#kcriture

In this meticulously decorated castle, where pastels and muted colors swirl like watered down oatmeal, you reigned. You stood out in your lavender dress. My Persephone in the flesh. Statuesque and sharp, like an icicle menacingly hovering over heads, waiting for the perfect moment to come down with unflinching precision.

I ride with the wave of the crowd, as they all dance for you. I join, catching swift glimpses of you, then hiding behind my partner's frame as your dark eyes scan the party - sensing something adrift but seeing nothing past the expected.

Your right hand is gloved, unlike the other, in a beautiful lace color that matches your dress. A ribbon is tied at the wrist, a little dragon charm dangling from the satin as you lift a champagne flute to your blood-red lips.

All that whimsy reduced to mundaneness, yet I still see traces of you deep within this hardened exterior.

At your side, in a common tuxedo with no inkling of individuality, is your 'fiance' . He's handsome in the traditional sense, his eyes carry that ease that comes with being born into a trust fund. He cackles with his friends, as they heckle him from beneath the high table perched on a stage.

Ha. How you hated being the center of attention, and now not an eye can tear itself from you - the brightest of moons.

But I see the distaste. You hate this spectacle as much as you hated being in the light I forced you into. You smile, but there's a hardness in your eyes. Only the people that have seen your brilliant smile, can see that this is no smile at all.

Word of my arrival spreads like wildfire. People start flocking toward me, and it seems I can't fly under the radar any longer. I take in one last look at the masked placidity in your face and brace for the beautiful retribution of your attention.

It comes when I'm catching up with all the people that once made your life a living hell. How quickly their loyalties changed when they found out who you were.

"I thought you were still enlisted?"

"Aren't you supposed to be in Singapore?"

"What about the World Tour?"

I plaster a smile of contempt as the questions come. They're all vultures, and I didn't come to explain myself to them.

A voice - your voice - rings like the beautiful yet ominous chimes of a church bell. I have half a mind to fall to my knees in reverence.

"Jiyong, is that you?"

I look toward the heavens as if that's where I'd find you, then turn, slowly, fully knowing that your gaze has the power to turn me to stone.

It's been years since I've seen you in the flesh. I feel the weight of destiny, of something cosmic in the distance bringing me back to you. Like a red string pulling me to you. Or the way a child makes his way back home after frightful moments of being lost in the world.

Our eyes meet, electrifying and foreboding, I almost shiver at the impact you still have on me. I half-hoped I'd imagined the power you hold - the power I've laid at your feet. For a moment, all the words I imagined saying tumble one after the other, catching in my throat.

You don't have that problem. You are as devastating, and quick, as I remember.

"What are you doing here?" Your tone, accusatory - perhaps reverting to the distrust I've earned in many ways but one.

I recover from your appearance, but my hand tremors at my side with the aftershock. It wants to reach out, caress the softness of your cheek, the cupid bow of your lips.

But I haven't touched you in years. And you are disciplined in your habits, and the habit of hating me has become a pattern you'll revert to. How can I compete with that kind of willpower?

"I was invited," I manage.

You tilt your head, like a cobra sizing up her meal. "You were not," you say, bluntly.

I feel a spike of adrenaline rush through me. Your ruthlessness has always flustered me.

I act unaffected. "Hm. I imagined my invitation was lost in transit."

"It wasn't. But I'm not surprised. You always did have a habit of overstepping."

You do that not-smile again. It burns me. I hate to have you perform in front of me. But it seems that's your style now. You're a contradiction of everything you once stood for.

"I only care that there's an uninvited guest at my engagement party." You brush a curl away from your face, with the simple intent of revealing the diamond twinkling on your left hand.

Vile rises up my throat, but I return that blasphemous smile laced with all the sins of my past. If you want to go low, I'll see you in hell.

I chuckle darkly. "But a guest, all the same."

In a swift moment, playing entirely on shock and lack of reflex, I slip the ring off your finger.

Your eyes widen - from predator to prey. A doe, unable to do anything but watch as the headlights race forward.

The diamond ring twinkles in my fingers. I'll make sure to wash my hands with bleach after touching this dark artifact.

"I would have gotten you something bigger," I say - it's cruel but honest.

Your nostrils flare. "It was his grandmother's."

"It's small."

"It's special," you defend.

"It's not enough." I growl, with a bit more ferocity than I intended.

How dare you defend him to me? How can you not see that what you're doing is beneath you? Business marriages are for those who have lost all faith in souls, in passion, and the unpredictable beauty of human emotion.

I'd understand it from someone who had never experienced a soul-altering connection. They didn't know any better, they didn't know what wonders waited outside the rigid lines of conformity.

But you.

You knew better.

"Jiyong, my ring." You command.

And for a second, I fold at your will. The initial reaction to relent to your every wish is etched into my being but I fight against it.

"You are not yourself." I accuse, and I make sure to leave every bit of venom I could fathom in those four words.

A flicker of something flashes in your eyes. But it is fleeting, and I wonder if I've imagined it.

You strike at me again, by now a few eyes have started to take in our interaction. Your eyes are pleading, but I won't give in to you. Not yet.

I catch your wrist, and pull you to me. Our chests touch and I'm lightheaded by the proximity to you but I push past the intoxicating feeling.

The dragon charm dangles from your glove. "This is you," I say, shaking your hand.

Your eyes widen, the points of your lashes puncture your darkened eyebrows.

"This?" I hover the diamond ring between us. "Is not."

The music has stopped playing, or maybe the whole world has gone silent for this. I can't stand the sight of you, not like this. I know the woman I know is in there, but this new side to you is alien to me. It saps me of hope. Of desire. I need a minute before this version of you bleeds me of all the good intentions I came here with.

"Jiyong," you half-whisper, half-scream. Everyone is staring, and this time its your persona you're protecting.

I let go of your hand, and take step back. I need to go. I slip the ring into my pocket. Is there any place in this godforsaken place I can go to collect myself?

