#zxbycaa

CHARACTERS. minatozaki sana × female reader

SUMMARY. you are nayeon’s little sister dating one of her best friends, one of her groupmate… what could possibly go wrong?

WARNINGS. none, enjoy!

JYPE building's practice room hummed with the familiar sounds of music and laughter as you pushed open the door, balancing a carrier tray of iced coffees in your hands. Being Im Nayeon's younger sister had its perks such as unlimited access to TWICE's practice sessions.

"Y/N-ah!" Momo spotted you first, practically bouncing over to grab her usual caramel macchiato. "You're a lifesaver!"

"Unnie told me you guys have been practicing since six this morning.” You said, smiling as the other members gathered around. "I figured you'd need the caffeine boost."

Your eyes briefly met Sana's across the room and you had to suppress the grin threatening to break across your face. She looked adorable in her practice clothes, her hair tied up in a messy bun, a few strands framing her face. The small smile she gave you, the one reserved just for you, made your heart flutter.

"My baby sister is the best!" Nayeon declared, throwing an arm around your shoulders and planting a loud kiss on your cheek. You groaned, trying to wiggle away.

"Unnie, I'm twenty-two, not five!"

"You'll always be my baby sister.” Nayeon said firmly, then narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Wait, why are you being so nice? Do you need money? Did you crash my car?"

"Can't I just do something nice without a reason?" you protested, even as Sana smoothly collected her drink, an iced vanilla latte with an extra shot, exactly how she liked it. Your fingers brushed for the briefest moment during the exchange, sending electricity up your arm.

"No.” all nine members said in unison and you couldn't help but laugh.

"Fair enough. But seriously, I was just being nice this time."

As the members dispersed to drink their coffees and catch their breath, you found yourself naturally gravitating toward where Sana had settled on the floor, stretching her legs and you sat down nearby.

"Thank you for the coffee.” Sana said softly in Japanese, knowing you'd been learning the language for the past year. (Totally because you wanted to expand your skills, definitely not because of the beautiful Japanese woman you'd been secretly dating for six months.)

"どういたしまして (You're welcome.)" You replied, probably butchering the pronunciation, but Sana's eyes crinkled with genuine delight.

"Your Japanese is getting better.” she said, switching back to Korean but keeping her voice low. "Maybe you need more... private lessons?"

The suggestive tone made you nearly choke on your own coffee. "Sana!" you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. "We're in public!"

"We're not doing anything wrong” she said innocently, but the mischievous glint in her eyes told a different story. "I'm just offering to tutor Nayeon-unnie's sister. What's suspicious about that?"

"Everything about the way you just said that is suspicious” you muttered, but you were smiling.

"Y/N-ah!" Nayeon called from across the room. "Stop bothering Sana. She needs to rest, not entertain you."

"I'm not bothering her!" you called back.

"I don't mind” Sana added, then looked at Nayeon with those big, innocent eyes that could get her out of literally anything. "Y/N-chan is very good company."

You watched your sister's expression soften immediately. "Well, if you say so, Sana. But Y/N, don't overstay your welcome."

"I would never” you said, catching Sana's amused look from the corner of your eye.

The truth was, sneaking around had become something of an art form for you and Sana over the past six months. It had started innocently enough, you'd been visiting Nayeon during comeback preparations and somehow you and Sana had ended up talking long after everyone else had left. One conversation led to another, which led to secret coffee dates, which led to your first kiss in a quiet corner of a bookstore in Hongdae.

Now, half a year later, you were completely, irrevocably in love with Minatozaki Sana, and absolutely terrified of your sister finding out.

Not because Nayeon would disapprove, exactly. But because Nayeon was protective in a way that would make her interrogate Sana like a detective in a crime drama.

"Alright, break's over!" the choreographer called out and the members groaned in unison as they dragged themselves back to formation.

You settled against the wall to watch, your eyes definitely not following Sana's every movement. Definitely not.

"You're staring.” Jihyo said, sliding down next to you with a knowing look.

Your heart nearly stopped. "What? No, I'm not. I'm just watching the choreography."

"Uh-huh." Jihyo took a sip of her coffee, looking far too amused. "You know, for someone who claims to just be watching the choreography, you have a very specific focus."

