fish it out of your pocket. The screen lights up, and so do their faces when they see themselves as your lockscreen wallpaper. Liz's mouth makes a silent 'aww,' while Wonyoung tightly holds your hand with both of hers. More importantly, the battery is down to 12%. They're flattered, but all you can think about is just how everything is designed to humiliate you, even though they don't try to bring attention to it.
"Don't worry, this will be quick." Rei's angling your phone now, creating magic from a cramped park bench and under washed out streetlamps. You're still tucked in the center with the others surrounding you closely, making you the focus.Â
It starts out simple; a group photo together, nothing fancy, at least not yet. You have your hands folded together, eyes still red from all your tears, your smile semi-present but not quite. Meanwhile, they treat it as if it were another magazine shoot: effortless, natural, like muscle memory. Yujin lets her arm loop around your shoulder like it's her favorite place. Wonyoung leans her head close against yours. Gaeul's smile is small but sincere. Liz makes a peace sign, and Leeseo, over your shoulder, nudges you on the back, whispering for you to grin a little bit wider.Â
You feel overwhelmed existing, let alone breathing in their space, but the end result is a shot that's both vibrant and timeless.Â
"Perfect,"Â Rei remarks, pointing you out in the frame with her finger. You did, in fact, smile a bit wider. "You mind if I air drop this on our phones? As a memento. If you wantâ"
"Y-sure," you say, turning to her suddenly, because you can't imagine being in any of their galleries, but she's already sharing it with the other members even before you've agreed (and you would have). "But why wouldâ"
"We want to remember this." Rei answers immediately, already shifting your phone in a new angle. The others prepare for the next shot, nudging you into position, lifting eyebrows, telling you to loosen some more or go at your own pace. "We want this to be a reminder for ourselves to see thoroughly next time. That every person, every corner in the crowd matters."
"And also because we made a new friend," Leeseo adds, and your heart melts.
They fill your camera roll with every shot imaginable: group pics, quirky and cool poses, individual photosâones with you and a member by your sideâsolo and paired selfies, so much so that it feels like half of today's camera roll comprises more of their pictures here than the concert itself. Every shot makes your phone feel more and more sacred. It doesn't matter that they're essentially framemogging you into oblivion, still teary-eyed and vulnerable while they're goddesses incarnate; you'll take it, keep them for yourself because every photo is a cherished memory for life.
"Alright. Everyone gather up." Yujin's signaling to the others to hover close again, another group shot it looks like. "Last one. Let's make this special. For you."
"Close your eyes." Rei whispers against your ear, and you comply, without hesitation.
You wait. Trying your hardest not to peek. Yujin starts the countdown. The pit in your stomach tells you something's happening, but you don't think much of it. Probably Leeseo making bunny ears over your head or Liz poking your cheek.
"One, twoâ"
She suddenly goes silent. But you feel them. Everywhere. On your skin.
Lips softly crash all over your face. On your temple, your cheek, their breaths, the little giggles hushed as they lean away just as quickly as the camera flash pings. It happens all at once. You don't recognize who kisses where. But they kissed you anyway. That's what you know.
When you reopen your eyes, Rei's holding up your phone for all to see, and the result: she's pecking the front of your left cheek, Gaeul's lips just right beside hers, and Yujin kissing your forehead with her arms wrapped around your neck. To your right, Wonyoung blesses your temple, Liz parallel with Gaeul on the opposite cheek, and Leeseo stifling her laughter mid-kiss just beneath Liz. One thing's for certain: they're all beaming.
It's blurry. It's shaky. It's a mess. It's perfect.
All of a sudden, you can't breathe. Your face is burning up, but in a good way. You're telling yourself 'I can't believe that actually happened' without uttering a single word, and they're smiling proudly, showing no regret.
Then a phone buzzes. Not yours, the one in Rei's hand, but from somewhere else. Yujin quickly fishes the one from her pocket and reads. The look on her face, the sudden shift from joy to frown on her lips tells you everything.
"Manager,"Â is all she has to say, and reality has come to bring you back down to earth. You can't even be happy for more than five minutes. "We have to go."
"They're waiting at the park entrance," Wonyoung states, bluntly, now also checking her phone. The message is the same for everyone: South Gate. Five minutes. That's it. Maybe less.Â
But they see the returning gloom on your face and soothe you with the same little smiles that had been keeping you warm the whole time.Â
"Walk with us," Rei suggests, holding out her hand as they gather themselves and stand. "We want to say goodbye. Properly."
Your mind is telling you to decline. Refuse, say that they went above and beyond, that you don't deserve all this love and special attention they've given you, that they're probably stalling for time for a flight they're almost certainly gonna be late to keep you happy just a little bit longerâ
But nothing materializes. You take her hand, and start walking. Together.
You don't go back the way you came from; you continue further down the winding road, and in the distance, you can already see two pairs of headlamps and shadowy silhouettes looming on the horizon. They've been waiting. For how long is a whole other question you have no answer to.
They've encircled closely around you. Yujin and Gaeul lead the way, Leeseo and Wonyoung hover beside you, and Rei and Liz trail right behind. More importantly, they're not rushing. The walk is leisurely, like they aren't supposed to be at the airport right nowâor a while ago. The eldest occasionally glance back to check on you, and you just nod every time. Even when Leeseo takes your hand as an assurance, you know the inevitable is just right around the corner, and not even they can't save you from the end.
Eventually, when Gaeul looks at you again, she finally speaks up. "You're overthinking again."
"I'm not." The denial is almost immediate. Defensive but gentle, as to not cause much concern.
"Sure you are," she maintains, tilting her head, assessing your every twitch, your every move. "I can tell by the way you've been staring at the ground and not at our faces. How you've been silent. You don't want this to end."
She's got it spot on. Because the last thing you want to remember is the smiles, the photos, not them waving goodbye from behind a van, even though you have two different lives to live. Even though she only knew you for less than an hour, she's solved your mind.
"Not," you insist, but Gaeul doesn't fall for the bullshit. It came off as weak too, making it all the more obvious. "Iâwasn'tâ"
"Hey. We're not mad or anything like that," she says, facing you, walking backwards, careful to sound firm without provocation. "We're just making an observation. That's all. What are you thinking about right now?"
"Yes." Leeseo swings the hand she's joined to, a reminder that someone is always watching, even if one of the members isn't paying attention. "You can tell us. We won't judge."
Here we go again. They care too much that it's almost suffocating. You can already hear the words: 'Stopâ' 'Don't apologize for our mistakeâ' 'We choseâ' 'You deserve thisâ'
And it's not cause you don't believe after all that's occurred; you do, somewhat. But everything feels too good to be true. That the universe must find a way to restore balance to itself by any means necessary.Â
"I don't know," you admit, imagining the annoyed, disgruntled expressions on their faces. "I justâI don't understand why you're doing thisâ"
Perhaps you wished a little too hard, because Gaeul closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but she doesn't groan or grumble, at least audibly. The frustration on her face is clear as day, however.Â
"Because we chose to. Okay? There's nothing else to it," she explains, and Yujin's looking over her shoulder now, at her fellow member, nodding. "What do you want us to tell you exactly? That we love you? That we cherish you? That we will see you again? Of course we will. Because Iâweâlove you. So, so much."
"We didn't sit on that bench, eat ice cream, let you cry on our shoulders and kiss you for nothing," Rei adds, tapping you from behind. "We really do appreciate you. You just have to believe us."
"Unless you have some other reason you're hiding," Wonyoung chimes in, now taking your other hand. "Tell us. What's really bothering you?"
Suddenly, it feels like their gentle eyes have turned into cold, calculating stares. Being put on the spot like thisâit might as well be an interrogation, except everyone's bad cop pretending to act good. And that's exactly why you're doubting. You're still moving, sure, but in a way that makes traffic seem like an open highway, and there's no cliff to drive off from.
"I'm just" âyou start, and when you look into their eyes (doesn't matter who), you feel small and fragileâ "waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like all this feels like one big lie."
Liz tilts her head, confused. "How come?"
"I don't know," you answer, kicking a small pebble on the pathway. "You've been so good to me it doesn't make any sense. Like I know you've been wanting to leave already, or that you hate me, because I keep crying and whining and doubting you. And I'm sorry. I really wish you justâ"
Everyone comes to a complete halt. Yujin stops you with her hand. The rest surround you in a way that feels like cornering a wounded soldier to finish them off. "Answer me this question."
You nod. Your throat feels constricted, but she's expecting words.
"Do you think we would have gone out of our way to find you in that parking lot if we hated you?"
Nothing comes out. You subtly wag your head, but Yujin wants to hear an answer.
"Not enough. Answer me. Please."
You swallow. "âNo."
"Do you think we would have asked you to walk with us? That we'd allow you to lead us away from the venue, and eat ice cream here because we hated you?"
Again, "No."
"Do you think we'd let you cry on our shoulders if we hated you? That we've said it for God knows how many times that we love you and care about you? That you deserve everything we gave you right now?" She raises her tone ever-so slightly, still kind and empathetic, but it makes your heart jump. "Would we be having this conversation right now if we were impatient with you?"
"No, Yujinâ" you say, panicked because this is exactly what you've been expecting. You've been waiting for the moment the pot finally boils over. But she doesn't move. Doesn't do anything. Just asks.
"Then why are you so adamant that we hate you? Give us a reasonable answer. Right now."
Your eyes widen. You wanna yell. Lash out. Finally make them see first hand that they've chosen wrong.Â
But like everything else, it comes out delicate and small: "Because I simply can't, okay? I can't trust a single thing you say."
The world stops. Yujin blinks slowly. So do the rest. Go on. Explain.
"And it's not because I hate you or anything like thatâI really love each and every one of youâit's just been tiring, you know. I've been through so much in one day that I can't understand myself or anything anymore. You've been so kind to me, like I said. A little too much that I sometimes wonder if I'm actually talking to the real you. And some part of me believes in the back of my mind that you're being performative. That you'll get in that van and regret doing all this. Or maybe you've been talking about me behind my back."
Their verdict doesn't come for a while. And when it does, it's hysterical.
Yujin shakes her head softly. She lets out a small laugh that's unnerving. "I really appreciate how honest you've been about everything."
There's no judgment in her tone; just an air of freshness that's meant to be light. Instead, you're left puzzled.Â
"Most fans would have told us they're fine and go their way," she continues, and her trademark smile is gradually returning. "So believe me when I say your honesty has been so refreshing to hear."
"You'reâyou're not mad?"
"Why would we be? You've given us no reason to."Â
"Butâeverything elseâ"
"Nothing in your argument holds up, okay?" Yujin places a hand on your shoulder, leans in close so you stare directly into her eyes. "We saw you crying. We realized we missed you. Then you poured out your heart for us. Do you think we'd regret doing this, after hearing everything you had to say?"
"Iâ" you say, but the words die on your tongue. Except one. "Maybeâ"
"You wouldn't believe how many rules we've broken just for you," she interrupts, smiling from ear to ear remembering. "Delayed our schedules. Fought against staff. Went out in public without said staff and risked ourselves being swarmedâ"
"Don't forget kissing a fan," Rei chimes from behind, much to everyone's laughter, Yujin included. "Especially kissing a fan."
"Yes, kissing a fan too," Yujin repeats, chuckling mid-sentence. "but the point I'm trying to make here is: we've done so much to show you we love you. And we'd do it again and again if it means you really, truly believe us."
"They know the faces that run the place," says Wonyoung, confident yet classy. "They know what's gonna happen if they provoke us."
"We'll get written-up at best. Maybe a small fine," Liz adds. "Definitely a huge talking. But that's nothing compared to losing you."
"It's all worth it," Leeseo says simply. "You're worth it."
Yujin pulls away, but you refuse to let go of her hand. She lets it stay, halfway facing you as they continue the walk. "You understand now? No matter how much you wanna argue, we'll always say the same thing."
"And what if I still don't believe?" you ask, because you're that obstinate.
"Then we'll keep reminding you," she says, equally as stubborn. "until you truly believe us."
And for the first time in what seemed to be forever, your heart thumps. Just a fraction, but it feels like the light has finally shone on you.
So you continue walking. Still stretching out the moments as far as you can go. The girls have retreated to their usual positions, but it's much lighter now. More serene.
"I really have to say sorry," you start again, and everyone's hardwired to face you the moment that specific word is spoken, because they're expecting another reason for you to put yourself down, another battle to be fought. "for testing your patience. I mean, you've said it yourself: you delayed your schedules just for me, and if I wasn't so cynical, you'd be on that plane now. Or at least on your way to the airport."
The girls can only smile and sigh. "We've been through this," Leeseo says softly, holding your hand a little bit tighter. "You don't have to apologize for anything."
"Butâ"
"No more buts. No more apologies, alright?" Gaeul looks over her shoulder, over you. Her glare is sharp but with kind intent. "You're our Dive. We love you. You deserve everything. Point blank. Period."
That stops you cold. Firm, final. You can only bow your head, but Gaeul reaches her hand out for you to hold. So you do. She caresses over it gently, softly, reassuring you this is all out of genuine love.
"If we were actually tired or impatient, we would have just bowed, apologized quickly, and gotten in the van back in the parking lot," Wonyoung adds, just to reaffirm everything. "Not spend important time with you. So pleaseâat least give yourself this. Just this one good thing, if you can't accept anything else."
You finally concede. Even though you look the other way, you're still walking with them, letting them hold your hand, and you're not brushing anyone away.Â
"Besides, this is actually nice," Rei says, looking up at the night sky. "It's a good change of pace from our usual schedule."
You don't consider asking, but Yujin explains nevertheless: "Most nights, we just fly in the day before the show. Then on the day of the show itself, its rehearsal, soundcheck, stage, send-off, then hotel. Sometimes we just skip the hotel and go straight to the airport. Like we were supposed to tonight. It's all streamlined and micromanaged."Â
"Yeah. We're so tired and constantly moving that we can barely talk to each other," Gaeul adds. "We post pics, send a few messages on Berriz, maybe scroll Twitter a bit till we pass out on the plane."
"Your energy is what keeps us going, and I mean literally," Yujin speaks again. "After the show, we justâcrash. It's hard to go from people cheering for you toâdead silence."
You feel the same way: how two hours can pass by in a flash, expending all your passion and energy after months of waiting and preparing, and then it justâends.
"Plus, this was the perfect excuse for ice cream," Leeseo suddenly says, tilting her gaze over to you. "I've been craving for some the whole day."
Ain't no fucking way, you're saying to yourself. "You weren't."
"Of course I was," she answers cheerfully. "Staff told me it would affect my voice. Seriously. Even just one cone, they said no. So thank you."
You look at Leeseo in utter disbelief. "You used my emotional breakdown for ice cream." Not a question, but an observation.
"Yep. But we made a friend out of it. It's a win-win," she says, and everyone laughs.
"I told you I wasn't joking," Rei quips.
The air between you feels lighter now. They're chuckling, and you're grinning, just a bit. Leeseo points it out, and you're averting your face while they huddle around you, warm as ever. All is right in the world.
"Let's talk about other things that aren't about crying," Liz suggests. "Where did you come from to see us?"
The change in atmosphere and tone catches you off-guard, but you answer comfortably. "From the countryside. Drove four hours just to be here."
"One way?" She looks surprised.
"Yeah. I mean, I've got a hotel to return to after" âyour words die thinking about itâ "you knowâ"
"I get it. It's been a long day. For you probably."
"No shit," you reply, casual, like you're conversing with friends, uncaring about the fact you just swore in their presence. "I've been up since 6 AM because that's how excited I was. And also because of all the driving, obviously. But that's nothing to some of the people I've met there."
They remain silent. They know what you mean: people who've flown out from other countries, from the corners of the region, when driving is simply implausible, and your dedication feels like a stroll compared to theirs. Some fansites could be included too, given how they're willing to go this far.
"You have no idea how we reacted when the announcement dropped," you continue. "It felt like salvation. Like our prayers were finally being answered because you actually included us in your world tour."
"I saw it on Twitter," Rei says. "The fanbases were cheering for you. Even those from countries that weren't includedâthey were celebrating."
"It meant I didn't have to fly out to see you, and I was already considering it. But you came to us."
"We heard of how quickly it sold out too," Yujin notes. "Faster than Taipei, Macau, and Seoul. I'm surprised they didn't announce a second show here. You guys were so loud."
"I heard your ment," you answer. "about there not being a day two. I would have gone too. Maybe all three days."
"Then we would definitely have seen you," Leeseo says. "Butâwe did. Just a bit later than you wanted."
And somehow, it lands like a joke now. Not something you'd pine over. She's smiling, and you're smiling, and everything feels right.
"Soâwhy didn't you?" Gaeul's turn to ask. "You said you considered flying out. What happened?"
"You did, obviously," you chuckle, barely sidestepping past a particularly large fallen branch, "but I have flown out before. For another group. I would have waited for the encore if I chose to fly out. But itsâa lot. Travel, accommodation, food, merchâ"
"That's fair."
"And there's more," you continue, "I wanted it to be special, you know? I wanted to be at the front, and I got it. So you could see me. Butâ"
"We also happened," Gaeul finishes your sentence. "We're still regretting it. We'll never stop admonishing ourselves for this."
"I know, and you don't have to. You don't owe me anything," you say, and the memory still lingers in the back of your mind. They notice the subtle shift on your lips: the pain and the despair. "but at the time, it seemed like a completeârejection. Like you wanted nothing to do with me. After all the years I've supported you. I just wanted some acknowledgment, and" âyou take a breathâ "it felt like I was unworthy of you."
The walk stops abruptly again. Rei and Liz's hands are suddenly on your shoulders. You're not cryingânot yet at leastâbut your breaths are shaky, and you're trying to fight it off.
"So yeah. Big deal you finally came for us, especially for me, personally." You're looking into Yujin and Gaeul's eyes. "When you went on your first world tour, and we weren't included, I was hurt. So much so that I actively distanced myself from you: your music, your faces, anything that had to do with you, I wanted no part of for a while."Â
Their gazes tilt down a little. Their lips twitch. Leeseo holds your hand a bit tighter.
"So why did you come back?" Wonyoung asks, tiny and disarming.Â
"IâI knew I couldn't be angry forever. You were still the same group I loved so dearly, and I couldn't blame anyone but myself. I knew we didn't have the streams or the demand for you to come. Hell, when the concert movie was released in theaters, guess what: it didn't even screen anywhere too. I had to watch it off a camrip from some website. It's like you were actively trying to avoid us. None of this is your fault, obviously, but it doesn't change the fact that it hurts. And when it hurts, what do you care about more: the mind, or the heart?"
No one dares to speak. Other than Wonyoung, no one dares to look at you either. They simply listen.
"We hardly get any foreign artists, let alone K-pop shows, and the rare times they happen, they either cancel or are unknowns, usually both. So color me surprised when you, of all groups, with your popularity, decided to book a show here. It's a big deal for the entire country."
They exchange looks. Ones of dawned understanding. And they don't argue, not at all; they let you keep talking.
"But more than that, this was my chance. I thought I could be front row, wave my sign, scream and shout and finally, something would answer. That I wasn't yelling into an empty, uncaring void."
A pause. A sniffle.Â
"We didn't," Liz mutters airily.
"You didn't," you say, sounding small now. "And when it happened, it felt" âyou sigh, search for the wordsâ "specific. Like you knew I was there and wanted to single me out. And I know that's not rational. I know you can't see everyone. Not if you had all the time in the world. But in the moment, it felt like complete rejection. Like you were disgusted I was there. That you wanted no part of me."
"We don't." Yujin holds your wrist, her glance tilting at the others, a unified front: "We couldn't hate you; we hardly know you. You couldn't give us a reason to hate you, and you haven't."
"And we would never," Wonyoung adds, leaning close. "We're not the type to single out people and humiliate them. We'd know."
"We don't always show it well," Gaeul continues. "But we get tired. Overwhelmed. Sometimes, it feels like we're going through the motions, and to an extent, that's true. There's only so many faces we can recognize before everyone becomes a blur. But that doesn't mean we love you any less."
"Every wave, every heart, every gesture we makeâthat's for you," Liz states. "Even if we're not looking directly at you or your camera, it carries all our love for you. We want you to feel that, even if it seems impossible."
"Our speeches might feel rehearsed and tired sometimes, but that doesn't mean it isn't genuine," Wonyoung speaks again. "We want to see our Dives everywhere. Your cheers, your energy, your excitementâit's why we perform. To give that love back, even just a fraction, is our highest honor. So whenever we say 'We love you,' or 'You're the best,' we truly mean it."Â
"But you didn't see me," you finally say, tilting your eyes to the pavement, and even you feel exhausted bringing it up; you can only imagine what's going through their heads hearing you make the same tired argument for the umpteenth time. "I saw it with my own two eyes. You looked right through me. You can say all these beautiful things, but it doesn't change the fact that you ignored me. Andâ"
"We know," Yujin interrupts. It's heavy and regretful, but to the point. "We're not making any excuses. But we want you to understand that it wasn't personal. It's never personal."
The answer comes naturally before you can even think. "It felt personal."
"And that's on us," she replies, tilting your chin so you can meet her eyes. "You felt hurt. You were hurt," she immediately corrects. "That's normal. We didn't mean to. But we're so, so sorry."
No matter how many times you try to patch it, your heart keeps leaking; there's too many holesâsome worse than othersâto be fixed with band-aid solutions. In other words, you're crying again. Even when you want it to stop, even when you think you've emptied yourself out, the tears continue gushing down.
"All I wanted was to thank you," you mutter silently, wiping your eyes, unable to glance at them. It feels like you're back at square one. "That's it. I didn't even want a heart or some stupid fanservice anymore. Just a glance or some kind of recognition. For your music, for your contentâfor being you. You got me through times where I didn't think" âyour voice gradually fades, hesitating as to whether or not you should tell them, but you do anywayâ "I'd make it. And I thought if you saw me, I could finally say how much you mean to my life. But you didn't. And when you left, IâI thought that was it. If not tonight, I would never be able toâ"
Leeseo pulls you into a deep hug. She wraps her arms around your waist from behind, pressing her head against your back. Even though you're trembling, words failing, and you're the tears and pain wash over you, she holds you through it all.Â
"You're saying it now," she whispers on your shirt, gently tugging you a little tighter. "and we're listening."
She barely finishes her sentence when the others join in on the hug. God, you want it to stop. You're tired of falling apart like this, yet your heart is built on a foundation of sand and glass. But you let them carry you for a while, because you need saving now, even though you don't outright say it.
Rei's the first to pull away. Even here, they move in perfect sync. "Earlier tonight, I remember you told us something. About you not enjoying us on stage because you were too focused on getting our attention."
Almost immediately, your heart sinks. She'd only been notingârather modestly, you might addâand yet you know what's coming.Â
"Yeah," is the only thing you say, and it sounds like an admission of guilt.
"I don't think you're supposed to do that."
Simple and straightforward, yet it hits the point home like a shot to the gut. You can only avert your gaze in shame.
"We work so hard on our performances so you can enjoy them," says Liz, holding your hand. "Above anything else, we want you to have fun. To leave feeling like the time, effort, and money you spent with us was worthwhile. Interactions are nice, but they're not the main point."
"And you said it yourself: you could have joined a fansign or a fancall if you really wanted to talk to us," adds Gaeul. Each word is one piece of self-incrimination after another, made even worse by the fact they're using your own admission against you as evidence.Â
"We just want you to be happy," Yujin says, right to the point. "to be here. With us. Even if it isn'tâdirectly communicated."