I leave you to your guests. My eyes flash towards your fiancee, his eyes are cold as they follow me. But they return to the young woman next to him, he's been talking to in your absence.

Yeah, asshole. Mind your business.

I catch sight of a velvet staircase leading to the second floor. I walk toward it, feeling the intensity of your gaze drilling holes in the back of my head. That's all you can do for now. You won't risk letting wandering eyes see how much I've unsettled you.

The porcelain is cracking.

I smile.

You still exist under that hardness. But I'm not here to fracture. I'm here to break that shell you're hiding in.

To melt porcelain with fire.

MIA (2026)

The music comes back as Jiyong disappears up the staircase.

And below, in the ruins of our little performance, I am left to hold the tension he's created. Every eye in the room has moved on.

I feel the echo of him everywhere. I flex my hand at my side; his touch still lingers on my wrist.

I wander back to the enclosure, to the high table where my fiance waits for me, his gaze pointed and chastising.

I remind myself that a life built on feelings is like a house built on sand; collapsible, easily crushed. But a life fixed on vision and strategy, untouched by childish whims - that is stone.

And stone does not bend to passing shadows.

I say this to myself over and over again. A soft mantra to keep myself from spiraling.

I remind myself of the years I watched my dreams kicked apart. How I was trampled over for having feelings.

That girl needs to die. Now. Here. There's no place in this world for her.

A new life demands a death to keep the balance. Not the burial of a corpse, but a burial of a self and all of the ideologies it carried and identified itself with.

To some, this is a celebration.

To me - it's a vigil.

The grand room reflects all of that. The flowers look like funeral wreaths, the suits are as stiff as mourning garb, old women dab at their faces with monogrammed handkerchiefs.

And above it all, perched on an altar looms of a portrait of the one being laid to rest.

I sit in the center of all this, ramrod straight, with a practiced Mona Lisa expression. Cameras flash endlessly.

At my side, my fiance Mino, pins my hand under his to keep me close. I've wandered too far for his liking.

We pose as the picturesque couple. Everyone wants to know who claimed the country's most coveted bachelor. They want the winning shot of the working-class girl turned heiress and the Prince of Entertainment.

My name will be dragged through the mud.

The thought is not meant to be pessimistic but pragmatic.

The sky is blue. The media will defile.

i can't control that. But what I can control is the image I project. And until the dreaded lenses find their shot, I will smile and then when they scatter back to their hovels, I'll drop the act.

The weight of my ring - or rather, its absence - weighs heavier than ever. Every figure that passes, makes me tense. I see him everywhere and nowhere at once.

i tell myself that its absurd to be affected by his return. I knew I'd see him again, but I didn't expect it to be so soon or here.

My pulse betrays me. i hope Mino doesn't feel the way it rattles through me. But the memory of him, the amber blaze in his eyes and the hardly contained nature of our meeting. . . it envelops me entirely.

I sit here, like the most lifelike ornament. Disassociating. Like grains of sand blown by a gentle breath, my memories scatter - dying flashbacks, moment after moment, each one devouring the last, marching towards an endgame I couldn't defend against.

I float back to a time I loved sandcastles more than concrete fixtures.

Back to the time of Kwon Jiyong.

His image radiates intensity; dark eye make up, piercing gaze, striking white hair. Even in a poster, he's intimidating.

He's the gatekeeper. The epitome of success. The ultimate standard in the entertainment business.

The thought of him makes my heart flip. He's one of my favorites.

I've followed his career, his interviews, his game show apperances — finding happiness and belonging even from behind a screen. His gummy smile and poetic lyrics were my lifeline.

I walk into K.M - into his world.

Not his immediate orbit, but in the legal department. Protecting him alongside all the other idols.

Inside, marble pillars lift the vaulted ceilings ten floors above. Sunlight filters through glass walls, landing on people like divine favor. The world's most talented arists pass like normal humans at work.

This is their temple.

Footsteps and hurried voices, pass me by. The scent of refined perfume and hair products washes over me. I hope my cheap detergent masks the smell of the subway.

Suddenly, I'm herded into a cluster of new hires. They know each other, heckling, snapping not so discreet photots with the idols in the background.

A young man in a tailored suit looks down his nose at me. "Do you know her?"

A girl with eyes the size of softballs shakes her head. "No, I vaguely remember seeing her come out of the subway station."

"No use getting to know her, then."

"Ben, that's so mean." She reprimands, swatting his arm.

"It's not mean. It's smart. Listen, Hana. My uncle's been working here for the last twenty years and he gave me this piece of advice." Ben leans towards Hana as if whispering confidential information.

"K.M Entertainment is for the beautiful, talented, and rich. If you are one of those things - you're mocked. Two - you're tolerated. If you're all three? You're respected. And Ms.Bricks-For-Boots over there, is a six at best. Rich? She uses public transit. Even if she is talented, she's only one out of the three. And so, we must. . . ?"

"Mock her?" Hana answers, unsurely.

"Precisely. We're going to have to kiss a lot of asses. That's non-negotiable, sadly. So, don't go wasting time on people that can't do anything for you."

I swallow the blow and look at my Doc Martens. My pants are unhemmed, and fit me a little long. The extra platform kept them from mopping the floors.

A lanky man, Yuta, pulls my attention away from my clothes.

"New hires. Come get your lanyard when you hear your name called." He calls us one by one.

Ben. Luca. Chen. Kai. Hana. Mia.

I approach the man who'd identified himself as the head of H.R.

Once branded as official K.M employees, Yuta steers us towards the elevators.

"Lawyers from entertainment, corporate, intellectual property, litigation, and labor will recruit one of you. Only five positions are avaiable and there are six of you. One of you will be let go — or maybe you'll get lucky and be offered a job as a secretary."

Ben leans toward Hana. "I put money on Frankenstein being the new receptionist."