"I don't know what you mean” you said, probably too quickly.

Jihyo hummed noncommittally and you spent the rest of practice having a minor internal panic attack about whether the leader of TWICE had figured out your secret.

-

Later that week, you found yourself in a situation you'd been carefully avoiding for months: a TWICE group dinner that you'd been invited to. Normally, you'd make up an excuse, because sitting across from your girlfriend while pretending she was just your sister's colleague was a special kind of torture.

But Nayeon had given you the puppy eyes, and you were weak.

"Y/N, sit here!" Momo patted the seat next to her and you complied, only to realize with horror that Sana was directly across from you. She gave you a small smile, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

This was fine. You could do this. You were a professional secret-keeper.

"So, Y/N-ah" Jeongyeon said, leaning forward with interest. "Is there anyone special in your life? Nayeon-unnie never tells us about your love life."

You nearly inhaled your water. "I... uh, that's because there's nothing to tell!"

"Really?" Chaeyoung looked disappointed. "But you're so pretty! Surely you must have people interested?"

"I'm very busy with work" you said, which wasn't entirely a lie. You did have a job. You were just also very busy with secretly dating Sana.

"That's what I keep telling her!" Nayeon jumped in. "She works too much. Y/N-ah, you need to go out more, meet people. Maybe I should set you up with someone?"

"Please don't" you said quickly, perhaps too emphatically, because now all nine members were looking at you with varying degrees of interest and amusement.

"Hmm, suspicious" Tzuyu said, her usual monotone making it impossible to tell if she was joking.

"There's nothing suspicious!" You protested. "I just don't want my sister setting me up on blind dates. That's normal!"

Across the table, Sana was trying very hard not to laugh, taking a long sip of her drink to hide her smile. You glared at her subtly, and she had the audacity to wink.

"What about you, Sana-unnie?" Dahyun asked innocently. "You've been single for a while. Maybe we should set you up with someone too!"

Sana choked on her drink.

You reached across the table to pat her back, perhaps more enthusiastically than strictly necessary, which only made things worse because now everyone was watching both of you with interest.

"I'm... I'm fine" Sana managed, still coughing slightly. "Just went down the wrong way."

"You should be more careful, unnie" you said, perhaps too tenderly, because Nayeon was now looking between you with narrowed eyes.

"You two are acting weird" your sister declared.

"No, we're not" you and Sana said simultaneously, then looked at each other in horror.

"See! Weird!" Nayeon pointed at you both accusingly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" you said.

"Y/N-chan is just very caring" Sana added, which was technically true but delivered in a way that made it sound incredibly suspicious.

Mina, who had been quietly observing the whole exchange, smiled into her napkin. You were definitely getting exposed tonight.

Thankfully, the server arrived with food, distracting everyone from the interrogation. You caught Sana's eye across the table and she gave you a small, apologetic smile. You smiled back, thinking about how worth it all of this sneaking around was if it meant being with her.

-

The following Saturday, Nayeon had scheduled a movie night at her apartment and somehow you'd been roped into helping set up. You were in the kitchen preparing snacks when you heard the doorbell.

"Can you get that, Y/N?" Nayeon called from her bedroom. "It's probably one of the members!"

You opened the door to find Sana standing there, looking unfairly gorgeous in a simple sweater and jeans, her hair falling in soft waves around her shoulders.

"Hi" she breathed, her eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

"Hi yourself" you said, unable to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.

"Is Nayeon-unnie here?"

"She's in her room. We probably have like thirty seconds” you said, glancing behind you to make sure the coast was clear.

That was all the invitation Sana needed. She stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind her, and pulled you into a swift, sweet kiss that made your toes curl.

"Missed you” she murmured against your lips.

"It's been two days" you laughed softly, but you were already leaning in for another kiss.

"Too long" Sana insisted and who were you to argue?

You were so caught up in each other that you didn't hear the bedroom door open, didn't hear the footsteps approaching, didn't hear anything until—

"WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING IN MY KITCHEN?!"

You and Sana sprang apart so fast that Sana stumbled backward into the door and you nearly knocked over the bowl of popcorn.

Nayeon stood in the doorway, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, looking between you and Sana like she was trying to solve a complex mathematical equation.

