Overworked & Overwanted - Pilot Story
It starts with silence. The announcement drops quietly, no buildup, no warning beyond what could be mistaken for routine corporate scheduling. But in reality, nothing about it was routine at all. It was almost too detached, too clinical. The announcement that hit harder than it should:
“We would like to inform you about the status of ITZY member Lia’s health and her future activities…”
“…we decided that Lia will not participate in scheduled activities starting from today and will take a break for the time being to focus on her treatment.”
It was a simple statement of facts “Lia is going on Hiatus until further notice” there was no drama in the wording. That made it worse. Because for everyone outside the group, it was news. But for ITZY, it was a rupture, for Yeji, Ryujin, Chaeryeong, and Yuna— they were as clueless as to Lia’s condition as MIDZY was.
Yeji reads it a second time, and then a third time. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand, but because she did. She is the leader, but the title suddenly feels meaningless when she realizes she had been kept in the dark too. Yet despite the feeling of betrayal running in her blood at that moment, there was only one question that kept running on repeat within the confines of her mind: “How long was Lia carrying this alone?”
It wasn’t even hours after the announcement and inside the dorm— the dynamic shifts immediately. No one said anything related to the topic out loud, the members were already affected by the sudden news, and everyone was already walking on eggshells.
Ryujin wasn’t loud or subtle about it. She started to withdraw emotionally, distant in ways that feel intentional. Chaeryeong became more careful with her words, she was already fragile from her own internal conflicts and with becoming informed of Lia’s hiatus— as if the slightest mistake might shatter whatever fragile balance remained. Yuna kept a façade. She talked more than usual, as if believing that overcompensating would make up for Lia’s absence or would bring her back sooner, but that only felt like a noise filling in empty space. Words that believe they were hiding a pain with loudness instead. Yeji just stops sleeping, questioning herself as the leader her group deserves to have. Running back anything in her mind to what she could’ve missed that would have hinted to the pain Lia hid from everyone else.
The comeback cycle does not stop. The industry demands continuation even as if nothing has changed. The managers were hesitant on the day to announce to them about the upcoming comeback, and its name was bitterly ironic— BORN TO BE. As if the company was hinting that the group was about to be reborn as four. Every schedule felt heavier the passing day. Every rehearsal slightly longer. Evert crack within the members slightly more noticeable.
Every crack within the members became slightly more noticeable. Not all at once— that would have been easier to confront. It happened in smaller ways. A missed laugh here, a delayed response there. A water bottle left untouched after rehearsal because no one remembered who it belonged to anymore. The practice room became the first place where Lia’s absence stopped being an announcement and started becoming a shape. One empty space in the formation, adjusted by the choreographer with professional efficiency, as if rearranging bodies could make the loss feel smaller.
“Again, from the second verse,” the choreographer called.
No one complained. Ryujin wiped the sweat from her neck and returned to position without a word. Chaeryeong nodded too quickly, already apologizing under her breath before she had even made a mistake. Yuna smiled at the mirror, bright and practiced, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Yeji stood at the center.
“Music.” The track started again. They moved like professionals because that was what they were— Sharp. Clean. Controlled. Four bodies forcing themselves to fill a space that used to belong to five. For the first few counts, it almost worked. Then Chaeryeong’s foot landed half a beat late. She caught herself immediately. “Sorry.” No one blamed her. That made her look even more ashamed. “It’s fine,” Yeji said quickly. Too quickly. “Again.” The choreographer glanced at the clock. “You’ve been at this for hours. Take five first.”
“I’m okay,” Yeji answered, she didn’t ask the others.
Ryujin looked at her through the mirror, expression unreadable. For a second, it looked like she wanted to say something. Instead, she turned away and reached for her towel. Yuna clapped once, too loudly. “We’re almost there! It’s fine, right? We just need to clean it a little more.”
Her voice bounced against the walls and came back thinner. Chaeryeong only nodded.
The music played again. And again. And again. By the time the staff finally called the rehearsal over, the room smelled of sweat, floor cleaner, and exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix because sleep was no longer the problem. One by one, they packed their things. Yuna was still talking as she zipped her bag, asking if anyone wanted convenience store snacks, if they should order food, if they should maybe watch something funny back at the dorm. She kept offering pieces of normal life like she was handing out bandages.
No one really answered. Chaeryeong smiled anyway, small and tired “Maybe later.” Ryujin slung her bag over one shoulder “I’m going ahead”. She didn’t wait for anyone to respond. The door closed behind her. For a moment, the room was quiet. Then Yeji walked back to the center of the floor. Chaeryeong noticed first “Unnie?” Yeji didn’t even look back to Chaeryeong “I’ll just run it once more". Yuna’s smile faltered. “But we’re done". Yeji faced the mirror “I know, just one more.” No one believed her. But no one stopped her either. That became the pattern, not because they didn’t care. Because everyone was too tired to know what caring was supposed to look like anymore.
The dorm was quieter now than it had ever been before, it wasn’t a peaceful silence either. The television stayed on most nights without anyone truly watching it. Variety shows played into empty space while half-finished drinks gathered on the table beside unopened delivery containers that had long gone cold. The members moved around each other carefully, like people afraid of making too much noise in a room already filled with tension. It became normal to hear footsteps at three in the morning. Sometimes it was Chaeryeong walking into the kitchen for water she barely drank before returning to her room. Sometimes it was Ryujin sitting alone on the couch in the dark with her phone face-down beside her, not scrolling, not sleeping either. Yuna filled silence whenever she could, but even she slowly started running out of things to say. And Yeji— she stopped pretending she slept at all.
At first, it was subtle enough to hide behind makeup and schedules. Dark circles covered by stylists who were paid to make exhaustion invisible. Energy drinks appearing more frequently beside practice notes. Longer moments staring blankly at mirrors before someone called her name and she snapped back into herself. But exhaustion always collects interest eventually.
One night after rehearsal, Yuna fell asleep sitting upright against the side of the couch, head tilted awkwardly with her phone still in her hand. The television cast pale blue light across the dorm while rain tapped quietly against the windows outside. Chaeryeong had already gone to bed. Ryujin emerged from the hallway with damp hair and an oversized shirt hanging loosely over her frame. She slowed when she saw Yuna asleep. Then she noticed Yeji who was still awake. Still sitting at the dining table, papers spread out in front of her. Schedule sheets, notes, performance breakdowns, handwritten reminders layered over company printouts until it all blurred together into meaningless clutter.
Ryujin leaned against the wall. “You’re still doing that?”
Yeji didn’t look up immediately. “Mm.”
RY: It’s two in the morning.
YJ: We have recording tomorrow.
RY: We always have something tomorrow.
Yeji finally glanced up, tired eyes meeting Ryujin’s for only a second before dropping back to the papers. “I know.” Ryujin observed her leader— that was becoming normal too. Not arguments. Not concern spoken aloud. Just observation. The kind people did when they noticed something getting worse but didn’t know where to place their hands without accidentally breaking it further.
“You missed dinner again,” Ryujin said eventually. “I ate earlier" Yeji said unconvincingly. Ryujin socffed at her “You’re a terrible liar.” That almost earned a smile. Almost. Yeji rubbed her eyes instead. “Why are you awake?” Ryujin shrugged lightly. “Couldn’t sleep.” Neither of them acknowledged how often that answer had started appearing lately. Rain continued tapping softly against the glass. For a while, neither spoke. Then Ryujin walked closer to the table, gaze drifting across the papers scattered there.
“You reorganized the rehearsal schedule?”
“The spacing was off,” Yeji muttered.
Ryujin frowned slightly. “You know that’s the staff’s job, right?”
“If I can make things easier for everyone, then why not?”
The answer came too fast. Too automatic.
Ryujin’s eyes lingered on her longer this time. There it is, she thought. That isn't leadership anymore, it was compensation. Yeji was trying to carry everything now. The performances. The atmosphere. The morale. The silence. Lia’s absence. The pressure of making sure four people still looked complete under stage lights designed for five. And the frightening part was how naturally she was accepting it. Ryujin pulled out the chair beside her and sat down without asking. Yeji blinked. “What are you doing?” Ryujin just sat there looking at her phone.
“Keeping you company.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” Another silence settled between them.
A silience that showed tiredness no one wanted to say outloud. The kind built between people too exhausted to perform normality anymore.
Ryujin leaned back slightly, arms folded loosely across her chest. “You know none of us blame you, right?” Yeji’s hand stopped moving.
Only for a second— then she continued reorganizing papers that no longer needed reorganizing. “I know,” she said softly. But Ryujin could tell from the way her shoulders tightened that she didn’t believe it at all.
After that, the days started losing their shape. Morning schedules bled into evening rehearsals. Airport terminals became more familiar than the dorm itself. Staff voices, countdowns, makeup touch-ups, stage cues— everything eventually merged together into one endless routine of movement and noise. The comeback preparations consumed them completely. At some point, meals stopped becoming something shared. Food turned into half-finished containers left around the dorm table for whoever remembered they were hungry first. Energy drinks appeared more frequently than water bottles. Sleep became something negotiated between schedules instead of something naturally expected at the end of the day. And somehow, despite everything— BORN TO BE was successful.
That was the strange part. The stages trended online. The performances were praised. Fans admired how stable they looked despite continuing as four. Articles called them resilient. Strong. Professional. Yeji started quietly hating those words. Because strong people were expected to continue. Strong people didn’t get to stop. The practice room mirrors reflected the proof of that every night.
Sometimes Yuna still tried to hold the atmosphere together. Small jokes thrown into rehearsals. Dramatic reactions exaggerated just enough to make the others laugh for a few seconds. Sometimes she would intentionally mess up choreography near Chaeryeong just to hear her complain and smile at the same time. But even Yuna’s energy started fading around the edges eventually. The louder she became, the easier it was to notice how exhausted she really looked afterward.
Ryujin changed more subtly.She stopped joking during rehearsals as much. Stopped teasing staff members between takes. Stopped reaching for conversation unless someone else started it first. Instead, she observed.
Yeji staying behind after rehearsals. She even rereads schedules during van rides. Yeji would answer questions before managers could. She started apologizing for things that weren’t her fault. The frightening part was how natural it all started looking.
Even Chaeryeong adapted to it eventually. Her apologies became automatic. “Sorry" would slip out of her constantly now. Sorry for mistakes. Sorry for delays. Sorry for being tired. Sorry for forgetting things. One night Ryujin counted seven apologies in less than ten minutes before silently giving up halfway through. No one pointed it out anymore.
The schedules only became worse after promotions began. Interviews blurred together into identical rooms and repeated questions. Hotel hallways all started looking the same. Some nights the members fell asleep still wearing partial stage makeup because nobody had enough energy left to finish removing it properly. And through all of it, Yeji continued moving forward like someone terrified of what would happen if she slowed down even once.
The world tour started not long after— despite all four of them not wanting to tour without Lia, but it was the company's choice. That was when the isolation truly settled in. Airports, security escorts, fans screaming loud enough to shake the walls outside terminals. Then silence again the moment hotel doors closed behind them. Different country, a different room. But the same exhaustion. The members spent more time together than almost anyone else in their lives yet somehow began feeling further apart emotionally with each passing month.
Conversations became shorter. Everyone started saying “I’m okay” too quickly. There were nights where the only sounds inside hotel rooms were television noise and the humming of air conditioning units running too cold. One evening somewhere halfway through the tour, Yuna fell asleep during hair and makeup while staff members quietly continued working around her. Nobody laughed. Not because it wasn’t endearing. Because everyone else looked one bad day away from doing the same thing.
Another time, Chaeryeong burst into tears in the middle of rehearsal after forgetting choreography she had already practiced dozens of times. The crying itself seemed to scare her more than the mistake did. “I’m sorry,” she kept repeating through uneven breaths. “I know it already, I don’t know why I can’t—”
Yeji hugged her immediately. Too immediately. Like it was instinctually her responsibility as the leader instead of as a friend. Like if she held everyone together tightly enough, maybe nothing else would fall apart.
Ryujin watched from the side of the room, jaw tightening slightly. Because even then— even exhausted, even emotionally drowning herself Yeji still only knew how to become stronger for everyone else first.
The tour continued anyway. That became the answer to everything eventually. Fatigue, homesickness, and silence. The answer was always the same: Keep moving.
Country after country blurred together until the members stopped remembering where certain memories came from. Hotel ceilings changed shapes but never atmosphere. Waiting rooms stayed cold no matter what city they were in. Staff members rotated in shifts while ITZY continued existing in the strange in-between state of constantly being seen and never truly perceived.
The performances remained good. That was the unsettling part of it— maybe even better than before. There was a desperation hidden inside them now that audiences mistook for passion. Every movement sharper. Every stage heavier. Every expression carrying an intensity that translated beautifully under lights and cameras while slowly hollowing them out behind the scenes. People praised their professionalism constantly.
Yeji learned to smile every time she heard it. Somewhere during the middle stretch of the tour, Ryujin stopped trying to convince Yeji to rest. Not because she stopped caring. Because she realized Yeji no longer knew how. Instead, she started staying nearby. Sometimes beside her during flights while Yeji reorganized schedules she had no responsibility handling herself. Sometimes sitting silently in rehearsal rooms long after staff members left. Sometimes awake at four in the morning in hotel kitchens where neither of them touched the food sitting between them. No dramatic conversations ever happened. That somehow made it sadder.
Chaeryeong became more emotionally careful over time. She watched everyone closely now before speaking, as if constantly measuring the emotional temperature of every room she entered. The more exhausted everyone became, the more she shrank herself instinctively trying not to become another problem someone else needed to carry.
Yuna noticed it too. So, she compensated harder. Louder reactions. Brighter smiles. More touching. More attempts at pulling everyone together during meals and backstage downtime. Sometimes she would drag the members into group selfies nobody really had energy for anymore just because she missed how things used to feel. Most of those pictures still ended up online. Fans called them cute. None of the members had the heart to say those moments usually ended in silence seconds later.
Then eventually— Lia came back. There was no dramatic reunion. No tears the moment the door opened. No emotional release powerful enough to undo over a year of accumulated exhaustion. Just hesitation and carefulness. The strange awkwardness of people trying desperately to return to a version of themselves that no longer existed in quite the same way anymore.
The first rehearsal as five again felt unfamiliar. Not wrong. Just unfamiliar. Everyone kept looking at Lia like they were trying to reassure themselves she was actually there. Lia noticed the changes immediately. Yeji smiling too quickly whenever someone asked if she was okay. Chaeryeong apologizing before speaking. Yuna filling every silence before it could fully settle. Ryujin watching everyone constantly while pretending she wasn’t. And beneath all of it— exhaustion. Not temporary exhaustion. The kind that settled deep enough into people that they started mistaking survival for normalcy.
Lia carried guilt for it almost instantly. Not because anyone blamed her. That was the problem— nobody blamed her at all. Which somehow made her feel worse. The group slowly adjusted again after her return. Interviews became easier as five. Formations looked complete again. Fans celebrated the feeling of wholeness returning to ITZY after months of uncertainty.
Then GOLD happened, the first comeback as five— and publicly, everything finally looked fixed. The performances were stable again. The group chemistry looked natural during promotions. Variety appearances felt lighter. Smiles came easier on camera now that Lia was back beside them. To everyone outside the group, ITZY looked recovered. That illusion became dangerously convincing. Because even the members themselves slowly started believing it sometimes.
Until the cameras turned off and schedules ended. Until the dorm lights dimmed and exhaustion settled back into their bodies like something permanent waiting patiently for morning to come again.
Yeji got worse quietly. Not visibly enough for headlines. Not dramatically enough for intervention. Just small things. Skipping meals more often. Falling asleep sitting upright. Longer silences. Forgetting conversations midway through them. One night Lia found her asleep at the dining table with schedule papers still clutched loosely in her hand. Another time Yuna realized Yeji had been wearing the same ring on the wrong finger for nearly three days without noticing. Ryujin started looking at her with poorly hidden concern now. Even Chaeryeong noticed. But inside ITZY, concern had long since evolved into adaptation. Everyone saw the damage and nobody knew what to do with it anymore.
With the volatility that had long been noticed but never truly addressed beginning to surface more openly between the five of them, someone else eventually started noticing too. Not management. Not staff members. Someone who understood the difference between temporary exhaustion and the kind that settled into people slowly enough for them to stop recognizing it themselves.
(Jihyo's POV): I had seen this before, not in the exact same shape. But close enough, it was the close enough to the time where my own group imploded within itself to threaten the very existence of TWICE, my TWICE. The first time I truly noticed it was during a music show waiting room sometime during GOLD promotions. ITZY was laughing about something Yuna said when she passed by the open door with one of the managers beside her.
At first glance, everything looked normal. That was the problem. Years in the industry had taught me how to recognize when idols became too good at pretending. Yeji smiled through conversations half a second too late now. Ryujin kept scanning the room whenever silence settled for too long. Chaeryeong looked like she apologized with her eyes before words even reached her mouth. Lia had the careful attentiveness of someone trying to make up for an absence nobody blamed her for. And Yuna— Yuna looked exhausted in the way only people trying the hardest to appear energetic usually did.
I didn’t say anything that day, I couldn’t but after that, I started paying attention. Small things became difficult to ignore once she noticed them.