Hana's earring catches the light of the elevator as she turns to look back at me. "Secretary's are usually pretty. You said it yourself. She's a six at best."

I pretend not to hear. But I always do.

"Hopefully, Vivienne Shin chooses me." Hana wishes outloud.

I stiffen.

Even Kai, the pretty boy with piercings all over his left ear, freezes. "Vivienne Shin never takes in-house paralegals. She only hires from outside the country. Besides, you don't want to be her paralegal. She cleans house ever year. Everyone is incompetent to her."

"Do you blame her?" Hana says, only mildly annoyed. "She practically runs K.M."

"Not practically." Yuta says. He was so quiet I'd almost forgotten he was in the elevator with us. "She runs the show. Nothing happens in this building without Vivienne Shin's authorization. And, she is hiring in-house. I guaranteed her the best candidates to choose from."

Yuta levels us all with a gaze that's half scrutinzing, half-hopeful. "You'll all be competing with each other."

The elevator doors open on the 17th floor.

The air is colder here, laced with the smell of fresh ink and coffee. The four department heads wait for us outside; I.P, litigation, labor, and corporate.

My heart stutters.

Where's the head of entertainment?

The paralegals bow.

"Uncle!" Ben yells at a man in a terrible toupee.

The other candidates greet familiar faces.

It feels like I'm a plus one at a party I wasn't invited to. A flicker of imposter syndrome starts to fester in my chest.

Yuta keeps the elevator doors open for me.

He smiles at me, but his eyes remain hard and almost pitiful. As if he can sense my confidence crumbling. "Welcome to K.M Entertainment, Mia."

His tone isn't congratulatory. It carries a warning, a sad reveal like I've been led to the mountaintop, not as another worshiper, but as the sacrifice.

I see it in his eyes, in the way they flicker with doubt. Like Ben and Hana, and maybe my other coworkers, he doesn't think I'll make it here.

The cold assessment stuns me for a moment - and then it refines into focus.

Wheat is still wheat. Even if others think its grass.

Ben's Uncle introduced himself as Mr. Lee. Head of Intellectual Property,

If we go by Ben's Laws of K.M. He was talented and rich. Which meant he was tolerated.

But after mere seconds with him , it was clear that the man was intolerable.

"Speak only when spoken to. You know nothing. You say nothing. Otherwise, the hot dog stand in the courtyard is hiring."

Mr. Lee hands Hana a stack of papers and instructs her to pass them out.

"The issue we're facing is the delay or failed release of an album. The idol, Sunni, has a contract with her old label that is blocking us from being able to move forward. Apparently, the timing of the released album would allow the old company royalties for K.M's work."

Ben crumbles up my papers before giving it to me, smirking. "Here you go, Frankenstein."

I feel the pulse of my blood hammering in my ears but I won't make a spectacle of myself. "Thank you."

"We need to find a way out of this contract." Mr.Lee walks across the other paralegals and stands in front of me, staring at me with those beady little eyes "In this company we refuse to give handouts."

Behiind him, his nephew smirks at me.

I hold Mr.Lee's eyes, perhaps for a longer time than respectful. My skin was thick, but these little digs were starting to irritate me.

Mr. Lee eyes me up and down and then spins on his tiny loafers. "Now, everyone follow me. I'll give you a tour of the legal floor."

"Except you, Frankenstein, was it?" He laughs, over his shoulder.

Ben nods, and his uncle simply clasps him on the shoulder as if to say you little rascal. "Go get me a latte and a brownie from the cafeteria."

A sense of dread is beginning to replace the whimsical wonder I started out with. I expected some turbulence but this was turning into something more. . .

I'm hoping that it will be a quick little detour. But the line at the cafe stretches dozens of people.

I take my place at the end.

There's a sign that says free for idols and executives. There's a price attached for anyone who isn't that.

Do I even have money on me? My last check from the hotel won't be deposited until tomorrow and I just covered rent for my family's apartment.

I take my wallet out and peek at the last bit of cash I have on me. It's . . .enough.

If I have to wait then, I might as well read the papers Mr.Lee gave us.

By the time I make it to the front of the line. I've read the contract twice.

"Hi. How are you?" I say, automatically.

The barista tells me she's well and asks me what she can get for me. "A latte and a brownie, please."

The pastry's behind the glass range from scones to a particular ube bun I wish I could buy right now. But I only have enough for Mr. Lee's order.

She types my order in, "Anything else?"

"No, thank you." I say, remorsefully and hand her cash.

She bags the brownie for me. "I'll have your drink right out."

I thank her and return to reading the contract.

A commotion to my left, pulls me out of my reading.

"No, no. You go first. Go." Someone says.

A figure dressed in jeans and a long black sleeve, steps up to the register next to the one I'm at. The confidence in his steps, the graceful movements of his shoulders, and the refined side profile. . .

The earth seems to stop mid orbit.

One second, I'm in the cafeteria. The next, I'm at a concert - and my favorite idol has just taken the stage.

G-Dragon in the flesh.

A silver knife earring dangles from his ears, as he bows his head at the barista. "A brownie, please."

"Yes, yes. Of course!" The barista, a pretty young girl, wheezes. I wonder how many times they've seen him. I don't think I could ever not freak out at the sight of him.

The barista reaches for a brownie inside of the display, and stills when her tongs find nothing. She damn near shoves her entire upperhalf into the display.

"Let me look in the back."

"Oh, don't worry about - " GD starts saying, but the barista doesn't let him finish his sentence. She's darted out of sight.

My barista walks back with Mr.Lee's latte and is intercepted by the barista handling G-Dragon's order.

"Do we have any more brownies?" She half-whispers, half-screams.

"No. I just sold the last one." The other replies, calmly. Her eyes widening when she sees who its for.

The barista's face drops to the floor. She mopes back to the register. "I'm so sorry. We don't have anymore brownies."