"Unnie! I can explain" you started.

"Nayeon-unnie, it's not actually what it looks like!" Sana tried.

"My sister. You're kissing MY SISTER." Nayeon's voice was getting progressively higher. "MY BABY SISTER. SANA, SHE'S MY BABY SISTER!"

"I'm twenty-two!" you protested, which was probably not the most important point to address at the moment.

"How long?" Nayeon demanded, looking between you both with narrowed eyes. "How long has this been going on?"

You and Sana exchanged glances. "Six months" you admitted quietly.

"SIX MONTHS?!" If Nayeon's voice got any higher, only dogs would be able to hear her. "You've been secretly dating for six months and nobody told me?!"

"Well, we were trying to keep it secret" Sana said reasonably. "So technically, the plan was that nobody would tell you."

"That's not helping, Sana" you hissed.

The doorbell rang again and you all froze.

"That's the other members" Nayeon said, her voice dangerous calm now, which was somehow worse than the yelling. "We're not done with this conversation. But right now, we're going to go watch this movie and you two are going to sit on OPPOSITE sides of the room, and then after everyone leaves, we're going to have a very long talk about this."

She pointed at you. "You—living room, couch, far left side."

Then at Sana. "You—living room, couch, far right side."

She opened the door to let in Jihyo, Momo and Dahyun, all while maintaining an expression that promised future interrogation.

The movie night was possibly the most awkward experience of your life. You sat on your designated side of the couch, Sana sat on hers and Nayeon sat directly between you like a referee at a boxing match.

"Unnie, why are you sitting like that?" Momo asked, confused by Nayeon's rigid posture.

"No reason.” Nayeon said through gritted teeth.

Halfway through the movie, Sana tried to subtly move closer to grab more popcorn, and Nayeon physically blocked her with an outstretched arm.

"Nayeon-unnie, what are you doing?" Jihyo asked, now also looking concerned.

"NOTHING. I'M DOING NOTHING. JUST MAKING SURE EVERYONE HAS ENOUGH SPACE."

By the end of the movie, all the members were giving the three of you strange looks, but mercifully, no one asked any more questions.

After everyone left, Nayeon made you and Sana sit on the couch, still on opposite ends, while she paced back and forth in front of you like a lawyer delivering a closing argument.

"Unnie..." you tried.

"Nobody knew? None of the members?"

"Jihyo might suspect something" Sana offered helpfully.

Nayeon stopped pacing and turned to face you both. "Okay. Okay. I need to ask the important questions." She pointed at Sana. "What are your intentions with my sister?"

"Unnie!" you protested, mortified.

"Shh. Adults are talking."

"I'm literally an adult!"

"SANA. Answer the question."

Sana sat up straighter and you could see her slipping into serious mode. "I love her” she said simply, and your heart skipped a beat because while you'd said it to each other in private, hearing her say it in front of Nayeon made it feel more real somehow. "I love Y/N. I want to be with her. I'm serious about this, about her. I know she's your sister and you want to protect her, but I promise you, Nayeon-unnie, I would never hurt her."

The room was silent for a moment. You could see your sister's expression softening despite her best efforts to maintain her stern facade.

"And you?" Nayeon turned to you. "How do you feel?"

"I love her too." you said quietly, reaching across the couch to take Sana's hand, not caring anymore if Nayeon saw. "I'm happy, unnie. Really happy."

Nayeon sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair. "I can't believe this is happening. One of my members. You had to fall for one of my members."

"If it helps, she has a great personality?" you offered.

"And she's very beautiful" Sana added.

She came to sit between you both, looking at each of you in turn. "I'm still processing this. And I'm definitely still mad that you kept this from me for six months."

"We're sorry” you both said in unison.

"But," Nayeon continued, "I can see that you care about each other. And Sana, I know you. I trust you. Which is the only reason I'm not completely losing my mind right now."

"So... you're okay with this?" you asked hopefully.

"I'm getting there" Nayeon said. "But there are going to be rules."

"Rules?" Sana asked nervously.

"Rule number one: No kissing in front of me. I don't care if you're in love, I don't need to see that."

"Fair" you agreed.

"Rule number two: You have to tell me if there are any problems. I'm both your sister and Sana's teammate, so I need to know if anything goes wrong."