"I was happy," you state. It sounds like a confession. You're glancing up at the sky, at the full moon partially blocked by clouds. "At the beginning, I really was. Seeing you in person for the first timeâthat was everything. It didn't feel real until you were actually there. And honest to God, the concert was everything I could have ever wanted and more. But as the show was winding down and you were scattering around during the encoreâ"
"We know." Yujin cuts you off. "But you were having the time of your life," she remarks.
"Until I wasn't," you admit, because you're as easy to fold as any common lawn chair.Â
"Until you got in your head,"Â she gently corrects. "You told us you became desperate and jealous. That you dwelt on what wasn't there instead of what you had."
"That'sâyeahâ" You wince. "Yeah. That's fair. And that's entirely on me. I should have been grateful to even be there in the first place."
"Right," Leeseo says. "And even if we don't see you exactly, the fact you gave your time and effort to be here means more to us than you already know."
Not exactly words of comfort, but you'll take it.
"There's always a next time," Wonyoung adds. "If you want there to be. You can always do better. And so will we."
"It's a learning lesson for all of us," Gaeul immediately follows. "So that makes us even."
You're still lingering on Wonyoung's words. "If there is a next time," you mutter out, and they see the way you deeply think about it, that you're clearly doubting.
"There will be," Wonyoung reassures, delivered with that trademark confidence that feels like a guarantee. "We'll make sure of it."
"We should keep moving," Yujin suddenly states, staring ahead to the vans parked at the gate's borders. Still a good distance away from where you're standing, but a looming presence nonetheless. Everyone's attention is drawn toward themâexcept yours. "Manager's gonna be so pissed."
Her gaze then briefly lands on you. "Not your fault, of course."Â
She makes it abundantly clear, but you're you. You don't think that. It's clearly your doing.
They start walking again. No longer a closed bubble, but as a coordinated unit straight ahead. You'll let them leave without you. Still under the belief that you wasted so much of their time, even with all the reassurances they've given.Â
Except they don't; Rei grabs your hand with that cheeky grin and pulls you in tow with the rest, until you follow in step naturally. There's no rush, no urgency in their stride, like they're oh-so obviously aware of how you don't want them to go. The glances whenever they over their shoulder don't make it any less subtle.
You're more than content to watch. Soak in every little action, every little thing they do. It isn't the most exciting of things: just six stars without the pressure of cameras or spotlights. Not their typical idol selves, but the actual humans behind the facade. This is the girl group you sometimes call home.Â
And you can't help but want to enshrine it.
"Can Iâ"Â you start, almost mute, as if you're asking for too much. That this feels too authentic to be caught on camera.
Yujin turns around. "What is it?"
You deny it at first. "Noâit's nothing," but she sees the phone in your hand. Immediately understands. "I'm goodâ"
"Candids," she remarks casually. "You want to take candids of us?"
"N-noâ"Â you choke on your own words. She smiles, that gummy puppy-eyed grin that's charming.Â
"Go ahead," she says kindly, gesturing to the others to watch for your camera.Â
Forget that there's hardly any decent lighting around (unlike at the bench) or that the photos themselves come out as mostly blurs and silhouettes; it still looks natural, and that's how it should be. Sometimes their faces aren't even present in the frame, whether by design or accident, but they're polaroid worthy regardless.
You catch them in their most open form: Yujin staring up at the sky, Gaeul glancing back with her side profile in view, Rei doing that brainrot gesture, Wonyoung flipping her hair, Liz looking down at the ground, and Leeseo smiling shyly with her finger pointed at you.
"Tell us your name," Wonyoung then asks, and your face burns up at the thought. Doesn't matter you never said it once up until now; this suddenly feels too intrusive. Or that they'll probably forget you after this.
They look amused. You say it anyway like the foldable lawn chair you are.
"Record this," she then instructs, pointing your phone toward her like the star that she is, and you start. You catch the little smirk on her lips. You hear your name spoken in her saccharine tone, and your brain just glitches.
"Thank you for coming today. I hope you can look back on tonight with fond memories. We see you. We love you."
The other five girls jump into frame, waving, smiling, echoing the same thing:Â "We love you, Dive. I-ting!"
Your face cracks. Just a little.Â
You've been trying to avoid it the entire walk, but before you know it, it's already over.
On the other side of the gate, the vans are waiting. Engines idle, windows all tinted pitch-black, and their manager and bodyguard waiting almost impatiently. It's nothing personal, but the guard glares at you like you're the reason he's getting his pay docked when they return to Koreaâwhich you most likely are. Meanwhile, the manager subtly points at his watch, telling you everything you need to know.
The girls turn around to face you one last time. This is it.
Yujin holds both your hands with hers, leaning her face forward. "This isn't goodbye."
Open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Her choice of words is very specific, you realize. Like she's studied your mind and how it works.
"We will see you again," Wonyoung encourages.Â
Glancing at her, you say, doubtful, "You don't know that."
"We'll make sure," she replies, insistent and resolute but gentle. "One way or another, we're gonna find you."
"Butâthe companyâthe toursâthere's no guaranteeâ"
"We don't break our promises." Rei steps forward, firm in her stance. "Even if you're all the way at the back, or even if it's not here in your countryâwe will find you. That's a promise."
"And how will I knowâ"
"Because you're the kind of fan that never gives up," Gaeul quickly interjects before you finish. "The kind that still believes and keeps going after everything. You let us comfort you when you could have walked away. That speaks volumes about the kind of person you are."
"We won't forget you," Liz chimes in. "You trusted us. Gave us a chance to make things right, even when we didn't deserve it. That kind of grace can't be forgotten easily."
"We promise we won't forget you," Leeseo reiterates. "We can't ever forget a person like you."
Yujin and Wonyoung are nodding. Wonyoung takes your hand and holds it, intertwining your pinky fingers together. "We will see you again. We swear."
You can only smile and shake your head, barely stifling a laugh. It isn't pleasant, even though it looks and sounds convincing, like you're finally starting to believe, when in reality, this feels more like a eulogy. A final farewell.
And now it's your turn to say yours.
After taking a deep breath and letting your nerves breathe, you face them, one by one, and speak:
"Yujin. You're the best leader anyone could ask for. You've had to bear so much, but you still carry your spark, especially when you perform. I can tell how much you love performing on stage. Thank you."
Her eyes glisten.
"Gaeul. I'm glad people are starting to notice you now. You were always the most underrated one in my eyes. People don't understand what you bring to this team. It may have taken this long for you to get that shine, but you deserve it so, so much. Thank you."
She smiles. Looks away. Cheeks puffed.
"Rei. Your energy is so infectious. Your smile, your chaos, your sillinessâeven when I was falling apart, you managed to make me laugh. And you held my hand when I wanted you to leave me back thereâtwice. You make everyone feel included. So thank you."
Her grin wavers. She quickly averts her gaze, but a tear is falling.
"Wonyoung. I don't even know where to begin. Everything you do is iconic. But how you keep yourself composed and calm, even with all the needless hate for every thing you do, is what stands out to me. I wish I could be as great as you one day. Thank you."
She puts her hands together. Mouths something quietly:Â "You already are."
"Liz. You're gorgeous. Always have been. The people who think you're a visual hole are blind and stupid. They don't even realize that you're actually hilarious and charming. And don't even get me started on your voice. That same voice kept me afloat during some sleepless nights. Thank you."
She's crying openly, poorly concealing her face behind the sleeve of her shirt.
"Leeseo. You've grown up so fast. So much so that even I feel old, even though we're not that far off. But you're still brimming with that same joy and light from day one. You remind me that I'm also growing with you guys, but it doesn't mean I always have to be serious. Thank you."
Her lips tremble.Â
"I want to believe so bad. Trust me, I really do, and I hope it happens. I want to be there for every tour, every milestone, every anniversary, every comeback until you decide to call it quits," you say through a shaky voice, and you're trying to fight off the tears because you're so fucking done with crying and you want them to see your smile even in these dying moments,through gritted teeth and deep breaths: "But if I don't, and this is the only time I will ever see you, then I just want you to know how truly important you are to me. You helped me through some of the darkest parts of my life, when I was lost and hopeless and I thought there was nothing left."Â
You pause, cry a little, but ultimately keep going: "You gave me something to hold onto. You made me want to live."
You watch their faces shatter in real time. Tears streaming everywhere, unable to gaze at you, their heads bowed in deep reverence. Even both Gaeul and Wonyoung can barely keep themselves together, and they rarely show any emotion. The fact you're the only one managing to maintain some semblance of steadiness in the end, somehow, is a miracle in and of itself.
"So thank you. Thank you for sharing your talents, your personalitiesâyour everything. Not just for me, but for every person that proudly calls themselves a Dive. And I'm sorryâfor pushing you away too. For being so annoying and parasocial and cynical about whether your love is real or not. I don't deserve the kindness you gave me, not after everything I didâbut thank you, thank you, thank you. For finding me when I was broken. For mending my heart. For giving me a second chance. For making all this" âyou're gesturing with your hands, pertaining to the years of devotion, hope, and beliefâ "worth it in the end. You really are my everything. And I will miss you so much."
They pull you in for another hug. Now they're the ones crying into your warmth. All six members. You let them. It's the least you can do.Â
"You're not a bad fan," Yujin mumbles into your shoulder, crying freely. "You never were."
"You gave us a second chance," Rei adds. "You could have walked away. You could have hated us after what we did. But you chose to stay. We should be the ones thanking you."
"We don't deserve a fan like you," says Leeseo, her lips curled into a frown, her tears landing on your shirt.
"I don't deserve a group like you," you counter, falling into their embrace, but you're smiling. Genuinely.
"Please keep going," Wonyoung murmurs into your shoulder. "If not for us, then for yourself. For your loved ones. For the many memories you have yet to make."Â
"Please stay," Liz echoes. "We still have to meet again, remember?"
"We'll move heaven and earth to find you again," Gaeul says. "Just promise you'll keep going, okay?"
"I'll try," you say, and it feels like you're finally standing on your own two feet. "For you. I'll try."
Their held breaths are released. Relief. Yujin simply puts it best:
"That's all we can ask."
âââââ
"Girls. Time,"Â is all the manager has to say, and they draw back from your embrace. Slowly, reluctantly, like now they're the ones refusing to let go. Oh, how the tables turn.
Leeseo tries to keep her fingers close a moment longer, but you gently remind her (and everyone else): "I'll be fine. More than. Because of tonight. Because of you."
She doesn't seem fully convinced, but she smiles anyway.Â
One by one, they walk past the gate and climb into the vans. Gaeul first, and she blows a kiss from a distance. Rei second; she tries to make a face, and you laugh, and she's delighted. Liz simply makes a heart with her hands, and you mirror her gesture, switching the dynamic between idol and fan. Leeseo softly nods; she's still sobbing a little, but you reassure her with a smile and she's finally assured and enthusiastically waves goodbye.
That leaves only Yujin and Wonyoung.
Wonyoung gathers her hands together. She closes her eyes. Says a tiny prayer, then afterward, she leans forward to plant a soft peck on your temple.Â
"For luck," she says, before quickly pulling back. "We will see you again. Trust."
"You didn't come to our section once," you quietly remark, but it's delivered in friendly jest. "Until the actual end of the concert, actually."
"Sorry."Â She laughs, light and airy, but sincere. "I'll keep that in mind for next time. When you're there."
"Not just for me," you say. "But for everyone else too."
Wonyoung takes her step back and enters the second van, but not before blowing you one final kiss: "Make sure to eat something. Ice cream isn't enough."
Lastly, Yujin. Both of you briefly stare at each other for a moment, until you blink and break the silence: "You should go. I can take care of myself."
"Again, this isn't goodbye," she reiterates, the same thing she said when you first got here, but you properly believe it now.
"I know."
"Will you be okay?" Her eyes are twinkling with unshed tears. "We can ride you back, just to be sureâ"
"I'll be alright," you insist, and you're completely certain. "It's just a block away. You have a flight to catch."
She finally yields first. Nods.
"Be safe going home, okay? Text someone once you're at your hotel."
"Of course."
You can only nod before she walks away and enters the van. Their bodyguard slides the door shut and heads to the passenger seat.
The engines hum. No waves, no gestures, no more assurancesâjust a reminder that life goes on. That your best days are just someone else's routine. But as the vans begin to move, you see a flash of light from inside one of the windows, hands waving at you, and a phone held up in maximum brightness with a written message:
"We see you now <3"
It's only visible for a moment as the cars drive off. You watch the vans gradually disappear from view, until it becomes a dim blur you can no longer follow.
Time stops for no one. You're on your own again.
When you realize that you're alone, like really, truly alone, the world feels larger. Louder. Like that hour in the park was paradise. And now, it's back to reality.
You're not sure where to start. Where the dream began and when it ended. The last hour still doesn't feel real. Even with all the evidence on that phone, now barely hanging on for dear life (at 5%), you're still trying to convince yourself this all really happened.Â
But the tears, the comfort, the catharsisâthey were real.Â
You're crying again, because your body language has been reduced to this, but it's not out of pain anymore: rather true, genuine joy.
Finally, you turn the other way. Every step feels light. Your phone buzzes. On screen, their lips are on your face. You can't help but smile.Â
You can't wait to tell her everything.
(And you'll walk with your head held high, because the best is yet to come.)
âââââ
(A/N: hey so can't you tell i haven't moved on yet
In all seriousness, this idea has been around for almost a year or so. I will admit there was a time I actively wanted to avoid their music and content because I couldn't stomach being jealous about missing their first world tour. It took me months, and one concert movie watch along with a friend to finally get closure. I swore I wouldn't miss them again should they ever return, and thank God they did. I was more than happy to be seated all the way in the back, but as the date drew closer and other factors were in play, something in me was compelled to take a risk and get a better spot. So I did, with just one week till the show date. And I don't regret it. Not in the slightest.
They say you associate key moments in your life with key figures. And for me, IVE (and Le sserafim to an extent) defined my college years. I was a freshman when I had my first concert (and they took my concert virginity), and now I get to see them again as I graduate three years and six other shows later. So this fic represents my journey as a fan and as a person. It's a full circle moment, an ending, but also a new beginning. So believe me when I say that IVE is that special, because I can look fondly on these past 3 years, through the good and bad. And last Saturday was a reflection of that.
Big shoutout to cray and Dotoli, let's run it back in 2028/2029 (with raf and qwib this time)!
Onto better days ahead. Thank you so much for reading âĄ)
Word count: 8.8k
A/N: i got a lot of requests telling me to bring this back soâŠ
masterlist
next part â
*This is all fictional.
ââââââ ââ â ââââââ
Moments like these sucked.
It was 11PM, you sat quietly at Gate 21, the iced americano in your hand somehow tasted really bland, too bland. The terminal was quiet, not the peaceful quiet kind, just empty. A few other passengers sat scattered across the rows of seats, some already sleeping, others looked dead inside just like you.
You werenât in a rush, your flight to Hong Kong wouldnât board for another forty minutes. So you scrolled through your phone again. Nothing too special, just the usual emails from work, maybe too many unread group chats that you didnât even bother to open in days, and that one message, still sitting on top of your Kakao, waiting for you to accept the truth.
It was from your now ex-girlfriend, Yu Jimin. You met on campus, she was in interior design while you were finishing up your architecture degree. She was popularâthe looks, the bright energy, the bubbly personality⊠she had it all. People noticed her and a lot of guys chased after her but somehow, sheâd only looked at you. She was the one who confessed first. Bold, smiling, a little nervous. You still remembered the way sheâd asked if you always looked that serious even when the sky looked nice.
Somehow youâd ended up together for almost two years. At one point, Jimin was even talking about moving in together. But⊠it hadnât been good for a while. She said sheâd been tired and you had no better excuse than âIâve been busyâ. You werenât cheating. You werenât lying. You loved her too much for that.
But last night, the look in Jiminâs eyes told you she was serious. You got down your knees in the middle of the street, apologizing and begging her for one last chance with tears in your eyes. You never thought youâd ever be that desperate, pleading guy. You never really begged for anything before. But last night, you begged for her. Jimin cried too, but she still walked away. She said it hurt too much to keep this relationship alive, and that she didnât hate you but she couldnât survive loving you like this anymore.
You were still lost in your thoughts when the boarding announcement echoed through the terminal. Somewhere in the dark sky, you found yourself staring out the window, watching the buildings disappear into clouds.
Becoming an architect was never really something you planned, maybe not at first. You werenât from money, nothing was ever handed to you easily. You worked hard, maybe even got lucky along the way through university until you ended up here.
Thirty years old. Luckily employed straight after university in this economy and yet, you still felt like something or maybe someone was missing in your life.
ââââââ ââ â ââââââ
The next few days passed by with nothing memorable, at least for you. Full of site visits, meetings and late night drafts. The renovation project wasnât anything massive, just a quiet redesign of a small hotel somewhere in Sheung Wan. The work culture in Hong Kong was a bit fast paced but nothing you couldnât keep up with. You spent your days listening, observing and sketching like you always did. Hong Kong was packed but beautiful, chaotic and dramatic in a way that Seoul wasnât.
One morning, your early meeting had been canceled and you decided to just wander around with no purpose, letting the city carry you away. At some point, you ended up at Tsim Sha Tsui harbor, and the scenery looked exactly like those in the 90s Hong Kong movies. There, at the end of the Star Ferry Pier was a clean, minimalist cafe. Concrete, soft wood counters, full of art gallery vibes.
A cup of coffee wouldnât hurt, right?
You wandered near the window to calm yourself down, watching the world move. The bitterness hit a bit but you didnât mind, not there for the coffee anyway.
Then she walked in, a stunning woman (maybe in her 20s?) looking like sheâd just stepped out of a fashion magazine.
She took your breath the moment she got into your vision. She was wearing a matching cream and navy stripes crochet set. The cropped cardigan clung lightly to her shoulders, unbuttoned to show the black top underneath. Her high waisted shorts helped compliment her long legs, making her already tall frame even more attractive. Her long hair was braided over one shoulder. A thin choker with a small pendant was wrapped around her neck, and those earrings just made her look so elegant and rich. But the main point of her look was the glasses. She walked in while adjusting them, casual but confident, like she knew people were watching her.
âŠTourist? Influencer? Gotta be.
She ordered in English, her accent almost American. You found yourself staring at her.
Sheâs out of my league anywayâŠ
That was until she ran into trouble while paying as her card wasnât going through. She shifted awkwardly and laughed it off with the barista then muttered something out of frustration in Korean, loud enough for you to hear.
"ì ëìŒ, ë ì ìŽëâŠ?"
You werenât the type to pay attention to things that werenât your business. But something about this girl just⊠One try wouldnât hurt, right? Phone in hand, you strolled over hoping you looked nonchalant.
"Itâs okay. Iâll pay for her." you said in English, even more confident than you thought. She turned, blinking in surprise.
"Oh no! Please, you donât have toâŠ" in English again. You shook your head slightly and switched back to Korean.
"Itâs okay. I really do want to help. Itâs fine."
The girl hesitated for a second then offered a small bow with a tint of pink on her cheeks, voice now relieved.
"Ah⊠thank you so much, really. I- I didnât expect to run into a Korean here."
"Me neither." you offered a small smile, shy back.
When you finished paying, she took her drink from the counter and just stood there clutching it with both hands. She wasnât moving away, eyes wandering around the cafe before landing back on you.
Shit⊠sheâs even more beautiful up close.
You glanced at an empty table near the window, gathering all your courage before clearing your throat. Then you asked, hoping you didnât sound too desperate.
"Do you⊠want to sit with me?"
"Ah- ummâŠ" her eyes lit up in surprise, then she let out a soft laugh. "I mean⊠yes, sure."
The both of you moved to sit down, she carefully placed her cup of coffee before adjusting her cardigan slightly. You noticed how she kept playing with her hair, like she was nervous, a complete 180° from how confident she looked coming in. Neither of you said anything for a moment. Still thinking of how to light up a conversation, you parted your lips when the stunning woman finally spoke first, the corners of her lips curling visibly.
"I swear Iâm not usually this clumsy..."
"No, no. Youâre doing just fine."
She nodded, taking a sip of coffee with both hands before smiling again.
"Can I ask for your name?" her voice a bit more confident now. "âŠFeels weird just saying âthank youâ to a stranger."
"Itâs true. Iâm Haejoon⊠Umm, Han Haejoon. And you?"
"Iâm Jang Wonyoung."
"Nice name... It, uh, suits you a lot." you meant it. She tilted her head at the compliment, slightly blushing.
"Can I ask how old you are, Haejoon-ssi? Just⊠you know, so we know how to talk."
"Iâm thirty, in Korean age. International is⊠twenty nine-ishâŠ? Around that."
"Ah, Iâm twenty two, actually. SoâŠ" Wonyoung hummed surprisingly, her eyes sparkling, waiting for your reaction. "Oppa?"
You coughed, luckily only once. But it was enough to embarrass yourself. Cheeks almost burning, you looked down at your coffee.
"Thatâs fine⊠I mean, if youâre comfortable with thatâŠ" You tapped the table with your fingers. "Or not. I donât⊠uh, whatever works best for you."
Wonyoung really laughed this time, covering her mouth with two hands. Clearly enjoying how flustered sheâd just made you, she teased again.
"Youâre really shy for someone who just rescued me with a cup of coffee, oppa."
"I mean⊠confidence is situational sometimes."
Wonyoung took another sip of her drink, eyes quietly scanning you from head to toe.
"You donât look like a tourist, oppa." she said, tilting her head. "Do you actually live here?"
"No, Iâm just here for work. A short project."
"I thought soâŠ~ You look like you just stepped out of a meeting or something."
You glanced at yourselfâslightly dark tailored suit, shirt still a little crinkled from rushing in the morning. Formal, nice but a bit stiff overall.
"âŠToo obvious?"
"A little." she grinned. "But in a good way, oppa. Sharp. Clean hairstyle. Professional. Mature vibe, definitely."
"Thanks⊠I think."
She covered her laugh with her hands again, drawing you right in. Feminine. Effortless.
"Where do you live in Korea, oppa?" her tone playful, curious.
"Uhm, Seoul." you replied. "Mapo-gu side, not too far from Yeonnam-dong."
"No way!" Wonyoung gasped. "I live over there too! Right on the edge of Yeonnam, close to Mangwon market."
"Really!?"
"Mm hmm, my friends and I are actually planning to open a floral studio somewhere around that area."
Fresh out of a heartbreak, wandering around alone in Hong Kong after your meeting was cancelled, youâd thought things were about to get even worse. But then life slapped you in the face to wake you up and brought you to this cafe, meeting this gorgeous girl who just happened to live near you.
"Thatâs fairly close."
"Fate?" she teased. Staring at her, you decided to take a risky shot. âYou miss 100% of the shots you donât takeâ, or whatever they said.
"Are you stalking me or something?"
"No⊠Iâve been caught." Wonyoung gasped, clearly doing it for effect. "I guess Iâll have to find a new victim..."
"Youâre too beautiful. Criminals would never look like you."
Humming as she loved the sneaky compliment, Wonyoung sipped her drink with a small smile.
"You just donât know it, oppa. Thatâs how we criminals get you."
"So⊠floral studio? Is that your full time job?" you rested your elbows on the table. Wonyoung pouted a bit, thinking before answering.
"Kind of? Maybe not yet. I just finished school a few months ago. Took a break to travel around with my friends before⊠you know, real life hits."
"Graduated from�"
"Ewha" she replied. "Fine Arts. I focused on stuff like fabric theory or styling but ended up falling in love with floral work along the way. I guess it also makes sense because Iâve liked it since I was a kid."
"Floral work⊠like not exactly a florist but arrangements and stuff?"
Wonyoung nodded, swirling her coffee around.
"Exactly! Like styling and visual work among many other things. Maybe it sounds a bit corny but I really like how flowers can change the vibe of a place. I did a few stuff with bridal studios, concept shops⊠Ah! Even a magazine shoot once! I guess it just clicked along the way."