G-Dragon smiles, waving her off. "I'll just have a cortado, then."

My barista places the latte in front of me. "Here's your drink. Thank you for watiing."

I steal one last look at the person next to me. I couldn't be more shocked if someone had flashed me.

Here's the person I've fantasized and idolized for most of my life. A part of me wants to say hi, to tell him that I can't begin to express how grateful I am for all that he has done.

But there's a sadness radiating off of him, as he looks out into the distance. There are circles under his eyes, his lips drag down ever so slightly.

He's tired. I imagine how many interactions he has on a daily basis. It must be so exhausting.

"He can have mine," I whisper to the barista, setting the paper bag down.

She opens her mouth, her frown already letting me know that she's going to insist I take the brownie I paid for.

I utter a quick thank you and head back to the elevators.

G-Dragon had meant so much to me. Being able to do something for him, however small, felt like the victory I needed. And if I had to feel Mr.Lee's wrath as a consequence, I'd handle it with with a satisfied smile.

JIYONG

I remember that day too clearly.

It was the first day back at K.M after my world tour.

Chains or more specifically — contracts, dragged me back.

But I wasn't the only one who had returned.

"She's back." I said.

Seunghyun looked up from his book - a collection of Yoshimoto Nara's artwork. He'd been particularly obsessed with the artist at the time.

He would've waved me off and returned back to his book if I had said anything else. But he heard the rasp in my throat, the undeniable hatred laced in my voice - the fear. He crossed the studio, and handed me a glass of water.

I smiled in thanks, but it came out as a twitch.

Seunghyun started breathing deeply beside me, a silent reminder for me to breath.

"You know why she's here." I chuckled humourlessly. "She's here to remind me that I'm under her thumb. That I'm a puppet on her string and I go only as far as her leash allows."

Seunghyun put a hand on my shoulder to keep me from spiraling. He played the role of a doting mother at the time. He knew I was hardly keeping it together.

Vivienne Shin had held a contract over my head, and wielded it like an axe whenever I strayed from the persona she authorized.

"She's hell-bent on ruining my life. I wonder what new torment she has planned for me." After years of her manipulations and foul plays that I couldn't defend against, there was a minimal comfort in just expecting it.

"Don't pay bills before they're due, Jiyong." Seunghyun said.

I couldn't sympathize with his statement. He'd been saying it for weeks.

The sad reality was that things were always due, As much as I tried to stay ahead, I was always ten steps behind. There was always something waiting for my attention. There was always something new for me to overcome. There was no rest for me.

The phone rang.

I buried my head in my hands. I felt chains begin to tug at me.

Seunghyun answered the phone for me. He didn't have to say anything. I already knew who called. Who was summoning me.

"She wants to see you."

"She's going to have to wait." I barked back, I needed a minute to compose myself. "I'll be back."

The cafeteria was brimming with people. I kept my head down, shoving my beanie down to hide my white hair. I wanted to blend in but my stylists were instructed to always have me in the most eye-catching colors.

As I walk to the back of the line, someone recognizes me.

"No. No. You go first." A newer idol, Jooyoung, insisted. I appreciated the fact that he hadn't screamed my name. I didn't argue with him out of fear of being recognized and hounded.

I worked here but it was just like the outside world. Just in closer quarters. Less places to hide.

"One brownie, please."

It appeared to be one of those days where nothing was going to go my way. I hated being so pessimistic but with Vivienne Shin around, everything felt like an omen of something terrible about to happen.

Chocolate had always been comforting to me. As a trainee, when I didn't have enough money to eat sometimes I'd shove a cheap chocolate came from the convenience store into a microwave and call it my dinner.

But I couldn't even count on that little semblance of comfort that day.

The barista didn't have anymore brownies. "I'll just have a cortado, then."

I thanked her for the drink.

As I turned to leave, "Wait! That girl just left you her brownie."

Huh?

I followed the barista's finger. It pointed at a girl dressed in all black, quickly making her way towards the elevators.

I noted the big platform boots.

A kind gesture from a stranger.

I needed it then, more than ever.

_______________________________________________________

The elevator doors opened the seventeenth floor — legal.

Every other floor at K.M had a hint of freedom- an illusion, perhaps. But on the legal floor everything was ironclad, sterile, and devoid of human emotion. If souls were expressed on the other floors, this was the floor where souls came to be packaged and sold for consumption.

I fixed my cuffs, and ran my fingers through my hair. The distress of being here, of seeing her, made my skin crawl. I cracked my neck, playing calm and detached. I couldn't let anyone see that I was coming undone.

I had to play the part of the poised idol. Act as if whatever was decided was my choice too. Even though I knew it wasn't true.

Vivienne Shin wasn't in her office.

Arthur Lee's pompous voice carried down the hall, peaking my attention.

"This was something a three year old could have done. A latte and a goddamn brownie. Was that so hard to get?"

"No, sir. I'm very sorry. The cafeteria was all out." A woman's voice said, monotonously.

"Did I not say not to speak to me unless spoken to?" Lee's voice pitches.

"But you're speaking to me, sir." The girl reminds.

"Hold your tongue, girl!" I craned my head to make out who he was talking to.

All I could see was Lee's round body stuffed into a suit two sizes too small for him.

"I read your file. Glowing recommendations from your professors and it didn't escape me that all of them were men. A favorite for them, indeed."

The comment was disgusting. It rattled me to the core, made me move towards the interaction. No one deserved to be spoken to like that least of all over a stupid brownie.

Before, I could get to Lee he disappeared inside the conference room and the girl, along with him. Still, I could not make out who she was. But I did manage to see the same boots that had been walking out of the cafeteria.

Vivienne was nowhere in sight, so I decided to peek inside of the ongoing meeting and see what the legal leeches were up to.

"We're in a position to either abandon the project or give royalties to a company." Lee said. "And I for one don't plan on just giving away free money."