"We can do that" Sana said.

"And rule number three: If you hurt my sister” Nayeon looked at Sana seriously, "I will make your life very difficult. I know where you sleep. I know your schedule. I can and will be a nightmare."

"Understood" Sana said, trying not to smile.

"And Y/N" Nayeon turned to you, "if you hurt Sana, I'll also make your life difficult because she's one of my best friends and I care about her too."

"I would never" you promised.

Nayeon looked between you both one more time, then sighed dramatically. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... you have my blessing. Or whatever. Don't make me regret this."

You launched yourself at your sister, wrapping her in a tight hug. "Thank you, unnie!"

"Yeah, yeah" Nayeon patted your back. "Just remember rule number one starting now because if I see any - OH MY GOD, ARE YOU ALREADY KISSING?!"

You pulled away from where you'd immediately gravitated to Sana the moment the hug ended. "Sorry!"

"This is going to take some getting used to" Nayeon muttered, but she was smiling now. "Okay, get out, both of you. Go on your date or whatever. I need to process this alone."

You and Sana didn't need to be told twice. You grabbed your jackets and headed for the door, hands intertwined.

"And Y/N?" Nayeon called out just as you were leaving.

"Yeah?"

"I'm happy for you. Really." Her smile was genuine now, if still a bit overwhelmed. "Just... text me when you get home, okay?"

"I will" you promised.

As you and Sana stepped out into the cool evening air, finally able to hold hands freely without looking over your shoulders, Sana turned to you with a grin.

"Well, that went better than expected."

"She threatened to make your life a nightmare." you pointed out.

"But she gave us her blessing first" Sana countered. "I'm counting it as a win."

You laughed, pulling her close. "I love you."

"I love you too" Sana said, kissing you softly. "Even if dating you comes with the world's most protective older sister."

"Hey, you signed up for this when you fell for Im Nayeon's little sister."

"Best decision I ever made" Sana said and kissed you again.

From the window of her apartment, Nayeon watched you both walk away, shaking her head with a smile. She pulled out her phone and opened the TWICE group chat.

NAYEON: You guys will NEVER believe what just happened.

JIHYO: We know.

NAYEON: What do you mean you know?!

JIHYO: We've known for months. We were wondering when you'd figure it out.

NAYEON: I HATE ALL OF YOU.

CHARACTERS. minatozaki sana × female reader

SUMMARY. during a rare quiet afternoon at the dorm, you and sana finally get some time alone together. as you enjoy a private moment away from the pressures of idol life, an unexpected interruption forces you to confront the possibility that your relationship may no longer be a secret.

WARNINGS. suggestive, pure fluff

The dorm was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Most of the members had scattered for various schedules—Jihyo at a radio show, Nayeon filming a variety program, Momo and Sana's usual dance practice partners conspicuously absent. You'd learned to cherish these rare pockets of peace in the chaotic world of Idols.

"Finally," Sana sighed, pulling you through the doorway of her shared bedroom. Her fingers intertwined with yours felt warm, familiar. "I thought we'd never get a moment alone."

You smiled at the dramatic pout on her lips. Even after six months of secret dating, Sana's theatrics never failed to make your heart flutter. "We saw each other three days ago."

"Three days too long," she countered, tugging you down to sit beside her on the bed. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the window caught the honey tones in her hair, and you couldn't help but reach up to tuck a strand behind her ear.

Sana leaned into your touch, her eyes fluttering closed. "I missed this. Missed you."

"I'm right here," you whispered, closing the distance between you. The kiss was soft at first, the way it always started when you'd been apart. But Sana had never been one for restraint.

Her hand came up to cup your jaw, deepening the kiss as she shifted closer. You felt her smile against your lips before she pulled back just enough to murmur, "I hate sneaking around like this."

"I know." You brushed your thumb across her cheekbone. "But until our companies—"

"I know, I know." She cut you off with another kiss, this one more insistent. "Can we just... not think about that right now?"

How could you say no to that?

Sana's fingers found the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath to trace patterns on your skin. You shivered at the contact, your own hands settling on her waist. She was wearing one of her favorite oversized sweaters, soft beneath your palms.

"Sana," you breathed as her lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, down to your neck.