Yeji falling asleep during downtime between recordings.
Ryujin lingering nearby afterward instead of waking her immediately.
Chaeryeong quietly checking everyone else’s mood before speaking during group interviews.
The way the members looked relieved whenever schedules ended early, not because they were lazy, but because they genuinely seemed unable to process another hour being added onto the day.
It reminded me too much of something I recognized. The dangerous stage of exhaustion where functioning became so normal that nobody realized how badly things had deteriorated anymore. And once I recognized it— I couldn’t stop seeing it. At first, I was going to tackle it alone. But there was only little I could do by myself. But I remembered I had someone with me. Perhaps I could talk to John with my concerns, technically this is part of the job description of our managerial boyfriend.
(John's POV): It was the night before MISAMO left for Japan again. HAUTE COUTURE promotions overseas always shifted the atmosphere slightly within the dorms. Different schedules. Different pacing. Different forms of chaos. For once, it also meant the rest of us would finally have room to breathe again after months of nonstop movement. At least, that had been my plan before Sana decided otherwise.
“You’re thinking too much again” her voice came muffled against my neck while she remained comfortably tangled against me beneath the sheets, both of our bodies completely free from any form of clothing and she unconcerned with the fact that I was still trying to organize schedules on my phone moments earlier.
J: I’m literally doing my job. SN: You stopped looking at your phone ten minutes ago. J: …That’s not the point. SN: It kind of is.
I felt her smile against my skin before she shifted closer purely to annoy me further. Typical. The room itself was dim outside the soft lamp near the bedside table. Comfortable silence settled naturally between us in the way it only could after years of familiarity. Sana always had a strange ability to pull people out of their own heads whether they wanted her to or not. Usually against their will.
J: You’re going to Japan tomorrow SN: Mhm. J: And instead of sleeping— SN: I wanted attention. J: That sounds like a “you” problem. SN: It became your problem when you started dating me. J: Fair point.
“Now be a good boy for me” Sana’s mood changed like clockwork, it was as simple as flipping a switch. She gave me a quick peck on the lips before going down to my neck, then giving my chest a few bite marks “Something to remember me by when I’m in Japan” her giggled showed more of a territorial side than clingy. I decided to meet her halfway— directly flipping her over to have me be the one on top this time. “Let’s make every second count then” I whispered in her ear as the tip of my already erect cock was rubbing the around the folds of her already wet entrance, to which Sana stared at me showing that she didn’t need to say anything to let me know what she wanted.
She cooed in pleasure the moment she felt me enter her. I took my time to make sure she felt me inch by inch. Though I didn’t give her time to settle into anything. The moment I was full length inside her I pulled out leaving only the tip left inside, and before Sana could say anything in protest— I slammed my entire length going back inside in an instant. This gave Sana a jolt of extreme pleasure enough that for a very split moment it cause her to black out before instantly regaining consciousness. She was very used to me making love to her gently and her very sexual nature wasn’t opposed to it, but she loved it more when I was extra rough with her and since she was going to leave for a while I wanted to make sure to give a little extra treatment the way she likes it.
The change of pace was enough to make Sana reach her the near of her climax faster than normal, and I was still sensitive from earlier which worked in my favor— almost. The feeling of Sana’s walls hugging around my shaft as the tip kissed the entranced to her cervix was stimulation to much for me, it led me to finish first the feeling of pleasure overwhelming me to a point where I stopped moving as globs of my cum flooded Sana’s insides. The feeling of her insides being filled to the brim with my seed was enough to push her to orgasm as well, her insides contracted simultaneously around my already sensitive cock prolonging the rush of pleasure both of us felt.
I slowly pulled out of her and the cum started to escape out of her pussy “Oh wow, if we keep this up I might actually get knocked up, oppa” she looked at me with awe while rubbing her abs. “Dear God, Sana. It’s not like I’m against it, but we all know what’s going to happen to me if that does.” I laughed while falling on the bed with her right next to me “Either PD-nim is going to personally murder you, the rest of the members, or the wave of angry fans” Sana giggled as she slowly led her mouth to my already soft member as she tried to spring it back to life.
Then there was a knock on the door, and before I could tell whoever was on the other side to wait, they already opened the it "Aishh— I feel like we already did this before" as Jihyo looked at the sight of me in the bed. Sana was covered underneath the sheets not stopping despite being caught, her head kept bobbing without the slightest care of being caught. She was about to leave for a while— being seen by someone from the other eight whom she shared me was not Sana's concern.
"I'm borrowing John for a bit after you, there's something I need to talk to him about" Jihyo said in a serious tone as she told Sana who still didn't stop, her only confirmation was her hand leaving the sheets forming the okay hand sign.
Jihyo only stared at the two of us for a moment longer before rubbing tiredly at her forehead. “You know, normal couples would at least pretend to be embarrassed.” Sana finally resurfaced just enough to grin lazily at her. “That sounds judgmental.”
JH: That’s because it is. SN: It’s not my fault he’s cute. JH: You literally say that about all nine of us. SN: And I mean it every single time.
Jihyo sighed deeply, though the corner of her mouth still twitched upward slightly despite herself. The atmosphere inside the room remained warm in the familiar way it always became whenever the members naturally drifted around each other. Comfortable. Chaotic. Intimate without effort. It reminded me how different things felt now compared to years ago. Which was why the expression lingering behind Jihyo’s eyes stood out almost immediately. Sana noticed it too. Her teasing softened first. “…Something happened?” Jihyo hesitated. And that alone was enough to tell me this wasn’t casual concern. The room grew quieter afterward.
Sana slowly sat up properly beneath the sheets this time, finally giving Jihyo her full attention while I reached over to mute the television still playing softly in the background. For a few seconds, only silence remained. Then Jihyo finally spoke. “It’s ITZY.” That got my attention immediately. Not because the topic itself was surprising. Because of the way she said it. Carefully. Like she had already spent weeks trying to convince herself she was overthinking it before finally deciding she wasn’t. Jihyo moved further into the room before sitting near the edge of the bed, arms folding loosely across herself. “I think something’s wrong with them.” Sana frowned slightly. “Wrong how?” Jihyo exhaled quietly. “I don’t know if I can explain it properly. They’re functioning too well.” Neither of us interrupted her. Because we understood exactly what she meant. “They remind me too much of us back then,” she admitted softly. “Not publicly. Privately.”
The warmth inside the room dimmed slightly after that. I leaned back against the headboard slowly while listening as Jihyo explained everything she had been noticing for months now. Yeji pushing herself too hard. Ryujin watching everyone constantly. Chaeryeong growing smaller emotionally. Yuna overcompensating. Lia carrying guilt nobody blamed her for. And beneath all of it— exhaustion that had stopped looking temporary a long time ago. By the time Jihyo finished talking, Sana’s expression had completely lost its earlier playfulness.
“…That bad?” she asked quietly. Jihyo nodded once. I stayed silent longer than either of them liked. Because the truth was— I had noticed pieces of it too. Not enough to fully understand the situation from a distance, but enough to recognize the pattern forming underneath everything Jihyo described. And patterns like that rarely resolved cleanly on their own. “That kind of exhaustion changes people,” I said eventually. Jihyo looked at me carefully. “I know.” I added “And if nobody steps in early enough, they normalize it” which Jihyo shared my concern “That’s what I’m scared of.” The room fell quiet again.
Sana shifted closer beside me instinctively, her hand resting lightly against my arm while she listened. I already knew where the conversation was heading before Jihyo asked the question. “Can we help them?” I exhaled slowly through my nose. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I understood exactly how complicated the answer was. Emotional dependency inside this industry was dangerous. Lines blurred too easily when people spent too long isolated from normality. Support became attachment before anyone realized it was happening. And once that happened— things stopped being simple. Jihyo knew that too. Which was why she looked nervous asking me in the first place. For a long while, none of us spoke.
Then eventually, I ran a hand down my face before reaching toward the bedside table for my phone. “I know the right guy,” I muttered quietly. Jihyo’s posture straightened slightly. “He’s good at reading people. Better than anyone I know, honestly.” I glanced down at the dark screen in my hand for a moment before continuing. “But whether he agrees to this or not is completely up to him.” Sana tilted her head slightly. “That friend of yours?” I only nodded while reaching for my phone. “The psychology major who psychoanalyzed you in ten minutes?” Sana tilted her head in curiosity, “He was right about me, unfortunately.” That almost earned a small laugh from Jihyo. Almost.
I unlocked my phone slowly. “Even if he says yes,” I said carefully, “this doesn’t magically fix anything. And if this goes wrong—” “I know,” Jihyo interrupted softly. No optimism. No naïve expectations.
That made this harder somehow. I stared at the contact for another second before finally pressing call. The line rang once. Twice. Then:
“John?” a calm voice answered from the other side. I closed my eyes briefly “…Hey, Ben.”
(Ben's POV): I frowned slightly at my phone before leaning back deeper into the couch. “You usually only call this late when somebody’s either dying or pregnant” A muffled snort immediately echoed somewhere on his side of the call. Female. Sounded like Sana— Interesting. “Good evening to you too, jackass” John muttered dryly. “You didn’t deny either possibility” I commented only for John to annoyingly reply with “Because neither possibility should’ve been your first assumption.”
B: That sounds like denial. J: You sound unemployed. B: I technically am unemployed. J: You own SEVEN businesses. B: Own. Having passive income is not employment— I refuse to disrespect actual workers like that.
That earned another laugh somewhere near him, that voice definitely belongs to Sana. I rubbed tiredly at my face while sitting up properly this time, abandoning my PC on the table. The clock on the wall already pushed dangerously close to midnight which usually meant one of two things whenever John called. Either something genuinely serious happened, or one of the girls did something catastrophically stupid. Both were equally possible.
B: So, who’s dying? J: No one. B: Did you get one the members pregnant? J: What the hell? Again. No. B: Financial crime? Extortion? J: Can you be serious for five minutes?
I had my fun with John, I dropped my playful tone “Depends. Are you asking as my best friend or as whatever the hell your job title actually is nowadays?” Silence. That was enough for my expression to slowly flatten. Ah. So this actually WAS serious. I stood from the couch afterward and walked toward the kitchen automatically, phone tucked between my shoulder and ear while grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “What happened?” The joking disappeared from my voice completely. John noticed immediately too. “It’s not about TWICE.” That narrowed possibilities slightly. “But?”
A quieter exhale answered first. Then— “It’s ITZY.” I stayed silent. Not because I didn’t know who they were. Because I knew exactly enough about them for those two words to already sound exhausting. A young group. Heavy schedules. Leadership pressure. Public resilience. And JYPE announced recently that one of their members went on hiatus. That was an emotionally dangerous combination. I twisted the bottle cap open slowly. “What about them?” Another pause. Careful this time. John choosing words. That interested me more than the situation itself initially. Because John wasn’t someone easily intimidated by emotional complexity anymore. Which meant whatever this was— he considered it delicate.
“I think they’ve been surviving too long without realizing how bad things got.” And there it was. Not scandal. Not behavioral collapse. It was a burnout, the ugly kind too. I leaned silently against the kitchen counter afterward while processing that answer. Then eventually “…And you’re calling me because?” Another silence. “Jihyo noticed first.” Very interesting. Because if Jihyo was concerned enough to involve John— then this wasn’t ordinary exhaustion anymore. “When are you free?” John finally asked. I glanced toward the clock hanging above the kitchen entrance. 12:47 AM.
B: You do realize normal people discuss emotional crises before midnight, right? J: You were awake anyway. B: That’s not the point. J: You answered on the second ring. B: You know that if you called me even if I was in the middle of a car race I would still pick up. But… that’s also not the point.
A quieter laugh echoed somewhere near him again. “Fine. When do you want to meet?” John asked for tomorrow afternoon. “That sounds less like a request and more like kidnapping.” I told him “You’ll survive.” John ignored that completely. Typical. “The NDA’s already prepared.” That earned a short laugh out of me immediately. “Jesus Christ. You people are serious.” John still was serious, “We have to be.” There it was again. That carefulness. I rolled the cold water bottle lightly against my forehead while thinking. Young group. Hiatus instability. Solo pressure. Emotional suppression. Yeah. I could already see where this probably went wrong psychologically. “Alright, send me the location.” I muttered eventually. “Get some sleep first” I frowned slightly. “You can’t even see me.” John’s voice softened slightly afterward though “But I know you,” the atmosphere settled again naturally. “Tomorrow. Two in the afternoon.” The line disconnected not long after that.
I stayed leaning silently against the kitchen counter for a while afterward, phone still loosely in my hand while the apartment settled back into silence around me. Then eventually I glanced toward the laptop abandoned on the couch. Defeat screen still open. Unbelievable. I made a mental note to never play ranked past midnight again.
The café John picked the following afternoon looked exactly like the kind of place wealthy people pretended wasn’t expensive. Minimalist interior. Quiet lighting. Private enough to discourage attention without looking intentionally exclusive. The type of place celebrities used when they wanted to convince themselves they were still having normal conversations. John and Jihyo were already seated when I arrived. And immediately— John frowned.
J: You look like shit. B: Good afternoon to you too. J: No, seriously. You look exhausted.
I slid into the chair across from them before pulling my cap off loosely. “I stayed up too late.” John was looking at me again, that frown in face growing “Doing?” I stared at him flatly “…Making terrible life choices.” he narrowed his eyes at me “That narrows it down to everything.” I ignored him completely and reached for the glass of water already sitting nearby instead. “Some psychopath kept queueing into my ranked matches all night.” John looked mildly interested “And I lost. Repeatedly.” He finally broke into a smile “Huh, sounds like a skill issue.” That pinched a nerve in my pride.
Jihyo quietly laughed into her drink while I rubbed tiredly at my forehead. “The worst part is the IGN sounded pretentious too.” John raised an eyebrow. “What was it?” I tried recalling it properly. “Something elegant sounding.” I frowned slightly. “PenguinNoona? SilverPenguin? Something rich-person coded.” The silence afterward lasted exactly one second too long. Then suddenly John started laughing. Not normal laughing either. The genuinely disrespectful kind. Jihyo blinked between both of us immediately. “What?” I narrowed my eyes “…Why are you laughing?” John leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “Because that was Mina.” I blinked once “No it wasn’t.” Then again until John affirmed what I denied “It absolutely was.” Jihyo’s expression immediately shifted from confusion to visible amusement. “Wait,” she said while trying not to laugh herself now, “you spent all night getting destroyed by Mina?”
“She was reading my rotations before I even committed to them”. John muttered “That’s somehow worse since you challenged her first apparently.” I had no other play except to keep on making more excuses “I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS HER.” That only made John laugh harder, that jackass. I rubbed tiredly at my face while Jihyo laughed softly into her drink now too “…Tell her I want a rematch.” He held up his phone “You already said that six times last night apparently”. I stared at him blankly, that definitely was my IGN, and she even sent him screenshots? Unbelievable.
The atmosphere loosened naturally after that more familiar. Which honestly made what came next feel slightly stranger by comparison once the conversation gradually settled again. Jihyo’s eyes drifted briefly toward my wrist while I reached for the water again. Small movement that was easy to miss. But observant people always noticed expensive things eventually. Especially people surrounded by luxury branding professionally. The glance lingered only half a second longer before she looked away thoughtfully. John noticed too. “You’re still wearing that?” he asked casually. I glanced down at the watch. “It tells time”. He was visibly stressed “That’s not what I asked”. I raised my arms “Hey, it was free.” Jihyo looked up in the middle of sipping her drink “…Free?” I pointed to my watch “It was a gift.” John looked genuinely offended now. “You cannot call a limited allocation Patek Philippe ‘free.’ That’s not how reality works.”
“I didn’t pay for it” which was the basis of something being considered a gift. “That’s somehow worse.” Jihyo stared at the watch once more quietly before finally looking toward John “You did mention he was rich but… How rich is he exactly?” I immediately pointed at him. “Don’t answer that”. John ignored me completely. “Last I checked was a few years ago?” he muttered casually, “and by that time he was already wealthier than any of us.” then after a beat— “Barring Mina. That woman’s terrifyingly wealthy that it’s now even funny at this point.” Jihyo admitted immediately, “That’s fair.” I sighed deeply into my water. John continued anyway because apparently betrayal built character “After I lost the NewJeans job, he actually offered me one of his businesses so I could get back on my feet.” Jihyo blinked. “…One of?” John was waving his hand as he continued “I said no.” I muttered back “Because you’re dramatic”. He look back at me as if I was a crazy person “Because you were talking about handing me an entire company for FREE. Besides, I don’t like feeling like a charity case.” I shrugged lightly. “And I respected that.”
The conversation settled quietly for a moment afterward. Not awkward. Just thoughtful. Jihyo’s expression changed slightly then. Not impressed. Understanding. The puzzle pieces clicking together for her. To why I didn’t seem particularly concerned about industry politics. Why I moved carefully around obligation. Why agreeing to this meeting despite not needing anything professionally mattered more than it normally would. She’s an interesting woman. Finally, John leaned back slightly before gesturing toward the folder sitting on the table.