"So definitely not a shop that only sells flowers."
She smiled. "Definitely not that! I donât just want to sell flowers. I want to create spaces and atmosphere that bring memories or scent to people. Does that even make sense?"
"Of course, it does."
"I donât know if itâll work yet." she looked down at her cup then back at you. "âŠBut weâre giving it a shot."
"And âweâ isâŠ?"
"My friends. Two of them, actually. Weâve been dreaming about it for a long time and Iâm literally traveling around Hong Kong with them right now."
"Wah⊠Thatâs brave, really."
Wonyoung smiled at your expression, cheeks pink. Then she suddenly looked away and pressed her lips to prevent a laugh before turning back to you.
"Why did I just overshare like that?" she mumbled. "I donât usually talk this much with people I just met, oppaâŠ"
"No, no. Itâs okay. I donât mind. It was nice to hear."
"Anyway, enough about me! What about you, oppa? Whatâs your job?" It was her turn. "Besides saving girls with card problems and drinking coffee at expensive places."
Sheâs definitely an E.
"Iâm an architect."
"Ah! Called it." her eyes lit up.
"You guessed?"
"Nice tailored suit. Clean look. Sharp eyes. Youâre either an architect or a rich guy who works in finance⊠or IT. Those three, oppa."
A little flustered, you raised an eyebrow. "âŠAre you always this observant?"
"Only when Iâm bored." she smiled again, this time relaxed. "Wait. If you think Iâm that observant⊠guess my MBTI, oppa."
"Weâre moving on to MBTI already?" you let out a quiet laugh.
"Itâs fun, isnât it? Everyone has to know their MBTI in this day and age. Câmon, one guess."
Wonyoung leaned in, closing the distance enough for her beauty to take your breath away again. This girl was definitely different from other people youâd met before. Great posture. Confident speech. The way she caught herself oversharing but owned it anyway. Stylish. And just to be sure, dangerously stunning.
"You gotta be an EâŠ"
Her eyes sparkled a bit, nodding to urge you to go on.
"EN- No, no. ES⊠ESTJ!"
Her mouth dropped open. "âŠHow, oppa?"
"Confident. Bright energy. Organized but a bit dramatic, the good kind. Iâd even say stylish too." you just smiled, taking a sip of your coffee as if you hadnât winged it.
Wonyoung squinted at you. "Okay, wait. Thatâs scary⊠Iâm an actual ESTJ."
"Iâm good, right? Got it right on the first try."
"Iâm suspicious now." Wonyoung glared at you playfully. "Do you just study MBTIs in your free time?"
"Nope. Pure instinct and luck. Working with many different types of people helps too."
She smiled. "Alright, my turn! Let me guess yours."
You leaned back, enjoying her attention. Wonyoung made this conversation too interesting somehow, her lips slightly pursed in thought.
"Youâre definitely not an E⊠Too calm. Quiet but not too awkward. You seem like you hate small talk but listen well, hmm..."
"Maybe I do hate small talk." You saw your chance and went right for it, your voice steady. "Just⊠not with you, apparently."
Smooth?
Wonyoungâs eyes widened just a bit, not expecting that from you. She blinked then let out a lovely laugh, flustered but pulling her hands up to cover her face.
"Wait⊠Okay. That was smooth, oppa⊠You donât really seem like the flirty type."
You shrugged, a faint smirk playing at the corner of your mouth.
"No, Iâm really not. Also, confidence is situational, remember?"
Wonyoung shook her head, laughing into her hands. Her cheeks were a soft shade of pink, eyes still twinkling.
"I swear, if this is how you talk to every girl you meetâŠ"
You leaned back in your seat with with a small laugh. "I swear on my architect degree, youâre the first."
"Ooh~ Which one?"
"Mmm, SNU."
"Wait. SNU!?"
You nodded.
"No way..." she stared at you for a second, genuinely taken aback.
"Why? Is that surprising?"
"Of course, oppa! Thatâs the SNUâour countryâs top school so⊠you must be something yourself."
You chuckled, shy now. "I mean⊠not really. It wasnât easy."
"Thatâs seriously impressive, oppa. Iâm kind of⊠wah. No wonder youâre all quiet and mysterious."
You chuckled at the exaggeration. "Mysterious? Thatâs a first."
"Youâve got that hidden backstory energy. Do you like, build buildings and stuff?"
You chuckled slightly at the way she worded her question. "Not exactly. I donât physically go out with a hammer, if thatâs what youâre picturing. I design them, sometimes a bit of interior stuff too."
Wonyoung covered her smile again with her hand, a habit you were starting to find endearing. But it was her eyes that got you with how they shut slightly when she smiled or laughed, crinkling just a bit at the corner. Maybe it was a sign that she wasnât pretending with you.
"Do I have something on my face, oppa?" You didnât mean to stare, but you did, just a bit longer than you should have.
"Nothing⊠Umm, your eyes look pretty when you laugh."
She smirked, ears now also turning pink. "Thatâs nice of you to say."
"I mean, itâs true." You were now aware of how warm your face felt too. "Anyway⊠Iâm taking the architectural license exam this August. And then two other stages at the end of the year and⊠next year. Then if things all go well, I will finally be a licensed architect."
"Hmm⊠Thatâs a big deal, isnât it?" Wonyoung hummed and nodded along, impressed.
"Itâs⊠a long time coming. But yes, very big deal."
"Thatâs amazing," her voice sounded so genuine. "Like really impressive. You mustâve worked so hard for this, oppa." Wonyoung then leaned forward, chin in one hand with her eyes on you. The gesture roped you right in. Was she about to flirt? "I donât know. Thereâs something really attractive about people who build things. Like itâs not just work but also care, thought, visionâŠ"
You let her words stabbed straight into your heart while also trying to process what sheâd just said was reality, or you were just simply dreaming.
"Wait⊠Can I ask you something a bit random, oppa?"
"âŠSure, sure!" you replied, heart still in its shalala state. Of course you can."
"Did you do your mandatory service already� Or are you one of those guys who contribute something big to the country and get exempt status?"
"Ah that! No, no, Iâm not that lucky." You laughed, it did catch you off guard a little. "I did mine right after high school."
"Hmm, so you got it out of the way early." There was something about her expression, impressed but also⊠satisfied?
"I did."
"So if someone dates you now, oppa⊠They donât have to worry about you disappearing for two years?"
Oh?
"Thatâs one way to⊠put it." you let out a low laugh. "Guess Iâm low risk that way."
Wonyoung nodded, like she was seriously considering it. "Good to know~"
Wonyoung looked down at her coffee, swirling around for a second maybe just to stretch the moment and gather some courage, eyes still on the cup.
"Umm⊠Can I have your number, oppa?" She peeked up at you, her tone casual and her cheeks a little pink. "Just in case I need to repay you for the coffee. Or, you know⊠If you ever feel like talking again."
No matter how hard you tried to contain it, you were sure your face was twitching from happiness. "Sure, Iâd love to meet you again."
She took your phone, fingers moving quickly as she typed something in.
"Ah- Do you want my Instagram too, oppa?" she asked, glancing up from your phone with a slight tilt of her head. "Just in case texting feels too boring."
"Sure." you chuckled. "Just head into the app and follow your account."
Wonyoung did exactly that, tapping around before handing it back to you. You looked at the contact name and had to bite a laugh back.
[ìë ìŽđ° ]
"A bunny?"
"People say I look like one." She looked proud of herself.
"Hmm, accurate."
You barely had time to glance up from your phone when two other girls walked in. Both stylish, maybe around Wonyoungâs age, laughing about something between them. One spotted her first.
"Wonyoung-ah!"
Wonyoung turned, eyes lighting up.
"Unnie! Here!"
But then, the other girl noticed you sitting across from Wonyoung and paused. Recognition ran straight to your brain instantly.
"Haejoon-oppa!? What the fu-"
"âŠYena!?"
ââââââ ââ â ââââââ
The four of you ended up at the same table. Yena sat between you and Wonyoung, occasionally throwing glances your way, while Hyewonâher other friendâchimed in now and then with curiosity.
Yena and you knew each other a long time ago, sheâd seen you through highs and lows. Wonyoung seemed both surprised and amused when she found that out. If anything, she looked even more relaxed now, sipping her coffee as conversations bounced around. Then, in a moment where the other two were distracted, Yena leaned in closer to you while lowering her voice.
"Oppa⊠Are you cheating on Jimin in Hong Kong?"
Only then did you notice that youâd absolutely forgotten about Jimin when Wonyoung got hereâwhich was incredible, considering Jimin was practically on your mind 24/7 ever since you landed in Hong Kong.
"No⊠Uh, we broke up... like almost two weeks ago."
"Really!?"
You nodded slowly, the memories of you begging her to stay that night was still to clear. "Just before I left for Hong Kong. She didnât tell anyone yet, I guess."
Leaning back slightly, Yenaâs eyes scanned your face. Maybe she was trying to figure out if you were serious or considering cheating on Jimin with the girl sitting right next to her. You met Yenaâs gaze, not in the mood to defend yourself especially when things already ended the way it did.
"Damn⊠Iâm sorry, oppa." her voice genuine, a mix of apology and shock.
"Itâs okay." you laughed softly. "I mean⊠it hadnât been good for a while."
Yena didnât question further. She just nodded and turned back to the others, tone back to normal as she joined the conversation. Then, you felt Wonyoung staring at you curiously, lips pursed in thoughts. She hadnât heard the exchange but something told you maybe she noticed the subtle shift on your face. And you werenât sure if that made you uneasy or a little more drawn to her.
How did I forget about Jimin so easily when you just got here?
The conversation weaved through easier topics. You stayed mostly quiet, letting the girls talk, sipping your coffee while catching Wonyoungâs eyes looking at you now and then. At one point, Yena suggested, casually.
"Oh, oppa! Weâre going to eat somewhere at those skyline places tonight. Wanna come?"
Wonyoung looked at you. Her lips pressed like she was trying not to smile but the tiniest spark lit up in her eyes. She didnât say anything, but the others knew. You looked at Hyewon.
"Are you sure?"
She just smiled and shrugged, totally chill.
"Itâs fine, oppa. More people, more food."
Yena raised an eyebrow at you, clearly excited "Soooo?"
Eyes at Wonyoung, you noticed the anticipation in her expression.
"Umm⊠sure, Iâm in."
ââââââ ââ â ââââââ
You sat on your bed in the hotel room, still in your suit, tie a bit loosened now. A lot went through your mind after you left the cafe. For some reason, you didnât want to be alone with your thoughts for too long. Like usual, you tapped into your contacts and hit call on your favorite person whenever you were in a situation like this.
"Woo~" Your close friend at the studio picked up on the third ring. "You alive over there? In lovely Hong Kong?"
"I donât even know..." you let out a breath, tired. "Also, hyung, are you on the toilet?"
"Iâm efficient with my time, man. Whatâs up? You miss me or are you in trouble right now?"
You rubbed your face. "No, not really."
"Got time to walk around Hong Kong yet? Youâve been there for like one, two weeks?"
"Barely."
"Site visits killed you already?"
"Nope, not that." you lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "I⊠I kinda met someone today."
There was a short pause before a laugh came from the other line. "Damn! Donât tell me you fell in love mid site visit like that. Is she from Hong Kong? Or is it a he? Wait⊠is it a he?"
"Hyung, shut up. Itâs not like that. I just⊠I donât know. I feel weird."
"What kind of weird?"
You hesitated. "The good weird, I hope... Just bad timing."
"You thinking about her again?" He hummed knowingly, you didnât even have to mention who her was.
"I forgot about Jimin today," you replied. "Just⊠like completely forgot the second this girl walked in."
"Is she from Hong Kong?"
"Uh⊠no, from Korea. Seoul. Lives near Yeonnam-dong too. Super weird."
"Really!?"
"Mmm, Iâm not kidding."
"Sheâs traveling with her two friends. One of them is a close friend of mine, like way back."
"Thatâs really weird."
"But this girl⊠Sheâs bubbly, cute, beautiful and everything. She said she was planning to open a floral studio with her friends. Thereâs something about her, I donât know, flirty but just enough. She⊠uh." you trailed off, suddenly self conscious. "She called me âoppaâ like five minutes after meeting me. I swear, hyung, my brain just shut off right there."
A snort came from the other line.
"Shit, youâre down bad."
"Iâm not."
"You are, Haejoon-ah. You forgot about your ex for hours because the way a pretty stranger said oppa sounded so sweet. Thatâs not normal, at least for you."
"Iâm just⊠confused, okay? I didnât plan for any of this to happen."
"No one plans to fall in love in foreign land, idiot. It just happens."
You laughed, maybe at yourself.
"Sheâs different, hyung. Sheâs⊠like bold but sweet, confident but also shy. She actually listened when I talked about my architecture license exam⊠really listened."
"Huh⊠thatâs a first. You rant for hours about this and it usually bore women off. Shit, men too."
"Iâm not playing, hyung."
"Look, I get it. Youâre in a weird place; post breakup, in Hong Kong, maybe tired from all the work. But it feels okay to feel something, even if you donât know what it is yet. Just donât overthink it too much."
You closed your eyes.
"Iâm⊠having dinner with them tonight."
"Already? I thought youâre shy and everything."
"No, not like that. Yenaâs there, our mutual friend. She invited me."
"And you said yes?"
"Mmm⊠yes."
"Good." He sounded satisfied. "At worst, free dinner and maybe a decent view in Hong Kong. At best, you get a second chance at romance."
"Maybe Iâm her type." You were a bit hesitant. "The way she talked to me⊠you know."
Another snort.
"Youâre so screwed."
You stayed quiet for a second, and he didnât let that slide.
"Seriously, though⊠This is why you canât do casual, Haejoon-ah. You were built to be a hopeless romantic."
"Iâm not-"
"You are, dumbass. You look and act quiet all the time but deep down you know you want to be in love. You just wonât admit it."
You turned around on the bed, groaning at how stupidly stunning Wonyoung looked in your mind. The way she dressed, the way she smiled⊠You didnât know a woman could have this much effect on you.
"She smiled so prettily, hyung. So smart too."
"That bad?"
"Iâm serious."
"I know~ Thatâs what makes this fun to watch."
You laughed a little. "Shut up and get out of the toilet, man."
"Already did. I multitask really well."
"Anyway, thanks hyung."
"Anytime. Donât overthink stuff because I know you always do that. Wear something good and enjoy the dinner. Youâll be fine."
"Thatâs not wrong⊠I overthink a lot."
"I know, go impress your floral girl. Iâm out."
Maybe you were really screwed, but you didnât hate the feeling.
ââââââ ââ â ââââââ
The steam still lingered in the bathroom mirror when you stepped out of the shower. Were you nervous? Not too sure. You dried off and ran your hands through your hair before spraying on a bit of cologne. Then you changed into that sat just on the right line between effortless and intentional. You were reaching for your watch and glasses when your phone buzzed on the bed.
donât chicken out, man
You read the messages, lips twitching.
just act like your normal self and youâll be fine
The elevator doors slid open, and you stepped into what felt like another world. Hong Kong was really like those 90s movies, or even better. The restaurant wasnât open air, it didnât need to be with this kind of view. Glasses stretched from floor to ceiling, wrapping around the entire dining space, revealing the Hong Kong skyline in its night glory.
The scenery below shimmered like jewels, skyscrapers glowing in all kinds of colors as the city exhaled into the night. On the far side, Victoria Peak cast a quiet silhouette against the fading sunset. Inside, the lighting was soft and warm; both elegant and expansive. It was decorated with polished floors and golden accents. Everything didnât feel loud, just intentional to emphasize that quiet luxury vibe.
A curved bar hugged one side of the room. Every detail, from the wine bottles gleaming to the jazz music felt like it was designed to make you stay longer and spend more.
There they are.
Near the window, seated at probably one of the best tables in the restaurant, Wonyoung along with Hyewon and Yena looked like they really belonged there. Next to Wonyoung, an empty seat was waiting for you. You exhaled once, calming yourself before walking toward them. Yena spotted you first as she lit up and raised one hand, standing from her seat.
"Oppa! Over here!"
Hyewon turned and gave you a small, friendly wave. Wonyoung looked up at you briefly then dropped her gaze with a small smile. A bit shy, maybe. You reached for the table.
She was wearing a tweed mini-dress, the kind of clothing that looked straight out of a Milan runway but still fit her like it was custom made. Those golden sequin trimming sat at the collar, cuffs, and hemâgiving her that playful yet youthful, elegant vibe. Her bangs emphasized her features so well, giving her an almost doll like vibe. But it wasnât just about the look. The way she carried herself was so composed as if she was completely at ease in this kind of place.
âŠThis girl must come from royalty or something.
You found yourself smiling at Wonyoung before you even realized it.
"Sorry, Iâm late." you said, adjusting your watch out of habit. "Hong Kong traffic was insane."
Yena scoffed dramatically. "We were about to order without you, oppa."
"You were not, idiot." Hyewon added with a laugh, nudging Yena lightly. Wonyoung didnât say anything, fingers fiddling with her wine glass before looking up at you again.
"At least you made it." she smiled.
Suddenly awkward under her attention, you scratch the back of your neck out of habit. "Umm⊠Wouldnât want to miss the view, right?" Wonyoung looked like she was trying not to smile too much. You nodded at the empty seat beside her. "This one mine?"
"Obviously, oppa." Yena rolled her eyes. "Where else?"
You then carefully slid into the seat beside Wonyoung, close enough to catch the subtle perfume she wore, gentle but lingering.
"Glad you could make it." Wonyoung whispered loud enough only for the two of you to hear.
"Me too⊠Uh, you look stunning by the way."
That made her pause for just a second. Then her smile bloomed on her lips, a little shy, a little warm.
"You donât look too bad yourself, oppa."
It was your turn again to be shy when suddenly-
"Sooo~ Howâs Hong Kong treating you, oppa?" Yena cut in, eyes glinting as she leaned across the table with her chin in her palm. "Working hard? Or just pretending to?"
You werenât even sure if you were thankful or disappointed with this sudden vibe shift.
"Umm⊠Both, I guess. Itâs not a big project but weâre packing in as much as we can."
"Whatâs the project again?" Hyewon asked, curious.
"A small hotel in Sheung Wan. Mostly renovation. Nothing massive but enough to keep me up the past few nights."
Wonyoung gave you a knowing glance, her pout tilting downward slightly. "Sounds like you donât get enough sleep, oppa."
"It comes with the job, I guess. Canât really complain."
She hummed softly in response, understanding more than she let on. "Still⊠I hope you get at least one good night here. It would be a waste otherwise."
Something light but meaningful passed between the two of you.
"SoooâŠ" Yena cut in again, curios. "Whatâs it like back home? Your job, I mean. You said your studioâs in Seoul, right?"
"Yes," you nodded. "Mapo-gu side. I got snapped up right after I finished the five year program. It was hell, honestly."
"Architecture major?" Hyewon asked.
You nodded. "Uhh⊠SNU. I was lucky enough to land the job straight out. The teamâs pretty tight since weâre a younger studio but weâve been gaining attention lately. Thatâs why I canât sleep these days."
"Ooh~ Smart and stable." Yena said with a fake dramatic tone. "Sounds like someoneâs type~"
Wonyoung muttered something under her breath, huffing lightly and you just ignored the burning feeling in your heart.
"The payâs not insane, but good enough for me to afford a nice apartment, help my family and still have enough to save⊠or splurge once in a while. Iâm taking the architect license exam this year so⊠hopefully better pay after that."
"Help your family?" Hyewon repeated. "Thatâs really good of you, oppa."
You were now a little self conscious under the weight of their attention.
"I mean, they did a lot for me. I wouldn't be here without them."
Wonyoung gently traced the rim of her wine glass as she turned to look at you. Whatever it was in her eyes, it was enough to kill you.
"And what do you splurge on, oppa?" Yena swooped back in with a grin. "Donât say boring stuff like books or anything like that."
You chuckled. "I mean⊠I bought a nice car a year ago. Sometimes⊠travel, hobbies if I have time. And, you know, those dinners where my friends drag me out and the wine list has names I canât even pronounce but I pretend anyway."
That earned you a laugh from Hyewon. Wonyoung hummed after, curious. "Ooh? Red or white, oppa?"
"I mean, they taste the same to me. Anything is fine, depending on the company. Iâm not picky."
Wonyoung let out a gentle smile before looking away at the Hong Kong skyline, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear like she was trying to compose herself, nodding.
"WahâŠ" Yena muttered. "You really are someoneâs type."
You looked down at your glass, shy even as Hyewon and Yena picked the conversation back up.
"Okay! We need food before I get drunk. Whoâs hungry now?" Hyewon was already looking at the waiter.
You relaxed into your seat, feeling Wonyoung leaning closer to you. By the time the food arrived, the atmosphereâd gotten warmer. It came with good drinks and beautiful city lights, with laughter spilling out between bites. You were swirling your wine glass around, listening to Yena and Hyewon debate over where to go after this. Then the topic changed again.
"So how was that spot you and Yena-unnie went to see? The one near the bookstore?" Hyewon turned to Wonyoung as she asked. Wonyoungâs face lit up instantly.
"Ah, it was actually so cute, unnie!" she said, visibly enthusiastic. "In Yeonnam-dong, not too big but the lightingâs really great. Especially in the afternoon."
"And the outside looks beautiful too." Yena grinned. "We were already planning a small coffee counter in front and Instagram photo spots."
Hyewon looked impressed. "You two were out there for like, what, over two hours?"
"Over one hour, unnie." Wonyoung replied, smiling. "But we saw the vision."
Looking between them, the architect side in you was genuinely intrigued. "Sounds like a solid location."
"It is." Wonyoung said, her voice certain. "Weâve been talking about this studio for so long and now it finally feels like itâs happening."
"Weâre just basically waiting on the right person to help us design itâŠ" Yena threw glances your way. Hyewon caught it and smirked. "Youâre not even subtle now."
You werenât saying anything yet. Wonyoung, however, didnât look away. "We had someone before, but the timing didnât work out. SoâŠ" her eyes met yours. "Weâre still open to new ideas, oppa. Or maybe the right personâs already here."
"That sounds a lot like a pitch." You answered with a small laugh, surprised but not at all opposed. "I mean⊠I could show you guys some of the projects Iâve worked on. If youâre curious."
"Really, oppa?"
"Why not? I got a few on my phone. Not all flashy, but solid enough."
"Iâm just saying. Theyâre not exactly viral cafe material or anything."
"Still." Wonyoung emphasized with her gentle tone. "Weâd love to see them."
"Weâre serious." Hyewon nodded. "Send them later. Or show us now if you want."
You hesitated a little before reaching into your pocket and pulled out your phone. "Okay⊠Just donât expect an aesthetic Pinterest board."
Yena assured you immediately. "Donât worry, oppa. Weâre not like that."
You tapped into a folder you hadnât shared with anyone in a whileâsite photos, renders, construction shots and a few finished interior works. Some cafes, a private rooftop home renovation, even a small art gallery for a chaebolâs daughter in some corner of Gangnam-gu that paid really well. All designed just the way you liked it.
The three of them scooted in without hesitation, gathering on your side of the table. Yena leaned over your left shoulder. Hyewon peered in from across the table, leaning closer to get a better look.
And Wonyoung? She was right next to you, too close. You could smell her perfume again. Without warning, she shifted even closer and put her chin on your shoulder. You felt like you were clinically dead the moment her fingers reached out for the cuff of your rolled up sleeves. She began fidgeting with the fabric, gently folding it up and down, smoothing it out like it needed her help.