"Tell me, Lee." Vivienne Shin's voice makes me freeze in place. "Have you read the contract?"

"Of course," Lee stammered.

"And abandoning the project is your professional opinion?"

"I-"

"Is there anyone in this room with the rare gift of reading? Being able to read is still a requirement for a job in legal, correct?"

Vivienne Shin has the power of belittling anyone she comes across. It wasn't surprising to see how she made children out of the company's most important executives.

"Idiots," She muttered. To me, her voice had. several different tones. Like a demon, that had the souls they stole trapped within them.

From the position in the doorway, I could only see half of the room. I had a clear view of Lee and some other executives, and Sunni. She was a new idol I had discovered.

"If we keep getting hurdles like this. I think we should just stop all works with Sunni until her contract is done and we don't have any legal issues like this. We're wasting time and money. All to what? Give it to this second rate company?"

The look on that poor girl's face crushed me. The hopelessness that her life, her dreams were being discussed and she had no say. No power over any of it.

"I vote that we put Sunni's projects on hold until we can figure this out."

Vivienne sighed. "Is this everyone's choice?"

Tears pooled in Sunni's eyes. The girl that always smiled, that always looked at the positive, couldn't seem to find anything to hold on to. The execs all signed a paper agreeing to halt all her projects. Her debut stalled.

Lee patted himself down for a pen.

A pen was kicked towards Lee's chair. It had a bright post-it folded in between the clip.

A black boot lunged forward, it belonged to a girl with dark curls pinned to the top of her head. She picked up the pen and handed it to Lee.

Lee glared at her, as if she had just spit on his shoes.

But upon seeing the note, he lifted his black folder and discreetly opened it.

"Lee, we're waiting on you." Vivienne hissed, impatiently.

"Wait! Clause 3.4. A loophole. Instead of giving them a constant percentage. We just pay them out — all at once. It's free money, like I said." He sends a discreet look of contempt towards the wall, where apparently people were standing. I could not see them. "But at least we won't be constantly paying them. We'll be able to meet the deadline and the returns on the album will be more than enough to cover the money given to that second rate label."

Sunni's eyes lit up again, as if the life had been knocked back into her.

"Hm. At least someone in this room shows promise." This was the highest praise coming from Vivienne, but I saw that the praise wasn't meant for Lee. It was meant for the girl in black boots.

Her second act of kindness.

MIA

Vivienne Shin, my idol -my role model - is ignoring me. I let the childish expression that bloomed when I saw her drop once I realize that in this environment I’m not going to get the same person I had when I was a kid. 

She doesn’t look up from her desk. A span of papers arc around her, all requiring her signature. Without missing a beat, she grabs a paper and holds it up.

We all flinch, wanting to reach for the paper but also not knowing who she was handing it to. 

“Anyone?” 

Ben shoots his hand out, taking the paper before anyone can take a step forward. I bristle at his long limbs. He looks like a praying mantis. 

Vivienne signs another paper, and lifts it up. Another paralegal grabs it. 

“One of you will be my paralegal.” She says, signing and passing papers. “But I won’t be stuck with someone that can't do their job. You all have copies of a contract that I need signed. The signature I need is the most difficult one to get. If you can get me his signature, you are automatically part of my team. "

I’m the last to reach for the paper. 

Vivienne holds the end, and finally her eyes flicker up. Her acknowledgement isn’t the grand misty eyed embrace I was expecting and hoping for, but there’s a sparkle in her eye, a little twinkle of joy and recognition that warms me like no hug ever could.

Vivienne Shin is rooting for me. 

She dismisses us with a wave, returning to her paperwork. The paralegals walk out into the hallway and we skim through the pages we were given. 

Which idol are we supposed to hound? 

My eyes find the name before anyone else. 

Kwon Jiyong. Stage name: G-Dragon. 

______________________

The mental gymnastics happening in my head outside of Jiyong’s studio is olympic. I jump from plan to plan.

This feels like a hazing.

I hold the contract to my chest like it’s a shield. But it's more like a target.

There’s no other way around it. If I want to be an entertainment paralegal, I’m going to have to get past the dragon at its gates. 

I knock on the door. 

Silence. 

After a lack of response on the other side, I lift my hand to knock again. Someone shoves me aside with brute strength. 

I tumble but catch myself on the wall.

I'm not surprised to see that it was Ben who had shoved me.

He looks at me from above his button nose.

Then knocks an absurd tune on the door. 

Ben's tight blazer might be cutting off his circulation because only someone with a lack of oxygen to the brain, would even think of opening a studio door without a clear invitation. 

Maybe, being shoved to the side was an act of kindness. At least, I won't be caught in the crossfire.  If anything, I'm not far enough. 

The door opens. Ben walks in with a painful, "Hellloo!" 

Music stops, like a vinyl abruptly stopped mid spin. 

Jiyong's voice was low, menacing, an inhumane growl. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" 

My heart stutters in my chest. The weight of his words and the intense glare that my stupid, idiotic, brainless coworker is feeling burns me even from outside the studio.

"Did you hear me? Who do you think you are coming in without permission?" 

There was a silence, a sickening lack of noise that made me cringe. I'd prefer the sound of nails on a chalkboard. 

"I-I'm sorry. I just need your signature-"

"And I - need you to disappear." Jiyong hisses. "Now." 

"But Vivienne needs you to sign this." Ben stammers, voice small and uncertain. 

Jiyong doesn't let up. If Ben thinks that acting weak and small will work on G-Dragon, he's got another thing coming. 

"You think, I work around what you or any other legal parasite wants? Not only are you new but you're also stupid. What's your name?" 

"Benjamin Lee." 

"I better not see you around here again. Because if I do, I'll make sure it's the last time." 

I can hear Ben swallow hard, even from the hallway. 

I swallow too -- with the relief of dodging a bullet that was meant for me. 

"Do you understand me?" Jiyong says, slowly as if speaking to a child. 