“So,” he said, “we should probably explain why we’re actually here before Ben decides this entire conversation was a mistake.” I glanced toward the folder sitting on the table. It was clean, organized and it had that expensive paper too “Please tell me that’s not the—” both of them answered at the same time “— it’s the NDA”. I leaned back slowly afterward. “…You know, most normal people buy someone dinner before legally binding them into psychological warfare.”
“That’s HR’s job,” John muttered “I hate that you said that with confidence.” Jihyo laughed softly under her breath while sliding the folder closer toward me. The atmosphere loosened slightly again after that. Not fully relaxed, but enough. That was good. People usually spoke more honestly once rooms stopped feeling interrogative. I opened the folder afterward, flipping through the pages casually while half-listening to the quiet jazz drifting somewhere deeper inside the café. Standard confidentiality clauses first. Entertainment privacy. Internal operational discretion. Then— there it was “This is broader than entertainment confidentiality.” Neither answered immediately. Which honestly answered enough already. I glanced up from the papers quietly. Not scandal. Not criminality. Emotional complexity. “You two are acting like you’re hiring me to negotiate a hostage situation.”
“Some days that industry feels close enough,” Jihyo muttered dryly. Fair. I skimmed through the rest carefully. Nothing unreasonable. Strict. But understandable. Honestly, if anything, the wording felt protective more than threatening. That interested me. I signed the final page anyway. Not impulsively. Consciously. That mattered. Once the folder slid back across the table toward them, the atmosphere shifted almost immediately afterward. Less guarded now. “So,” I finally said while folding my arms loosely, “what exactly am I walking into?” Jihyo looked toward John briefly before answering. “Burnout.”
Simple answer. Honest and incomplete, I stayed quiet. People usually filled silence when they wanted understanding badly enough. Sure enough, John continued. “Yeji adapted by over-functioning after Lia’s hiatus,” he said calmly. “The others adapted around her. And after enough time passed, everyone stopped recognizing how unhealthy it became.” Yeah. I’d seen versions of that before. Not identical. But familiar enough to leave a bad taste in my mouth anyway. “She’s preparing for a solo debut now,” Jihyo added quietly. “Which means the pressure’s only getting worse.” I nodded once slowly. That tracked psychologically. Group exhaustion could still distribute emotional burden. Solo work couldn’t. Especially not for leaders— especially not for someone already carrying too much by default.
I leaned back slightly deeper into the chair afterward while processing everything carefully. Then finally— “And the company agreed to let an outsider manage this?” That earned the faintest humorless smile from John “Jihyo asked.” So there it is, that explained the authority issue immediately. Not unlimited power. But enough institutional trust to override resistance. Dangerous amount of responsibility to hand somebody. Especially someone like me. “I’m assuming there’s a reason you’re not just assigning another internal manager.” Jihyo answered immediately “There is. He needs to understand emotional pressure without treating them like liabilities,” she continued quietly. “And he needs to care more about Yeji’s wellbeing than maintaining schedules perfectly.” That narrowed things down significantly. Most companies protect the schedule and very few said “protect the person”. I was interested in the scenario “And you think I fit that?” as I took a sip of my coffee. “I think John trusts you enough to call you.” That answer landed heavier than she probably intended.
I glanced briefly toward John afterward. He looked annoyingly calm about the entire thing.
Typical. “You’re making this sound more serious every five minutes,” I muttered. “That’s because it is serious,” John answered this time. No humor, just honesty. The atmosphere quieted slightly again afterward. Outside the café windows, the city kept moving normally, meanwhile inside this conversation, two people were essentially telling me an idol group had been quietly falling apart in slow motion long enough for veterans to finally notice. Emotionally dangerous. I rested my fingers lightly against the untouched coffee cup in front of me.
“What does Yeji know?” I asked them bluntly. “Not much yet,” Jihyo admitted. “Only that we’re trying to arrange additional support for the solo.” I was intrigued with the lack of protest “She agreed to that?” John answered quietly “Well she didn’t really argue,” that bothered me immediately. Not because agreement was bad. Because exhausted people stopped resisting help once they got too tired to fight properly. And something about the way both of them described her made me increasingly certain Yeji had already crossed into that territory a while ago. Interesting and concerning, I exhaled quietly afterward before finally asking the question both of them were obviously waiting for. “And what exactly do you want from me?” Another brief silence settled over the table. Then Jihyo answered carefully. “Help her breathe again.”
…Ahhh. That was worse somehow. The words settled strangely in my chest afterward. There was no desperation in Jihyo’s voice. No exaggerated pleading or emotional manipulation, just exhaustion. The kind that only came from watching people deteriorate slowly enough for everyone around them to normalize it. I leaned back deeper into the chair afterward while thinking quietly. Outside the café windows, the world kept on moving— but inside this table, meanwhile, two people were essentially asking me to emotionally stabilize a group leader before her first solo debut pushed her into complete collapse.
Dangerous responsibility. Especially considering the amount of authority they were apparently prepared to hand me. “And the company’s genuinely allowing this?” I asked eventually. Jihyo nodded once. “Officially, you’re being brought in as temporary personal management support for Yeji’s solo activities.” I repeated that word she said that piqued my interest, “Temporary” I repeated “For now.” Interesting wording. “And unofficially?” I asked calmly. John immediately rubbed tiredly at his forehead beside her. “There it is,” he muttered. “There WHAT is?” that man really knew how to press my buttons “The part where your psychology degree becomes annoying.”
“That sounds like projection” I said “It is projection” he admitted. Fair enough.
I rested my elbow lightly against the table afterward while studying both of them carefully “You two keep talking around something.” Neither denied it. So not scandal then. Intentional secrecy. Finally, John sighed quietly beside me “There are… emotional dynamics within our situation that aren’t exactly conventional.” That was the first genuinely direct thing either of them had said all afternoon. I stayed quiet and let him continue. “Nothing illegal,” he added immediately. “That’s really comforting, best buddy. I’m listening.” John glanced briefly toward Jihyo first, an unspoken request for permission “The girls rely on me emotionally more than most people would probably consider professionally appropriate.”
That was not a full answer. But enough of one. I leaned back slightly afterward while processing the implication quietly. Not because it surprised me. Honestly? I’d already suspected something adjacent to it the moment confidentiality expanded beyond standard entertainment protection. “And you’re telling me this because?” Jihyo answered in John’s behalf “Because if you agree to this,” Jihyo answered carefully, “there’s a chance Yeji might eventually rely on you similarly. Romantically, sexually, and emotionally.” That distinction mattered. Even if all three of us understood those lines rarely stayed clean forever inside emotionally isolated environments like theirs. I glanced briefly toward John again afterward “…How bad are your boundaries exactly?” “Better than they sound.” John was no longer planning on hiding it. “That is not a reassuring answer, best buddy.” I grinned at him. “It’s the truthful one, and will you stop calling me that?”
I stayed quiet for a few more seconds afterward while turning the situation over mentally. Emotionally exhausted idols. High-pressure environment. Isolation. Dependency. Trust structures forming around the few people allowed close enough to consistently see them as human beings. Psychologically speaking, none of this was actually shocking. Dangerous? Absolutely. Unusual? Not really. Which honestly might’ve been the worst part.
Finally, I exhaled quietly through my nose “For the record,” I muttered while reaching for my coffee again, “sleeping with Yeji is not secretly part of my career development plan.” Jihyo nearly choked on her drink immediately. Meanwhile John just closed his eyes slowly like he regretted inviting me already. “What?” I asked flatly. “You cannot say things like that with a straight face.” “I’m clarifying expectations professionally.” “That is NOT professional phrasing.” “Would you prefer a PowerPoint presentation?”
Jihyo was openly laughing into her hand now while John looked spiritually exhausted beside her. Good. That probably meant the atmosphere needed it. Eventually, though, the humor settled naturally again. And once it did, I noticed something important almost immediately. Neither of them actually looked worried about me crossing lines intentionally. Interesting. That meant this conversation wasn’t about predatory concern. It was about emotional gravity. Much more complicated. I rested my gaze briefly against the city skyline outside before eventually speaking again. “I’ll do the job,” I said calmly. “And I’ll do it properly.” The atmosphere shifted subtly afterward. Not relief exactly. Then I added “But if I think this situation is genuinely becoming psychologically dangerous for her, I’m pulling her back regardless of schedules.” John nodded immediately “Fair.” That told me more about him than the entire partial confession earlier honestly did. Because people abusing emotional dependency usually became defensive once limitations entered the conversation. John didn’t. Which meant despite however messy the situation actually was— he genuinely believed he was helping them survive.
Complicated. But genuine. The conversation settled quietly after that. Schedules. Logistics. Formalities. Nothing emotionally explosive, which honestly made me trust them slightly more. No manipulation. No emotional recruitment. No savior complex. Just concern. By the time the meeting finally started winding down, the late afternoon sunlight outside had already begun fading gold against the café windows. I stood first. Jihyo followed shortly after while John stayed seated another moment finishing the last of his coffee. As I rolled the sleeve of my hoodie back down loosely, I noticed Jihyo’s eyes briefly catch against the tattoo wrapping partially beneath my wrist near the watch, a curious gaze. Most people expected wealthy men to look cleaner than me. Less ink, lack of carelessness, less visibly damaged. Interesting thing about appearances, people trusted polished images too easily. Unfortunately for everyone involved, I stopped looking polished years ago.
The watch probably didn’t help either. And neither did the ring resting against my finger. Minimalist. Dark emerald stone. Understated enough that most people missed it completely. But people surrounded by luxury long enough eventually learned how to identify quiet money instinctively. I noticed the exact second Jihyo recognized it too. A tiny pause “…Wait,” she said slowly. Her attention lowered briefly toward the ring again “That’s Graff.” I glanced down absentmindedly “Unfortunately so”. John immediately sighed beside her “You wore THAT here? ARE YOU INSANE?!” I looked at the ring “It’s jewelry, not a nuclear weapon.”
“That ring literally requires financial screening before purchase, it’s probably worth more than this entire café” Jihyo blinked once. “…Wait seriously?” John pointed it out “Made-to-order line,” John’s voice tired “You can’t even request one unless they already know you can easily afford it.” “That sounds discriminatory,” I answered calmly. “That’s because rich people are terrifying, and specifically you are insane.” That was a fair observation. Jihyo stared at the ring another second longer before finally looking back toward me again. Not impressed or intimidated, the puzzle pieces clicking together.
Why industry politics didn’t particularly impress me. Why leverage didn’t seem to matter much to me. Why agreeing to something this emotionally complicated despite not needing anything professionally mattered more than it normally would. Eventually John stood too before glancing toward me once more. “So?” I slid both hands casually into my pockets afterward.
“You’re lucky I’m curious.” “That sounds concerning.” “It should.”
Jihyo laughed softly under her breath while shaking her head “Thank you, Ben.” That one sounded genuine enough to make refusing later significantly more difficult. Park Jihyo is a dangerous woman too, apparently.
The drive back toward the company building was quieter than expected. The late afternoon traffic crawled slowly through Seoul while soft music played somewhere low through the speakers of the car. Beside him, Jihyo rested her chin lightly against her hand while staring out the window. “You know,” he muttered eventually while stopping at another red light, “you could’ve warned me before telling Ben you thought I was sleeping with somebody.” Jihyo laughed softly beside him. “I didn’t say that.”
“You absolutely implied it.” “I implied emotional dependency.” “That sounds worse somehow.” Jihyo’s amusement faded slightly afterward though, something quieter settling into her expression instead. “…Do you think he’ll actually help?” John’s fingers tapped lightly once against the steering wheel before answering. “Yes.” No hesitation. “You trust him that much?”
“I trust him to leave if he thinks the situation’s unhealthy.” John glanced briefly toward her afterward. “Which is exactly why I trust him around them.” That answer quieted the car again. Outside the windows, the city kept moving normally. Inside it, meanwhile, the atmosphere shifted back toward concern naturally once Ben’s presence disappeared from the conversation. Eventually Jihyo exhaled softly. “We should talk to Yeji tomorrow.” John nodded once immediately “She’ll try to downplay it.” Jihyo agreed “I know. She’ll also think this is her fault somehow.” That earned the faintest tired smile out of him. Leader instincts, unfortunately predictable.
It happened on Dahyun’s day— which unfortunately meant Jihyo technically had to negotiate for John first. Dahyun had been comfortably laying across the dorm couch earlier that evening with John half-trapped beneath her while some movie played in the background neither of them were actually paying attention to. The moment Jihyo explained she needed to borrow him tomorrow for something related to ITZY, “So let me get this straight, you’re taking my boyfriend during my rotation” Dahyun immediately narrowed her eyes in suspicion “… to have him meet with some other woman?” Dahyun said feigning a reaction as if what Jihyo was asking was absolutely monstrous. “It’s work related. And this is Yeji we’re talking about— not some random woman” she pointed out. “That somehow sounds more criminal.” Dahyun told her while tightening her grip on John’s chest, John already looked exhausted before the conversation even properly started “Dahyun.” he was also trying to convince her by patting her head. “No, no.” Dahyun waved him off dramatically before looking back toward Jihyo instead. “You may borrow him temporarily under one condition.” Jihyo already knew that tone, more importantly— Dahyun knew the cards were in her favor “…What condition?” Jihyo asked carefully. Dangerous, more importantly— Dahyun knew the cards were in her favor “…What condition?” Jihyo asked carefully. Dahyun hummed thoughtfully while still laying comfortably across John like she physically intended to prevent him from leaving the couch—then slowly “The next time he’s on my rotation, nobody interrupts us.” John muttered tiredly beneath her “That’s already the rule.” Dahyun tightened her arms around him slightly afterward “No. I mean NOBODY interrupts us.” A dangerous emphasis. Jihyo immediately narrowed her eyes in suspicion “…What exactly are you planning?” Dahyun gasped dramatically “You think so lowly of me.”
“It means,” Dahyun continued proudly, “I want twenty-four uninterrupted hours where nobody steals him because they suddenly ‘miss him emotionally’ or because Sana decides she wants attention or because Jeongyeon unnie gets jealous halfway through the day.” From somewhere deeper inside the dorm, Jeongyeon yelled immediately “I HEARD THAT.” Dahyun yelled back “GOOD.” John looked exhausted instantly “…Why are you all like this?” Jeongyeon answered from the other room “Because you enabled it!” That was valid, I spoil all of them in their own way. Jihyo was already laughing softly into her hand now while Dahyun continued like a lawyer finalizing contract terms “I want breakfast together” she raised one finger, “Lunch together,” another finger “Dinner together,” another “And if anyone tries emotionally manipulating their way into my day, I reserve the right to become annoying about it for an entire next month.”
“That sounds threatening,” John muttered. “It IS threatening.” Jihyo shook her head while still laughing quietly “Fair enough. You treat your relationship like custody negotiations.” Dahyun looked back at John, “That’s because sharing requires organization.” Dahyun looked genuinely proud afterward though. Then finally she loosened her grip around John slightly before giving him a kiss and pointing toward Jihyo. “Approved. But you owe me too” Dahyun was looking at John’s concerned face “…What kind of owe?” Dahyun smiled immediately. “I want you to be rough, make me scream so hard no one gets to sleep that night” John closed his eyes slowly “That’s somehow worse”. And just like that, the negotiation ended.
The following afternoon, Jihyo and John found Yeji between rehearsal breaks. The practice room was quieter than usual, though the silence felt more like exhaustion than peace. Backup dancers rested near the mirrored walls while staff members quietly reorganized equipment nearby. Yeji herself sat off toward the corner with a tablet resting against her lap, eyes fixed on schedules even during downtime. Jihyo noticed immediately that Yeji still hadn’t really learned how to stop working even while technically resting.
Yeji looked up once they approached before immediately straightening slightly. “Oh— hello Jihyo unnie, and John Manager-nim.” There it was again. Automatic composure. “You busy?” Jihyo asked gently. Yeji glanced briefly toward the tablet before shaking her head. “Not really.” John and Jihyo exchanged the briefest glance. That was a lie, a small one though “Can we steal you to talk for a bit?” Jihyo asked. Yeji hesitated only briefly before nodding.
The conversation itself happened inside one of the smaller meeting rooms deeper inside the building. Quiet. Private. Neutral enough not to immediately feel intimidating. Yeji sat across from them while loosely holding onto an unopened bottled drink the entire time. Not nervous exactly, but she was guarded. Jihyo spoke first “We’re arranging additional personal management support for your solo preparations.” Yeji blinked once “…Additional management?” John clarified calmly “Temporary though. Mostly for workload management, schedule restructuring, and helping you navigate solo activities.” Yeji nodded slowly at first, though the hesitation still lingered afterward.
“Is it… because I’m struggling?” Straight to the point “No,” Jihyo answered gently. “Because solo promotions are different from group activities.” John nodded once beside her. “In a group, pressure gets distributed naturally. Solo schedules don’t work like that.” Yeji lowered her eyes briefly toward the bottle in her hands afterward. “I can handle it.” There it is again. Not “I’m okay.” Just “I can endure it.”