"Hmm?" She hummed against your skin, and you felt the vibration all the way to your toes.

"The door—"

"Locked it," she assured you between kisses. "Everyone's out. We have time."

Time. Such a precious commodity in your world. You decided to stop overthinking and just feel.

Your hands slid up her back as she guided you down onto the bed, her body following yours. The weight of her was comforting, grounding. Her hair fell around you like a curtain, blocking out everything except her—her smile, her warmth, the way she looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

"You're beautiful," Sana whispered, her fingers working at the buttons of your shirt with surprising deftness. "Have I told you that today?"

"You texted me that at 6 AM," you laughed, helping her by shrugging out of your shirt once she'd undone the last button.

"That was hours ago. It bears repeating." She pressed a kiss to your collarbone, then lower. "Beautiful."

Your breath hitched as her hands explored, mapping territories they'd charted before but that somehow always felt new. You tugged at her sweater, and she sat up just long enough to pull it over her head, tossing it somewhere across the room.

The afternoon light painted her skin golden, and for a moment you just stared. Even now, it felt surreal—that Minatozaki Sana, the idol who graced magazine covers and sold out stadiums, was here with you like this.

"Stop looking at me like that," she said, but her blush betrayed how much she liked it.

"Like what?"

"Like you can't believe I'm real." She leaned down, her lips brushing against yours. "I'm real. And I'm yours."

The kiss that followed made your head spin. Sana had a way of making you forget everything—the secrecy, the pressure, the constant fear of discovery. In moments like this, there was only her.

Your positions shifted, rolling until you hovered over her. Her hair splayed across the pillow, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she looked up at you with dark, wanting eyes. Your fingers found the clasp of her bra, and she arched into your touch as you—

The door swung open.

"Sana-unnie, have you seen my— OH MY GOD!"

You'd never moved so fast in your life. In a blur of panic and mortification, you practically threw yourself off Sana, scrambling for the blanket to cover her as she let out a strangled yelp.

Standing in the doorway, hand still on the handle, face rapidly turning the color of a tomato, was Dahyun. Her eyes were wide as saucers, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"I—you—the door was—I didn't—" Dahyun stammered, her gaze bouncing frantically between you, Sana, and literally anywhere else she could look. "I'M SO SORRY!"

"Dahyun!" Sana squeaked, clutching the blanket to her chest. Her face had gone from pleasure-flushed to embarrassment-red in record time.

"I was just looking for my—you know what, it doesn't matter, I don't need it, I'm going, I'm leaving, I didn't see anything!" Dahyun was backing out of the room at speed, her hands covering her eyes even though she'd already turned around. She walked straight into the doorframe, muttered a mortified "sorry" to the inanimate object, and then practically sprinted down the hallway.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving you and Sana in stunned silence.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Then Sana groaned, dropping her face into her hands. "Oh my god. Oh my GOD."

You sat frozen, your shirt still somewhere on the floor, trying to process what had just happened. "Did she—was the door not—"

"I LOCKED IT!" Sana insisted, her voice muffled by her palms. "I know I locked it!"

As if on cue, you both turned to look at the door. The lock button on the handle was definitely not engaged.

"You THOUGHT you locked it," you corrected weakly.

Sana let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a whimper. "This is mortifying. I'm going to die. I'm actually going to die of embarrassment."

Despite the situation—or maybe because of it—you felt a laugh bubbling up in your chest. It started as a snort, then grew into full-blown laughter.

"This isn't funny!" Sana protested, but her lips were twitching.

"Dahyun's face—" you managed between giggles. "She looked like she'd walked in on her parents!"

"Don't make it worse!" Sana swatted your arm, but she was laughing now too, the sound bright and helpless. She flopped back against the pillows. "She's never going to look at me the same way again."

"At least it was Dahyun," you offered, finding your shirt and pulling it back on with shaky hands. "Could you imagine if it had been Jihyo?"

Sana's eyes went wide. "We'd both be dead. Jihyo would have killed us."

You handed Sana her sweater, trying not to blush as she dressed.

Sana checked her phone and groaned again. "Three messages from Dahyun. She says she's 'really, REALLY sorry' and she's going to 'stay at the café down the street for the next three hours minimum' and..." She scrolled, her cheeks darkening. "She's asking if you're 'the mystery girl from my lockscreen.'"