This stunning woman knew she was setting every nerve in your arm on fire. Your breath stopped for a moment and your heart felt like it forgot how to beat, yet no one else seemed to notice. For the next five minutes, the restaurant seemed to fade out in your head. They asked about your lighting choices, space planning, even what kind of clients you dealt with.
"You can go into the other folder. There are more pictures⊠uh, easier to see how they turned out."
Wonyoung lifted her chin a little and reached forward, tapping your phone.
"This one?"
"Yes, thatâs the finished shot."
Her eyes scanned the photo, then she smiled, pointing at a spot on the screen.
"I like how you designed this space. It feels like a nice touch. Itâs actually lived in too."
And then, casually, Wonyoung moved her hand up to your forearm and began to trace silly signs there, replacing the one that had been playing with your shirt sleeves with the other. The younger girl was actively trapping you with the most dangerous casual touch in history.
You didnât even know how to feel anymore, Wonyoung got you good now. She didnât bother looking at you once but her fingers never stopped moving. Yena and Hyewon, on the other hand, were busy talking and discussing about how the design would fit into their studio. Where the flower prep area could be, how much the light could control the whole space, how their storage area could be hidden.
And then, Yena swiped one more time before pausing. That photo. You were standing in the middle of a large gallery, dressed all sharp and clean. On one side, the chaebolâs daughter, looking radiant in a white jumpsuit. On the other side, her supermodel friend, Lee Gawon. Their arms hooked through yours and leaning a little too close to your shoulder, Gawon's face tilted toward yours, lips pursing like she was about to kiss your cheek.
"Wait⊠oppa." Yena gasped. "Is that you!?"
You cleared your throat, dreading this already.
"Uh⊠Thatâs the small art gallery for the chaebolâs daughter I told you guys a few minutes ago. Thatâs⊠the opening for her art gallery."
Hyewon leaned in closer to confirm. "Thatâs the girl?! You worked with her?"
"Uh⊠yes." you muttered, the wine glass suddenly looked so interesting. Yena squinted at the screen. "And is that⊠Gawon?! The model Gawon?!"
"Sheâs friends with the daughter. That was⊠kind of a last-minute invite."
Yena let out a whistle. "You really are in the higher society, oppa~"
"No, no⊠Iâm not that kind of person. I just⊠work with them a lot."
And just as you were mentally preparing for another disaster to strike, you felt Wonyoungâs fingers rhythm change, no more tracing. She pinched the skin near your knuckle.
Once.
Twice.
Quick, barely painful but somehow definitely felt too territorial.
You turned your head slowly to look at her, eyes wide. Wonyoung didnât bother to look back at you, her face was perfectly neutral. She was just watching Yena scrolling on the phone, nothing else. Then her hand moved to the back of your arm again, squeezing lightly.
And then, just as your heart began to settle, Wonyoung launched another attack. You felt a soft pressure on your shoe, the tip of hers stepping lightly on yours under the table. Just to let you know she was there, that she knew exactly what she was doing. Your ears were burning. Your chest was tight. You hadnât felt like this in a long time. Still, Wonyoung said nothing. Then-
"Wait!" Yena spoke up, rescuing you from the moment. "Is that who I think it is!?"
Hyewon gasped. "No wayâŠ"
"âŠHuh?"
"This one." Yena turned the phone to show a photo of you, standing inside of what looked like an expensive private room. Behind you were works of art, actual pieces from international artists whose paintings seemed too expensive. But they didnât pay attention to that.
"Oppa⊠You know this guy? Why does he have his arm over your shoulder like you two hang out?"
"It was his gallery room at his house." you replied, the pressure of Wonyoungâs shoes was still on yours, still making a silent claim.
"I helped⊠uh, worked on that. Not alone, obviously."
"You were at his house!?" Hyewon asked, eyes wide.
"Just for meetings and other stuff." you answered quickly. "And a few celebrations."
Yena shook her head in disbelief. "Is this normal for you!? Like high profile people and celebrities?"
"No, not really. Our studio does a lot of stuff for those people, private commissions and stuff. I just⊠umm, you know, happened to end up working with them sometimes."
None of those celebrities, those clients had ever made you feel as dismantled as you felt right now, under Wonyoungâs control. No one else seemed to notice the power struggle happening at the table, except the two of you. And Wonyoung was winning effortlessly.
Eventually, Yena passed your phone back with a shocked look in her eyes, muttering something about reevaluating her life. Hyewon sipped her drink and leaned back, stretching. Wonyoung drew her hand back and sat back properly in her chair, crossed one leg over the other.
"Oppa." she opened, casually. "About the floral studioâŠ"
You turned to her, trying to appear calm and not look too dismantled after her attacks.
"Could you help us with it?" There came the offer. "We want something warm and open. A place that people walk into and just feel good by just already being there. I thinkâŠ" she paused, searching your face. "You get what weâre going for."
"âŠOf course, Iâd love to. Need⊠uh, a call to my boss but he trusts me."
And finally, Wonyoung smiled.
Damn, sheâs beautiful.
Before either of you could say anything, Yena clapped her hands together.
"Then letâs celebrate! More drinks! Yayyy!"
Hyewon raised her glass. "Cheers to our studio!"
"And to our new architect who we found in Hong Kong!" Yena raised her glass.
You laughed as your glass clinked with theirs. A few minutes passed in relaxed conversation, then Yena turned to Wonyoung, who was now resting her cheek on one hand, the other playing with her glass, her eyes tired but shining.
"Wonyoung-ah," Yena said, suspiciously. "Are you okay? You know youâre a light drinker."
"Iâm fine, unnie." Wonyoung replied too quickly and she straightened up in her seat. "Totally fine~"
"You say that everytime." Hyewon laughed.
"Sheâs almost at that stage." Yena explained to you. "Sheâs about to get all red, pouty and whiny. Itâs slowly coming now."
"I donât pout." Wonyoung mumbled in her breath, definitely pouting.
You bit back a smile and looked into the scenery before she caught it. When the bill came and the plates were cleared, the mood stayed light. Yena stretched and stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
"We were gonna walk around a bit before heading back to the hotel. Maybe grab something light to eat along the way."
Hyewon then turned to you. "You should come with us, oppa. Youâre already out, might as well stay longer, right?"
Wonyoung looked up at you then, eyes softer, sparkling under the warm lights. You didnât hesitate. Only a fool would reject this offer.
"Sure. Why not?"
ââââââ ââ â ââââââ
The Hong Kong night air had cooled down at this time. The four of you strolled along the street, shoes tapping against the stone path as the city night life goes on in the background. Stunning. The skyline glittered on the other side of the water. Skyscrapers lit up in colors.
Yena and Hyewon were walking ahead, laughing at something between them. You knew it was intentional. They didnât walk too fast, leaving you and Wonyoung behind.
Wonyoung was blushing now, cheeks flushed, eyes empty from the wine, her steps were slower and a bit uneven. Still, she was radiating elegance. But her restraint was on a thin line. And then, all of a sudden, this girl reached for your shirt collar. Two fingers, light grip. She pulled you down, her lips close to your ear.
"I know about your ex, oppa." she whispered, slow and warm.
Your heart dropped instantly.
"Yu Jimin, right?" she added. "Yena-unnie told me about her."
You didnât move any further. You couldnât anyway.
"Sheâs beautiful, you know." Wonyoung murmured, her voice still sounded like candies to your ear. "I spent like thirty minutes stalking her Instagram when I got back from the cafe."
Her words did things to you that you couldnât describe, warm breath hitting your ear and neck.
"Perfect skin. Beautiful face. The kind of girl that people noticed even when sheâs not trying, hmm~ Nice⊠body too."
You didnât know what that tone of her was. Jealousy? Bitterness?
"I was really sad, oppa. I thought you were one of those guys, you knowâŠ? Fresh out of a breakup, walking around all polished and lonely. Looking for some new girl to satisfy your needsâŠ"
She paused then pulled back to look up at you, lashes heavy, smile lazy from too much wine.
"Oppa. Youâre not those guys, right?"
Desperate to fix things, you were about to answer when Wonyoung cut in. "Yena-unnie vouched for you. Said you were a really nice, serious guy. Proper. Mature. The kind of man who does not play around." Her smile widened, just a little. "Just my type, oppa."
And then she slid her hand up, slowly, calculated. She brushed over your chest before moving up to your throat, tracing around. Then, she hooked her finger at the second button of your shirt and unbuttoned it. Just one but it felt like she had just stripped away all of your remaining confidence.
"âŠIâve never been in a relationship before."
You blinked, turning your head slightly to the side before Wonyoungâs whine made you look right back at her.
"And Iâve never acted like this around anyone before, sober or drunk."
And then Wonyoung decided to finish you off with one last gesture, poking on your chest a few times, right where your heart was.
"So~~ you better gain my trust, oppa."
Wonyoung didnât wait for a reply. She knew sheâd already had you in the palm of her hand before turning to catch up with Hyewon and Yena, her hair flowed in the wind, shining under the city glow.
Breath shallow, chest burning, you stood there dumbfounded with one button undone. Wonyoung did all that to you in just under one day.
âŠWhat the hell just happened to me?
The four of you eventually reached the end of the promenade, a quieter area where Yena was calling for a taxi, Hyewon humming something while scrolling on her phone. Wonyoung was leaning against a railing. This girl looked far too classy and elegant to be tipsy. She turned to you when you approached, eyes a bit wide, lips pouting in that dreamy, tipsy fashion. You swore she could kill a whole army just with that look.
"Oppa..." she muttered. "Was I crazy⊠or annoying today?"
"What do you mean?"
"Just wondering." She leaned in again, the same way she did all night. "I donât act this way normally. Or touch that much. Or...look at someone like this before. I just want to let you know that."
Without waiting for your answer, she reached up to adjust the collar of your shirt, her knuckles intentionally brushing your jaw.
"Iâm a little drunk⊠But I still know what Iâm doing."
When Yena called her, Wonyoung blinked slowly like she didnât want to let go before finally taking a small step back. One hand brushing her hair, the other playing with her expensive bag. Before she left, she said just one more thing. An order.
"Donât disappear on me, okay?"
ââââââ ââ â ââââââ
The hotel ceiling felt like it was spinning slowly above. Not from the wine, you were sure about that. You were on your phone, looking at her Instagram.
@for_everyoung10
Wonyoung already hit the follow button when you gave her your phone to add her contacts. Sheâd already followed you back too.
140K followers. Not a celebrit or an influencer. And she wasnât exactly a model either, but you could tell a few small local brands already caught on. There were photoshoots for linen clothing, soft pastel colored clothing, âprincess coreâ type of fashion. Nothing over the top yet all clean and natural. Wonyoung looked ethereal in every frame.
You scrolled, slowly. A few GRWM vlogs in her reels.
"Hi guys, get ready with me toâŠ"
"Today Iâm going for a smart casual lookâŠ"
"Iâm using this foundation fromâŠ"
A few clips of her dancing around with Yena and Hyewon somewhere.
A few clips of her trying out new cafes with her other friends.
You kept going, not even knowing you were smiling widely, or that your chest was beating irregularly. What the hell was Wonyoung doing to you? Still staring at her feed, it finally hit you.
Shit! The floral studio.
You had casually agreed to a design project on the spot with a girl whoâd unbuttoned your shirt, poked your heart and walked off like she hadnât messed up your whole system. Now came the next part, convincing your boss. After thirty minutes of video call, finally successful, you set the phone down on your chest, exhaling slowly to calm yourself down. For a second, it was quiet before your phone rang.
[ìë ìŽđ°] sent you 2 images
You didnât even have the chance to text her first, this girl always managed to surprise you. You tapped on the notification to see Wonyoung on her bed, makeup still there, cheeks a little flushed, long hair splayed around in that messy perfect way.
[ìë ìŽđ°]
do i look cute, oppa?
hyewon unnie took it for me
she said i looked like i was in a drama ă ă ă
Your fingers hesitated over the keyboard, typing before you backspaced to rewrite it.
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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‿ đŹđĄđź đđđ„đ€đąđ§đ â i had this silly idea and so i hope y'all enjoy it. it's really short , but i liked it <3
MINJU first saw the pinkish building while walking out of her company, it's comfy and welcoming design got her inside the place without even meaning to. she just wanted to take a quick look inside and maybe order a piece of chocolate cake. but once she saw you, her body froze, and for a moment she couldn't speak. you were so pretty. minju only managed to speak once she heard yourâoh so beautifulâvoice asking what did she wanted to order. that was the first time she forgot her usual order, saying the first thing her mind came up with before timidly walk back to a seat.
WONYOUNG can be a flirty girl. it's not uncommon to have the idea of her being extra smiley around someone she may be wanting to see more than not. but it was even worse once she heard of you. there was just this... cute aura in you that made wonyoung want to get closer. when she ordered for the first time in your bakery, she couldn't keep herself from occasionally sending you a few smiles, her heart beating faster once you smiled back.
LIA heard about the bakery when one of her group members, yuna, mentioned it. the way people have been talking about the place got her curious, leading her to lia going there after a long day of practicing. she was enchanted from the moment she stepped inside, your eyes meeting hers as you greeted her with so much kindness. lia accidentally spent five minutes talking to you until someone else was behind her and she had to walk away, but as she waited for her order, she'd make sure to tell her members about this place as well.
MIYEON is a very loud and extroverted person, so when her friends begun talking about this lovely bakery with the cutest owner ever, she just knew she had to go there and see with her eyes. to say she liked it was an understatement. miyeon stayed in your bakery for about two hours, ordering small snacks so she could spend most of her time talking to you when you weren't doing anything in particular. she is so coming back here.
GEHLEE wished she had known about this bakery way sooner, especially because of you. she wasn't even caring to hide the flirtatious tone in her voice as she talked to you, asking for a pudding, something you could make that was fast, but also gave her a reason to sweet talk to you. gehlee has just found you so adorable, she couldn't help herself, she needed to see your reactions on everything she says.
WINTER was hesitant to go to your bakery at first, especially when karina herself has said things about how you're so, so sweet to everyone. but her experience there was beyond good. winter couldn't keep her eyes off of the cute baker who always flashed a smile to every person who showed up. and maybe she's giving herself false hopes, but she is very sure your smile was a little bigger than the others when it was directed at her.
KAZUHA was excited to finally see for herself what her friends were talking about. the bakery itself was amazing on it's own, however, her attention's fully on you, working so gracefully while talking to people. she doesn't know how do you manage to be so happy all the time. it's not even like a persona, you're just... friendly. and kind. kazuha had to talk to you in person and know more about this lovely bakery.
dear miss perfect and flawless jang wonyoungâhands off!
đì„ìì x fem reader x ë°ì±íđ i bet you taste just like the summer. under the covers. me in the middle, overprotective of my lover. you make me wonder. if you made all of these fantasies come true, what would you do? you could have anyone else you wanted to, but i'm beggin' you, hands off, back off of my fella. â gabriela, katseye ⫶ đmasterlistê±
word count 10k
content advisory cheating themes, jealousy (lots), possessiveness (lots), obsessive behaviours, polyamory themes, love triangle, insecure reader, lowkey internalised misogyny, wlw, wonyoung is a girl liker, reader is unlabelled, sunghoon is... straight, wonyoung and sunghoon hates each other, profanity, misunderstanding, forced confession, fluff, rivalry
smut advisory threesome (ffm), making out, dom! wonyoung, dom! sunghoon, oral (f & m rec), blowjob, fellatio, throatâfucking, faceâfucking, cumshot, tongueâfucking, pussy licking, pussy eating, wlw sex, praising but with mild degradation, crying, saliva play, lowkey breath play, rough/jealous sex, squirting, p in v, creampie, faceâsitting, fingering, deep penetration, cervixâfucking, reader passed out after sex
to put simplyâyou donât know why someone like jang wonyoung would have eyes on, out of all people, your boyfriend, park sunghoon.Â
ever since the beginning of the first semester (and itâs the fourth now), wonyoung holds the streak of being that girl. the it girl. the kind who turns heads without even trying, the perfect definition of softâspoken elegance and charm. taller than most, intimidating upon first glance, sharpâeyed⊠wonyoungâs presence alone feels like it bends a room toward her orbit.
people, with no exception of you (and god you hope sunghoon isnât included), admire her, envy her, even fear her beauty a little. the kind of fear that you know you shouldnât get close to because itâs not on your level at all? yeah, wonyoung radiates that.Â
sheâs the kind of girl you expect to be untouchable and untouchedâso why⊠is she lingering so close, sitting between you and sunghoon in the lab, right nowâŠ?
âuh,â you stammered, stiffening when her knees brushed yours under the shared table. this was the only class sheâd shared with sunghoon (and you, if that matters) and the professor asked everyone to form a group of four.Â
naturally, you and sunghoon paired up immediately, expecting any random two others to fill the remaining spots. neither of you really cared of whoever joins, but when wonyoung suddenly slid into the seat between the two of you, that became your major concern.
âmind if i join?â sheâd asked, but it didnât sound like a question at all from how she already settled in her seat before the words even came out. your eyes widened, instinctively flicking to sunghoon for some⊠kind of protest. some hint that he found this as strange as you did. for him to say that the group is full. itâs reserved for someone else, or something. just anything.Â
instead, he just blinked back at you, shoulders stiff. was he also waiting for you to have the answer? for you to deny the wonyoungâs presenceâŠ? is he crazy?Â
you both looked at each other with the exact same expressionâlips parted slightly, brows pinchedâall as wonyoung smoothed her skirt and opened her notebook. wonyoung mustâve noticed, because she turned her head towards sunghoon and you couldnât even tell what kind of expression she had on her face, not when the back of her head faced youâand asked again, softer this time. âyou donât mind, right?âÂ
was she even asking for permission in the first place?
sunghoon froze, you could see that much. he glanced at you just briefly through the strands of wonyoungâs hair. his mouth opened, closed, then opened againâlike a fish gasping for airâbefore he managed a shaky, unsure laugh. âuh⊠yes? i mean, no. itâs fine.â
you frowned. you wanted to smack his head for not being sure enough of his own answer. if itâs a no, be firm about it! if itâs a yesâif itâs a yes, just say it! sunghoon scratched the back of his neck, eyes darting to youâbut you already looked away.Â
not without rolling your eyes first.
wonyoung, afterall, could bend a room towards her orbit.Â
ââ
for starter, you grew up with sisters in a household where sharing lipâglosses arenât unhygienic, and using each otherâs hairbrushes isn't gross. you went to countless girls' sleepovers and braided many girlsâ hair until your arms went sore and stayed up talking about nothing at all.
it was a world so familiar that it never occurred to you to look at another girl with anything beyond sheâsâaâgirlâlikeâme and friendship. hell, you couldnât even imagine yourself disliking girls no matter how bad that girl is. your ten year old self would despise you and beat you up had she known you were borderline feeling this wayâbecause of a man.
so why⊠why does your chest tighten and your blood boil whenever you see wonyoung within the same radius as your boyfriend?Â
the feeling isnât clean and comfortable. itâs not the jealousy youâd expect to flare like how you see in movies when a second girl comes in. it's strangerâlike your body canât decide if it wants to shove her away from him or drag her closer to you where you can keep your eyes on her at all times.Â
the contradiction knots in your stomach, burns in your throat, and it leaves you restless even when sheâs not around sunghoon. or anywhere around you.
âwhy are you all dressed up? are you excited to see wonyoung?â you said bitterly, words slipping out sharper than you intended.Â
itâs a saturday and everyoneâs just started to work on the lab group assignment thatâs due in a few weeks. sunghoon froze in his steps, head tilting slightly with that dumbfounded look. â...what?â he asked, genuinely confused. âwhat are you talking about?â
you scoffed, arms crossing as you turned to face him. âdonât play dumb. she literally joined our group because she likes you.â
his jaw went slack, brows shooting up so fast you almost thought he was mocking you, as if proud that the jang wonyoung liked him. âwonyoung? liking me?â he repeated, each word sounding weird on his tongue. sunghoon even pointed at himself. âyou serious?â he added, not in that oh my god, are you serious? way, but bruh, be for real kind.Â
âwhy else would she join our group?â you pressed, heat rising in your throat.
your boyfriend ran a hand through his hair, baffled laughter spilling out. âyn, i donât even think she knows my name. sheâs not into me,â he shook his head, muttering almost to himself. sunghoon looked almost offended, but you were more miffed than he was.Â
wonyoung was your rival and he wasnât taking this as seriously as you were.
âi know she is. iâm a girl, i can tell.â you replied simply, already turning on your heel. the click of your flats against the pavement left sunghoon hanging, mouth still parted with a deny caught in his throat. âbabeââ he started, but you were already walking away.
all he could do was let out a heavy exhale, eye twitching. sunghoon ran a hand down his face before following after you, muttering under his breath. â... what the hellâŠâ
as expected from the wise and perfect girl, wonyoung was already there when you arrived at the cafe. she had chosen a table of four by the window with sunlight catching on her dark brown hair just right. it almost irked you how effortlessly pretty she looked.Â
upon seeing you (and sunghoon just behind, or maybe it was the other way around) making your way, she immediately stood up. her skirt swayed as she pushed her chair back, smiling brightly. âyouâre here,â she greeted, voice pitched warmly. it was probably meant for sunghoon tooâand why was she also dressed so nicely?
now youâre just⊠pissed.
her eyes flicked briefly to sunghoon before settling on you. your eyes met hers briefly before you saw a halfâfinished iced latte sat on the table. only thenâdid you see jungwon, your friend and the other boy in the group already sitting across wonyoung.Â
oh? so they left you and sunghoon no choice but to sit separately?Â
no way this was random and accidental. everyone knows you and sunghoon were datingâand the only seat options left were the ones that split you and sunghoon apart. âtake a seat,â she said, gesturing lightly with her hand as if the host. her eyes flickered between the two of you, but her lips curved when they landed back on you.
hah, as if, you thought. with a smile mirroring hers, you slid right into the empty seat beside wonyoung, satisfied with your own little strategy. there was no way youâd let sunghoon sit next to herâheâs safe across the table, tucked next to jungwon.Â
all was well. good!Â
âso, wonyoung can do the presentation, right? i think youâd be good at it.â jungwon smiled. the girl next to you nodded her head. âyeah, sure. i prefer speaking more than thinking, anyway.â she giggled. then, without missing a beat, she turned her head to you.Â
âwhat about you? you should present too.â
your breath caught on for a second. your palms prickled. presenting⊠was never a thing you were good at. you hated the âspeak up, we canât hear you!â, the pressure, the anxiousness when your team was coming up⊠just too many eyes pinning.Â
you glanced at her at the corner of your eyes, ânâno,â you said quickly, shaking your head. âiâm not good at that stuff.â you hated rejecting, especially when it felt like a challenge and silent comparison of whoâs a better speaker against wonyoung.Â
but you just couldnât. youâd be embarrassing yourself more if you fucked up in front.Â
âhm.â wonyoung pursed her lips before looking away, placing her chin atop of her palm. âthatâs a shame.â she murmured, her gaze flicking up to sunghoon who sat in front of you. âthen, what about you?âÂ
sunghoon, caught midâscribbling on his worksheet, blinked up at her. âme?â wonyoung tilted her head slightly, smiling teasingly. âyou should present, then. since yn canât do it.â
the air shifted just a littleâyou felt it in your bones. jungwon was oblivious, nodding along, jotting down bullet points. you loved him, but read the room! sunghoon straightened in his chair, brows twitching faintly. â...sure. i donât mind.â his tone was calm.Â
âalright, then! sunghoon and wonyoung can do the presenting, and yn and i will do the slides and data. is that fine?â jungwon said brightly, tapping his pen against the paper. wonyoung was quick to nod, her smile curving. you, however, werenât smiling as much.
sunghoon⊠and wonyoung⊠presenting together?Â
you forced a little nod, though your lips pressed into a thin line. it wasnât that you wanted to presentânot at all. but the thought of them side by side, heights matching, visuals together, everyoneâs eyes on them⊠it prickled at your skin in a way you hated admitting.Â
sunghoonâs gaze flicked to you, catching that microâexpression you thought youâd hidden well. he shifted in his seat before tapping the toe of his sneakers lightly against yours under the table. the gesture was small, but it was almost reassuring.Â
your head snapped up to him, and he gave you a soft smile before trapping your leg between his.Â
ââ
the days leading up to the submission were⊠terrible, to say. if you were honest with yourself.Â
the assignment itself was nothing much with wonyoung helping you more than you think you did for your part. after the first discussion at the cafe ended, wonyoung had offered you that she could help anytimeâinitially, you declined. there was no way youâll ever need the help of the girl who liked your boyfriend but⊠eventually⊠you fall into submissionâŠ
other assignments were piling up, so you ended up turning to wonyoung to accept the offer anyway. you told yourself it was just work, nothing more, but the sight of wonyoung and your boyfriend sitting shoulderâtoâshoulder at the library, leaning close to check the same laptop screen⊠it gnawed at the back of your mind.