Jihyo leaned slightly forward afterward. “We know you can,” she said softly. “And that’s not the issue.” Silence settled briefly across the room. Yeji didn’t argue again after that. Eventually she glanced back toward John instead “…Who is it?” “A friend of mine, his name is Sung Benjamin” that immediately earned the faintest uncertainty across her expression. Reasonable reaction, John noticed it too “He’s qualified,” he added calmly. Yeji looked mildly embarrassed immediately afterward “I didn’t say he wasn’t.” “You were thinking it.” “…Maybe a little.”
That was a good reaction, a tiny bit of personality surfacing beneath the exhaustion. A human response. Not leader one. Jihyo smiled faintly while John continued “A few years ago there was an idol whose career was basically collapsing after a severe mental breakdown.” He paused briefly afterward. “Ben was one of the people responsible for helping them recover.” Yeji’s expression shifted slightly. Everyone in the industry knew stories like that. Some idols disappeared quietly and never fully came back afterward.
“He never took public credit for it,” Jihyo added softly. “Most people don’t even know he was involved.” That seemed to catch Yeji’s attention more than the actual achievement itself. “He’s not there to control you,” Jihyo continued carefully. “His job is to prioritize your well-being and make sure this doesn’t destroy you.” The room quieted briefly again afterward “…Okay.” No enthusiasm, not resistant either. Just tired honesty. Honestly, that probably worried Jihyo more than if Yeji had argued.
The company building felt quieter than expected when I arrived the next afternoon. A disciplined environment. People moved quickly, conversations stayed low, schedules existed five minutes ahead of wherever everybody currently stood. Entertainment companies always felt like that to me— entire buildings functioning on controlled exhaustion while pretending it was passion instead. One of the staff members assigned to guide me through the building glanced toward me every few seconds while walking. I don’t think it was recognition. Not familiarity either. My guess is probably trying to figure out whether I was important, connected, or somebody dangerous to accidentally disrespect. The tattoos usually complicated that process for people. Good— I preferred it that way.
“You’ll be meeting with Yeji-ssi inside,” the staff member explained carefully once we reached one of the upper floors. “The rehearsal break should still have around twenty minutes left.” Twenty minutes. Not enough rest for a day of rehearsals. The practice room doors were partially open when we arrived. Music echoed faintly inside while dancers stretched near the mirrored walls and staff members reorganized equipment nearby. And immediately— there she is.
Yeji sat near the corner of the room with a tablet balanced against one knee while speaking quietly with one of the choreographers. Even from a distance, I noticed the exhaustion almost instantly. Not because she looked weak. Because she looked functional. That distinction mattered. People expected burnout to look dramatic. It rarely did. Most of the time it just looked like someone becoming increasingly efficient at surviving themselves. It was interesting… and concerning too.
The staff member quietly excused himself afterward, leaving me standing near the entrance while Yeji finally noticed the movement near the doorway. Her eyes landed on me briefly. Then narrowed slightly in recognition. Not recognition of me specifically it was a recognition of “Oh. That’s probably him.” That was professional instinct.
I raised one hand casually in greeting “Hi.” The response came a second later than normal. Not rude. Tired “…Hi.” her voice calmer than I expected. Yeji stood shortly afterward while the choreographer beside her quietly excused himself, leaving the two of us awkwardly existing near the edge of the practice room for a few seconds.
“You’re Benjamin-ssi?” “There’s a horrifying possibility John forgot to warn you about me, but yes.” That earned the faintest blink out of her “Just call me Ben, formalities aren’t really my thing. At least she still reacted to humor.
“I’m Yeji.” “I don’t think there’s anyone in this building that doesn’t know you, Yeji. But it’s a pleasure to official meet you.” That finally earned the smallest hint of amusement at the corner of her mouth before it disappeared almost immediately afterward. There were still tiny flashes of personality beneath exhaustion— those mattered more than people realized.
I glanced briefly around the practice room afterward. Empty water bottles. Schedules. Music paused mid-track. Dancers resting against mirrored walls. Nobody in this room looked fully rested. But Yeji somehow still looked the most tired. “You just finished rehearsal?” I asked casually “We’re still in the middle of it.” Well… even worse than what I had in mind. I nodded slowly afterward while mentally recalculating the schedule standards they were probably operating under. Unpleasant numbers already forming. Yeji stayed quiet for a moment before eventually speaking again. “John said you’d be helping with the solo.”
“Allegedly.” That earned another small reaction from her. “You don’t sound very confident.” “I’m confident,” I answered calmly. “I just think the word ‘helping’ creates unrealistic expectations.” That actually made her pause. Not offended but thinking. It was good sign. I leaned lightly against the wall afterward while studying her expression carefully. Guarded. Polite. Holding herself together very intentionally. And underneath all of that— tired enough that even standing still looked like effort. Jihyo wasn’t overreacting. Not even slightly.
Eventually Yeji glanced toward the practice room floor again before speaking more quietly. “Did… they tell you about me?” Interesting wording. Not “the situation”, but “Me”.
I answered carefully “They told me enough.” Yeji nodded once slowly afterward. Then after a brief pause “…And you still agreed?” There it is. That one mattered. Not professionally, but emotionally. She is an interesting girl. I stayed quiet for a second before eventually answering honestly. “Curiosity mostly.” That seemed to surprise her slightly “Curiosity?”
“I wanted to see if John was exaggerating.” “…Was he?”
I glanced around the practice room once more. The schedules. The atmosphere. Her exhaustion. Then eventually back toward her again “No,” I answered calmly. “If anything, he undersold it.” The room quieted briefly after that. Not awkward. Just honest. And for the first time since I arrived, Yeji stopped looking like she was trying to perform normalcy perfectly.
The first thing I learned about idol rehearsal schedules was that everybody lied about breaks. A “ten minute break” somehow became reviewing choreography, checking recordings, answering staff questions, adjusting wardrobe fittings, discussing camera positioning, or practicing transitions. Which meant nobody was actually resting. An intriguing and horrible system. I stayed mostly quiet during the first few days. I observed, listened, and watched patterns. That part mattered more than people realized because burnout didn’t usually expose itself through dramatic collapse first. It exposed itself through normalization— and unfortunately, Yeji had normalized an alarming amount already.
“You skipped lunch” the words left my mouth casually while she remained crouched near the practice room monitor reviewing another playback recording. Without even looking up “I’ll eat later.” It wasn’t denial but more of delaying which was functionally worse. I leaned lightly against the mirrored wall afterward while glancing toward the untouched food container sitting beside her “Define later” I asked invasively. “After rehearsal.”
“You’ve said that twice already” that finally earned a small pause out of her before she looked up toward me properly. She knew that she caught “I’m busy” I still pointed to the food container with her name “Unfortunately true”. Yeji looked back down toward the monitor afterward like that settled the conversation. “You’re running on caffeine and muscle memory right now”. That earned the faintest crease between her brows immediately “…I’m fine.” I stayed quiet for a second afterward before speaking again. “You know people usually become defensive when they already know something’s unhealthy, right?” That finally made her fully look up at me “I’m not being defensive” with a tone that was ironically more defensive than angry. “Uh huh” I let her hear that while looking unconvinced “…I’m not” she tries to assure me. “Still counts if you say it twice”.
That clearly irritated her slightly. Good. Not because upsetting her mattered. But because frustration meant she was reacting honestly instead of professionally. Much more useful. Yeji finally set the tablet down beside her afterward. “You’ve been here three days.” I pointed back at her “Correct”. And with furrowed brows “And somehow you already think you understand how this works?” There it was— a comment not out of ego, but a sense of responsibility and it was an important difference. I straightened slightly from the wall afterward. “No,” I answered calmly. “I think you’ve been functioning like this long enough that everybody around you stopped questioning it.” The room quieted immediately after that. Not dramatic silence. Just uncomfortable honesty. Yeji folded her arms loosely afterward. “This is normal during comeback preparation.” I pointed out that “Normal and healthy aren’t interchangeable concepts.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” There was no hostility in her voice, just exhaustion. And underneath it— something dangerously close to guilt. I studied her quietly for another second before eventually asking “When’s the last time you slept properly?” Yeji answered too quickly “I sleep”. Not what I asked “There’s a difference between unconsciousness and rest”. That visibly frustrated her now. A tiny reaction, but a real one nonetheless. That was good. “People are depending on me right now,” she answered quietly afterward “I don’t really have the luxury of slowing down.” The real problem was starting to show itself, it was not perfectionism— but obligation. I nodded slowly afterward “That explains the behavior”. Yeji blinked once “…Behavior?”
“Overworking. Skipping meals. Monitoring everybody else before yourself.” I gestured lightly toward the practice room around us. “You’re treating self-destruction like responsibility”. That one landed. Immediately. Her expression shifted before she could fully stop it. For a second I genuinely thought she might argue again. “…You talk like a psychologist” she said looking away instead. “I paid an irresponsible amount of money to become one.” That finally pulled the faintest unwilling reaction out of her again. Small. But there.
I pushed off the wall afterward before casually picking up the untouched food container beside her and holding it out “Eat”. Yeji stared at me for a second “Are you always this pushy?” before taking the container from my hands. “No,” I answered honestly. “Usually people rest before I need to become annoying” I pointed out. “That sounds threatening” she told me. “It’s a promise.” That earned an actual visible exhale out of her this time. Not quite laughter. Closer to disbelief. But honestly? It was probably the first emotionally genuine reaction she’d had all afternoon. I would consider that progress.
The strange thing about exhaustion was how quickly people built personalities around it. By the second week, I started noticing patterns that had nothing to do with choreography anymore. Yeji automatically checked everybody else’s condition before acknowledging her own. She apologized whenever staff members adjusted schedules around her. She thanked people for things that should’ve been expected. And somehow— she still looked mildly uncomfortable anytime I forced her to sit down for longer than five consecutive minutes. It’s starting to be concerning. “You’re staring again” her voice pulled me out of thought while we sat near one of the side rehearsal rooms waiting for a delayed recording setup to finish “I’m observing” she squinted her eyes at me “That sounds creepier somehow”
“That’s because psychology as a profession is fundamentally invasive.” Yeji looked down briefly afterward, unsuccessfully hiding the faint reaction at the corner of her mouth. It is much easier to make her smile when she forgot she was supposed to act composed. The room settled quietly afterward. Staff members moved back and forth through the hallway outside while somebody farther down the corridor tested audio loud enough to echo faintly through the walls. It was just me and Yeji at the edge of the practice room then she suddenly broke the silence “…You really think I’m that bad?” The question didn’t defensive this time. I leaned back slightly in the chair afterward before answering carefully. “I think you got used to functioning exhausted.” Yeji lowered her eyes toward the bottled drink resting between her hands “That’s normal here”.
“See, that sentence specifically is the problem.” That earned the faintest crease between her brows again. “You keep talking like I’m doing something wrong.” A hint of guilt in her voice. I stayed quiet for a second before eventually shaking my head. “I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong,” I glanced briefly toward the hallway outside afterward, “Honest opinion? I believe you adapted to survive an environment that rewards self-destruction”. The room quieted again afterward. Yeji didn’t respond immediately this time. Instead she sat there silently turning the unopened drink slowly between her hands while thinking. People became quieter once conversations started reaching places they usually avoided, so this was another good sign. Eventually she exhaled softly “…You sound like you hate this industry, do you?” Interesting question. “I think this industry confuses endurance with worth.” That made her look at me properly again. Not because the statement shocked her. Because it sounded familiar.
I continued before she could disappear back into her own head again “That doesn’t mean I think idols are weak for enduring it,” I added calmly “I just think people stop questioning unhealthy things once enough talented people survive them”. Yeji stayed quiet afterward. Thinking again “…John talks similarly sometimes”. That was the first time I’ve been compared with John and that answer honestly explained more than she probably realized “TWICE sunbaenim”. The words left her mouth casually. Then immediately afterward, Yeji looked mildly caught off guard that she said it aloud at all. I leaned back slightly deeper into the chair afterward. “He was around during a pretty ugly part of my life”. Yeji didn’t pry— another interesting thing about her. Most people became more curious once they sensed damage in somebody else. Yeji instead looked almost careful around it. Like she understood boundaries too well. “…And you trust him too?” she asked quietly.
I laughed softly once under my breath “Unfortunately for me— I trust him with my life.” That finally earned another small reaction out of her. Tiny moments of ease were becoming more frequent now. Not comfort yet just a rhythm and that mattered. Outside the hallway, somebody called for Yeji a few moments later to prepare for the next recording setup. The moment her name was called, her posture immediately shifted again. Straightened. Focused. Ready. And that happened too fast, it was more dangerous behavior I got to see.
Yeji stood quickly afterward before instinctively reaching for the tablet and schedule folder beside her at the same time. Then paused. Because I was already holding one of them “…You don’t need to carry that”. I looked at her before calmly answering “You also don’t need to carry everything yourself”. That immediately earned a look from her. Not irritation or gratitude, it was something more complicated. Like she didn’t fully know what to do with somebody noticing things she normally handled automatically.
The next week became progressively worse in ways most people probably wouldn’t have noticed. Unfortunately for everyone involved, noticing things was apparently my job now. Schedules tightened. Rehearsals ran longer. Sleep became negotiable. And somewhere in the middle of all that, Yeji slowly started looking less like somebody preparing for a solo debut and more like somebody trying to outrun exhaustion through sheer momentum alone. It was a very common strategy, and an extremely risky one at that. The problem with highly functional people was that they usually collapsed privately first. Which meant by the time everyone else noticed— things were already bad.
I started restructuring what I could quietly. Longer transition gaps between rehearsals. Mandatory meal windows disguised as schedule adjustments. Reducing unnecessary media overlap. Pushing less urgent recordings later whenever possible. Small changes. But Yeji noticed every single one immediately. Of course she did. “You moved the dance review again” the accusation came the moment she stepped into the hallway outside one of the rehearsal rooms late that evening. I glanced up from the schedule tablet in my hands “I optimized it”. She pointed out my decision “You delayed it” it took a second for me to correct her “Those are emotionally different statements”. She looked serious this time “That doesn’t answer my question. Why?” she sounded more awake when frustrated.
I looked at Yeji in her eyes, I wasn’t going to back down on this “You slept four hours.” She didn’t see what was wrong with that, “It’s plenty enough” she said. “The hell it is,” I answered neutrally “That’s barely survival”. Yeji folded her arms loosely afterward “We don’t have enough time right now to prioritize comfort”. Interesting wording, comfort— not health. “You think sleep is a luxury,” I observed quietly “I think this debut matters.” I could tell from that response that she wasn’t afraid of failure, It was the fear of disappointing people.
The hallway quieted briefly afterward while staff members moved around farther down the corridor preparing equipment for the next setup. Yeji looked exhausted. But more than that— she looked frustrated that exhaustion was becoming visible at all. “You’re treating yourself like a deadline instead of a person again,” I said eventually. That immediately made her expression tighten slightly. Not because the statement offended her, my words landed too accurately. “You make it sound simple” she told me. “It’s not simple” I disagreed with that observation. “Then stop talking like it is.” There it is. First genuine emotional pushback. Honestly, it was overdue too. I stayed quiet for a second afterward before answering more carefully. “I don’t think taking care of yourself is simple,” I said calmly. “I think you’ve spent so long believing your value comes from enduring things that resting now feels irresponsible.”
The silence afterward felt heavier. Not dramatic. Just honest enough to become uncomfortable. Yeji looked away first “…People are counting on me,” she muttered quietly. “And you think collapsing helps them?” I pointed that out. “That’s not what I said” she tried to argue. “No,” I agreed softly. “But it’s where this ends if you keep going like this.” That one landed harder. Immediately because for the first time since I met her, Yeji didn’t have a response ready. Just tired silence. Then eventually somebody farther down the hallway called her name again Schedule continuing. Yeji exhaled softly afterward before pushing herself away from the wall “…I have to go.”
“I know” she took maybe two steps before stopping unexpectedly. Then without fully turning back “…You’re really annoying, you know that?” she wasn’t mad or dismissive. And honesty I smiled faintly afterward “I’ve been told worse”. That finally earned the smallest breath of laughter out of her before she disappeared farther down the hallway again and that worried me more than the arguments did. Because people didn’t start letting somebody disrupt their coping mechanisms unless exhaustion was finally beginning to outweigh resistance.
After that, something subtle changed between them. Not closeness or comfort. Just familiarity settling into places where resistance used to exist. Yeji still argued occasionally whenever Ben rearranged parts of her schedule, but the arguments started sounding less like rejection and more like somebody frustrated that another person kept noticing things she was trying very hard to ignore. Unfortunately for her, Ben was professionally difficult to discourage “You moved the recording review again.” I didn’t even look at her since that was a sentence I’ve heard too many times, “You say that like I committed tax fraud.”
She sounded serious this time, “You’re delaying it.” “No, I optimized it.” “That’s still delaying it.” “Emotionally different.”
Yeji sighed tiredly afterward while pinching lightly at the bridge of her nose. I noticed another thing too during those days. Yeji’s exhaustion no longer looked sharp. Earlier on, she burned brightly— tense, overfocused, constantly moving like momentum alone kept her upright. Now? Everything about her started looking quieter. And somehow that worried him more. People expected burnout to look explosive. Most of the time it actually looked like somebody slowly disappearing inside their own routines. The first moment that genuinely unsettled him happened during choreography rehearsals late one evening.