"Y-yes." 

"Then why are you still here?" He says in a deathly whisper that sends goosebumps up my arms.

Ben runs out of the studio, swinging the door closed behind him, breathing raggedly as he leans against it.

After a couple of deep breaths, and a look of sheer terror on his face he realizes that I'm still here. 

His face changes, but I've already seen everything he did not want me to. A look of contempt and hatred soils his face, and I have a strange feeling that he might be capable of hitting me with the folder in his hands. He has that violent vibe to him.

I straighten, refusing to cower to him. 

He thinks twice about whatever he wanted to do, and instead walks by me but not without muttering a low but audible. "Bitch."

I'm happy he didn't get the signature. But I still don't have it either.

And now, I'm not sure about how I'm supposed to get it. 

Legal parasites. 

That's what he called Ben, that's what he called Vivienne, that's what he sees me as. 

I can't invade him like Ben did. But I can't let Vivienne down. The only way he'll sign is if he sees past the fact that I'm a paralegal. 

Hm. 

The stakes are high. But I might have an idea. 

__________________________________________________

Vivienne listens to the attempts we’ve made to get G-Dragon’s signature. Every approach has ended in the star giving a particularly cruel tongue lashing or ignoring them entirely. Some of my coworkers used the opportunity to stalk and praise him, while I did none of the above. Not because I was ‘better’ but because the thought of looking into GD’s eyes made me shake like a leaf. 

The discussion pivots to me. 

“Common sense seems to have skipped a couple of individuals.” Vivienne’s eyes pierce through my colleagues, as she says this. “We now know not to harass an idol for a signature. Mia, what was your approach.” 

“Mr. Kwon is constantly around people. He doesn’t seem to be particularly fond of new ones. I figured that the best way to approach him for a signature was to not approach him at all. I left the contract with his assistant Torren.” 

Vivienne’s eyes tighten, her arms are crossed nails tapping them as she listens. 

All of the eyes that look at me from the dark table are nothing short of belittling. I’m almost suffocated by their disinterest, but I force myself to continue. 

“I drafted a page with potential follow up questions and concerns to avoid any back and forth.”

“Was there any response?”

Despite, my efforts -  “No.”

Snickers and mumblings ripple through the polished table. 

Vivienne presses her lips together, disappointed. “How unfortunate.” 

The other paralegals got verbally shredded by Kwon Jiyong. But if they knew what Vivienne Shin’s approval meant to me, they would be happy to know that she just gutted me with that look. 

“Show us the draft you presented Jiyong with. Although, it was a failed attempt you were heading in the right direction. Do you have any copies?” 

I tell her I have one on my desk. She motions me to retrieve it, finger pointed towards the door. 

I return with the printed copies in my hand. I walk over to where Vivienne sits, at the head of the table and present her the papers. My hands tremble. 

This is my first day back in her orbit. Having her see me fail is not how I pictured our reunion. 

I return back to my seat. I hold my hands on my lap, keeping them under the table to keep anyone from seeing how they shake. 

I quietly disassociate. Running alternative scenarios on how I could have possibly gotten that signature. 

The papers I had drafted to clarify the contract is passed around. It finally passes to me. My first failure. 

“What could Mia have done differently?” Vivienne asks. 

Does she mean to dig into me? 

Ben is the first to speak, eager to tear me apart. “For one, she could’ve actually spoken to the client directly instead of hiding behind his assistant.” 

I force my gaze on my hands. Ben’s the type to continue irritating me if I acknowledge him. 

But I’m immediately proved wrong when he continues, “It’s a cowardly move. I wouldn’t sign a contract that someone didn’t present to me in person. G-Dragon didn’t respect or respond to it.” 

My response was expected, but I let the hum of the A.C fill the silence for me. 

Then the door opens. 

He steps in, and the void that I was slipping into spits me back out. 

The pull of his presence could lift me from my seat if I wasn’t frozen in shock. 

The whole room looks like a still picture. Only G-Dragon still has control over his body. His hooded eyes lazily scans the room, sharpening when they catch sight of Vivienne. 

Vivienne returns the look with equal viciousness. 

He has the graciousness to allow us, commoners, a second to regain our senses. He must know the effect he has on people. 

“Who wrote this?” He asks, and I feel my heart stutter when he lifts my folder.  

Every paralegal cowers at the sound of his voice. Perhaps, they remember the sharpness.

But this time it’s not them he’s addressing. 

My palms sweat. If my hands were shaking before, now they’re borderline flapping underneath the table. 

I find the voice I lost moments ago and lift my gaze towards him, fearing the sight of his eyes as if they held the dangers of a solar eclipse. 

“I did.” 

He looks at me, and I wish he hadn’t. There’s something in his eyes that unnerves me. A mystic feeling of sensing something in my fate pivoting. 

His head tilts as he assesses me — not cold but very detached. 

“Pen.” He commands. 

Everyone fumbles for one. His requests are that compelling. 

At my side, Ben lifts his arm to look for a pen inside of his blazer. I catch his eyes rolling to me, and I already see the next moments play out. The man is that transparent. 

But even though I know what he’ll do I don’t have the speed to stop it from happening. 

His elbow accidentally knocks over the coffee mug resting between us. The coffee spills on the the table and papers. 

I turn my head to the culprit. Ben’s hissing through his teeth, eyes wide and shocked as he grabs the empty mug but there’s a glint of satisfaction that he can’t out perform.

Without missing a beat, a slender hand reaches across the table. It slides the soaked papers and spilled coffee from my space and into Ben’s. 

Jiyong stands upright again and accepts the handkerchief a paralegal has already offered. His face is still, only mild annoyance curling his mouth. 

His eyes flash towards me — steady, fiery. 

“You. Come with me.” 

Without, waiting for me to react he throws the handkerchief on the table, like someone does after having a fill of their meal.