âyn?âÂ
wonyoungâs voice snapped you back to reality. your pen hovered uselessly above the page. she was watching you, head tilted slightly, a smile on her lips. âdid you get it? i can explain again if it's confusing.â
you blinked, throat tightening. âum, yeah. yeah, i got it.âÂ
you hadnât caught a single word sheâd said. too busy watching how the manicured nails rested against your laptopâs trackpad. âyou decorated your laptop so nicely, huh?â wonyoung said, running her fingernails against the stickers on the body.Â
it was infuriating.Â
wonyoung wasnât supposed to be like this if she liked sunghoon. she was supposed to be mean! supposed to belittle and bring you down and flirt with sunghoon openly. and you were supposed to dislike her for the way she orbited closer and closer and closer to sunghoon while knowing he was taken. you were supposed to resent her for each time she laughed at sunghoonâs comments, and how she never lifted her hand when it crossed sunghoonâs personal line. you almost wished sheâd given you a reason to dislike her, just the tiniest little bits.Â
youâd like to think you disliked her when that happened, but not right nowânot when sheâs kind, patient, quick to share her notes, quicker to help you understand.
but what if it was just an act⊠so sunghoon could see how much of an angel she was, then fall in love?Â
your eyes twitched at the thought.
âhow long have you been with sunghoon?âÂ
you turned, caught off guard. you noticed she had quit the tabânow your laptop was showing your homescreen; a photobooth landscape picture of you and sunghoon. her chin rested on her palm, blinking with curiosity.Â
â... a while,â you managed.
âa while?â wonyoung hummed, twirling her pen between her fingers. âhow long? you guys mustâve been really strong, then.âÂ
your lips pressed together. what was she digging for? the words caught in your throatâshould you say too much so sheâs aware of how in love the two of you are? or should you say just enough so she wouldnât have too much information on your relationship?
âyeah. three years,â you finally said, wanting to sound casual about it, but ended up sounding flat.
her brows lifted ever so slightly, the corner of her mouth twitched. âthree years.â she repeated it like she was tasting the number, rolling it over her tongue. âthatâs impressive. i know a guy who was in a relationship for eight years, though.â wonyoung added, chuckling.
your ears perkedâeight years? and so what? was in a relationship? was there anything to do with her? a million thoughts came across your mind. you tried to laugh it off. âthatâs⊠a long time.â
wonyoung nodded, moving her finger across your keypad to open another tab. âit is, isnât it? imagine being that close to someone for nearly a decade, only for things to not work out at the end. what a shame,â she said casually.
you forced your eyes on the screen, but all you could see was her reflection on the glass. you wanted to ask her what went wrong with the couple, why didnât they work out? your lips parted, but nothing came out.
next to wonyoungâs easy but suffocating presence, you couldnât stop yourself from wondering: what does hoonie even see in me, when thereâs someone like her, right here?âand you wondered if you and sunghoon would end up being that couple too.Â
ââ
as confusing bermuda triangle is, sunghoon was even more confused on how you could ever think wonyoung was a threat.Â
sure, she was prettyâeveryone knew that. you knew that too. even before sharing classes with her, youâd mentioned it to sunghoon (a few semesters ago) on how you just saw the prettiest girl youâve ever laid eyes on. it was undeniable, but sunghoon wasnât attracted one bit.
he always caught you staring too long when he and wonyoung had to go over the presentation slides. how your eyes always twitched like a dysfunctional robot when she was around, especially around him.Â
sure⊠wonyoung could be friendly sometimes. he saw it in the way sheâd get him coffee (but she got you the larger one?), how sheâd adjusted his part in the slides, always initiating group meetâups and discussions⊠but sunghoon really didnât look at her in that light. and heâs certain she too, didnât see him that way.
if anything, he thought she was just being respectful.
âstop making that faceâŠâ he whispered, voice low enough despite it was just the two of you in the evening library. âwhat face?â you asked too quickly and it sounded defensive.
sunghoon leaned closer across the table, arm brushing yours as he held your hand. âyou think i donât notice you staring this whole time?â the end of his lips curled into a smirk. you blushed, quickly pulling your hand away.Â
you tore your gaze, suddenly hyperaware of the heat crawling up your neck. âi wasnâtââ
sunghoon hummed, raising his eyebrows in suspicion. âi know what youâre thinking, tell me.âÂ
âhm...â you hummed, sighing. âi think she likes you.â you added after a beat. confessing this obvious truth was far more embarrassing than anything youâve ever experienced.
sunghoon watched in silent, his expression was unreadable for a second. then slowly, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. âshe does?â he asked softly, feigning innocence as he tilts his head toward you. his hand found its way back to yours, slipping gently underneath.
you nodded your head, bottom lip still puckering out into a pout. âi mean, i think so⊠itâs quite obvious.â you murmured, the end softening slightly to not offend him. anyone would be a dumbass not to notice. âitâs justâsheâs always around and i know itâs because we have a group assignment together butâŠâ you added, swallowing the lump in your throat. sunghoon rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb. your shoulders dropped.
âoh i donât know hoonieâŠâ
he hummed in acknowledgement, studying your face with that calm intensity that always contrasted yours. âletâs make a promise,â sunghoon suddenly said, squeezing your hand gently. you looked up, eyebrows raised in confusion.
sunghoon lifted your hand just slightly to loop your pinky with his. âfirstly, i promise you that i donât like her. not one tiny bit, at all,â he said, eyes locking with yours. âsecondly, i promise you that she doesnât like me. i know you might feel like it, but really, she doesnât.âÂ
your heart stuttered at his sincerity, a flutter you couldnât quite suppress that it showed on your face. itâs not enough to fully convince you, but what else could you do? if your boyfriend said he doesnât like her, then isnât that enough for now? âpromise?â you whispered, voice softer than intended. sunghoon nodded firmly, brushing his thumbpad against yours like that âdoubleâpromiseâ gesture.
you grinned and shook his hand like a contract deal. âokay,âÂ
clearly pleased, you studied his face a little longer. your boyfriend was really handsome, wasnât he? âso can we make out, like right now?â the words came out without thinking twice, but you didnât take it back.Â
sunghoonâs eyes widened, caught somewhere between shock and amusement. his lips twitched like he was trying to hold back a laughâthen he looked around. â...right now?â he teased. âyou serious?â the library was mostly empty except for a few students studying, but still!
âyes, absolutely. i canât hold it in right now.â you said, leaning slightly closer in hopes sunghoon could see the full weight of your determination. your boyfriend rolled his eyes, feigning âfine, whatever,â before quickly standing up and tugging you along somewhere empty between the shelves.
he pinned you against the wall, one hand against the side of your head, and the other cupped your cheek, thumb brushing the apple of your cheeks. âyou know if we get caught, weâll be library banned, right?â he chuckled, albeit not having the intention to stop now, at all.
you shrugged playfully, puffing your cheeks. âi donât think thatâs true,â you hummed, trailing your hands up along his chest and resting on his shoulders. âwant to see and confirm it?âÂ
âeh,â sunghoon shrugged, leaning in. âletâs put it to the test.â his lips connected yours, deep and hungry without it being soft and featherâlight first. your hands threaded into his soft locks, tugging him closer as sunghoon tilted his head.Â
it made your knees weak, how warm his body was against yours, how his big and tall frame totally concealed you from anyone who walked by. he brushed his lips against yours, and you let out soft sighs between kisses.Â
with a soft flick of his tongue, you parted your lips partly and he wasted no time slipping his tongue in, overlapping and dancing your own. sunghoonâs hands rested on your hips, leaning down to match your heightâas you stood on your tiptoes to match his.Â
âmhh,â you breathed out, tugging onto his bottom lip. his canines brushed against your tongue every now and then. sunghoon smirked and pinched gently at your fleshâa subtle warning that you should keep it down, unless you truly wanted to be banned from the library. you only responded by pressing closer, letting your hands roam along his nape. the kiss only deepened.Â
finally, he pulled back just enough to catch a breather and to press his forehead against yours, eyes halfâlidded, lips swollen and parted. âhappy girlfriend now?â he teased, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.Â
you laughed softly, heart still racing. ânot quiteâŠâ
âthen, should i make you happier in my room?â
ââ
the presentation went perfectâas expected from your boyfriend! and wonyoung, obviously.
sunghoon was confident and simple in his own way and he made complicated concepts sound effortless. wonyoung, on the other hand, with her charm and beauty, might as well just entranced everyone with that combo alone alongside her sharp presentation precision.
they made such a perfect pair and duo, as much as you hated admitting it.Â
âgood job!â jungwon said after class ended. the two of you waited outside for sunghoon and wonyoung for their commentary. you blinked before nodding, clapping your hands and giving them two thumbsâup. âyou guys did so well!â you added, genuinely.Â
âthââ sunghoon was cut off. wonyoung smiled and clapped on her own. âthanks yn, won!â she said warmly, her gaze flicking to you for a brief second before returning to sunghoon. âand you too. thanks for backing me up.â she hummed, moving her hair on one shoulder.
sunghoon was taken aback, scratching the back of his neck. âyeah⊠thanks. you too.â he muttered, glancing at you. you felt your cheeks heat up in exchange, eyebrows raised. next to you, jungwon chuckled, sighing in relief. âgod, iâm so glad thatâs done and over with.â he said, stretching his arms above.
you nodded, feeling relieved inside too. âshould we celebrate this?â wonyoung initiated, tilting her head slightly, a soft smile playing on her lips. âcelebrate?â you asked.
âmmhm,â she hummed, leaning against the wall. âthereâs going to be a house party this weekendâyou all should come.â
your stomach twisted slightly, again. a party⊠wasnât really your scene. you could deny it again, although this would be the second time you rejected wonyoungâs offer with the first one being her presentation partner. god, youâre so embarrassing.Â
first, you couldnât be brave like she is, then second, youâre not as social as she is?Â
oh, whatever⊠why must you do something to please her?Â
âum, actââ before you could speak up, wonyoung turned to sunghoon. âyouâll be there, right? itâs heeseung and jakeâs house party.â she said, smiling. sunghoon blinked at her, surprised. his eyes widened slightly.Â
your chest tightened. there was no way sunghoon would turn down a party his own two bestfriends hosted⊠and you didnât want to be that kind of girlfriend, either. wonyoungâs eyes flicked to you for a split second before returning back to sunghoon.Â
âuh, yeah⊠itâs jake and heeseungâs, right?âÂ
you crossed your arms, trying to hide the way your mind was spiralling and breaking down and crashing out. your eyes twitched again.Â
jang wonyoung, what do you want for me?Â
ââ
as all could imagine, the party was wild. not the american kind where toilet papers rains from the roof and blue, red, purple lights blasted from the windows. this was more subtly chaotic. music thumped loud enough to keep people moving and having to speak an octave higher just to get their words out, laughter spilling from all corners of the apartment, and faint clinking of glasses could be heard here and there.
sunghoon promised to stick close to you from the start, and he did, not surprising. even when jake came to welcome the two of you, and asked if sunghoon wanted to see the restâyour boyfriend told him later (he did it on his own accord, despite you telling him to just go, youâll be fine).Â
wonyoung was already mingling with everyone and she looked really, really pretty that night. she looked hotter than how she looked daily. with that black dress of hers, and her curled hair⊠it was impossible not to swoon or stare.Â
somewhen throughout the party, you were separated from sunghoon when you went to get yourself a glass of punchâstumbled upon jungwon and jay in the kitchen, struck up a conversation or two with them, then got distracted.Â
you hadnât realised how long you were gone for when you went back to the living room to find no signs of sunghoonâyour eyes scanned the room, and then⊠wonyoung. she was nowhere to be seen, either.
your chest dropped before you could allow yourself to, stomach twisting into knots. where are they? together? the thought hit you like titanic and the iceberg, sharp and crumbling slowly. a rush of panic surged through you.Â
no way, right? it canât be. sunghoon promised. sunghoon promisedâyou tried to convince yourself, but your mind refused to be swayed. as you weaved through the crowd, your mind couldnât help but pick up every interaction they had before as early possible signs of betrayal.Â
âoh my god, please,â you murmured, heart hammering fast against your ribcage, eyes darting everywhere. suddenly every guy looked like your boyfriend, and every girl looked like the perfect wonyoung. you tried not to let yourself think the worst, but itâs so hard to not to when youâve had thought about it since the beginning.Â
please let this be a coincidence.Â
you turned a corner and froze.
there they wereâsunghoon and wonyoung, tucked away in a bedroom off the main party.
from where you could see them, it seemed like they were talkingâbut that stupid part of your brain that somehow managed to exaggerate everything else saw them leaning towards each other, getting handsy and touchy, and even felt the sexual tension betweenâ!
âwhat are you doing?âÂ
you found yourself standing in the doorway before you even realised you were there, voice sharper than intended, heart beating like it might burst anytime. sunghoon and wonyoung froze instantly, heads snapping toward you. the sight of your wide eyes, clenched fists, and flushed face clicked in his sunghoonâs mind of what you were thinking almost instantly.Â
âyn, iââ before sunghoon could answer, you marched ahead and wrapped your hand around wonyoungâs wrist, tugging her toward the balcony outside, still in the same room. she almost stumbled, eyes widening in surprise. âwait, ynââ she started, but just like sunghoon, you cut her off by slamming the balcony sliding door behind you.Â
the click echoing like a final declaration.Â
the sudden quiet of the outside space hit you both. from how it was so loud inside, the outside felt like it purposely muted itself for now. only the sound of the muffled thump of the part inside faded into the background.Â
wonyoung blinked and you saw her swallowing the lump in her throat.Â
âwhat do you want from me, wonyoung?â you asked, voice low and tense, with a slight shakiness that contracted the brave act you were trying to put up. there was a mix of fear and anger in your chest.
the girl before you hesitated, lips parting to answer, then closing again. huhâsheâs so much like sunghoon, isnât she? you thought almost bitterly. is that also why i canât bring myself to hate her? came afterwards.
her eyes held yours. even right now, she didnât look scared like she was just caught redâhanded trying to flirt with someone elseâs man. âynâŠâ she started carefully, her fingers playing with the fabric of her dress. âi⊠i donât want anything from you. not really.â Â
you narrowed your eyes, eyebrows frowned. you rested your hands on your hips. âthen whyâwhy do you act like that around us? why do you⊠do this?â wonyoung didnât answer. she looked down on her heels, eyebrows pinched in guilt.
and that almost got you to forgive herâyou clenched your fists, lips formed into a tight line. âyouâre⊠youâre wonyoung, for gods sake. you could have anyone you wanted to in this world. anyone! look at you! youâre so pretty and smart and, andââ you huffed, all that pent up anger was going to burst now. âyouâre so sexy and nice! yet⊠you, youâŠâ words tumblings and articulating in order that didnât exist in the grammar rules.
âyouâre perfect! why canât you like someone else thatâs not my boyfriend?!âÂ
you took a shuddering breath, voice rising with exasperation, insecurity, and fear.
wonyoung froze, her eyes widened. for a long, terrible second, she looked like she might speakâhell, she looked like she was caught in the act!âthen she blinked rapidly, gasping. â...waitâ, iââ she stuttered, shaking her head quickly.
has she always looked this pretty?Â
âi donât like him!âÂ
now it was your turn to freeze. your mouth opened, heart stuttering. â...what?â
wonyoung swallowed the nervousness in her throat, fists clenched around her fabric as she shut her eyes tightlyâtaking a deep breath, before exhaling. âi mean, i donât like sunghoon,â her eyes darted away, eyebrows furrowing in embarrassment. âyn. i⊠i like you.â
the words hit you like a bucket of iceâcoldâwater. and just like thatâthe water washed away all your anger, jealousy, and frustrationâleaving you speechless and confused on the balcony. you couldnât even bring yourself to say something in reply.
did jang wonyoung just confess.. to you?Â
her cheeks were flushed a deep pink like her lipgloss, eyes wide and darting nervously between you, the floor, and the night sky. her lips parted slightly, trembling as if she wished to take back the words but knew it was impossible.
caught in the momentum of a forced, illâtimed confession.
for someone whose exterior and presence were so composed and⊠flawless all the time, this was the first time youâve ever seen her this way. she looked shy, almost like sheâs not wonyoung, but someone else⊠entirely.
you blinked, still hadnât formed a reply.
wonyoung took another deep breath. âiâve liked you ever since orientation week⊠when iâi saw you saving a cat in the drainage,â her voice wavered, she tucked a strand of her curled hair nervously behind her ear. from there, you could see how red her ears were.
âyou didnât even hesitate to climb down there. you didnât care that itâd ruin your jeans and get your hands dirty⊠everyone else just stood there, but youâŠâ her gaze slowly landed back on you. â... you didnât even think twice. i fell in love with your kindness first, then came everything else.â
you felt your cheeks burning up, fidgeting with the hem of your top. you didnât know that that mindless action would affect anyone at that time. not like this, at least. it was just a decision youâd made on the spot since you would never leave a cat alone like that. that was like leaving jungwon in a dark roomâŠ
âthen why⊠why were you always around sunghoonâŠ?â you asked nervously. your voice barely louder than a whisper. right now, only wonyoung needed to hear what you have to say.Â
wonyoungâs lips parted as if she was almost offended by the question, but then she pressed them together. âat first it was because heâs always around you,â she admitted softly. âi thought if i get close to him, somehow, i could break the two of you.â she shamefully added, her face was like a tomato. âbut then i realised how selfish it was to break a relationship. so i just figured that if i could tell sunghoon that i like you, maybe heâs willing to sharââ
your eyes widened so hard you swore they might pop out of your skull. âwhatâ?! share?!â you blurted before she could even finish, lips parted as you pointed to yourself, voice cracking between disbelief and outrage. âme?â you continued. so just now, was it a misunderstanding? was wonyoung about to confess her feelings to you at your boyfriend, first?!Â
and sharingâ? what is going on?Â
wonyoungâs eyes flew open too, mortified at her own truth. she waved her hands, crossing them in an âxâ motion. âno, noâ! thatâs not it! i didnât mean it likeâwell, i did mean it but not like thatâugh!â she buried her face in her hands, groaning, wishing the balcony floor on her side would suddenly crumble and swallow her down.
you were still stunned and frozen, anything she said didnât register in your head. âi just,,,â she said, muffled against her palms. âi know that you and sunghoon love each other so much and thereâs no way i can be with you alone,â she murmured.
âso⊠iâi thought if sunghoon was⊠willing to share youâŠâ her voice cracked.
your jaw dropped. share me?! with sunghoon?
your brain shortâcircutied. for a split second, you swore the bass party inside mocked you, adding the chaos to this insane conversation.Â
wonyoung peeked between her fingers, face burning and turning impossibly red. desperation written all over her from her perfect rounded head, to her manicured toe. âthatâs how much i⊠like you. iâd take anything. even if it means being second. i just want to be with you.âÂ
her words hung in the cool air, heavy and reckless.
you realised she wasnât joking.Â
she meant it.
ââ
âah, fuck, youâre crazy babeâŠâ sunghoon groaned, tipping his head back as your lips wrapped warmly and wetly around his throbbing, aching cock. his big hand caressed the top of your head before gently tangling your strands around his fingers. âmy pretty girl,â he grunts, lips parting.
your hands move up to his hips and pressed down on it, digging your fingertips into his flesh. you slid more of sunghoonâs huge length in your mouth, trying to fit all of him inside. you felt him twitching and he had to restrain himself from bucking his hips and straight into fucking your mouth,Â
âmhh, hoonie,ââ you muffled, feeling the head of his cock hitting playfully the back of your throat. you shut your eyes tightly as you breathed in through your nose, slowly taking him down in your throat. âoh, shit⊠dâdonât force yourself, love,â he stammered, fingers tightening around your hair.Â
slowly, you bobbed your head back and forth, coating his huge cock with your saliva. your hands moved to stroke along his length, spreading and making a mess out of your saliva down to his hanging balls. your boyfriend closed his eyes as he felt the double pleasure combo of your warm mouth and soft hands.Â
you sucked the bulbous head of sunghoonâs dick, twirling and rolling your tongue around the mushroom tip whenâa moan slipped past your flushed lips. âohâ! wony, your tongue!â your body jerked forward slightly as you felt wonyoungâs tongue slipped inside your pussy, her lips molding against your cunt.Â
behind you, on her fours, wonyoung had her hands splayed across your ass, spreading them apart. she had her face stuffed between your cheeks, tongue darting flat between your folds from your clit all the way up to your entrance, teasingly poking her tongue inside every now and then. âyou taste so sweet, yn,â she muffled, slipping a finger in your pussy. you let out a sweet moan, vibrating against sunghoonâs cock which elicited a groan out of him. âfuck ynâis she really making you feel this good?â he commented, visibly annoyed.Â
wonyoung gave your asscheek a firm squeeze, sucking your slick as her tongue languidly swiped across your folds. wonyoung pulled back slightly to make a comment towards sunghoon. âbet you canât,â she smirked, and you felt it against your skin. you were about to say somethingâtell them to stopâŠâbut before you could do so, sunghoon scoffed before bucking his hips up, thrusting his cock into your mouth.Â
you let out a choked moan, eyes rolling back when the tip hits the back of your throat. you squeezed his thighs, nails digging and scratching against his skin, so deep it left marks. âfuck you know about my gâgirl, shit, yn,â sunghoon groaned, caressing your hairline in an attempt of comforting you after what he just did.Â
you pulled back with a sharp gasp, saliva slipping and drooling from your lips and down your chin, connecting from his length. you let out a soft whimper and cry, getting stimulated from the back and the front. wonyoung knew there was no point in arguing with sunghoonâsheâs gotten what she wanted, anyway. digging her nails into the meat of your ass, wonyoungâs teeth dragged against your thigh, biting and sucking and leaving marks on your skin.Â
unbashed, you grinded your hips against her pretty face. âwony,â you breathed out, flattening your tongue against sunghoonâs wet cock to lick a stride up his length from his rounded balls up to the head. you flicked your tongue on the slit, the smell and manly scent of his sweat mixed preâcum struck up your nose, licking just that sensitive part like a kitten.Â
âmmhm, are you feeling good, lovely?â wonyoung giggled, placing a kiss before sucking and tugging on your bud. you nodded and hummed, mouth enveloped and molded around sunghoonâs erection. his cock throbbed in your mouth, the pulse throbbing against your tongue.Â
above, you heard sunghoon muttered a swear under his mouth. it was obvious he was jealous from how his grip around your hair tightened, and the twitch of his hips. âyn baby, fuck, âm cumming,â he rasped. with each stroke of your hand from his base to the headâhe felt his high increasing.Â
âuh huh, i want your cum,â you whimpered, from both the neediness of his semen down your throatâand also wonyoungâs languid licking between your pussy lips. your muscles contracted around her warm tongue. âplease,â you slurred, not sure you were pleading for and if you were even thinking right.