One of the dancers missed a formation transition badly enough for the music to stop mid-run. Normally, Yeji would’ve immediately stepped in to help correct positioning before staff members even asked. This time she just stood there silently for a second too long while staring toward the mirrored wall. Barely noticeable for people, but enough for me. The choreographer repeated the correction afterward and Yeji apologized immediately despite the mistake not even being hers. Still carrying responsibility for things beyond her control. But slower now. Like even guilt was becoming exhausting. I didn’t say anything about it immediately, I just started to observe her more carefully afterward.
And the more I watched, the more something about her behavior started feeling wrong in a way exhaustion alone couldn’t fully explain anymore. Because Yeji wasn’t just tired now. She was starting to detach from things she normally cared about instinctively. That part worried me the most. I didn’t mention it immediately. Mostly because I was still trying to figure out whether I was overanalyzing things or not. Occupational hazard. Psychology teaches you very quickly that there’s a dangerous difference between observing patterns and projecting fears onto them. And I’d made enough mistakes in my life already to know I wasn’t immune to the latter.
But the feeling stayed. Something about Yeji had changed. Not externally enough for most people to notice. She still rehearsed. Still smiled when cameras appeared. Still thanked staff members politely. Still carried herself like a dependable leader. But now it all felt… quieter. Like she was performing responsibility from memory instead of conviction. That thought sat badly with me for the rest of the week. The final rehearsal stretch before the solo debut became brutal even by industry standards. Everybody looked exhausted. Yeji somehow looked both exhausted and emotionally absent at the same time. That combination started to raise alarms in my head. I started catching smaller things afterward. She stopped checking playback monitors as obsessively. Stopped correcting tiny choreography inconsistencies immediately. Stopped rereading schedules during every spare moment. At first glance, somebody probably would’ve called that improvement. I didn’t. Because none of it felt like relief. It felt like withdrawal. And that scared me more than any of her overworking ever did. One night after rehearsals ended, I found myself walking through one of the quieter hallways near the upper practice rooms while answering emails on my phone. The building had mostly emptied out already. Only a few staff members still moved between floors. Then I noticed one of the rehearsal room doors partially open. Music wasn’t playing inside. I glanced up briefly while passing by— and stopped walking immediately afterward.
Yeji sat alone near the mirrored wall with her knees loosely pulled closer toward herself while staring blankly at the dark practice room floor. No tablet. No schedules. No reviewing choreography… Just silence. Something unpleasant settled heavily in my chest immediately afterward. Because suddenly every small behavioral shift from the past week connected all at once in my head. Shit, how did I miss that?
I stayed near the doorway for a second longer than normal before finally speaking “You know sitting alone in dark rehearsal rooms is usually how horror movies start, right?” The response came slowly. Not startled. Just delayed “…You’d survive the movie.” that was her reaction? Not a “Hi” or “You scared me”. Just quiet acknowledgment that I existed there beside her. I stepped inside carefully afterward before closing the door behind me halfway. Not trapped. Just quieter. Yeji still hadn’t moved much. Didn’t look embarrassed either. That worried me immediately. I lowered myself down beside the mirrored wall a short distance away afterward, giving her space.
For a while neither of us spoke. The silence didn’t feel awkward. Just heavy. Then eventually “…Do you ever wonder if people can just run out of wanting things?” She sounded like she was drowning in hopelessness. For the first time since taking this job, I genuinely felt uncertain about whether I was equipped to handle what came next.
I stayed quiet for a second too long afterward. Not because I didn’t hear her. Because I was trying very carefully not to answer that question carelessly. People said dangerous things quietly long before they ever acted on them loudly. And something about the way Yeji asked that didn’t feel hypothetical at all. Eventually I leaned my head lightly back against the mirrored wall behind me before answering honestly “Yeah, I do. All the time actually”. Yeji didn’t look surprised by the answer “I think people get exhausted enough that eventually wanting things starts feeling heavier than giving them up” I continued. The room stayed silent afterward. The faint hum of the building’s ventilation somewhere above us. Yeji lowered her eyes toward the floor again “…That sounds depressing.”
“It’s psychology.” I shrugged lightly. “We market depression professionally”. That finally earned the faintest breath of amusement out of her. Small and weak, but real enough that I kept talking afterward “The important part is that exhaustion lies to people”. Yeji stayed quiet while listening. “It starts convincing you that permanent decisions are rational solutions to temporary emotional states.” that one landed immediately. I could tell. Not because she reacted dramatically. Because she went still— dangerously still. I kept my voice calm afterward despite the unpleasant realization slowly settling heavier in my chest “You’ve been thinking about leaving, haven’t you.” Not a question, I have fears that she was this far and this had just confirmed my fears.
Silence stretched between us immediately afterward. Long enough that a part of me almost wished I was horrendously wrong this time. Yeji eventually broke the silence “…I don’t know if I can keep doing this.” That was conventionally worse than just wanting to quit. Because she sounded guilty about reaching the thought. I exhaled slowly through my nose afterward while trying very carefully not to mishandle what this conversation was actually becoming. This wasn’t burnout anymore. This was somebody emotionally detaching from their own future. Very dangerous territory, dangerous enough that the wrong sequence of words would fuck everything up.
“You don’t need to decide your entire life tonight” Yeji laughed softly once under her breath afterward. No amusement in it “That’s easy for you to say”. There was no hostility in those words— just tired enough that hope itself probably sounded unrealistic right now. “I’m serious.” I looked toward her properly afterward. “You’re exhausted, overworked, emotionally isolated, and carrying enough pressure to distort your judgment.”
“You make me sound unstable” those words were wrong, she isn’t unstable— she was just pushed near her breaking point, and that was a far breaking point. “I think you’ve been strong for too long without resting properly” I paused briefly “Those aren’t the same thing.” That quieted her immediately again. This was an important distinction. Because the last thing she needed right now was to feel broken on top of exhausted. Yeji pulled her knees slightly closer afterward while staring down toward the floor “…Everybody keeps depending on me.” That was the obligation shackled to her. Always obligation. “And somewhere along the way,” she continued quietly, “I think I stopped knowing if I still wanted any of this for myself.”
That one hurt to hear. Not because it sounded dramatic. Because it sounded honest. It was that moment I suddenly understood why Jihyo sounded so worried back at the café. Because this wasn’t somebody collapsing loudly. This was somebody quietly preparing themselves to disappear from a life they no longer believed they were surviving correctly. I rubbed lightly at my forehead afterward before speaking again “Can I say something potentially annoying?” That earned the faintest glance toward me “…You usually do anyway, why ask permission now?”. Good a tiny reaction like that meant that she’s still there, Yeji wasn’t far gone.
“I think you’ve spent so long treating yourself like a responsibility that you forgot you’re also a person” the silence afterward felt heavier than anything else we’d said all night. Yeji looked away first. And for the first time since I met her, she genuinely looked close to crying.
That scared me more than if she actually cried immediately. Because people like Yeji didn’t usually break all at once. They held everything together for so long that by the time emotion finally surfaced, it usually meant they were already dangerously close to their limit. She kept looking away from me like maintaining eye contact would make the conversation too real somehow “…I don’t know how to stop”. That sounded like an exhaustion so deeply integrated into her identity that she genuinely no longer understood what existing outside of it looked like.
I answered carefully “You don’t have to figure that out tonight.” Yeji laughed softly again beneath her breath. Still tired. Still hollow. “But tomorrow still happens.” That one landed harder than she probably intended— because she was right. Schedules still existed. The debut is still happening. Expectations still existed. That was the ugly truth, part of what made this industry so psychologically dangerous was how little space it gave people to fall apart safely. I stayed quiet for a second afterward before speaking again.
“Okay.” I nodded once slowly. “Then don’t think about next month. Or next year. Or whether you stay in the industry forever.” Yeji finally looked toward me properly again “Then what am I supposed to think about?” I pointed at the clock “Tonight, for starters.” That quieted her immediately. I continued before she could spiral back into her own head again “You don’t need to decide your entire future while emotionally exhausted.”
“That sounds irresponsible” her instinctive belief that suffering somehow produced better decisions. “No,” I answered calmly “What’s irresponsible is making permanent decisions while psychologically cornered”. The room went silent again afterward. But this time the silence felt different. Less detached and more fragile. Yeji lowered her eyes slowly afterward before finally admitting something quieter than everything else she’d said so far “I’m scared that if I stop even for a second, everything will fall apart.”
That was her real fear. Not failure. Not criticism. Collapse. And she was dangerously near the edge of collapsing too. I leaned my head lightly back against the mirrored wall again afterward before answering honestly “You know what the worst part is?”. Yeji blinked once tiredly “What?” I looked towards Yeji “You actually believe the people around you only deserve the version of you that’s suffering correctly”. That one hit immediately. I saw it happen in real time. Her expression tightened slightly before she looked away again too quickly and suddenly, I understood something else too. Yeji didn’t just feel responsible for people. She felt that she was easily replaceable. Like the moment she stopped functioning perfectly, somebody better deserved her place instead.
That kind of thinking destroyed people slowly. I rubbed lightly at my jaw afterward while trying very carefully to choose my next words correctly. Because honestly? I still wasn’t fully confident I had the right words, I just knew the wrong words and that I should avoid those. “I’m going to tell you something professionally irresponsible now”. That finally earned the faintest confused reaction out of her “…That sounds concerning.” I laughed a bit “It probably is.” I looked toward her properly afterward. “I don’t think you actually want to leave”. The room quieted instantly. Not because she disagreed. Because she needed to hear the rest.
“I think you want the pain to stop,” I continued softly “And right now your brain is trying to convince you those are the same thing.” Yeji stared at the floor silently afterward. Then very quietly “What if it never stops?” That was the moment I realized this had already gone far beyond anything I could safely handle through professionalism alone. The room stayed silent for a while after Yeji asked that question and I didn’t answer immediately, because honestly— I didn’t have an immediate answer. People liked imagining psychology experts as individuals who always knew the right thing to say during emotional collapse. In reality, most of the job was quietly hoping your words reached someone before their hopelessness did. Because false reassurance would’ve insulted her intelligence. Eventually I exhaled quietly through my nose before answering honestly “Then we adapt”. Yeji blinked slightly. Not the answer she expected “You say that like it’s simple.”
“It’s not simple.” I shook my head lightly afterward. “But neither is convincing yourself you need to disappear just because you’re exhausted.” that quieted her again. I leaned my arms loosely over my knees afterward while looking toward the dark practice room floor ahead of us. “You know the biggest lie high-functioning people tell themselves?” Yeji looked toward me quietly. “That needing rest means they failed” her expression shifted immediately. “I don’t think you actually want to quit” I carried on talking, “I think you’re emotionally cornered enough that you started treating self-removal like responsibility.” The room stayed completely still afterward, the exhaustion finally being spoken out loud instead of performed through professionalism.
Yeji lowered her eyes slowly “…I hate how accurately you read people”. I sighed lightly. “Trust me, it’s significantly less fun from this side.” That finally earned another small breath of laughter out of her. It was a fragile laugh, but better. Then eventually she spoke again “What if I disappoint everyone?”
There it was again— the fear of failing others. Always others. I answered carefully. “You’ve attached your worth to how much suffering you can endure for people.” I glanced toward her briefly afterward. “That’s not leadership. That’s self-destruction with a good marketing team”. That one made her laugh properly. Real enough that it echoed faintly through the otherwise empty practice room. That sound alone relieved something in my chest I didn’t realize had been tightening for the past hour. Yeji rubbed lightly at her eyes afterward before exhaling slowly “You really are annoying.”
“There it is,” I smiled in relief “That’s the version of you I’ve been waiting to hear again.” That immediately made her pause. The room quieted again afterward, it was softer this time— less hopeless. Yeji stared toward the floor silently for a few seconds longer before eventually asking “You really think I can still do this?” A careful question yet still a dangerous one too. Because this wasn’t asking if the debut would succeed but asking if she was still capable of her role without self-imploding. I answered honestly “I think you’re exhausted enough that you stopped recognizing yourself properly.” Yeji listened quietly. “And I think making permanent decisions from that emotional state would be unfair to yourself”. Another silence settled afterward then finally she added “I don’t want to disappear.”
That was when I saw the real Yeji. Not Yeji the leader or Yeji the idol— Just Yeji. And that was probably the first moment since taking this job that I genuinely believed she was going to survive this properly. The relief that followed that realization hit harder than expected. Because suddenly I became a little too aware that this situation had already stopped feeling professionally distant to me a while ago. Yeji turned toward me slightly afterward. Still tired and fragile, but present again. And for a few seconds neither of us spoke. We just sat there quietly in the dim practice room while the city outside the building kept moving completely unaware that somebody inside had just barely talked themselves back from disappearing emotionally.
“Thank you” it were simple words. Honest ones too. I nodded once lightly afterward “You don’t need to thank me for staying”. The moment the sentence left my mouth, I saw the shift happen. It was tiny, barely visible. Because suddenly Yeji looked at me differently. Not as a manager or a nosy-pain-in-the-ass psychology major or just somebody temporarily hired to help her survive the recent schedules— just someone she emotionally found herself reaching toward instinctively. The timing was dangerous too. Honestly? I probably should’ve looked away first.
Instead, Yeji moved before I fully processed the expression on her face. Small movement. Careful movement. Like she was still uncertain even while choosing it. Then suddenly— warmth against my lips. Brief and soft. Hesitant enough that it almost felt like a question instead of a kiss, and somehow that made it hit infinitely harder. For a second neither of us moved afterward. Not because the kiss shocked me. Because my brain was trying very hard to decide whether responding to it would immediately make me a terrible person professionally. Occupationally inconvenient timing.
Yeji pulled back first. Not far. Just enough that I could finally properly see the expression on her face. And honestly? That destroyed any possibility of misunderstanding what just happened. She didn’t look impulsive. She didn’t look emotionally unstable. There wasn’t even a look of embarrassment. Just terrified of being rejected for choosing something selfish for once. Shit… a dangerous realization. A VERY DANGEROUS realization hit me “You probably shouldn’t have done that,” I said quietly, not harsh— just honest. Yeji lowered her eyes immediately afterward “…I know”. No defensiveness, no regret either. That was an important difference.
The silence stretched between us again for a few seconds before I finally rubbed lightly at my forehead and exhaled quietly through my nose. Because unfortunately, professionalism became significantly harder to maintain once somebody looked at you like you were the first place they emotionally felt safe landing in months. Terrible design flaw in humanity honestly, and one that I wasn’t immune to either. “You’re emotionally exhausted,” I continued carefully. “And I need you to understand that I’m taking that seriously.” Yeji nodded once slowly “I know.”
“That kiss can’t become something you use because you’re falling apart.” that one hurt her slightly. I saw it immediately. Not because she thought I was rejecting her. Because she thought I misunderstood her. Yeji looked toward the floor quietly for a second before finally answering “I didn’t do it because I’m breaking.” her voice stayed soft the entire time. “But?” she hesitated briefly afterward “…I did it because you stayed.” That one nearly destroyed my remaining professionalism on impact. Because suddenly every moment from the past few weeks rearranged itself differently in my head.
The arguments. The resistance. The exhaustion. The trust. The gradual honesty. None of it had been impulsive. This girl had been consciously choosing emotional proximity little by little the entire time. I looked away briefly afterward while trying unsuccessfully to reorganize my thoughts into something psychologically responsible. That didn’t work. Unfortunate. “You’re making this difficult for me.” That finally earned the faintest tired breath of amusement out of her “…Sorry.”
“There’s the apologizing again” that actually made her smile slightly. And somehow the sight of it after the past few days hit significantly harder than it should have. Concerning to me more than to Yeji. I stayed quiet for another second afterward before finally speaking more honestly than I probably should’ve “I’m trying very hard not to become somebody who takes advantage of emotionally vulnerable people”. Yeji’s expression softened immediately afterward. Not offended. It was understanding “You’re not”. Another dangerous answer. Especially because part of me wanted very badly to believe her immediately. I leaned my head lightly back against the mirrored wall afterward while staring toward the ceiling for a second “This is usually the part where I make terrible life decisions.”
“That sounds oddly specific” a giggle escaped her. “You’d be horrified how common emotionally compromised attachment is in this field, even for people like me who don’t professionally practice.” That earned another quiet laugh out of her. Much better sound now. She sounded more alive again. That realization alone probably should’ve warned me how emotionally involved I already was becoming. Yeji shifted slightly closer afterward. Not enough to touch. Just enough that the distance between us no longer felt accidental “…Do you regret it?” Carefully questioned. It wasn’t her asking me if I like her or if what she did was wrong— it was her subtly asking if I liked that it happened.
I answered honestly “…No” despite the professional choice was to lie— the word left my mouth much easier than professionalism probably would’ve preferred. And judging from the way Yeji’s shoulders relaxed slightly afterward— it mattered more to her than she intended to show.
The strange thing afterward was that nothing became dramatically different overnight. That probably reassured me more than anything else could’ve. Because if Yeji suddenly became emotionally impulsive after that conversation, I would’ve immediately known the kiss came from emotional instability instead of clarity. But she didn’t. The next few days still looked exhausting. Still chaotic. Still overloaded with rehearsals, fittings, recording reviews, and endless adjustments leading into the debut. The difference was subtler than that. Yeji started feeling present again. Not constantly. Not perfectly. But enough. Enough that I started catching small moments I hadn’t seen before. Like actual irritation instead of exhausted compliance “You moved the rehearsal review again”. I glanced up from the schedule tablet calmly. “Correct.”