The shock of being spoken to buzzes through my veins. At my side, Ben is shaking with anger. At the other end of the table, Vivienne smiles subtly. 

“Well, go on then.” She orders. 

I stand up, knees threatening to give out on me. I take in one last look at the looks of contempt and jealousy in the eyes of my peers. 

I don’t want to stay here. But I also don’t want to face him. 

——

The smell of roses and jasmine hits me the moment I’m inside Jiyong’s studio. He gestures towards the leather couch, and as I sit the floral notes fade into something darker — woody, moss-like, with a faint hint of smoke. 

It’s contradictory. 

It’s intoxicating. 

It’s Kwon Jiyong. 

He glances at the spot beside me, debating whether to share the couch, decides against it and takes the chair by the control panels instead.

My body relaxes, just by a fraction. If he would have sat next to me, I think I would’ve turned into stone. 

I’m not usually this awkward. I can be social, even charming when this situation calls for it. But this? This level of social inadequacy bruises my ego. 

Jiyong watches me with a knowing look, like he’s been blessed with the laser vision that can see right into my inner turmoil. 

“You look nervous,” He says, his tone soft but mildly teasing. 

I grit my teeth, clasping my hands to keep them from shaking. “I’m not.” 

He hides a smirk, eyebrows lifting in a silent if-you-say-so. 

“I’m sorry we’ve all been bothering you about this contract. It must be annoying to have a bunch of people chasing you down.” 

Jiyong leans his arm on the chair, rests his fingers on his cheek. “I’m used to it.” 

I stiffen at the statement. My mind goes to girls chasing him. He’s talented, handsome, rich — I almost blush at the insinuation. Then I remember he’s a celebrity and he was probably referring to fans and paparazzi. 

“Well, then I guess I’m part of the usual crowd then.” 

He puckers his lips and shakes his head. “I didn’t say that.” 

The intensity of his gaze unsettles me. I shift in my seat, but I know that my discomfort isn’t because of the couch. 

“Why am I not part of the usual crowd?” I ask. Does he also see me as an outlier?

He smiles, perhaps surprised that I’m speaking up, his chest rises with a deep breath before responding. “You didn’t approach me directly. You kept your distance. . . as you are now.” 

My brows come together, as I take in his words. 

He’s analyzing me.

I feel a subtle flare of my confidence come back, blooming into a smile. “I didn’t want to invade your space.” 

“It’s not an invasion if its wanted.” 

“Still,” I pause. “I prefer a clear invitation.” 

“I know,” He smiles — brilliantly, effortlessly. “That’s why I went out of my way to come get you.” 

His gaze flickers to my shoes.

Brick-for-boots. Frankenstein.

I fix my pants so that the long hem covers them.

I've been sticking out like a sore thumb all day. Everyone is in designer clothes I've seen on magazines and billboards. I feel like a walking troll in comparison.

But then he surprises me by saying, "I like your boots."

Does he mean that? I search his face for any signs that he may be lying but he looks so genuine. I try to say something but nothing comes out.

"The charms you added on the laces are cool." He adds.

I blush. "That was my little sister's idea. Do I still get credit for it?"

"Mmm." He taps a slender finger on his chin, as if he's thinking about something very important. "Yes. Since you're the one wearing it. I have a pair but they're hard to break in."

"I got lucky. I thrifted these so they were already broken in." I say, absentmindedly. But then an ugly wave of shame wafts over me.

I've never been ashamed of thrifting, or taking public transit. But these things are simply not normal things to do in the world of the 'elite'. I keep feeling the great divide between me and everyone else.

Jiyong, however, scoffs in disbelief. "But those look new. Where do you thrift?"

I look at him like he's grown a third eye.

"I promise I'll keep it very hush hush." he says quickly, reading my silence as intent to gate-keep.

He really is precious. If anyone had the fashion high ground to come down on anyone over what they were wearing, it was the G-Dragon. His praise and acceptance meant more to me than I expected.

His cheekbones glisten underneath the lights. His hair is perfectly messy, and I have the strangest urge to touch it. I've seen him so many times before, but he's even better looking up close.

This is his place of work. There has to be a place where he isn't treated like eye candy.

That warm feeling in my chest and face fades, replaced by the familiar chill. I lean back into the couch, retreating into myself. 

I steer the conversation back to what’s concrete and important. “Did you have any concerns about the contract?” 

His eyelids flutter, as if surprised at how fast my demeanor changed. He frowns briefly, then raises his eyebrows, dismissing the moment. 

“Let’s start with the parts about creative control.” 

I nod, listening to him intently as he goes over the parts he doesn’t agree with and wants revised. Every time our gazes lift from the paperwork, I feel the ghost of the warmth I had felt before we started talking about the contract, but I push it aside. I can’t get used to that. I can’t let myself think there’s anything special in it.

 He’s G-Dragon. He’s skilled in making people feel more important than they are. 

We finish talking over the clauses. It’s about time for me to leave. 

Jiyong stands up when I do. 

“One more thing,” he says, as I’m stepping through the door he’s holding open. 

I stop, looking up at him from behind my bangs. 

“You explained the entire contract so transparently. The good, the bad, the . . . ugly.” His eyes harden at the last word. “No one has ever taken the time to explain each section like that. Most of the time the legal department is—“

“Parasitic.” I finish. 

He narrows his eyes, realizing that I may have overheard him talking or rather yelling at Ben. 

“Yes.” He agrees, slowly. “Did you write the explanation just for me? So that you could win your spot with Vivienne Shin? Or would you do this for anyone?” 

As soon as he asks his question, his eyes do that sharpening analytical thing they do. He’s trying to see the answer before he hears it. 

I didn’t miss the way his tone sounded almost . . . hopeful? 

My throat tightens. “How many ugly contracts have you signed?” 

His eyes flicker with pain, but he dismisses the emotion with a blink. “Too many.” 