âfuckâ! babe!â his moan fell loudly from his lips, head tipping back, hand keeping your head still where it wasâcock deep inside your warm mouth. his hips bucked up as hot ropes of cum shot into your mouth, straight down your throat and warming the domain of your mouth.Â
his cock throbbed as it pumped out cum and you tried to swallow it all, albeit some spilled from your mouth and rolled down his cock. you rolled your eyes back, nails digging into his flesh. your boyfriendâs loud moans only seemed to irritate wonyoungâand she lets out the annoyance by roughly flicking her tongue against your clitâwhere itâs sensitive and flushed and puffy. she didnât like how your attention was on sunghoon just because heâs cumming right now.Â
it workedâyou felt your brain melted when wonyoung slipped two fingers into you, stretching your tight cunt open and fingered you while sucking on your bud. âwony, wonywonyââ you cried, hands not stopping from jerking sunghoon off. your boyfriend too, wasnât in his right mind. he just came, but his own girlfriendâs attention wasnât solely on him.
it was on your⊠girlfriend, or whatever the fuck wonyoung claimed herself to be to you. sunghoon couldnât give a single fuck about that girl. he wouldâve never expected something like this would occur in his happy relationship.Â
looking down at you from his halfâdrunked eyes, you looked so⊠innocent, and cute. trying your best to jerk all the remnant of his semen from his balls while getting fingered yourself, your cheeks were flushed, soft sobs, cries, and whimpers escaped your lips like a newborn kitten. so loud.Â
âcâmon lovely, youâre close, arenât you?â wonyoung muffled, making out and french kissing your pussy lips. she rubbed her thumb over your clit, as the other thrusted inside your pretty cunt. you nodded, kissing the sides of sunghoonâs shaft. âsquirt on my face, yn,â she coaxed, pushing you to the edge.
falling into the submission, your thighs trembled, knees threatened to give outâyou released on her face. with a whimpery moan of your girlfriendâs name, you squeezed sunghoonâs cock without warning which elicited aloud moan from his as well. now all three of you were letting out pornographic sounds for different reasonsâyou released your high, sunghoonâs flushed, sensitive cock threatened to burst another ropes of cum, and wonyoung just made her crush came warmly on her face.
âoh god,â your pussy twitched around nothing, and if it werenât for wonyoungâs firm grip around your hips, you'd have passed out on the bed. sunghoonâs chest heaved heavily as he brought his hand down on your cheek to wipe the tears that fell from your eyes. he knew it wasnât from painâbut the overstimulated pleasure your body received.
wonyoung licked around her lip, humming at your sweet taste. âyou taste so good. i love it sâmuch.â she stated, pussy drunk. it might as well be from the lack of oxygen she was getting. your body felt wrung out, every nerve of your body still buzzing from the pleasure. you couldnât even articulate a reply as much as you wished to.
heat clung to your skin, damp with sweat, mouth salty from the taste of sunghoonâs cock, pussy twitching from the emptiness of wonyoungâs tongue. âoh god, you guysâŠâ you panted, voice raw and shaky and whimpery, every syllable breaking nonsense as theyâre not caught up with your brain.
smirking at your condition, sunghoon cupped your cheeks, thumbs caressing the apple of your cheeks. âweâre not done yet, baby,â he hummed. sunghoon tugged you forward by your forearm. your palms almost slipped against the bedspread, and before you could protest, sunghoon pushed you down onto the mattressâlaying flat on your back.Â
âhoonieâ?â he cuts you off by tugging you forward by your calf until your hips slammed flush against his. the abruptness slipped a gasp out of you. your boyfriend got into his position, looming over you with an obvious exasperated look on his face. âmy turn to please my girl,â he said bitterly, meant it for wonyoung without even sparing a glance at her.
scoffing, wonyoung shook her head and smirked, crawling on the bed to position herself above your head. her knees spread and framed you, casting her shadow over your flushed face. âright,â she drawled, tilting her head slightly at sunghoon before cupping your cheeks from behind, leaning down. âthen iâll just take care of this pretty mouth.â she added, voice dripping with challenge. she wasnât about to just let sunghoon have his fun alone. this was her moment too.Â
leaning and bending down, wonyoung attached her soft lips against yoursâslow and savouringâletting you taste yourself on her lips. you hummed before closing your eyes as well, kissing her back.Â
sunghoonâs eyes twitched, fuckâkissing my girlfriend in front of me? he thought bitterly. he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock to position the head on the entrance of your nicely prepped pussy. âfuck off, seriously,â he muttered under his breath before pushing his length in, watching as your pussy wrapped around him and swallowed him whole.Â
moaning against wonyoungâs lips, your hips buckled slightly to adjust yourself. sunghoon started thrusting almost immediately, shaft rubbing the velvety walls as he rolled his hips. âso tight for me,â he groaned, resting and pinning down your hips on the bed so you wouldnât move around. âyouâre squeezing my cock so nicely, baby,â he added.
you let out a started gasp that wonyoung swallowed, whimpering and crying softly. smiling against your lips, her hands travelled down where it found your tits, rubbing her fingerpads around your perky tits. ânow, now,â she chuckled, lips still on you. âdoes it feel good?â she teased, tugging and pressing your buds.
you nodded weakly. âhngnh, hoonie, oh god, wonyââ back arched in pleasure as your hands wrapped around sunghoonâs wrists on your hips, grounding yourself. tears pooled in your eyes once more as you felt his cockhead bullying your cervix, each slam of his hips jerked your body against the bedspread.
maybe it was because of wonyoungâs position above youâbut you kept on swallowing her saliva, each drop sliding past your tongue with nowhere else to go but down your throat. the angle forced her kiss deeper since the movement was limited for you. not just from sunghoonâs hands on your hips keeping you in place, but also wonyoungâs knees on the sides of your face.Â
every breath you tried to take was stolen by her mouth and it left your chest fluttering and heaving, the taste of her strawberry gloss smeared between your lips. âyouâre so cute,â she whispered hotly against your flushed lips, grazing her fingernails along your tits until they were slightly red.Â
sunghoon shifted bitterly above you. heâs not able to see your face because of wonyoungâs head, and he also couldnât watch your tits bounce with every thrust he gave youâthe feeling was disgusting, he was being robbed slowly in front of his eyes.Â
his jaw clenched, muscles ticking as a sharp hiss escaped him. he wanted to rip wonyoung off you, tilt your chin up, slam his lips, and kiss you until one of you starts bleeding. make you look only at him. instead, he used all that anger to rail his cock deeper inside, hitting the spot he knew better than anyone elseâthat wonyoung could never reachâthat had you begging for more.Â
your walls clamped tightly down his cock, sucking him in further. âoh my god, sâdeep, too deep, hoonie!â you mewled, words caught up in your throat and choked on the mixed saliva. his thrusts were harsh and relentless and unforgiving, almost like he was punishing you for making him jealous.
wonyoung was no different, her fingers squeezed hard that flesh spilled out between her fingers. she used her other hand to grip your chin firmly, forcing your lips apart before spitting right on your tongue. âthatâs it,â she breathed. âfocus on me, câmon.âÂ
your body didnât feel like yours anymoreâ with wonyoungâs unyielding grip and sunghoonâs ruthless pace below that left you writhing and needy for more. your body trembled under the weight of their possessive claim. competing for what theyâve already won.Â
âyou take me so well, baby,â he groaned, lifting your hips up slightly against his pelvis, angling his cock deeper with a force that shook the bed beneath. the sensation overwhelming you instantly. sunghoonâs thumbs rubbed soothing circles on your hips despite his brutal movement. âgoodness gracious, my pussy feels sâgood.â he added, tipping his head back.
you nodded, whimpering. using all your strength, you slowly fluttered your eyes open, locking wonyoungâs instantly. âwâwony,â you moaned, gasping. âi wanna taste you, please,â heat rises up your cheeks. this was the first time ever, in your lifeâthat you were going to have someone sit on your face. a girl at that too. licking and eating another girl out was something youâd never see yourself doing.
but thereâs a first for everything, right?
wonyoungâs eyes widened, her lips parted slightly but she was quick to nod, smile and face gleaming and brightening. âyouâre so cuteâŠâ she murmured, voice soft but filled with thrill. you heard her giggle before she moved, her pretty hands slid along your cheeks before her knees pressed into the mattress on either side of your face, hovering just above you.
you swallowed nervously at the sight above youâwow, wonyoungâs pussy is really pretty, too, huh? you thought, blushing hard. slowly, she lowered herself until your lips met with her lipsâexcept itâs not the one on her face, but her private part.Â
wonyoung let out a soft moan, already closing her eyes into the sensation just by the feeling of your warm mouth against her warmer, wetter cunt. in front of her, sunghoonâs eyes twitched. greatânow he couldnât see even an an inch of your face.Â
âmy god, yn,â she breathed out as you brought your hands around her hips. your fingers dig into her soft flesh. her breath stuttered as you brought your tongue out and gave an⊠experimental lap between her folds. âmhh,â wonyoung shivered, squeezing your tits to anchor herself.
you were obviously inexperienced at thisâshe could tell that as much by the way you moved your tongue all over her pussy, in different patterns, different strokes, just to see which one felt good for youâand her. when wonyoung moaned a little louder, you started licking and sucking a little rougher too.
down thereâsunghoon was hitting all the right spots. he moved one hand to rub his thumb over your bud which made you whine against wonyoungâs cuntâyour moans vibrating and up till she felt it in her tummy. sunghoon lifted your hips back into place when he felt you slipping.Â
just as sunghoon lifted his head up from the sight of your pussy swallowing his cock each time he thrusted insideâthat he met wonyoungâs eyes who, by chance, had looked up at the same exact moment.Â
the air tightened instantly but you couldnât tell. almost instantly, both of them looked away but wonyoungâs lips didnât fail to curl, while sunghoonâs jaw tensedâyou didnât see it, but you felt his grip hardened.
âdonât look at me, weirdo,â she commented sharply, opting to focus on the way her fingers molded and played with your tits. sunghoon scoffed offendedly, looking back at your wet cunt soaking his cock with your slick. âas if.â venom dripped down his reply. âbet you wish you had a cock right now inside of my girlâs pussy, yeah?â he added mockingly, his sharp canine digging down his bottom lip to suppress his moans.
wonyoung glared at him momentarily, bucking and rolling her hips on your face. she felt the tip of your nose grazing between her folds. âew, please,â she taunted. wonyoung? a dickâ? sheâd rather kill herself. âhaving yn eat my pussy out feels sâmuch better, fuck,â she mocked, exaggerating her moansââyou canât relate⊠her tongue feels so good inside me.âÂ
you felt like you were underwater, not being able to hear what sunghoon and wonyoung were saying to one anotherâif they even acknowledged each otherâs presence at all.Â
that⊠riled sunghoon up, badly. his thrusts started picking up its pace and force, hips snapping harshly into yours that there wasnât an inch of his cock that was visible. dragging it out fully, sunghoon slammed it back in your cunt. he repeated until your toes curled, and your hips started bucking on its ownâfucking yourself on him.
you held your tongue out, all your moans were being muffled by wonyoungâs cunt anyway. your girlfriend started moving her body at her own pace as she chased her high. âfuck, jâst like that, lovely,â she nodded, arching her back slightly. âyouâre doing so good, oh god,â her thighs trembled around your head.Â
wonyoungâs heart stuttered. she adored you, a lot. and although she had to shareâtechnically sunghoon was the one who had to share but it didnât matter since heâs a guyâshe was just grateful that she could be doing all these things with you.
maybe one day it could be just you and her? she wanted to do the scissor position she saw in porns with you.
the thought swirled in the heat in wonyoungâs stomach. ââm gonna cum, yn,â she gasped. sunghoon couldnât hold it in that long either. each time wonyoung pressed herself firmer on your face, you only tightened up around his cockâmuscles clamping down. he was honestly just holding it in so he could end this fucking session last.Â
you nodded pathetically and weakly beneath wonyoung, gripping her hips tighter and mirroring what she did to your pussy earlierâtongueâfucking her cunt. your boyfriend could tell you were reaching your orgasm as well. âlet go for me, baby,â sunghoon groaned, voice strained with his own need. âcum on my cock.â his thumb circled your clit again.Â
the encouragement only riled up through your bodyâand you did as he said. with a moan into wonyoungâs entrance and a buck of your hips, your orgasm washed over you again. upon the vibration from you that travelled up against wonyoungâs tummy, her hips trembled as she came on your face, squeezing your reddened tits hard. with the warmth of your cunt washing over sunghoon's cock, he pushed his hips flushed against yoursâpumping ropes of hot, thick semen inside of you, cock twitching as your contracted walls milked and drained him.Â
all three of you moaned differently, you were practically crying and whimpering, muffled; wonyoung was just drowning in ecstasy; and sunghoon was groaning at how much he came for the second time.Â
thankfully, wonyoung slowly lifted herself upâallowing you to catch your breath, chest heaving as air rushed back into your lungs. your brain was foggy from the lack of oxygen. a trail of slick clung to your lips and chin, glistening under the dim bedroom light. your eyes fluttered open, dazed and glassy, only to see her staring down at you.
after ensuring heâs milked and painted your insides white, sunghoon slowly slipped out, a string of cum connecting your pussy to his tip and he watched as it spilled out of your fucked hole. he panted, swallowing the lump in his throat as he slowly caressed the red, flushed marks heâd left when he gripped your hips.Â
â... baby?â softly, sunghoon called out to you, noticing the sudden stillness. your lashes fluttered shut, head rolling slightly to the sideâoh, the exhaustion had taken you in an instant.
he cupped your cheek, thumb grazing over your damp, sweaty skin. âaw,â he chuckled softly, wiping the tears off your cheeks. your lips parted, breath shallow but steady. youâd simply burned yourself out. never againânever again. two of them at the same time.
â...is she okay?â wonyoung brushed strands of hair from your face. guilt tugged at her features even if youâd never blame her. her chest still heaved from her own high. sunghoon sighed and hummed, tension slowly bleeding out of him. he pulled the blanket and over your bare bodyâhis too, and kind enough, tossed a part to wonyoung.Â
âsheâs just exhausted,â he muttered, more to himself. sunghoon ran his thumb over your flushed bottom lip. âshe gets tired easily after sex, so,â he added, running his fingers through his hair. he glanced at wonyoung just brieflyâand saw itâthe look of love in her eyes. the kind he knew too well, because it was the same one he had on whenever he thought of you.
fuck⊠why do you have to be so⊠magnetic? why do you have to pull crazy people like wonyoungâand himâand make them love and crave you? if anything, it was sunghoon who was supposed to be insecure and afraid, not the other way around.
his jaw clenched, and he messed up his hair. âwas that a reminder for my next time?â wonyoung hummed, still twirling your hair around her finger. sunghoon glared at her sharply and bitterly, giving her his middle finger. âyou wish, fuck off.âÂ
the girl only chuckled, brushing your hair back from your hairline. âtoo late now, i think. our girlfriend wants me too.â
ââ
itâs weird how you couldnât catch up on it fast enough.
since the beginning, sunghoon always thought how weird it was for wonyoung to treat you differently than how she would do to others. itâs strange how she was always softer, gentler around you. you claimed wonyoung laughed at his jokes, but it was everything you said that she laughed at.Â
she would linger around you a little closer, looking at you a little too⊠lovey dovey between friendsâ? strangers? sunghoon didnât even know who she was towards you, or what you were to her.Â
the reason why sunghoon never understood why you had to be scared of wonyoung liking him was because it was never him who she had a crush onâit was you.Â
he realised and confirmed it when he caught her stroking your hair when you fell asleep in the library. she looked at you the same way he did when sunghoon first got closer to you.Â
thatâs when he realisedâfuck, sheâs in love with you too.Â
at one point sunghoon did contemplate on telling you, but thatâd keep you on the edge of your toes and he didnât want you to think of her. would you even believe him in the first place? that wonyoung likes women? he doubted you will. sunghoon was also not expecting for wonyoung to come clean and confessâbut with that personality of hers, he probably shouldâve seen it coming, or at least expected it.Â
but it made you happy now, right? yeah itâs awkward and strange to share⊠his girlfriend with another girl he couldnât really give a shit for⊠sunghoon tried to see it from a different lightâat least itâs a girl. at least itâs wonyoung whoâs smarter and wiser, and not some dumb useless asshole who could rip you away from him entirely, right?
if it had to be anyone, then fine. let it be her.
as long as sunghoon kept gaslighting himself that wonyoung was like your bestfriend⊠that had sex with each other sometimesâheâll be fine. he hoped.
and at the end of the day, itâs sunghoon who first got to be with you, and eventually it would be him youâd carry children for.Â
itâs fine. as long as itâs wonyoungâitâs fine.
ââ
nobody wouldâve ever thought wonyoung liked girls. not even wonyoung herself.
the it girlâjang wonyoung⊠liked girls. she was supposed to like boys, wasn't she? supposed to be chased by handsome, tall, broadâshouldered, good grades, good future dudes and have a perfect family and husband.
but she liked girls instead! wonyoung thinks it rooted way back when she wished there was another girl like her. someone tall, poised, charming, beautifulâsomeone to match her from head to toe. men are annoying, the best kind of guy would probably be like⊠less than half of what she is. call it narcissism but, a girl just wanted the best for herself.
then you appearedânot like her at allâbut exactly what she had been wishing for. you werenât tall, shorter than most people wonyoung knew, not polished, or idolised by people. yet so warm in ways she could never beâthey called her the ice princess, after all. you were clumsy unlike wonyoungâs perfect demeanour, and a little awkward.
yeah, sureâwonyoung could bend a room toward her orbit, but you⊠could bend her.
everything she said to sunghoon was her silent way of challenging him to prove to you that she was better than your boyfriend without knowing youâd taken that as her flirting with him. as ifâ! wonyoung knew that pigs would need to fly before the thought of breaking up with sunghoon (or the other way around) even occurred to either one of you, which was why she was okay with sharing.Â
ehâsheâd take what she could get. if she had to carve out her space in your relationship, then so be it. wonyoung was never a girl that was quick to give up, anyway. sheâd make peace with sunghoon who was your world, by being your moon, so long as she got to orbit near you, the sun.
at the end of the day, what was there to complain about? you love sunghoon the same while loving her too. differently, of course. sunghoonâs a boyfriend, and wonyoungâs a girlfriendâtwo halves that couldnât be measured against each other, two roles that only made sense and could be tolerated because it was them.
ââââ ( đ· ) you tell yourself youâre imagining it â the way your boyfriendâs gaze seems to linger on jang wonyoung just a second too long, the way fans start making edits, the way insecurity creeps in under your skin â but while youâre busy convincing yourself youâre about to lose him to her, you donât notice that wonyoungâs eyes have never been on him⊠theyâve always been on you.
đaring. idol!jang wonyoung x le sserafim 6th member!fem reader.
đontent đŠarnings. angst, cheating, fluff at the end, insecurities, jealousy, suggestive at the end, toxic dynamic & relationship.
đŠord đount. 10,3k.
đ this was supposed to be more about rivalry, but i was at a very vulnerable point when the idea came to me and i worked on it... i wrote this during a depressing week so please excuse me if thereâs a lot of dramatic stuff. also, this was supposed to have more stuff, but tumblr tells me i canât exceed 1000 paragraphs, so the smutty smut will have to wait for another day.
đasterlist.
you sigh as you look in the mirror. the reflection staring back is a masterpiece of someone elseâs design. your stylist, mina, puts the final pin in the intricate updo, a cascade of dark hair woven with threads of delicate, shimmering crystals that catch the light like captured starlight. the dressâa column of liquid midnight silkâhugs your frame before pooling elegantly at your feet. itâs beautiful, severe, and makes you feel like a stranger. another stylist dabs a last bit of highlighter on your cheekbones, and you force a smile. the preparations for tonightâs mnet asian music awards have been relentless, a fiveâhour marathon of primping that has left your skin feeling tight and your patience thin.
yet, beneath the fatigue, a fierce, fluttering excitement thrums in your veins. youâve been waiting for this all year. itâs more than an awards show; itâs a coronation, a validation of the sweat, tears, and silent prayers you and your members have poured into every practice room dawn. you can hear them now, the familiar, comforting chaos from the adjoining suite. chaewonâs clear, steady scales warm up against the hum of the air conditioner. yunjin is softly counting beats, her body moving through the sharp, precise lines of your latest choreography even in her casual clothes. kazuha is doing gentle stretches by the window, her face a mask of serene concentration, while eunchae and sakura debate the merits of various red carpet poses, their laughter a bright, nervous melody.
theyâre all feeling itâthe delicious, terrifying cocktail of nerves and anticipation. you catch chaewonâs eye in the mirrorâs reflection from the doorway, and she gives you a small, firm nod. your leaderâs quiet confidence is a balm. youâre in this together. youâve conquered debut jitters, music show wins, and exhausting tours. tonight is just another stage, albeit the brightest one.
the journey to the venue is a blur of tinted windows and the distant roar of crowds. but as your van edges toward the red carpet, the reality of the night solidifies. the noise becomes a physical wall. flashes from hundreds of cameras explode like silent supernovas beyond the glass, painting the world in stark, staccato white. your manager gives you all a final, brisk pep talk. âsmile, be gracious, stick to the script. you look impeccable. now go show them why youâre le sserafim.â
you step out into the sensory overload, the cacophony of screaming fans and shouting photographers hitting you like a wave. you link arms with sakura, the six of you moving as one luminous unit, a synchronized constellation in your coordinated gowns. you smile, you wave, you pause for photos, the routine familiar yet always dizzying. this is the game, and you are playing your part flawlessly.
then, you see him.
sunghoon stands ahead, a calm eddy in the chaotic river of the red carpet. dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that seems to absorb the light rather than reflect it, he is a study in elegant composure. heâs finishing an interview, his profile sharp against the glare of the camera lights. just the sight of him sends a traitorous, familiar jolt through your carefully constructed calm. the rumorsâthose whispered, baseless, yet persistent thingsâhave woven an invisible thread between you for months. it started with a single, accidental backstage glance caught on a fanâs cellphone, fueled by a few overly polite interactions at yearâend shows, and exploded into a wildfire of fan theories and shipper edits after you were seen leaving the same restaurant on the same night (different parties, different floors, but facts never matter in the face of a good story).
the internet adores it. #enhyfim trends monthly. the tension isnât entirely fabricated, though. thereâs a charge in the air when your paths cross, a silent acknowledgment of the narrative youâre both trapped in, a hint of something like shared amusement and shared burden. as his group moves and yours advances, your trajectories align at the main media wall.
his eyes find yours as you approach. a microâexpression flickers across his faceânot a smile, but a subtle softening around his eyes, a barelyâthere tilt of his head. itâs a secret handshake in a room full of shouting strangers. the interviewer, a sharpâeyed woman who clearly reads gossip columns, pounces on the proximity.
âsunghoonâssi! over here! and look, we have le sserafim! sakura, chaewon, everyone, come on over!â
youâre ushered together. the questions are standard at first: expectations for the night, feelings about your nominations. sunghoon answers with his usual quiet poise, his voice calm. when the microphone is passed to you, you speak about your sisterhood, your gratitude. then the interviewerâs grin turns conspiratorial.