“You’re abusing authority.” “No, I’m exercising competence.” “That sounds narcissistic.” “That sounds like somebody who slept five hours instead of three.” “You’re impossible.” Yeji narrowed her eyes immediately afterward while I continued walking down the hallway beside her completely unbothered “And yet your blood pressure’s improving. Curious.”. Yeji walked up close to my face “That’s not funny.” I just looked at her without a sense of shame “It’s a little funny, you have to admit that”. The fact she rolled her eyes instead of shutting down emotionally afterward mattered significantly more than she realized. Small behavioral recovery, but real. That became enough for me to start breathing easier too.
Despite the positive changes it felt dangerous on my end. Because somewhere along the way, I stopped measuring her condition professionally and started measuring it personally instead. I noticed when she smiled more naturally. When she ate without being reminded. When she stopped rereading schedules obsessively during downtime. When she started talking to staff members casually again instead of mechanically. And the worst part? She noticed me noticing. That became a problem almost immediately.
“You’re staring again.” “I’m observing.” “You say that like it’s legally distinct.” “It IS legally distinct.”
Yeji laughed quietly beneath her breath afterward while adjusting the oversized hoodie hanging loosely over her rehearsal clothes. That sound still affected me more than it should’ve. Occupationally inconvenient. Very inconvenient.
The solo preparations became more intense the closer debut approached. But strangely enough— the atmosphere around Yeji stopped feeling like slow emotional collapse and started feeling like pressure again. Still difficult and unhealthy pressure. But no longer hopeless. That distinction mattered a lot. One evening after rehearsal review, I found her sitting cross-legged near the edge of the practice room floor while reviewing camera positioning notes. Normal enough. Except this time, she actually looked focused instead of emotionally detached. Progress.
I lowered myself beside her afterward while handing over the protein drink she forgot sitting near the mirrors twenty minutes earlier “You keep leaving these everywhere”. Yeji accepted it quietly before glancing sideways toward me “…You remember small things annoyingly well.”
“Psychological profiling.” “That’s not how profiling works.” “You don’t know that.” “I literally Googled it after meeting you.”
That genuinely caught me off guard enough to laugh once “You researched me?” Yeji looked mildly embarrassed immediately afterward “…That sounded worse out loud.” I couldn’t hold back my grin to the admission of guilt “Ohh it’s significantly worse”. Yeji was flustered “I was curious.”
The room settled quieter afterward. Not awkward. Just softer now. That softness between us was becoming harder to ignore every day. Because nothing dramatic kept happening between us after the kiss. No stolen make-out sessions. No reckless emotional escalation. No relationship-defining conversations. Just consistency. Me staying. Her letting me. And somehow that became infinitely more intimate than impulsiveness ever would’ve been. One night closer to the debut showcase, the company finally cleared rehearsals earlier than expected after one of the production teams ran behind schedule. Miracle-level event honestly. The dancers left first. Then staff members. Then eventually the practice rooms emptied one by one until only scattered voices remained farther down the hallway.
Yeji sat near the edge of the stage platform afterward while loosely stretching one leg absentmindedly. Tired. But not hollow anymore. I leaned lightly against the mirrored wall nearby while reviewing tomorrow’s schedule from my phone.
“Your first live showcase interview starts at ten.” “That’s cruel of them.” “You’ll survive.” “Debatable.”
I glanced up briefly afterward “You nervous?” That made her pause. Not because she didn’t know the answer. Because she was actually thinking about it honestly now “…A little.” That was a healthy answer. Before she would’ve said that she was fine, now it was different. “You know,” I muttered while locking my phone afterward, “normal people usually celebrate before major life events”. Yeji looked toward me curiously “Celebrate how?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged lightly. “Food. Alcohol. Property damage. Irreversible consequences and whatnot.” “Wow… that escalated quickly.” “I believe in emotional range.”
That finally earned another real laugh out of her. God. There it is again. That feeling in my chest was becoming a genuine issue now. The fact that I could even recognize the difference between her real laughter and the polite versions she used around cameras now probably said enough about how emotionally involved I was becoming. Occupationally? It was catastrophic. Yeji eventually shook her head softly afterward while standing from the floor and stretching lightly. “You sound like somebody banned from multiple establishments.” “Allegedly.” “That’s not denial.” “It’s legally safer than honesty.” “Here I thought you’d just buy the establishment to unban yourself.” “I thought I told John to keep that a secret.”
Another laugh. Smaller this time. The practice room slowly settled quiet around us afterward while both of us began gathering scattered notes and water bottles left behind from rehearsals. That normalcy almost affected me more than the emotionally intense moments did. Because two weeks ago, this room felt like the emotional equivalent of a sinking ship. Now? Yeji looked tired, overwhelmed occasionally— but alive again. That mattered a lot.
She eventually slung her bag over one shoulder afterward before glancing toward me again “…You’ll be there tomorrow, right?” Interesting question. She wasn’t asking if I’ll be managing tomorrow, which I would still be doing. It was just asking if I would be there— if I wanted to be there. This girl started to ask the dangerous questions. I answered anyway.
“Unfortunately you’re professionally stuck with me for the foreseeable future.” “That sounds threatening.” “It’s meant to be reassuring.”
Yeji smiled faintly beneath her breath afterward while walking beside me toward the hallway outside the practice room. The company building had mostly quieted down now. Only scattered staff members still moved through the upper floors preparing final showcase logistics. Tomorrow suddenly felt very close. That realization probably should’ve made me more nervous professionally than it did emotionally. Because now the debut no longer felt like another project or management assignment. Now it felt personal.
The elevator ride downward afterward stayed mostly quiet. At one point Yeji leaned lightly back against the wall beside the elevator buttons while staring ahead absentmindedly. Then quietly “…I’m still nervous” a healthier reaction. Before? She would’ve swallowed the feeling entirely. I glanced sideways toward her “That’s good”. That earned an immediate confused look. “You WANT me nervous?” I shook my head lightly. “I want you honest.” That quieted her again “…What if I mess up tomorrow?” I answered without hesitation this time “Then you’ll survive messing up tomorrow.” Yeji blinked once. Not because the answer comforted her. Because it reframed the fear entirely. “I think people around you accidentally made perfection sound fatal,” I continued calmly. “It isn’t.”
The elevator doors opened a second later toward the lower parking levels. Neither of us moved immediately. Then finally Yeji exhaled softly through her nose before stepping forward first “You really are annoyingly good at this”. If only she knew how uncertain I actually felt most of the time.
The next day disappeared into controlled chaos almost immediately. Hair styling. Wardrobe adjustments. Stage blocking. Last-minute technical corrections. Staff members moving through hallways at speeds that probably violated workplace safety regulations. Standard debut atmosphere honestly. But somewhere in the middle of all that noise, Yeji stayed surprisingly steady. Still nervous. Still overthinking occasionally. But no longer drowning in it.
That difference mattered more than flawless execution ever could. I caught smaller signs throughout the day too. She actually ate during breaks instead of pretending coffee counted as nutrition. Stopped apologizing every five minutes whenever minor delays happened. Even argued with one of the stylists over an accessory choice at one point. Excellent psychological recovery indicator honestly. Nothing says emotional stabilization quite like reclaiming the ability to become mildly difficult again. The showcase itself passed almost too quickly afterward.
One second we were still backstage reviewing final timings. Then suddenly lights, music, the deafening screams of the crowd. Performance mode. Truthfully watching Yeji walk onto that stage felt strangely different from every rehearsal leading up to it. Because this time she didn’t look like somebody desperately trying to survive expectations anymore. She looked like herself again. Confident. Sharp. Alive. The performance ended to overwhelming noise shortly afterward, I wouldn’t except less from the crowd’s reaction— I actually liked the title track, myself. But I wasn’t going to tell that to Yeji anytime soon. Then the staff members started rushing again. Applause. Adrenaline. Everybody speaking too loudly because emotional regulation apparently disappeared backstage after successful events. More standard industry behavior honestly. The moment Yeji fully stepped backstage again, the rest of ITZY immediately swarmed her.
Ryujin almost tackled her into a hug. Yuna looked one emotional sentence away from crying. Chaeryeong kept repeating “You were insane” like she still hadn’t fully processed the stage properly. And Lia— mostly just looked relieved.
That one probably hit Yeji hardest. I stayed farther back near the hallway entrance afterward while giving them space naturally. Professional distance. Mostly.
Then eventually Yuna suddenly pointed toward me mid-conversation. “WAIT— you’re the psychology guy”. Great, just great, that title somehow sounded significantly more suspicious than my actual job. Ryujin looked between me and Yeji immediately afterward “…You hired him secretly?”
“That sounds illegal when you phrase it like that,” Yeji muttered tiredly. “I mean technically Jihyo unnie introduced us,” I added calmly. “That somehow sounds MORE suspicious,” Ryujin answered immediately.
Ryujin was an interesting one, sharper than she lets off too. Chaeryeong looked toward Yeji afterward before quietly asking “You’ve been with him this whole preparation?” Yeji hesitated briefly. Then nodded once. The atmosphere shifted slightly after that— subtle but noticeable. Because suddenly the members weren’t just looking at some temporary manager the company recommended, now they were looking at somebody who had been beside Yeji through the worst parts of the solo preparation they themselves only partially witnessed from the outside.
Lia understood first. I saw it happen almost immediately in her expression. Recognition, not in how Yeji looked at me or the way I secretly struggled to stay professional about Yeji, but the recognition of Yeji’s burnout. Honestly a dangerous thing to recognize in another person. “Thank you” Lia said quietly afterward. Simple yet heavy words. And somehow that affected me more than the louder reactions did. Because unlike the others— Lia understood exactly how ugly emotional exhaustion could become once somebody normalized surviving through it too long. I answered carefully “She did most of the work herself”. Yeji looked away immediately afterward in embarrassment— that didn’t help me look innocent at all despite me being actually innocent in all of this.
“Okay but professionally speaking, the vibe here feels suspiciously emotionally healthy” Yuna suddenly pointed dramatically between the two of us. “That’s because you’re used to dysfunction,” Ryujin answered instantly. “THAT SOUNDED TARGETED” Yuna yelled “Because it is” Ryujin retorted in amusement.
The backstage room immediately dissolved into overlapping noise afterward while Yuna fake-argued and Ryujin looked entirely too pleased with herself. For the first time since this whole situation started— the atmosphere around Yeji no longer felt fragile anymore. It just felt alive.
Later that night, after the official congratulations, staff photos, and endless “you did well” comments finally died down, Yeji found me near the parking entrance. “You said normal people celebrate.” I looked up from my phone. “I also mentioned property damage.” She grabbed me by the arm “Food and alcohol first”. Feeling like I declining her would be a death sentence “Responsible escalation, that’s good.” she smiled, tired but real. “Come with me?” There it was again. Choosing. I should’ve said no. Instead, twenty minutes later, we were tucked inside a quiet private booth at a small restaurant where the owner clearly knew better than to ask questions. Yeji ordered more food than she could realistically finish and one drink she kept pretending affected her more than it did.
“You’re a terrible actress,” I said. “I’m lightheaded” she blinked too innocently. “You’ve had half a glass.” “Emotionally, it was strong.” “That’s not how alcohol works.” “It is tonight.”
She laughed into her sleeve, and honestly, that sound probably ruined the last usable piece of my professionalism. After dinner, she leaned closer across the table, eyes clearer than she wanted me to believe. “When this is over tomorrow…” she paused, then corrected herself softly, “No. It is over now.” I stayed quiet. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve. “Can I choose something selfish again?” the room seemed to narrow around the question. Because I understood “Yeji”.
“I’m not falling apart tonight,” she said quietly. “I’m not asking because I need saving.” That mattered more than she knew “I know” I could only mutter acknowledgement “Then don’t treat me like I don’t know what I want”. For a second, I didn’t answer. Then I exhaled, defeated by the one thing I could never argue against properly. A conscious choice “…Okay.” Her smile came slowly. Soft. Relieved. Certain. And when she reached for my hand under the table, I let her.
By the time they left the restaurant, Seoul had already settled into the quieter side of the night. The streets weren’t empty— just calmer now. Yeji walked beside me with her hands tucked halfway into the sleeves of her oversized hoodie while the cold air carried the leftover exhaustion of the day out of both of us little by little. For the first time since this entire situation began, neither of us was talking about anything work related— just about normal and pointless things. She complained about one of the stage outfits. I informed her professionally that fashion was an organized crime syndicate. She laughed hard enough at that to nearly miss a step off the curb afterward. Somewhere during the drive back, the emotional atmosphere between us shifted again. Like both of us understood something irreversible had already happened emotionally and neither person particularly wanted to pretend otherwise anymore.
When we finally reached her residence building, I parked the car but didn’t immediately move to unbuckle my seatbelt. Neither did she. The city lights outside reflected softly across the windshield while silence settled between us again. Just aware. Yeji eventually leaned her head lightly back against the seat before exhaling quietly “…I really did almost quit.” an honest sentence. I looked toward her carefully afterward.
“I know.” “And somehow that feels unreal now.” “That’s usually how surviving emotional collapse feels afterward.” she smiled faintly beneath her breath “You make everything sound psychological.” “That’s because unfortunately I am psychological.” “That sounded medically concerning.” “It probably is.”
Another laugh. Smaller this time. Sleepier. Then eventually the silence returned again. But this time neither of us seemed interested in escaping it. Yeji slowly turned toward me afterward. No uncertainty, not emotionally spiraling. Just plain clarity that never yielded. That probably affected me more than alcohol had to. Because this wasn’t exhaustion choosing closeness, not desperation, or emotional dependency clawing for comfort— this was simply her choosing. “…You’re thinking too hard,” she said quietly. “Can’t help it, occupational hazard” I exhaled softly through my nose afterward before finally admitting “I’m trying very hard to be responsible right now.” Yeji’s expression softened immediately “…You’ve been responsible this entire time” This was especially because she sounded so certain about it.
She shifted slightly closer afterward. Slow enough to stop if I wanted her to. I didn’t, the moment I realized that— I already knew professionalism had lost this fight a long time ago. Yeji’s fingers lightly curled against my hand first. Then her shoulder against mine “…Ben” that careful tone again, the one that was going to psychologically destroy me someday “Yeah?” Her eyes met mine quietly in the dim lighting inside the car. A warmth that showed no hesitation or second thoughts. She pressed her pressed her lips softly on mine, and this time I gave up on resisting and hiding behind that professional hurdle because I knew I would just be lying to the both of us. The silence afterward didn’t feel uncertain anymore. It felt inevitable. Yeji slowly pulled back just enough for both of us to breathe properly again, though judging from the way her fingers still lingered lightly against my hand, neither of us was particularly interested in creating real distance anymore “…Come upstairs.”
I should’ve probably still thought harder about it. Instead, I reached for the door handle first. That alone made Yeji laugh quietly beneath her breath while following beside me out of the car. The night air felt colder now or maybe that was just the adrenaline finally catching up. Neither of us spoke much while walking toward the entrance of her residence building. Not because there was tension. Because there was a lack of it along with the lack of uncertainty— just two people very aware of each other now. The elevator ride upward felt significantly smaller than before. Yeji stood beside me quietly with her hands partially hidden inside the sleeves of her hoodie again while the dim lighting reflected softly against the mirrored walls around us.
“You’re thinking again.” I glanced sideways toward her. “You say that like it’s a disease.” she smiled “I’m beginning to think it is.” I mirrored her grin “That’s medically offensive to psychologists everywhere” another smile. God those were becoming genuinely dangerous to my self-control. The elevator doors opened a second later toward her floor. Then suddenly we were walking down the quieter hallway toward her unit while Seoul’s city lights glowed faintly through the larger windows farther behind us. Yeji slowed slightly once she reached the door. Keys in hand then a pause while unlocking it. Something about the normalcy of that moment broke the last surviving piece of restraint I still had left.
Maybe it was the realization that she chose this— she chose me, or maybe I was simply tired of pretending I didn’t want her back just as badly anymore. Probably both. Yeji barely got the door unlocked before I reached for her first. The moment she turned toward me again, I kissed her properly this time. No hesitation. None of that careful emotional distance. Just accumulated restraint finally giving out all at once.
She made the softest surprised sound against my lips before immediately kissing me back just as hard, one hand instinctively catching against my jacket while the other still struggled half-successfully with the door handle behind her. The door finally opened behind her a second later, but neither of us immediately cared enough to separate first as we walked into the hall. My leg slowly kicked the door closed shut and her hand reached around my body to lock it back in place.
Neither of us stopped kissing long enough to breathe properly— I lifted her up against the narrow walls of her home, she proceeded to wrap her legs around me for stability as her both of her hands reached for my face before finally letting go the kiss. She took a moment to watch my face as I met her gaze as in return “Wow, what… happened to… all that… restraint?” she said in between her panting. I laughed softly beneath my breath afterward while keeping her pinned lightly against the wall, one hand still firm against her waist as if letting go now would somehow be physically impossible.