I let out a shaky breath, letting my gaze drop. There was too many emotions in his eyes. My mind flashes with too many scenarios in which he might’ve been a victim due to a contract. 

I look back up, letting my guard down for a moment. I let him see the sadness and fury that his circumstances cause me. 

“I would do it for anyone. I want to be transparent. I won’t be a cog. Or a parasite.” 

His jaw clenches, and he nods. “Bring me the revisions and I’ll sign.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want to make any other revisions before you sign?” I want to make sure that whatever he’s binding himself to aligns with his needs. 

Jiyong smiles softly, “Yes, I’m sure.” 

“I’ll rewrite this, and bring it back to you once Vivienne okays it.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

JIYONG

You came into my studio with the revised contract in hand — steady, confident, but with a sweet shyness that softened your professionalism. 

You said it was ready for me to sign, and handed me the papers.

“Read it over,” you insisted, wanting me to to know that this wasn’t a trap. 

I waved you off, accepting your papers, and signed them immediately without a second thought. Complete trust. 

I waited for the wave of dread to nauseate me. But I only felt a lightness. A sense of peace after an era of misery. 

It felt hopeful. If KM had someone like you under their employ than maybe things could change. 

You left with a polite nod, said that someone was waiting for you and didn’t want to keep them waiting. 

I saw you transform into many versions of yourself throughout the years. But this Mia, this you, with your bright eyes unsure mannerisms and resilient nature to overcome any doubt outside and within you is the one that I always acquaint you with. 

The door clicks shut, you left behind the scent of cognac and spicy apples in the air. I moved towards the door to linger on that smell that made me feel nostalgic for something I didn’t know I missed. 

Torren arrived moments after your departure, fresh droplets of rain peppered all over his coat.

"The emergency brownie you needed, sir."

I took a slight detour to the 17th floor.

It didn't take long for me to find the cubicle with your name on it. There was only a framed picture adorning the corner of it. A family picture. Your parents, your three sibilings, and you standing in the corner as if you were dragged into the picture last minute.

I left one of the best brownie's in all of Seoul on your desk. A small token of my appreciation. For the brownie, for Sunni, for me.

You were the light on a very dark day.

Vivienne had an effect in the air - it compressed, became toxic. But you also had an effect in the air — you were like the first breaths after a cleansing rain.

The feeling of peace and freedom followed me all the way to the underground garage. At the time I liked to rotate cars depending on the weather. It had been raining that morning so I took the grey Porsche. 

I felt the air shift, and I knew Vivienne Shin was near. 

She stood by her black Ferrari, arms open, smiling that deceiving smile I’d fallen prey to years ago. 

And you— you walked right into. 

She took your face in her hands, and cooed proudly. “I knew you could do it.”

You and . . . Vivienne Shin? 

I felt my head begin to splinter.

You two lived and belonged to different worlds. I thought today had been the first time you two had met. But this intimate embrace, the way she spoke to you, the way you smiled up at her like a child. It all pointed towards history, familiarity. 

In that instance, that lightness that I’d felt darkened into something terrible. It was not a new feeling. It was a feeling that had been boiling poisoning and growing in me for decades. 

The warmth curdled into suspicion. 

The trust, however brief I had in you, rotted into contempt. 

I thought you were genuine, transparent, and like you said non-parasitic. Yet here you stood, embraced by the soul-sucking queen herself. 

You would become her new paralegal. 

And I saw all the cards revealing themselves to me. 

Your interference in my day was all plotted by Vivienne Shin. She knew that I would never trust her or anyone allied to her. So, she made you come to me, a wolf in sheep's clothing, to entrap me again.

You were here protégée.

A Vivienne Shin in the making.

But I refused to believe that my gut feeling had lied to me. You were good. You could change things in this corrupt world.

I decided I would not let you be rotted by Vivienne Shin any further. O I would not let her blind you to the real problems of the industry.

I refused to believe that what I saw in you, was simply a mirage. Even though your connection to Vivienne was the nail in that coffin. 

I let my mind spiral. I let myself place internal monologues that you might’ve had in our interactions. 

Sign. Trust me. Be a fool. 

Vivienne could coddle you. 

But KM would not do the same. 

I would not coddle you. 

I would make sure that you saw what terrible cruel place this was. I would not let the glamour, the status, and fool’s gold make another soulless product out of you. 

I veiled my intent as righteous. 

It was only fair that you experienced what we’ve had to go through. 

This wasn’t punishment. 

It was the transparency you spoke of. 

But in honesty, it had been retaliation.

I could not stomach the thought of being played out by Vivienne Shin.  

Now years later, I can still picture that parking garage.

The cold light, the empty spaces, and the sound of your heavy boots hitting the concrete.

I can still taste the blinding bitterness - the second I mistook my greatest ally as my enemy. 

If I’d looked closer, the picture might’ve been different. 

If I hadn’t have experienced so much betrayal and deceit, than I would have been able to see a clearer picture.  

But I didn’t. 

My past traumas, my world view, all condemned you.

And after that day, I began to break you. 

That was the day I fed you that hatred, that one day you’d sip indifferently like wine.  

The day I’d lose you, before ever having you. 

----------------------

A/N:

Hiii, everyone!

For all of those who don't me - I'm Kim!

I love writing angsty stories with morally grey characters. I love twisting the knife so consider yourself warned. I wrote this fan fiction 10 years ago. But back then, it was a bit more chaotic and all over the place. I look back at the first version and love the unpredictability and the rawness of it, but I knew it could be so much more. So this is my second attempt at writing Addiction. This is more for me, for my own entertainment. I find that my best writing comes from just coming from a place of play and discovery. However - I'd love your input, your thoughts, your comments. Feel free to reach out.

Hopefully, you'll enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it.

(I'm thinking of also posting this on Wattpad and updating on there. Let me know if you prefer this as a Tumblr exclusive fanfic, though)

XOXO,

Kim