ânow, i have to ask. the fans love seeing you two in the same frame. any special greetings for each other tonight on this big stage?â
itâs a landmine, clumsily laid. you feel your members subtly shift closer around you, a protective phalanx. sunghoon merely offers a polite, professional smile. âall the artists here are colleagues i respect and admire. weâre all just happy to celebrate music tonight.â
itâs a perfect, diplomatic dodge. youâre about to echo the sentiment, to deflect with grace, when a new presence materializes at sunghoonâs elbow, as if summoned by the awkward question.
âoh, is this the interview spot? sorry, the crowd is just crazy!â jang wonyoungâs voice is sweet as honey, her smile blindingly perfect. she seems to glide into the frame, a vision in a cloud of blushâpink tulle that makes her look like a fairy princess who just descended from a gossamer moonbeam. the cameras immediately swivel, the shutterâfire intensifying. she touches sunghoonâs arm lightly, a casual, friendly gesture. âsunghoonâoppa, your interview ran long! theyâre waiting for us for the group photo.â
her words are innocent, but their effect is surgical. the âusâ. the gentle pull on his arm. it seamlessly shifts the focus, repositioning sunghoon within her narrative, not yours. you see itâthe way his attention, which had been a quiet, shared space amidst the chaos, fractures and redirects. he gives a polite nod to you and your members. âexcuse us. good luck tonight. iâll cheer for you.â
and just like that, theyâre swept away, wonyoung laughing at something he didnât say, the pink tulle flag claiming its territory. the interviewer, now more interested in the retreating duo, quickly wraps up. youâre left standing there, your moment punctured, the carefully managed tension dissipated by a sunnier, more powerful force.
the rest of the red carpet is a haze. you smile, you pose, but inside, a cold, frustrated knot tightens. itâs not about competing for a man. youâre not some pawn in a petty drama. itâs the principle. itâs the way wonyoung, your personal friday the 13th wrapped in a bow, has a gravitational pull that seems to warp reality around her, making your genuine moments feel staged and her calculated ones feel effortless. every interaction, every potential connection, gets complicated, overshadowed, ruined. you know the rules. dating within the industry is a highâwire act over a pit of toxic fandom and career suicide. a part of you tries to cling to the logical high ground: you are here for your music, for your team. but another, quieter part, the part that remembers the shared, weary smile backstage at a music show months ago, feels a pang of loss. youâve worked too hard to have your narrative, professional or otherwise, constantly rewritten by someone elseâs spotlight.
the ceremony itself is a glittering, interminable dream. your groupâ category is announced, and you guys lose. the sting is professional, sharp, but shared. your members squeeze your hands under the table. you watch other performances, you applaud politely. and you see them. sunghoon and wonyoung, seated in different sections but somehow always in the same camera shot during reactions, laughing at an award show skit, their faces illuminated on the giant screens. each shared screen moment feels like a tiny paper cut.
the real test comes during the intermission. you slip away from the table, heading towards the quieter hallways backstage to find a bathroom and steal a moment to breathe. the corridor is dim, a respite from the arenaâs glare. and there, leaning against a wall, checking his phone under the low light, is sunghoon. alone.
he looks up as you round the corner. for a long second, you both just stare. the noise from the arena is a distant thrum here. itâs just the two of you in the semiâdarkness, the weight of the unspoken rumors and the nightâs frustrations hanging thick in the air.
he straightens slightly when he realizes itâs you. not startledânever startledâbut subtly more aware. his phone lowers an inch. the blue light fades from his face as the screen times out, leaving him in the softer, dim hallway glow.
for a heartbeat, neither of you speak.
you can hear the faint hum of the overhead lights. the distant bass from the arena stage pulses through the walls like a second heartbeat. somewhere far down the corridor, a door shuts and muffled laughter follows.
âhey.â you say first. your voice sounds smaller than you meant it to. it echoes faintly in the empty space.
âhey.â his reply is even. polite. controlled. the same tone he uses in interviews. the same tone he used at the media wall. carefully leveled, like heâs setting it down between you instead of offering it.
for a second you wonder if you imagined the earlier momentâthe softened eyes, the almostâsmile. maybe it was just camera flashes and adrenaline and wishful thinking stitching meaning into neutral gestures.
you take another step forward anyway. âcongratulations on your stage,â you add, because itâs safe. because itâs neutral territory. because if you donât start somewhere simple, you might say something reckless.
he nods once. âthanks. yours was good too.â
good.
not amazing. not powerful. not âi couldnât stop watching.â
just good.
your fingers curl into the silk at your sides. the fabric is cool and smooth, grounding you. the crystals in your hair feel suddenly heavier, like theyâre anchoring you in place.
âyou watched it?â you ask before you can stop yourself.
his gaze flickers back to you, brief but direct. âi always watch.â
itâs a small sentence. almost nothing. but it lands heavier than âgoodâ did.
he glances down the corridor again. not at you. down the corridor. like heâs expecting someone to round the corner at any second.
you follow his line of sight instinctively. the hallway stretches toward the elevators that lead back to the main floor. staff members move in burstsâstylists clutching garment bags, managers whispering into headsets. but no cloud of blushâpink tulle. no honeyâsweet laugh.
âare you heading somewhere?â you ask, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to fragile.
âhm?â his eyes flick back to you. âoh. yeah. i was just⊠waiting.â
waiting. the word feels heavier than it should.
âfor your group?â you press gently.
he shrugs. effortless. rehearsed nonchalance. âyeah. we have to regroup before the next segment.â
another glance down the hallway. itâs subtle, but itâs there. the way his shoulders angle toward the corner. the way his weight shifts like heâs ready to move the second he spots whoever heâs expecting.
you force a soft laugh. âthe cameras really love you tonight.â
âthey love everyone,â he replies automatically.
you tilt your head. âthatâs not true.â
this time he actually looks at you fully. the crease between his brows deepens slightly, like he didnât expect resistance.
âyou and wonyoung,â you continue, the name leaving your mouth before you can censor it. âyouâre in every reaction shot.â
there. itâs out.
the air changes almost imperceptibly. he doesnât flinch. doesnât smile. just exhales softly through his nose.
âthatâs just seating,â he says. neutral. measured. âit doesnât mean anything.â
âi know.â you do. logically. but logic doesnât explain the tiny ache in your chest every time the giant screens frame them together like a perfectly curated still.
a staff member rushes past, murmuring apologies. the noise from the arena swells briefly as a side door opensâcheers cresting like a waveâbefore it shuts again, plunging the hallway back into muted quiet.
âi wanted to say something,â you admit.
he straightens slightly at that. cautious now. âabout?â
âabout earlier. the interview.â
his jaw shifts. âwhat about it?â
âit just feltâŠâ you search for the right word. not jealous. not petty. not dramatic. âunfinished.â
his gaze drifts down the hallway again. âitâs always like that,â he says lightly. âthey ask, we dodge. thatâs how it works.â
âthatâs not what i mean.â you step closer before you can second-guess yourself. the scent of his cologneâclean, faintly woodsyâreaches you. subtle. not overpowering.
âit felt like we were in the middle of something,â you say carefully. âand then it justâshifted.â you snap your fingers softly.
he goes still. for the first time since you walked in, he doesnât immediately look away. âit wasnât anything,â he says. flat. controlled. smoothing the surface.
âit didnât feel like nothing,â you whisper. the confession slips out before pride can stop it.
his expression changesâjust slightly. something flickers there. conflict, maybe. or recognition.
and then, his gaze shifts over your shoulder.
your stomach drops. you donât even have to turn to know who heâs checking for.
âtheyâre probably calling us soon,â he says. his posture has subtly shifted againâalert, prepared.
âsunghoon.â you say his name softly. it makes him pause. but just barely. âare you looking for her?â you ask.
thereâs no accusation in your tone. no sharp edge. just tired honesty.
silence stretches between you.
he doesnât answer immediately. but his eyes meet yours. really meet them. âwe have to go on together later,â he says finally. âfor the special stage.â
together. the word echoes louder than it should.
âright,â you murmur.
he leans back against the wall again, but it feels different now. less relaxed. more guarded. âyou know how this works,â he says quietly. âanything that looks⊠off becomes a headline.â
âso you look for whatâs expected,â you say.
his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. âi look for what keeps things simple.â
âis it simple?â you ask. that makes him hesitate.
another door opens in the distance. footsteps approach, then fade the other direction. you step even closer. close enough that if someone turned the corner right now, it would look intentional. intimate. âdo you ever get tired of it?â you ask softly. âof feeling like youâre always part of someone elseâs storyline?â
his composure slips for a fraction of a second. âwe all are,â he replies.
âbut sometimes it feels like youâre choosing it.â the words hang heavier than you expected.
his eyes darkenânot angry. not hurt. just protective. âitâs not about choosing,â he says. âitâs about not making things harder than they already are.â
and you understand. nonchalance isnât indifference. itâs armor.
his phone buzzes faintly in his hand. he doesnât look at it yet.
you exhale slowly. âi didnât come here to fight.â
âi know.â
âi just⊠didnât want tonight to end like that.â your voice wavers, just slightly.
he looks at you longer now. long enough that the silence stops feeling empty and starts feeling charged. âit doesnât have to,â he says..but he doesnât step closer. doesnât bridge the final inch of space.
the phone buzzes again. and this time, he glances down. you see the screen light up. a name illuminated in bold. but when he feels your gaze, he turns it away instinctively.
âi have to go,â he says quietly.
of course he does.
you nod, because dignity is all you have left to hold onto. âgood luck,â you manage.
he hesitates. his fingers tighten slightly around his phone. his gaze flickers down the hallway one last timeâstill empty.
then back to you. âyou too,â he says, softer than before.
and for a fleeting, fragile second, it feels real again. unscripted. unfiltered. just two people in a dim corridor, balancing on the thin line between what they want and what theyâre allowed to reach for.
he steps past you. his shoulder brushes yoursâbarely. the contact is light, but it lingers in your skin like static.
you donât turn around immediately.
you hear his footsteps fade down the hallway. a few seconds later, you hear another set of footsteps approaching from the opposite direction.
a familiar, bright laugh.
you close your eyes briefly. and when you finally turn, the corridor is empty in front of you.
but for the first time tonight, you canât tell if he was ever really looking for herâor if he was just looking for the safest way out.
you donât remember deciding to move. your feet just⊠do. one step. then another. the crystals woven into your updo catch the hallway lights as you walk, scattering small fragments of silver across the walls. each step feels heavier than the last, the silk of your dress whispering against the floor in soft, expensive sighs.
your reflection flashes past in a darkened glass panel along the corridor. perfect. untouched. untrembling. you look nothing like how you feel.
the bass from the arena pulses faintly through the walls, applause rising and falling like a distant tide. your heartbeat struggles to match it. you keep your chin lifted, shoulders squared, posture still idolâperfect even though thereâs no camera here.
you tell yourself it doesnât matter. it was just a conversation. just a hallway. just timing. but your chest aches in that quiet, humiliating way that only happens when you try not to want something.
you round the corner toward your dressing roomâand collide with someone. it happens fast. a soft gasp. a cold splash.
your body jolts back slightly as something icy hits your collarbone, seeps through silk: iced coffee. dark. bitter. sticky.
âoh!â the voice is bright and startled.
jang wonyoung stands in front of you, one manicured hand still wrapped around a halfâcrushed plastic cup, condensation dripping down her fingers. the pale blushâpink tulle of her dress blooms around her like spun sugar.
except nowâthereâs a streak of brown across it. from where the coffee splashed when you bumped into each other.
for a split second, everything freezes. the hallway lights hum overhead. ice cubes clatter to the floor. coffee trickles slowly down the front of your midnight silk gown, soaking into the fabric like ink spreading through water.
itâs cold. shockingly cold. but you barely react.
wonyoungâs eyes widenânot dramatically, not angrily. just surprised. her lips part slightly. âiâm so sorryââ she starts, but she doesnât get to finish because staff descend immediately.
âoh my god, what happened?â âcareful!â ânapkins, quickly!â
hands are everywhere; someone gently grips your elbow. another presses soft cloth against your chest. a third fusses over the crystals in your hair to make sure none have loosened. âitâs okay, itâs okay,â a stylist murmurs, voice brisk but soothing. âitâs mostly surface. we can fix it.â
you look down slowly. the dark stain blooms across your dress like a bruise. it almost looks intentional. almost artistic.
wonyoung steps back half a pace as staff create a wall around you. someone from her team quickly dabs at the faint splash on her tulle, whispering reassurances. her stain is lighter. barely noticeable. gone within seconds. your dress absorbs everything.
âhead up,â your stylist instructs gently, lifting your chin with careful fingers. âdonât let it crease.â
you obey automatically. you always do.
someone presses a warm towel against your collarbone, trying to blot the chill. the contrast between cold fabric and heated cloth makes your skin prickle.
âshe looks pale,â another staff member whispers. âbut itâs just the shock.â
your reflection catches in a nearby mirror someoneâs holding up to check the damage. your face⊠itâs composed. too composed. your eyes look distant. unfocused. like youâre staring at something miles beyond this hallway.
wonyoung is still there. you can feel her presence, even if youâre not looking at her directly. soft perfume. the faint sound of ice shifting in the crushed cup she still holds awkwardly. âi really am sorry,â she says again, softer this time.
you lift your gaze to her finally. she looks⊠genuine. not smug. not triumphant. just startled. and somehow that hurts more. because this wasnât some dramatic rivalry moment. it was just clumsy timing. just collision. just another thing happening at the exact wrong second.
âitâs okay,â you say. your voice is quiet. too quiet.
one of your staff quickly answers for you, smiling tightly. âno harm done! these things happen.â
more blotting. more adjusting. someone carefully unpins one crystal from your hair thatâs come loose and slides it back into place with surgical precision. another reapplies powder to your collarbone, trying to mattify the damp shine.
âweâll need to steam the lower half,â a coordinator mutters. âcan she change?â âno time. next segment in ten.â
ten minutes. ten minutes to erase the evidence. ten minutes to turn a stain into nothing.
your stylist crouches slightly, inspecting the hem. âwalk for me.â
âitâll dry darker,â someone says. âbut under stage lights, no one will see.â
wonyoung stands to the side now, staff adjusting the last of her skirt. she watches you for a moment longer. her expression shifts. and something flickers there. concern? guilt? maybe she sees itâthe way your eyes arenât really here. the way your mouth curves politely but doesnât quite move. âare you sure youâre okay?â she asks, quieter.
your staff answer again before you can. âof course she is. just startled.â
you give a small smile. practiced. automatic. âiâm fine.â the words feel hollow. like tapping on porcelain. inside, something feels fragile. cracked.
you donât even realize youâre shaking until someone wraps a hand around yours. âcold?â your stylist asks gently, and you shake your head.
for a split secondâjust a split secondâyou remember the way sunghoon looked down the hallway. the way his phone lit up. the way he said âi have to go.â and suddenly the coffee soaking into your dress feels symbolic. like something warm turning cold against your skin. like something sweet staining something dark.
âokay,â your manager says briskly. âweâre good. letâs move.â
wonyoung gives you one last small nod. soft. almost apologetic. then sheâs swept away in a cloud of pink and staff and movement. youâre left standing still for half a second longer than everyone else.
âcome on,â your stylist urges gently. you walk. each step careful. measured. the fabric of your dress has begun to dry now, stiff where it was soaked. it brushes against your legs differently. heavier.
in the mirror outside your dressing room, you catch yourself again; hair immaculate. makeup flawless. collarbone shimmering under fresh highlighter. lips reâglossed to perfection. but your eyesâyour eyes look like theyâre still in that hallway. still waiting. still asking a question that never got answered.
âsmile,â someone says softly as they open the dressing room door. you try. your lips lift. but it doesnât quite reach. and for the first time tonight, the weight of everythingâthe rumors, the cameras, the hallway, the almostâsettles fully in your chest.
you sit down as staff make final adjustments. hands smooth your skirt. fingers pat powder beneath your eyes. a brush sweeps gently across your cheekbones. âthere,â your stylist says. âback to perfect.â
the ceremony ends in a blur of applause and controlled smiles. you bow. you clap. you hug your members when the cameras pan. you keep your expression composed when the final confetti cannons explode overhead like artificial snowfall.
the cold night air hits your skin the moment you step outside the venue. it smells faintly like smoke machines and winter pavement. staff hurry you into the van quicklyâheads down, heels careful, security forming a loose wall around you.
the door slides shut. and suddenly itâs quiet. not silentânever silent with five other girlsâbut private. the vanâs interior lights are warm and dim. the seats are soft, familiar. safe.
âahhh iâm exhausted,â sakura groans dramatically, already slipping off her heels with a relieved sigh.
âwe should go live!â eunchae chirps immediately, energy somehow still at 100%. âfearnot are definitely waiting.â
âyouâre insane,â yunjin laughs, but sheâs already pulling her phone out.
chaewon leans her head back against the seat, eyes closed for a second. âjust five minutes,â she says softly. âthen we rest.â
kazuha adjusts the hem of her dress carefully before sitting, posture still elegant even in exhaustion.
you sit by the window. the city lights smear across the glass as the van starts moving.
someone opens weverse and suddenly the van fills with cheerful chaos.
âfearnot~â eunchae sings into the camera.
âdid you watch the stage?â yunjin leans into frame, hair slightly messy now, smile bright.
sakura throws up a peace sign. kazuha tilts her head gracefully. chaewon gives a small tired wave.
their laughter fills the space. you smile faintly. but you donât lean in. you keep your gaze on the window, watching neon signs flicker past in streaks of pink and blue.
âwhere is she?â eunchae asks suddenly, angling the camera around.
before you can react, the phone swings toward you. you blink at the sudden brightness of the screen. âlook at her,â yunjin coos softly. âour baby is just tired.â
âsheâs been up since, like, four in the morning,â sakura adds quickly.
âbiggest boba eyes,â eunchae says, zooming in playfully. âlook at her!â the comments explode in hearts and crying emojis.
you give a small wave. âiâm okay,â you murmur softly.
kazuha reaches over and gently squeezes your knee. âshe just needs sleep, guys.â
they donât see it. they donât see the way your smile doesnât quite lift fully. the way your eyes look glossy under the van lights. the way your hands are folded too neatly in your lap.
the camera turns away again, back to the louder energy.
you exhale slowly. your phone buzzes in your palm and you look down; instagram notification. your stomach drops before you even open it.
sunghoon has updated. your thumb hesitates. then taps: first photo. him in his black tuxedo under bright venue lights. sharp jawline. hands in pockets. caption simple, clean. second photo. closer shot. slight smile, fangs faintly visible. third photoâyour breath stutters. him and jang wonyoung. standing side by side backstage. her pink tulle glowing even brighter under flash. his shoulder angled slightly toward hers. not touching. not intimate. but close. close enough that the internet will explode.
the caption: âmc night.â with a red heart emoji.
in the background, your members are laughing at something a fan commented. âfearnot said yunjin looks like sheâs about to fall asleep,â kazuha reads softly.
âi am,â yunjin protests dramatically.
you stare at the photo again. zoom in his expression; itâs the same controlled calm. the same soft professionalism. but thereâs something easy about it. something unguarded. your throat burns. you donât want to be the girl who spirals over a photo. you donât want to be fragile over pixels. but tonight everything feels raw.
you open your messages. his name is near the top. you stare at it for a long moment. then you type: âyou looked really good tonight. â€ïžâ you stare at the message. too simple? too obvious? but you add: âmc suited you.â
no, delete it. and rewrite. âi liked your fit.â
too casual. you delete again. your heart pounds.
you type: âyou did well today. iâm so proud of you.â too much? your thumb hovers. then, before you can overthink furtherâsend.
the message flies off. your stomach flips immediately. you lock your phone, unlock it again, and no reply.
âsay hi,â eunchae suddenly leans toward you again with the camera.
you blink slowly, trying to be calm and casual. âhi,â you whisper softly, waving again.
your phone buzzes. your heart leaps into your throat. you look down. his reply, just a âthanks.â thatâs it. no emoji. no punctuation. no warmth. just thanks.
your chest caves in slightly. you type again before you can stop yourself. âyou and wonyoung looked good together on stage.â
why did you say that? why?
three dots appear almost immediately and makes you hold your breath. they disappear. then reappear. disappear again. but finally: âitâs just work.â
âi know. still. you guys did a good job.â
no reply. one minute. two. three. outside, streetlights flash across your face in intervals. your reflection in the window looks even more tired now.
your members are wrapping up the live. âweâre going to sleep now!â eunchae announces brightly. âthank you for watching!â
the van feels smaller suddenly. quieter.
you check your phone again. still nothing. the âreadâ indicator sits beneath your last message like a quiet confirmation. he saw it. but he chose not to answerâyou lock your phone gently and press your forehead against the cool window glass. the city lights smear beneath your lashes.
chaewon notices first. she shifts closer slightly, her shoulder brushing yours. âreally okay?â she asks softly, so only you can hear.
you nod. âjust tired.â itâs not a lie. you are tired. tired of almosts. tired of timing. tired of feeling like youâre reaching toward something that keeps stepping half an inch away.
your phone buzzes one last time, and your heart jumps again. you look down; a notification. he added another story. but you donât open it. instead, you slide your phone face down on your lap.
outside, the city keeps moving. inside, your members chatter softly about food they want to eat when they get back. you sit between them. surrounded. loved. safe. and somehow⊠still feeling a little alone.
the dorm is quiet when you get back. not silent â never silent â but softer. livedâin. warm; the familiar scent of laundry detergent and leftover ramyeon lingers faintly in the air. shoes are kicked off near the entrance in a messy row. someoneâs hoodie is draped over the couch. the overhead lights are dim, yellow and comforting.
âiâm showering first!â eunchae announces, already half down the hallway.
âdonât use all the hot water,â yunjin calls after her.
sakura stretches her arms above her head with a groan. kazuha disappears into the kitchen for water. chaewon lingers a second longer, watching you.
youâre already slipping off your heels. âiâm just⊠really tired,â you say quickly, not meeting her eyes. âiâll go to my room first.â
chaewon studies you for a fraction of a second. then she nods gently. âokay. rest.â
you smile. itâs small. controlled. you turn before it can fall. your bedroom door clicks shut behind you. and the silence hits differently in here. your room is dim except for the soft glow of your bedside lamp. your bed is neatly made, sheets cool and untouched. a hoodie is folded at the end. your vanity mirror reflects your perfectly styled hair, still pinned in place, makeup immaculate under artificial light.
you stand there for a moment. just breathing. your chest feels tight in a way that isnât dramatic enough to cry over â just heavy. like something pressing quietly from the inside.
you sit at your vanity and stare at yourself; the crystals in your hair glimmer faintly. you look beautiful. but you donât feel beautiful. you feel⊠off. not heartbroken. not angry. just misaligned. like you stepped slightly out of your own rhythm tonight and never quite found it again.
your phone buzzes softly beside you. group chat notifications. fan posts. more tags.
you flip it face down. you donât want to scroll. you donât want to see anything else. instead, you open weverse. your thumb hovers. you donât even fully think it through before pressing âstart live.â
the screen counts down. 3⊠2⊠1âŠsuddenly, itâs just you and a tiny camera lens
âhi,â you say softly, and your voice sounds smaller in your quiet room.
comments flood instantly: âsheâs live!!!â âyou look so pretty.â âare you tired? đ„șâ âhow was tonight??â
you smile faintly. âiâm going to take off my makeup,â you explain gently, reaching for a cotton pad. âi feel kind of⊠heavy.â but you donât clarify what you mean.
you soak the pad with remover and press it against your cheek. the first swipe leaves a faint streak of foundation on white cotton. you watch it for a second longer than necessary.
âdid you eat?â someone comments.