“Honestly?” I muttered while brushing another slower kiss against the corner of her mouth. “I think you psychologically wore it down over time.” Yeji laughed breathlessly at that, though it immediately dissolved into breathless sounds when I kissed her again before she could properly recover. “That sounds irresponsible for a psychologist” as she slowly took off her the jacket that hid the frames of her body, leaving her sleeveless top to expose the skin of her neck and collarbone. “It probably violates every professional guideline to ever exist.” I told her as I drew my face closer to her. “That should concern me more.” “It really should.” And yet neither of us sounded particularly interested in stopping anymore. This time my mouth the crevice of her collar, she started cooing when I led my tongue all the way to the side of her neck.
I didn't let her go. I carried her from the wall all the way to her room, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist while my tongue traced the sensitive line of her jaw. The air in the small entryway felt thick, charged with a static that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. Every breath she took was a jagged, uneven thing, echoing the frantic rhythm of my own heart. I shifted my weight, sliding one hand from her waist to the hem of her sleeveless top. I didn't ask. I didn't have to. The way she arched her back, pressing her chest into me, was the only answer I needed. I pulled the fabric over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it blindly into the hall.
She stood there in the dim light, her skin glowing like polished pearl. Her breasts were small, firm, with nipples already peaked and hard, straining against the cool air. I took a moment, just a second, to map her. I let my eyes travel from the delicate slope of her shoulders down to the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. She was lean, a dancer's body, all hidden strength and supple grace. Yeji reached for the buttons of my shirt, her fingers trembling. She fumbled with the second one, a small huff of frustration escaping her lips. "Let me," I whispered.
I stripped out of my clothes with a haste that bordered on desperation, my eyes never leaving hers. When my pants hit the floor, my cock sprang free, fully erect and pulsing with a heavy, aching need.
Yeji stopped. Her gaze dropped, her eyes widening as she stared at me. She didn't move for a long moment, her breath hitching in her throat. Slowly, as if drawn by a magnet, she reached out. Her fingers were cool as they wrapped around the base of my shaft. She didn't know how to grip it—her hold was loose, tentative, her thumb brushing awkwardly against the underside. "Ben," she breathed, her voice a fragile thread. "Yeah?" She slid her hand up, her palm grazing the velvet heat of my glans. She let out a soft, shaky exhale, her eyes flickering back up to mine.
"I didn't expect... this." "Too much?"
She shook her head quickly, though her brow furrowed with a flicker of genuine concern. She tightened her grip slightly, trying to encompass the girth, but her fingers didn't even come close to meeting on the other side. "It's just... you're so large. I think... this is the largest I've ever seen.” I felt a surge of possessive heat hit my gut. I stepped closer, the tip of my cock brushing against her thigh.
"Does it scare you?" "No," she whispered, her gaze intensifying. "Not with you. I want it. I want all of it."
I didn't waste another second. I scooped her up, her legs locking around my waist instinctively, and carried her toward the bedroom. I dropped her onto the mattress, the springs creaking under the sudden weight. I hovered over her, my body a heavy shadow against her light. I spent the next twenty minutes mapping every inch of her. I wanted her skin memorized. I kissed the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts, and the soft skin of her stomach. I moved lower, my tongue tracing the line of her hip before diving between her thighs.
Yeji gasped, her hips jerking upward as I found her. She was already drenched, her pussy dripping a thick, sweet musk that filled my senses. I used my tongue to part her lips, tasting the salt and the heat. I focused on her clit, circling it with a precision that had her clawing at the sheets, her head tossing from side to side.
"Ben, please," she whimpered, her voice breaking. "I can't... I don't know what's happening." "Just feel it, Yeji. Don't think. Just feel."
I moved back up, positioning myself between her legs. I reached down, guiding the head of my cock to her entrance. She was tight—terrifyingly tight—and as I pushed in, I felt her muscles stretch and protest. I stopped, letting her adjust, my breath hot against her ear.
"You okay?" "Yes," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. "Just... keep going. Please."
I pushed deeper, my cock started to feel like a slow invasion within Yeji. I felt the friction of her walls hugging me, the heat of her internal muscles clamping down on my shaft. A wet, squelching sound filled the quiet of the room as I slid fully home, my pelvis slamming against her with a heavy thud.
Yeji let out a strangled cry, her eyes snapping open. She looked shocked, her chest heaving. "You're... you're actually all the way in," she whispered, her voice sounding distant. "Every inch," I reached in to give her a kiss.
I started to move. I kept it slow at first, pulling back until only the tip remained before slamming back in. The sound of our bodies colliding—a rhythmic, fleshy slapping—became the only thing in the world. I watched her face, the way her eyebrows knit together, the way her lips parted in a silent plea. I increased the pace, the friction building into a searing heat. I could feel her getting wetter, the lubrication making every thrust a sliding, shlicking mess. I shifted my angle, driving my cock upward to grind against her G-spot.
Yeji's reaction was instantaneous. Her back arched, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her nails were definitely going to leave some marks later.
"Something is... something is happening," she cried out, her voice rising in pitch. "Ben, I feel... it's too much!" "Ride it, Yeji. Give in to it."
I didn't stop. I hammered into her, my movements becoming primal and uncoordinated. I could feel her insides beginning to quiver. Then, it happened.
Yeji's entire body stiffened. Her internal walls suddenly contracted, squeezing my shaft in a series of violent, rhythmic pulses. A loud, guttural moan tore from her throat, her eyes rolling back as her first-ever orgasm ripped through her.
For me, it was electric. The sensation of her clenching around me was an overwhelming pressure, a vacuum that pulled me deeper into her. The feeling of her climaxing while I was still buried inside her pushed me over the edge. I let out a soft moan, my muscles locking as I surged forward one last time, burying myself as deep as possible.
I felt the hot, thick jets of my cum flooding her, filling her to the brim. I stayed there, pinned to her, our hearts hammering in unison, the only sound the heavy, ragged breathing of two people who had just discovered a new language. Yeji lay limp beneath me, her eyes slowly fluttering open. She looked dazed, a small, bewildered smile on her lips.
"What... was that?" she whispered. "That," I panted, kissing her forehead, "was an orgasm, Yeji."
She let out a soft, breathless laugh, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. "I didn't know... I didn't know it could feel like that. I feel like I just woke up for the first time in my life."
I rolled off her, pulling her into my arms. We lay there in the aftermath, the smell of sex and sweat clinging to the sheets. But as the minutes passed, the silence didn't feel like an end. It felt like a bridge. I looked down at her, seeing the flush still lingering on her cheeks, the way her eyes looked wider, clearer. The desire returned, not as a frantic need, but as a slow, simmering hunger. I shifted, my cock already stirring again, reacting to the proximity of her warmth. "Round two?" I murmured. Yeji didn't answer with words. She simply flipped over, presenting her backside to me, her hips tilted up in an invitation that made my blood boil.
I didn't waste time with foreplay this time, she was already wet again— I guess the thought of going another round was enough to flip a switch. I knelt behind her, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her toward the edge of the bed. I rubbed dick around the folds of her pussy, lubricating the head of my cock before sliding back into her from behind.
The angle was different, deeper. I felt the tip of my shaft kiss the entrance of her cervix, and Yeji let out a sharp, high-pitched gasp. "Oh god," she whimpered, her face pressed into the pillow. "That's... that's even deeper." "You like it?" I asked, my voice a low rasp. "Yes... please, Ben... more… no one has ever… reached that far." she was trying to speak in between her moans.
I began to move, my thrusts becoming more vigorous, more aggressive. I wasn't being gentle anymore. I wanted her to feel every bit of the size she had been worried about. I drove into her with a rhythmic intensity, the sound of my skin slapping against her skin echoing in the room. The friction was intense, the squelching sounds of our interaction becoming louder as we both became drenched in sweat. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in sync with every thrust.
Yeji was losing it. She was sobbing now, not from pain, but from a sensory overload that was stripping away every last bit of her composure.
"I'm going again!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the apartment. "I can feel it! Ben, please don't stop!"
I didn't. I pushed her harder, my movements becoming a blur of heat and friction. I felt her build up again, the tension in her legs shaking, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Then, the wave hit her. It wasn't just one orgasm this time. It was a cascade. Her internals clamped down on me in a series of prolonged, rolling contractions. I felt her body shudder beneath me, her voice dissolving into a series of incoherent whimpers as she experienced multiple, overlapping peaks of pleasure.
The sensation was intoxicating. Having her unravel beneath me, feeling her body completely surrender to the pleasure I was providing, sent me spiraling. I felt my own climax building, a pressure in my loins that felt like it was about to explode. I let out a choked sound, my grip tightening on her hips as I delivered a final, powerful thrust. I felt my cock pulse violently inside her, sending another massive load of cum deep into her womb. I groaned, my forehead resting against her back, my entire body vibrating with the force of the release.
We collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and damp skin. I pulled her back against my chest, my arm draped over her waist. The room was silent again, save for the sound of our breathing. Yeji turned her head, looking at me with eyes that were soft, exhausted, and entirely content. "I think," she whispered, her voice sounding raw, "that I might actually be able to sleep tonight." I chuckled, kissing the back of her neck. "Mission accomplished."
She shifted, snuggling closer into my warmth, her hand finding mine and interlocking our fingers. For the first time in years, the weight of the world—the schedules, the expectations, the crushing pressure of leadership—felt light. It felt irrelevant.
"Ben?" "Yeah?" "Don't ever leave me alone in a dark rehearsal room again." I smiled, closing my eyes. "Deal."
Morning arrived significantly softer than either of us expected. There was a lack of emotional panic, regret, or awkward distance. Just quiet. Yeji stood barefoot in her kitchen wearing one of her oversized shirts while scrolling through fan reactions on her phone with visible concentration the same way I was working on my doctoral thesis when I was still getting my master’s degree. That piqued my interest “Okay this one’s lying,” she muttered while reading another comment. I glanced up briefly from the coffee I was making “Which one?”
“‘Yeji looked calm and relaxed on stage.’” She looked toward me suspiciously. “I was fighting for my life internally.” She let out a laugh. God, the domestic normalcy of this morning was affecting me significantly more than the sex itself had. Which honestly felt medically concerning. Yeji eventually walked closer afterward before silently leaning against my side while continuing to scroll through her phone letting the moment soak in before looking back at me “…We should probably talk to them.”
I already knew who she meant immediately. Jihyo. John. God, I wish we could skip John. The atmosphere softened slightly afterward. The both of us understood the same thing now without needing to say it aloud first. Last night changed something permanently— professionally and emotionally and neither of us regretted it. I handed Yeji her coffee afterward before answering honestly. “We crossed a line we can’t really uncross anymore”. Yeji nodded once quietly. “…Yeah” I didn’t sense any fear or second thoughts in her voice “…Are you okay with that?” A careful question, an important one to boot. I looked toward her properly afterward “I think I stopped pretending this was professionally salvageable somewhere around the second time you kissed me.” That immediately made her laugh quietly into the rim of the coffee mug she was holding. Then eventually she lowered the mug slightly again “…Good.”
It was a simple answer full of certainty. But certain enough that something in my chest settled instead of tightening afterward. A dangerous development for me honestly. A little while later, I was sitting beside her on the couch while absentmindedly scrolling through my phone when Yeji suddenly shifted closer again. I glanced toward her briefly before realizing she was staring directly at my shoulder with visible concentration.
“…What?” “You have a lot of tattoos.” as she was looking around me, observing every detail of my body. “That sounds judgmental.” “It’s observational.” Yeji tried to sound like me. “That’s just judgment with better marketing.”
Yeji laughed softly before setting her phone aside completely now. Her fingers lightly brushed against the ink near my shoulder almost absentmindedly. The contact nearly short-circuited my nervous system significantly more than expected. “This one looks older,” she murmured quietly while tracing one of the darker faded lines near my collarbone. “It is.”
“What’s it supposed to be?” “You say that like you don’t recognize a snake.” “It looked philosophical.” “It’s literally just a snake.” “That somehow feels disappointing.”
I let out a quieter laugh afterward while Yeji continued studying the tattoos scattered across my arms and shoulders with visible curiosity now. The fact she looked this interested in something as mundane as my tattoos was affecting me more emotionally than it reasonably should’ve. Then suddenly her expression shifted slightly “…Wait”. Her eyes narrowed briefly toward my shoulder “…Are those scratch marks?” I blinked once. Then immediately looked down. Ah. Right. Yeji followed the realization almost instantly before covering her mouth while trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.
“Oh my god.” “That feels slightly accusatory.” “You look like you survived a wildlife attack.” “In my defense, somebody became significantly less emotionally stable after midnight.” “That sounds like deflection.” “That sounds like accountability avoidance from YOU.”
Yeji immediately folded into laughter again while I rubbed lightly at my forehead in defeat. Watching her laugh this freely after everything she went through emotionally over the past several months was beginning to affect me in ways I was not psychologically prepared for. Then eventually her eyes shifted downward again. “…You’re surprisingly fit.” I looked toward her slowly afterward.
“That sounded more offended than complimentary.” “I just didn’t expect it.” “What exactly did you think psychologists looked like physically?” “I don’t know.” She tried unsuccessfully not to smile again. “Slightly weaker.” “That’s devastating.” “It’s true.” “I carried you against a wall yesterday.” “That sentence sounds significantly more threatening in daylight.” “Fair.”
Yeji laughed softly again before eventually leaning more comfortably against my side afterward. Then quietly
“…I still can’t believe you have this many tattoos.” I glanced down briefly toward the ink across my arms before shrugging lightly again “Grad school was psychologically difficult.” “That explains absolutely nothing.” “It explains enough.”
Another smaller silence settled comfortably afterward. Then eventually I looked toward her again before speaking casually. “If you want, I can always add a portrait tattoo of you somewhere.” Yeji stared at me for exactly two seconds “…What?”
“I’m committed to emotionally terrible decision-making now.” “That is NOT a normal thing to say after sleeping with someone.” “I think it would add professionalism to the workplace.” “You’re insane.” “Clinically functional.” “That’s debatable.”
I laughed softly afterward while Yeji shook her head in disbelief beside me, though the faint redness lingering across her face betrayed her significantly. Then eventually she leaned lightly against my shoulder again afterward while still smiling quietly to herself. A little while later, Yeji sat beside me on the couch while the phone rang through speaker mode. John answered first “…Hello children.” I immediately narrowed my eyes “You’re trying to sound emotionally intelligent again” it was too early for John to give me a headache “I’ve evolved psychologically” I could feel the smug from the phone “The hell you have”.
Yeji immediately folded into laughter beside me. Terrible start already. Then somewhere farther away from the call “John stop making things weird,” Jihyo’s voice cut in immediately “I’m helping”. I rubbed lightly at my forehead afterward “…How do nine people emotionally survive you?” That quickly blew a hole in his whole act “That sounded targeted,” John muttered. Yeji was still laughing quietly beside me by the time Jihyo finally spoke again “…Do you two want to meet later?” There it was, a calm tone— too calm. Yeah,” Yeji answered first this time, her voice quieter afterward. “We should probably talk properly”. A brief silence followed “…Okay,” Jihyo answered simply. “Come by later this afternoon”. That somehow made the entire thing feel significantly more serious.
The drive later that afternoon felt strangely calmer than it probably should’ve. Maybe because the difficult part had already happened last night or maybe because neither of us was particularly interested in pretending this was some catastrophic mistake that needed undoing. Yeji sat beside me scrolling idly through her phone while soft music played quietly through the speakers. At one point she looked over briefly “You’re thinking again” I gave her a look at her as the stoplight was still red “That accusation has become emotionally abusive” she instantly retorted “Well you’re making it easy” that was fair. I kept my glance toward her “Nervous?” Yeji considered the question honestly “…A little”. By the time we arrived, John was already waiting near the café entrance wearing sunglasses despite being indoors like somebody trying very hard to look mysterious and failing catastrophically.
“Oh good, the emotional support golden retriever is here” I muttered while stepping out of the car “That’s hurtful”. I waved him off “It wasn’t inaccurate, that’s what matters”. John looked deeply offended for almost three seconds before immediately shaking Yeji’s hand “Congratulations by the way. You killed it yesterday” Yeji smiled softly afterward “…Thanks”. Then John turned toward me dramatically afterward “And you, you look suspiciously emotionally fulfilled.” I immediately pointed toward him “See? THIS is why you can’t pretend to sound like me. You overcommit to the bit emotionally”. Yeji laughed quietly beside me while John looked personally attacked. Before he could retaliate, the café door opened behind him, and there she was. Jihyo stepped outside holding a folder beneath one arm while looking significantly calmer than everybody else present. Which honestly felt threatening somehow.
“Why are you holding paperwork?” I asked immediately. Jihyo glanced down briefly toward the folder “…Preparation.” that answer garnered a horrified expression from me “That answer psychologically upset me, the one with a Master’s Degree in Psychology— that should account for something”. John immediately pointed toward her. “SEE? I TOLD YOU.” Jihyo showed visible confusion for a while “Told me WHAT exactly?” Neither of them answered.
We eventually settled into one of the quieter private rooms farther inside the café afterward. The atmosphere wasn’t hostile. Serious, yes. But not condemning. Yeji sat beside me while Jihyo calmly placed the folder onto the table between us. Then finally “I’m going to ask one question first,” Jihyo said quietly “Was last night emotionally impulsive?” a direct question. I answered first “No”. Yeji nodded immediately afterward beside me “No regrets either”. Jihyo watched both of us silently for a second longer afterward. Assessing. Leader mode, then finally— she exhaled softly through her nose before leaning back slightly in her chair “Okay”.
That was it. no explosion. No dramatic lecture. No accusation… Just okay. Yet that somehow felt heavier than anger would’ve. John, meanwhile, looked between all three of us like somebody trying very hard not to interrupt emotionally important adult conversation with stupidity. Predictably unsuccessful. “So,” he muttered carefully, “are we all pretending this isn’t horrifyingly predictable in hindsight?”
“John,” Jihyo warned immediately without even looking at him. “I’m contributing emotionally.” I didn’t even look at him “You’re making it worse emotionally, for me at least.” “That’s subjective.” “It’s really not.” Yeji nearly laughed beside me while I rubbed lightly at my forehead. Strangely enough the fact that this somehow already felt less like damage control and more like some sort of relationship ecosystem maintenance, and it was deeply concerning. Jihyo eventually opened the folder afterward before sliding two documents calmly across the table toward Yeji and me.
NDAs. Of course they were. I stared at them for a few seconds before slowly looking back up at her “You had these prepared already?” Jihyo took a sip from her drink first. Calm. Composed. Terrifying “I prepared them after realizing emotional attachment between managers and idols was probably inevitable eventually.” then simultaneously “That should not be a normal sentence,” I said. “SEE?” John pointed aggressively toward me. “I SAID THAT TOO.” Jihyo ignored both of us professionally. Psychologically she was a horrifying woman honestly. Yeji picked up the NDA quietly beside me afterward while scanning through it briefly. Then paused “…Wait.” even I felt the danger in that word. Jihyo blinked once “What?”
Yeji looked between Jihyo, John, and then back toward the paperwork and I physically watched the realization happen in real time “…Hold on” Yeji narrowed her eyes slightly afterward. “John isn’t just sleeping with one of the TWICE members, is he?” That made Jihyo choked violently on her drink. I folded forward laughing almost instantly while John looked like his soul briefly exited his body. “Oh my GOD,” I wheezed while trying unsuccessfully to recover. “SHE FIGURED IT OUT IMMEDIATELY.” John muttered in genuine horror “That was FAST”. Yeji blinked once slowly afterward while looking increasingly alarmed “Wait seriously?” Jihyo was still coughing and John looked ready to fake his own death. And genuinely I hadn’t laughed this hard in years.
“You people are INSANE,” I finally managed through laughter while wiping briefly at my eyes. “I thought this was like… one emotionally complicated relationship.” John pointed toward me immediately. “In my defense—” I didn’t even let him finish that statement “You have NO defense.” John continued regardless “Actually I have several.” that somehow made it worse. Yeji looked between everyone again like she’d accidentally walked into the middle of an emotionally unstable cult and her reaction was completely valid. Eventually Jihyo recovered enough to speak again “…To be fair,” she muttered weakly afterward, “it didn’t exactly happen the way you think it did.”
“That sentence also should not be normal,” I answered immediately. John leaned back dramatically in his chair afterward. “You adjust eventually.” hearing that is the opposite of reassuring. Yeji was still visibly trying to process the scale of what she apparently just uncovered. Then quietly “…Wait. ALL of them?” John closed his eyes in defeat. Jihyo covered her face. And I completely lost composure again. “I cannot BELIEVE this is a real conversation I’m having right now,” I managed through laughter while John looked spiritually exhausted across the table. “In my defense—”
“You need to stop starting sentences like that,” Jihyo interrupted immediately. “It implies there’s a defense,” I added “You’re dating an entire nationally beloved girl group.” trying to compose myself “That sounds worse when YOU say it.”
“Because I’m emotionally framing it correctly.” Yeji looked genuinely stunned beside me. Not judgmental. Just deeply, profoundly confused “…How does that even work?” John immediately pointed toward Jihyo. “Leadership?” Jihyo answered while covering her eyes briefly “That is NOT the answer, JOHN.”
“It’s a little the answer,” he muttered. Interesting ecosystem honestly also very concerning too. Yeji slowly leaned back in her chair afterward while still processing everything. Then suddenly, another realization. Her eyes shifted slowly toward Jihyo “…You already knew this was probably going to happen with me and Ben?” Silence— even that question caught me off guard. Jihyo stayed calm for exactly three seconds too long “…I suspected emotional overlap was possible.” I answered immediately “That sounded PREPARED”. Jihyo finally sighed softly afterward before resting her chin against one hand “You both spent months emotionally depending on each other during an extremely vulnerable period”.
“Okay but hearing it phrased clinically somehow made it worse,” John muttered. Jihyo ignored him professionally, what a terrifying woman. Then she looked toward me properly afterward “You stabilized her emotionally without isolating her from herself”. The room quieted slightly after that, less comedic now. More honest. “She didn’t become dependent on you,” Jihyo continued calmly “She became herself again around you”. That sentence hit harder than expected. Because somewhere deep down, I think part of me was still worried about that exact thing. Yeji looked toward me quietly afterward too. Warmly. Then Jihyo continued like she hadn’t just emotionally sniped me across the table.
“So no,” she finished calmly. “I wasn’t surprised this crossed into something personal eventually”. I leaned back slowly afterward while staring at the ceiling briefly “…That should not be an emotionally healthy intuition.” John pointed immediately. “SEE?”
“Stop validating each other,” Jihyo muttered tiredly. “No,” me and John answered instantly. Yeji laughed quietly beside me before eventually setting the NDA back onto the table again. Then softly “…I want Ben to officially manage ITZY.” The room stilled again afterward.
Yeji continued carefully. “I know what happened between us changes things.” She glanced briefly toward me first before continuing. “But I also know the others are struggling too.” that was Yeji’s leader instinct, and she was right on the bat. Even now. “I don’t want to go back to pretending everybody’s fine when they’re clearly not.” That quieted the table completely afterward. “You realize what that probably means long term, right?” Jihyo asked gently. Yeji nodded once slowly “…Yeah.” No hesitation. Then finally she glanced sideways toward me again before adding “And honestly? I already accepted that this might happen naturally with the others too eventually.”
I blinked once slowly “…I’m sorry WHAT?” Yeji blinked once afterward like she didn’t fully understand why that answer shocked me so much. “What?”
“You accepted that possibility WAY too calmly.” “Because I already thought about it.” “That sentence emotionally terrified me.” John immediately pointed toward Yeji across the table “See? That’s exactly how this starts.” “You are the LAST person qualified to say that,” I answered instantly. “Fair.”
A disturbingly self-aware ecosystem. Yeji looked toward me quietly afterward before speaking again “I’m not saying it has to happen.” She paused briefly. “I’m saying… I know how you are.” Dangerous statement especially because she sounded completely sincere. “You care deeply,” she continued softly. “And they’re important to me too.” Even now, she wasn’t viewing this possessively, true mark of a real leader. She was thinking about everybody else first too. I leaned back slowly afterward while rubbing lightly at my jaw “…You’re all emotionally abnormal.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” John muttered. “I’m at least aware I’m psychologically concerning.” “That somehow doesn’t help.”
Jihyo finally sighed softly before reaching for another document inside the folder. The fact she had MORE paperwork ready nearly made me leave on principle alone. “There’s also the updated management transfer proposal,” she said calmly. I stared at her “…You already prepared THAT too?” Jihyo blinked once. “You think slowly for someone with a Master’s Degree in Psychology.” I was beat from all angles, “I take it back. You’re the scariest person here.”
“Correct,” John answered immediately. Yeji looked visibly relieved afterward though as Jihyo slid the paperwork toward us. “The company already trusts your judgment after the solo debut,” Jihyo continued calmly. “Officially, the recommendation is expanded emotional and schedule management support for ITZY as a whole.” Emotionally dangerous wording. Professionally brilliant wording too. I skimmed briefly through the proposal afterward before immediately stopping at one section “This compensation package is ridiculous.” John snorted instantly “THAT’S the part bothering you?”
Yeji leaned slightly closer beside me afterward while trying to peek at the paperwork. “Wait, how much is—” “It’s not important.” “That means it’s horrifying,” John answered immediately. I set the paperwork back onto the table afterward. “Honestly, I don’t need the money.” The room quieted slightly. “That is NOT a normal sentence,” Jihyo said. “See?” John pointed aggressively toward me. “THIS is what I’ve been trying to explain.” I ignored him “What I DO need,” I continued calmly, “is a company-issued vehicle.” That finally shifted the atmosphere slightly back toward seriousness. “Security concerns?” Jihyo asked immediately. “Exactly.” I nodded once. “Using my personal car long-term around idol schedules is risky. You of all people know how some of those nutjob fans eventually identify patterns.” The room quieted again afterward. Because unfortunately? That concern was realistic.
“I’d rather not have somebody tracing ITZY’s movements through my license plate eventually.” Yeji looked toward me quietly after that. Warmly. Jihyo nodded slowly afterward. “That’s fair. We can arrange that.” Then Yeji tilted her head slightly. “Hold on, Ben.” she looked toward me carefully afterward. “Looking back your car actually IS expensive if you think it would be that easy to trace back, isn’t it?” I immediately narrowed my eyes toward John before he even opened his mouth. “You stay out of this.” “I didn’t even SAY anything yet.” “You looked financially enthusiastic.” “That’s profiling.”
Yeji laughed quietly beside me afterward. “But seriously,” she continued, “the brand wasn’t Korean. I didn’t recognize it.” John immediately folded his arms. “Oh it’s expensive-expensive.” This bloody traitor. “It’s custom-built too,” he added helpfully. “John” that didn’t make him stop. “What?” John looked immediately defensive. “What? I’m contributing context.”
“You’re contributing financial slander.” “That thing probably costs more than my apartment.” “That’s statistically possible.”
Silence. Then immediately “What?” Yeji stared at me now. Jihyo slowly lowered her drink afterward. And honestly? I could physically feel this conversation becoming more psychologically irritating by the second. “It’s just a car.”
“That is ABSOLUTELY not how rich people say ‘just a car,’” John answered immediately. Yeji narrowed her eyes slightly afterward. “Are you actually rich-rich?” I immediately leaned back in my chair. “We are not doing this conversation.”
“That means yes,” Yeji answered immediately. “Psychologically invasive behavior.” John added helpfully “Deflection”. I turned back at him “You traitorous asshole.” Jihyo looked mildly entertained now too. Concerning development. Then eventually Yeji glanced between me and John again “…Okay but how rich are we talking exactly?” I pointed toward John immediately “If he answers this incorrectly, I’m revoking his friendship privileges.”
“You can’t revoke those.” “Watch me.” John looked entirely too entertained now. “Well…” He leaned back slightly afterward. “You know how Mina is terrifyingly wealthy, right?” Yeji blinked once slowly. “How wealthy are we talking?” John and Jihyo exchanged a look first. That made the answer significantly worse already. Then eventually John sighed dramatically “Mina could probably buy JYPE herself if she genuinely wanted to.” Silence. Yeji stared. I rubbed lightly at my forehead. And somehow the fact nobody denied it probably answered enough already. “That should not be normal,” I muttered. “You’re not allowed to say that anymore,” John answered immediately.
Then Yeji slowly looked back toward me “Okay then, what about YOU?” Oh no. Absolutely not. I immediately stood up slightly from my chair “I’m leaving.” John answered instantly. “You signed paperwork already, you legally can’t.” Jihyo finally rubbed lightly at her temple afterward. “Sit down, Ben.” This was emotional abuse, but I sat back down anyway. “Theoretically” John began carefully while visibly trying not to laugh already, “if Ben liquidated and pooled most of his CURRENT resources together—”
“John.” “—he could probably buy enough shares to own majority control of JYPE. Something around 80 to 85% of the shares. I did the math already.” The silence was broken by singular “…What.” from Yeji who looked genuinely horrified now. I immediately pointed toward John again. “This is why rich people don’t tell people things.”
“That wasn’t even the weird part.” “There’s a WEIRDER PART?” John looked deeply entertained now. “He gets richer accidentally.” “That is not a real sentence,” Jihyo muttered. “It IS,” John continued. “I swear this man wakes up wealthier every six months without trying.” “That sounds villainous,” Yeji answered immediately. “I invest intelligently,” I defended calmly. “You bought a company once because you were annoyed at their customer service.” “That was strategically justified.” “That was psychotic.”
Jihyo covered her face briefly afterward while Yeji stared at me like she was reassessing every interaction we’d ever had. Then eventually Yeji looked toward me again. Much quieter this time “…You genuinely didn’t need this job financially, did you?” The room softened slightly afterward. I answered honestly “No.” Yeji watched me carefully afterward “Then why take it?” Honestly, answering that felt easier now than it probably ever had before “Because of the people mattered” a simple answer yet a true one too. The room stayed quiet afterward for a second longer than before.
“That was disgustingly sincere.” John immediately ruined the emotional atmosphere “Oh shut up.” “No seriously that sounded emotionally cinematic.” “Coming from the man who practiced confession lines in front of a mirror for three hours.”
Silence. Complete silence “YOU DID WHAT?” Yeji nearly folded forward laughing. John looked like his soul physically left his body. “You PROMISED never to bring that up again.” “Hey you made fun of my sincerity first, best buddy.” “That was DIFFERENT.” “It absolutely was not.” Jihyo was laughing hard enough now that she physically had to lower her head into one hand while Yeji looked seconds away from crying from laughter beside me. Watching John die internally across the table healed something inside me spiritually. “It gets WORSE,” I continued calmly while John looked ready to leap across the table and strangle me.
“BEN.” “He kept rejecting his own confession lines out loud because he thought he sounded manipulative.”
Yeji actually covered her face laughing now “No way.” John was red all over “I was trying to sound sincere!” I couldn’t hold a straight face anymore, “You sounded like somebody negotiating a hostage release emotionally.” Jihyo was openly crying laughing now while John looked deeply betrayed by everyone present. Then suddenly Yeji glanced sideways toward me again. The from the look of her terrified something in me. “…Benjie.”
Oh hell no. I immediately narrowed my eyes toward her “Nope.” Yeji looked entirely too pleased with herself now “Benjie.” John folded forward instantly laughing. “OH that’s sticking permanently.” My face was buried deep in my hand “I will leave.” John didn’t waste the chance to clap back “Remember, you legally can’t” John answered immediately. This traitorous golden retriever of a man. Yeji looked openly delighted now too— I guess I’ll let this slide for now. “…You look like a Benjie.” never mind, I take that back. “That sentence psychologically harmed me, Yeji.”
Jihyo finally wiped briefly beneath one eye afterward while still recovering from laughter. And somewhere between emotional collapse, NDAs, psychological intervention, accidental relationship ecosystems, billionaire allegations and John’s public humiliation. The atmosphere at the table stopped feeling heavy entirely. It just felt alive. Which might’ve been the healthiest thing about all of this.
By the time the four of us finally left the café, the sun had already started dipping lower across Seoul’s skyline. The conversation somehow never fully recovered afterward. Not professionally at least. John was still emotionally damaged from the mirror-confession incident. Jihyo looked one inconvenience away from revoking everybody’s speaking privileges permanently. And Yeji still looked entirely too pleased with herself every time she quietly muttered “Benjie”. This has got to be a psychological war crime somewhere.
John eventually stopped near his car first before trying say another smug thing I cut him off “Say one more thing and they’ll never find your body” I told him gave him a death glare. But this was cut short from what I could tell was Yeji muttering out her new favorite word “…Benjie.” I closed my eyes slowly “Yeji, I’ll admit I’m more than happy with you calling me that. But not in front of John, please?” this warranted more hysterical laughter from John. Yeji looked genuinely delighted beside me while John nearly collapsed laughing against his car. Jihyo looked exhausted. Reasonable reaction honestly. Then eventually she glanced toward both of us properly afterward. And for the first time since this entire conversation started— her expression softened fully. “…Take care of each other,” Jihyo said quietly. Those were simple words. But heavy enough that neither Yeji nor I joked afterward. “We will,” Yeji answered softly beside me. The certainty in her voice affected me more than expected.
A few minutes later, the city lights blurred quietly outside the windows while I drove us back through the slower evening traffic. This time neither of us spoke much. Not because things were awkward. Because they weren’t anymore. Yeji eventually leaned slightly closer against my shoulder while absentmindedly scrolling through messages on her phone again. Then suddenly “Ryujin wants to meet you properly.” Well, there was the beginning of my downfall “What does ‘properly’ mean in this context?” “She added a shark emoji.” “That clarified absolutely nothing.” “It probably shouldn’t.” I sighed softly afterward while Yeji laughed quietly beside me again. For the first time in a very long time— the future no longer sounded exhausting anymore.
A/N: This story is part of the Underpaid & Overloved series that originally belongs to @electro469. I will be updating this story along with the planned Season 2 of Underpaid & Overloved as well since Electro has given me permission to continue the story