âyeah,â you nod softly. âi did. donât worry.â
you work slowly. methodically. cotton pad. wipe. another pad. wipe. your lipstick fades first. the deep red dissolves into a faint pink stain before disappearing completely. your lips look smaller without it.
more comments scroll. âyou did amazing tonight.â âweâre so proud of you.â âyour eyes look tired baby ;(â
you laugh softly. âi always look like this after schedules.â you donât. but you say it anyway.
you remove your false lashes carefully, placing them neatly on the vanity. without them, your eyes look rounder. bigger. softer. vulnerable.
âhow was your night?â
your hand pauses midâwipe. just for a second. your eyes flick down to the words again. how was your night?
you inhale quietly. âit was good,â you say automatically. your smile comes quickly â almost too quickly. âreally good. iâm just tired.â you lower your gaze to the cotton pad so they wonât notice the way your expression faltered for half a heartbeat.
wipe. wipe. wipe. the shimmer on your collarbone disappears. the contour fades. the sharp angles soften. you look younger now. more like yourself.
another comment scrolls by: âyou seem a little sad đ„șâ
you let out a soft chuckle. âiâm not sad,â you reply gently. âi promise.â you tilt your head slightly closer to the camera, eyes widening a little in reassurance. âjust sleepy.â
your phone buzzes on the desk beside you. but you donât look at it. you focus on removing the last of the eyeliner instead. but your mind drifts anyway. to a dim hallway. to a phone lighting up in someone elseâs hand. to a photo posted twenty minutes ago.
you press the cotton pad a little too firmly against your eyelid. âow,â you murmur softly to yourself. you finish cleansing your face and rinse with a soft towel. when you look up again, your bare skin reflects back at you. no shimmer. no sharpness. no stage light illusion. just you.
âthank you for watching tonight,â you say softly. your voice is calmer now. quieter. âeven if we didnât win⊠it still means a lot.â your eyes flick down again as comments continue to stream.
for a second, you almost say more. almost admit that tonight felt strange. that you felt small in a hallway. that something simple hurt more than it should have. but you donât. instead, you offer one last small smile. âgoodnight, fearnot. thanks for being here with me.â
you end the live. the screen goes dark. your room returns to quiet. you sit there for a long moment, staring at your reflection in the black screen; without makeup. without stage lights. without anyone watching.
your phone buzzes again on the desk. slowly, you turn it over. you hesitate before unlocking it. and for a brief, fragile secondâyou wish you didnât care enough to check. but you couldnât lie to yourself because you were really waiting for an answer. and well, itâs humiliating to admit that you got excited beforehand for nothing because it was just a simple notification and not something about him.
morning schedules come too quickly after award nights. the dorm lights flick on before the sun is fully up, stylists arriving with garment racks and garment steamers and quiet efficiency. the air smells like hairspray and coffee. someone yawns in the kitchen. someone else is already warming up vocals under their breath.
you slept. technically. but it wasnât deep. it was the kind of sleep where your mind keeps replaying moments like short clips on loop â a hallway, a glance, a notification, a single dry âthanks.â
âmusic bank today,â chaewon reminds everyone softly as she scrolls through the schedule. her voice is steady as always. grounding.
you nod. of course. music bank. weekly stage. promotions. smiles. interviews. and the mcs this season areâ no, you donât need to finish the thought.
the drive to the broadcasting station is quieter than usual. eunchae hums softly to herself. yunjin scrolls through memes. sakura reads comments under last nightâs performance clips with calm curiosity. kazuha stretches her neck carefully.
you stare at your reflection in the van window. you practiced this face in the mirror this morning; neutral. professional. not cold. not warm. just composed.
the broadcasting station buzzes with familiar chaos when you arrive. staff clip microphones to your outfits. makeup artists do quick touchâups. cue cards are handed around. the hallway smells like fresh paint and electrical heat. âweâll do the interview first before your stage,â a coordinator explains briskly.
you nod again, but your palms feel slightly damp. so you wipe them subtly against the side of your skirt.
when you step onto the bright stage lights of the interview area, the air changes instantly. cameras roll. staff signals. audience murmurs hush.
and there they are: sunghoon stands tall in a light blue suit today, softer than the tux from last night. his hair is styled neatly, fringe resting perfectly above his browsâbeside him, jang wonyoung looks ethereal in a pale cream dress, hair falling in glossy waves over her shoulders.
âwelcome to music bank!â wonyoung beams toward the camera, voice smooth as silk. sunghoon just nods slightly, offering his steady greeting.
you step into formation with your members. your group lines up naturally, choreography even in stillness. âitâs le sserafim!â wonyoung announces cheerfully. an applause. and then you bow together.
when you rise, your eyes meet his for half a second. just half. he gives you the same polite microânod he gives all guests. nothing more. nothing less.
the interview begins. questions about your comeback concept. about rehearsals. about last nightâs award show. âyou worked so hard recently,â sunghoon says evenly, glancing down at his cue card. âhow are you feeling today?â
âweâre grateful to perform again,â you say. your voice is clear. steady. you practiced that too. you donât smile widely. you donât frown. you simply exist. to anyone watching casually, itâs normal. to anyone looking too closely, itâs different.
wonyoung laughs lightly at something eunchae says. sunghoon nods along. the energy between them flows smoothly â the practiced rhythm of coâhosts whoâve stood side by side for months now.
you stand just to sunghoonâs left. close enough that the cameras frame you together often. far enough that your shoulders never brush.
you keep your gaze forward when he speaks. you nod politely when he directs a question toward you. you donât lean in. you donât tease. you donât soften. and itâs not intentional, itâs just that your chest still feels slightly guarded, like if you relax even a little, something vulnerable might slip out.
âplease look forward to their stage!â wonyoung concludes brightly.
you bow again. when you straighten, your face is composed. almost too composed.
backstage, your members chatter lightly about the interview. âthat went smoothly,â kazuha says softly.
âyeah,â yunjin nods.
chaewon glances at you once, but you just give her a small nod.
the stage performance goes well. sharp, powerful, synchronized. when the broadcast ends and you finally get a moment alone in the waiting room, you collapse onto the couch with a small sigh.
eunchae is already scrolling through her phone. ââŠuh,â she murmurs.
yunjin leans over. âwhat?â
eunchae turns her screen slightly. âpeople are⊠talking.â
you donât need to ask what about. hashtags are already trending. clips from the interview are circulating online. slowâmotion edits of your expression when sunghoon spoke. screenshots zoomed into your face.
âwhy is she glaring?â âshe looks jealous.â âjust because your group didnât win last night doesnât mean you can be rude.â âwhy is she acting cold toward the mcs?â âso unprofessional.â âsheâs mad about sunghoon and wonyoung.â
you stare at the screen: your face in the paused video looks serious. too serious. your lips pressed in a straight line. your eyes focused forward. you donât look jealous, you look guarded, but the internet doesnât do nuance.
âpeople are ridiculous,â yunjin mutters.
chaewon gently takes the phone from eunchae. âdonât read too much,â she says quietly, but the damage is already done.
another clip circulates â you standing beside sunghoon while he reads from the cue card. the caption: âthe tension?? or is she just salty?â
you feel heat crawl up your neck. itâs absurd. you werenât glaring. you werenât trying to send a message. you were just⊠protecting yourself.
âhey,â sakura says softly, noticing your silence.
you shrug lightly. âitâs fine.â your voice is even. almost detached. but inside, though, something twists. not because strangers are being cruel, youâve dealt with that before. but because the narrative is being written again. without your permission.
you pick up your own phone slowly, against your better judgment. you open instagram, his latest post is still up. thousands of comments under the photo with wonyoung; âbest mc duo.â âvisual couple.â âthey match so well.â
your chest tightens again.
and nowâyour name is being dragged into it too; âshe was glaring at him lol.â âsheâs jealous.â âfocus on your group.â
âdonât let it get to you,â chaewon says gently, sitting beside you.
you nod. you wish it didnât. but itâs not just the comments. itâs the fact that you know heâll see them tooâand he wonât say anything, heâll stay neutral. professional. untouched. and youâll be the one painted dramatic for having a serious face on a 7âminute broadcast segment.
you lean back against the couch. you think about how careful you were. how controlled. how composed. and somehowâthat became evidence against you.
outside, staff call for your next schedule. you stand. smooth your outfit. lift your chin. youâve learned this part well; if they want serious, youâll be poised. if they want soft, youâll be gentle. if they want unbotheredâyouâll try.
but as you step back into the hallway lights, you canât help wondering how long you can keep pretending that none of it touches youâwhen clearly, it already does.
night settles over the dorm slowly, the kind of quiet that feels heavier after a long public day. the living room lights are dimmed, the hallway lamp left on low, the distant hum of the city leaking faintly through cracked windows. eunchae is laughing at something on her phone in her room, yunjinâs music plays softly through a closed door, sakuraâs voice murmurs from the kitchen while she makes tea, kazuhaâs footsteps pass once down the hallway and then fade. itâs normal. safe. livedâin. and yet your chest feels like itâs suspended in a different atmosphere entirely.
youâre lying on your bed, still in an oversized hoodie, hair loose around your shoulders, face bare from earlier. your room is dark except for the glow of your phone screen resting against your pillow. and there it is. that tiny, cruel word beneath your last message: read. hours ago â it shouldnât matter this much. itâs just a feature. just confirmation. just technology doing what it was built to do. but it feels personal. like a door you knocked on that someone opened, looked at you through, and then quietly shut again without answering. you replay your last text in your mind for the hundredth time. âi know. still.â it wasnât dramatic. it wasnât accusatory. it was soft. almost shy. and yet itâs been sitting there all day like an exposed nerve.
you flip your phone face down. pick it up again thirty seconds later. still nothing. you open instagram against your better judgment. more edits from music bank. slowâmotion zooms of your serious face. captions speculating about jealousy. your stomach tightens. you exit quickly and return to your messages. the read receipt glows back at you like itâs mocking your patience.
why doesnât he just say something? anything. even âbusy.â even âlater.â
the silence feels louder because you know heâs online. you saw his story update earlier. he posted rehearsal clips. a mirror selfie. nothing dramatic. nothing controversial. just normal. calm. composed. untouched by the narrative swirling around both of you.
you hug your pillow closer to your chest and stare at the ceiling. maybe this is your sign. maybe this is where you step back. maybe this is where you learn how to want less. your thumb hovers over the chat again. you type âignore what people are saying today.â you delete it. you type âare you okay?â delete. you type nothing.
the screen suddenly lights up in your hand. and your heart leaps so violently it almost hurts. his name. you freeze for half a second before opening it.
âlong day today.â thatâs the first message. âmusic bank was hectic.â is the second.
your chest tightens in confusion. heâs⊠talking. voluntarily. more than one sentence. your fingers tremble slightly as you type back.
âyeah. it was.â
âi saw the comments. donât pay attention to them.â itâs not warm. itâs not comforting. it reads more like instruction than concern. but itâs something. itâs engagement.
âiâm used to it,â you reply, trying to sound lighter than you feel.
then: âstill. itâs unnecessary.â you stare at the screen. today heâs more talkative, yes. but every sentence feels measured. clipped. like heâs carefully stepping around something invisible.
âyou looked serious,â he adds.
âwas i?â you type before you can stop yourself.
a longer pause this time. you can almost picture him somewhere else â maybe in his own dorm, sitting on the edge of his bed, phone in one hand, expression unreadable. âa little.â just that. not accusatory. not teasing. just observational.
you swallow. your fingers hover over the keyboard. you want to explain. you want to say âi was trying not to look at you too much. i was trying not to care too much. i was trying to keep it together.â
instead you type, âi was just tired.â
he replies quickly this time. âyou should rest more.â you stare at the message. something about it feels distant. practical. like advice youâd give a coworker.
âyou seemed fine,â you type carefully.
âitâs part of the job.â your chest tightens at that. part of the job. you canât tell if heâs talking about hosting. about smiling. about standing beside wonyoung. about all of it.
a minute passes. then another message appears. âdonât let it affect your performance.â it lands heavier than he probably intends. like he thinks your expression today was a crack in your professionalism. like he thinks your emotions are something that might spill over and damage things.
âi wonât,â you type back quickly.
âgood.â
good. it shouldnât hurt. itâs neutral. itâs fine. but it feels like a period at the end of something you werenât ready to finish.
you hesitate. then, carefully: âare you okay?â
thereâs a longer silence this time. you watch the screen. no typing indicator. you almost think heâs left again. thenâ âiâm fine.â another pause. âjust tired.â the same words you used earlier on live. the same shield.
you stare at the chat. you want him to say more. you want him to acknowledge the hallway. the photo. the tension. you want something unguarded. instead, another message comes. âget some sleep.â itâs softer than the others. but still distant. still slightly removed.
âgoodnight,â you type.
he replies after a few seconds. ânight.â
no emoji. no heart. no softness. but at least the read receipt is gone now, replaced by something tangible. words, even if they arenât the ones you wantedâyou lock your phone slowly and set it on your bedside table. the room feels quieter than before, but not as suffocating. he answered. he spoke. he wasnât silent.
you roll onto your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin. your chest still feels slightly hollow. because he talked, yes. more than usual. but every message felt like it was wrapped in careful distance. like he was present, but standing just out of reach. at least tonight youâre not staring at âread.â but somehow, the space between his words feels just as loud.
paris greets you with gray skies and a kind of quiet luxury that feels almost cinematic. the moment the plane lands, everything becomes choreography â security, stylists, managers, cars waiting outside. even the air smells expensive, like rain hitting stone and perfume trailing behind strangers in tailored coats.
you and wonyoung step out of the airport side by side, sunglasses on despite the clouds. cameras are already there. flashes start immediately. your name blends with hers in the crowd, shouted together like a single headline.
you smile automatically. you always do.
but the car ride to the hotel is quieter. your reflection in the tinted window looks composed â soft hair, minimal makeup, oversized sweater that looks effortless but was picked with intention. across from you, wonyoung scrolls through her phone, posture straight even when relaxed. she looks ethereal without trying.
you hate that a tiny part of you notices that. you hate even more that a tiny part of you compares.
itâs not her fault. you repeat that in your head like a mantra. she didnât create the edits pairing her with sunghoon. she didnât write the comments. she didnât ask people to analyze every glance on music bank like it was a scripted drama. she just stands there and does her job â the same way you do. still, when her name trends next to his, something in your chest tightens before you can stop it.
the hotel suite is flooded with natural light. racks of clothing line one wall, garment bags unzipped to reveal structured silhouettes, delicate fabrics, shimmering details. stylists move around you both in synchronized chaos. curling irons hiss. foundation brushes glide.
you sit in the makeup chair while someone adjusts your hair, fingers gentle at your scalp. in the mirror, you catch a glimpse of wonyoung across the room. her stylist fastens a necklace around her neck, brushing her collarbone lightly. she looks calm. practiced. perfect.
you look away quickly. the jealousy isnât loud. it doesnât scream. it whispers. it asks quiet questions like: does he text her differently? does he sound warmer? does he hesitate less? you push the thoughts down. this weekend is work. this brand chose both of you. this is about image, elegance, unity.
by the time the car pulls up to the venue that evening, the sky has darkened into deep blue. golden lights spill from the buildingâs entrance. photographers crowd behind barriers, shouting directions in french and english.
you step out first, then turn slightly so wonyoung can join you. your hands brush briefly as you align yourselves for photos. the contact is light. neutral. professional.
click click click.
you tilt your chin. she angles her shoulder. you both know exactly which side photographs best under flash. you lean slightly toward each other when instructed. you laugh softly when someone makes a comment about your height difference. itâs seamless.
front row is brighter than you expect. the runway glows in warm gold tones, reflecting off polished floors. you and wonyoung are guided to your seats â center, perfectly placed for cameras. knees angled in the same direction. backs straight. ankles crossed elegantly. your shoulders nearly touch.
the show begins with a deep bass that vibrates faintly through your heels. models glide past like living art. the fabrics catch the light in slow motion. you clap at the right moments. you lean toward her once to murmur something safe about the tailoring. she nods, lips curved in a subtle smile.
from the outside, you look harmonious. effortless. inside, youâre hyperaware of every inch of space between you â you wonder if she ever feels the same quiet comparison you do. you wonder if sheâs ever scrolled through edits and felt reduced to half of a narrative. you wonder if she notices how fans pit you against each other without even meaning to.
between looks, the lighting softens slightly. cameras pivot toward the runway as a transition begins. for once, no one is shouting your names.
wonyoung shifts closer. not dramatically. just enough that you feel her presence more clearly. âyou look really beautiful tonight.â her voice is gentle. not the sparkling, broadcast version she uses on stage. this is lower. steadier.
you smile automatically. âyou too. obviously.â reflex. defense. safe.
she shakes her head faintly. a strand of her hair slips over her shoulder. âno,â she says quietly. âi mean it. you are beautiful.â
you turn to look at her fully this time. her expression isnât posed. her eyes arenât scanning for lenses. theyâre focused only on you.
âthe dress suits you,â she continues. âand your makeup. itâs softer than usual.â she pauses, studying your face for a second. âyou look⊠comfortable.â
the word catches you off guard. comfortable. you almost laugh because you donât feel comfortable at all. you feel stretched thin between expectations and unspoken feelings. âdo i?â you ask lightly.
âyeah,â she says. âyou usually look strong. like youâre holding everything perfectly in place.â her lips curve into a small, private smile. âtonight you look softer. itâs nice.â
for a second you assume this is strategy. image building. supportiveâambassador narrative. but no cameras are pointed at your faces right now. the runway commands attention. no one is recording this angle.
her voice lowers further. âdonât let people make you shrink.â she doesnât say sunghoonâs name. she doesnât mention edits or comments or music bank. but the meaning threads quietly between you.
you search her expression for competitiveness. for superiority. for anything sharp. but thereâs none. instead thereâs something almost protective.
âiâm fine,â you reply softly, but it comes out thinner than you intend.
wonyoungâs gaze doesnât waver. âi know you are,â she says. âi just know how loud people can be.â
your heart pounds once, heavy. does she read them too? does she see the comparisons? does she see your name next to his the same way you see hers?
âitâs not your fault,â you blurt before thinking.
she tilts her head slightly. âwhat isnât?â
you hesitate. âany of it.â
her expression softens even more. âi know,â she says gently. âand itâs not yours either.â
the music swells again as the next model steps onto the runway. applause rises. instinctively, both of you straighten. ambassador mode slides back into place like muscle memory. cameras swing toward the front row. you pose. she mirrors you. your smiles return, dazzling and composed.
but something inside you has shifted. the jealousy that had been sitting quietly in your chest all weekend doesnât flare under her kindness. it doesnât sharpen. it loosens. because she isnât your competition. sheâs just standing beside you in the same storm.
when the show ends and everyone stands for final photos, the crowd surges forward again. flashes erupt. someone yells for you both to pose together one last time.
this time, when your hands link, it isnât because someone instructed it. it isnât calculated. itâs steady. natural. your fingers curl around hers briefly, and she squeezes back â small, grounding.
for the first time since sunghoonâs name became something that hovered awkwardly between headlines, standing next to wonyoung doesnât feel like standing next to a rival. it feels like standing next to someone who chose softness instead of distance. and under the bright paris lights, that kindness feels brighter than any flash.
the hotel room is quiet in a way only luxury suites can be â thick curtains drawn halfway over the tall windows, the faint golden glow of paris filtering through the gaps. somewhere far below, traffic hums softly. inside, everything feels plush. muted carpet under your bare feet. the faint scent of fresh linens and expensive shampoo lingering in the air.
you and wonyoung ended up sharing the suite because of scheduling â two ambassadors, one floor, easier security. it made sense logistically. but emotionally? you didnât think that far.
the bathroom door opens first. steam rolls out slowly, warm against your skin. wonyoung steps into the room in a white hotel robe, hair damp and falling over her shoulders, skin glowing from the shower. she looks unreal in the most unfair way â freshâfaced, comfortable, completely at ease in her own space. âiâm going to take a few pictures before i sleep,â she says casually, already reaching for her phone.
you nod quickly. âokay.â youâre sitting on the edge of your bed in an oversized tâshirt and soft shorts, knees tucked slightly inward without meaning to. suddenly youâre hyperaware of everything â your bare legs, your damp hair frizzing slightly at the ends, the way your collarbone looks under the room lighting. you werenât thinking about it two seconds ago. now it feels like a spotlight is on you.
wonyoung stands near the window where the light hits best. she tilts her phone, checks the angle, adjusts the robe slightly so it sits perfectly on her shoulders. itâs not forced. sheâs done this a hundred times. she knows exactly which side catches the glow, exactly how to lift her chin so it looks effortless.
click. she checks the photo. click again.
you pretend to scroll on your phone but youâre not reading anything. your heart feels strangely loud in your chest. not jealous this time â just⊠small. itâs ridiculous. youâve posed in front of thousands of cameras. youâve stood on stages with blinding lights. youâve worn outfits far more revealing than a simple oversized shirt. and yet here, in this quiet room, watching her move confidently in nothing but a robe, you feel shy. timid. like you donât quite know where to put your eyes.
âthe lighting here is really pretty,â she says, almost to herself.
you glance up. she catches you looking and smiles softly. not teasing. just warm.
âdo you want some too?â she asks.
you blink. âwhat?â
âpictures. the light looks good on you right now.â
your brain shortâcircuits. âiâ no, itâs okay,â you say too quickly. âi look messy.â
she lowers her phone slightly. studies you. âyou donât,â she replies simply.
you shrug, hugging your arms around yourself unconsciously. âi just got out of the shower.â
âso did i.â
that makes you laugh under your breath.
she walks a little closer, still holding her phone but no longer in photoâmode energy. her tone shifts â softer, like earlier at the show. âyou always get shy off-stage,â she says gently.
you look down at your hands. âi donât.â
âyou do,â she insists, but thereâs no edge to it. âon stage youâre confident. here you hide.â and that hits more accurately than youâd like.
âitâs different,â you mumble.
she tilts her head. âhow?â
you hesitate. it feels stupid to say it out loud. âbecause thereâs no concept here. no styling. no⊠performance.â your voice gets quieter. âitâs just me.â
thereâs a small pause. wonyoung steps closer to the bed, sitting lightly at the edge across from you. the mattress dips slightly. âthatâs not a bad thing,â she says.
you let out a tiny breath. âit doesnât feel as polished.â
she looks at you â really looks at you â damp hair, oversized shirt, bare face, slightly nervous hands. âit feels real,â she lifts her phone again but doesnât immediately take a picture. instead she adjusts the angle gently, careful, almost hesitant. âcan i?â she asks quietly. and the fact that she asks makes something in your chest loosen.
she doesnât make you stand. doesnât reposition you dramatically. she just captures you as you are â sitting crossâlegged on the bed, hair still damp, light brushing your cheek.
click.
she checks the screen. a small smile spreads across her face. not the dazzling public one. the private one. âsee?â she says, turning the phone toward you; the photo doesnât look messy. it doesnât look awkward. you look soft. warm. your eyes slightly reflective under the low light. like someone caught in a quiet moment.
âthatâs⊠not bad,â you admit softly.
âitâs more than not bad.â she hesitates just a fraction before speaking again. âyou donât have to compete with anyone in a room like this.â
your breath stills. she doesnât say his name. she doesnât have to.
the room feels warmer suddenly, quieter. you swallow. âiâm not competing.â
âi know,â she says gently. âbut sometimes you act like you are.â thereâs no accusation in it. just observation.
you look down at your lap. âi donât mean to.â
âi donât think you do.â
a silence settles between you â not awkward, just thoughtful. outside, paris lights flicker through the curtains. after a moment, she nudges your knee lightly with hers. âcome here. i know our relationship isnât the best, iâm aware of that. but we canât let our personal problems interfere with work because that would only bring more problems. we need to strengthen our sisterhood, donât we?â