You buried your face in your hands.

"Hey." Sana's voice was soft. You felt the bed dip as she moved closer, her hand finding yours. "Look at me?"

When you did, her expression was gentle, affectionate despite the lingering embarrassment. "We were going to tell them eventually, right? Maybe this is just... a really awkward first step."

"You're not worried?" you asked. "About what she'll think? What the others will say?"

Sana squeezed your hand. "I'm terrified," she admitted. "But also... kind of relieved? Keeping this secret has been exhausting. And if anyone's going to accidentally find out, I'm glad it was Dahyun. She'll be mortified, but she won't judge."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "We should probably talk to her. Put her out of her misery."

"Definitely. But maybe..." Sana glanced at the door, then back at you with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Maybe we lock the door properly first? And put a chair under the handle? And maybe send a group text to confirm everyone's locations?"

You laughed, pulling her close for a gentle kiss. "Rain check on... earlier?"

"Big rain check," she agreed, resting her forehead against yours. "But hey, at least we won't have to wonder about the lock next time."

"Next time we're getting a deadbolt."

Her laughter was warm against your lips. Outside, somewhere in the dorm, you could hear what might have been Dahyun stress-cleaning the kitchen.

CHARACTERS. minatozaki sana × female reader

SUMMARY. you’re an actress currently dating the one and only Minatozaki Sana. your new drama has just been released and all the TWICE members are excited to watch it, except there’s one important thing you forgot to tell them.

WARNINGS. none

The dorm was unusually loud tonight, even by TWICE standards.

"I can't believe you're making us wait!" Nayeon whined, sprawled across the couch with a bag of chips balanced on her stomach.

You laughed, settling onto the floor between Sana's legs as your girlfriend automatically started playing with your hair. "The episode premieres at the same time for everyone. I don't have early access to my own drama."

"That seems unfair" Dahyun mused. "You're literally in it."

"Industry rules." You shrugged, leaning back against Sana's knees. Her fingers traced gentle patterns against your scalp and you sighed contentedly. This was more than nice, a rare evening where your schedules aligned, where you could just be normal people watching TV together.

"Okay, okay, it's starting!" Jihyo grabbed the remote, turning up the volume.

The opening credits of "The Korean Affair" rolled across the screen and you felt a flutter of nervousness in your stomach. You'd watched the previous episodes with Sana, but this one was different. Your manager had called it "the turning point episode." You'd been so busy with promotional schedules that you hadn't actually seen the final edit yet.

"There you are!" Chaeyoung pointed as your character appeared on screen, running through a rain-soaked street.

"You look beautiful, jagiya" Sana murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. You tilted your face up to smile at her, catching the soft adoration in her eyes.

"Gross" Jeongyeon said without heat. "We're trying to watch here."

The episode progressed through several scenes, your character at her art studio, a tense meeting with her rival, a vulnerable moment with her best friend. You found yourself critiquing your own performance, wincing at line deliveries you wished you could redo.

"Stop analyzing yourself" Sana whispered, tugging gently on a strand of your hair. "You're amazing."

Then the scene shifted. Your character entered an elevator and you felt your stomach drop as Kim Seonho's character followed. You'd forgotten this was in this episode. How had you forgotten?

"Oh, the tension!" Momo leaned forward, invested.

"They've been building up to this for weeks" Tzuyu observed.

You felt Sana's hands still in your hair as the scene played out. You watched your own face on screen, remembering the director's instructions: "More vulnerability. Like your heart is breaking. Like you can't hold back anymore."

"I can't keep pretending" your character whispered.

Your actual heart was pounding now. Sana's fingers had completely stopped their gentle movement.

"Then don't" Seonho's character replied, stepping closer.

"Oh my god," Nayeon breathed. "Oh my god, is this—"

You watched yourself on screen lean into Seonho's touch as his hand cupped your face. You remembered this take, it was the third one, after the director said the first two weren't "passionate enough." You remembered thinking about Sana to get into the right emotional headspace, which now seemed deeply ironic.

The kiss, when it came, was exactly as the director had envisioned: slow, deep, cinematic. The camera work was beautiful, the lighting perfect, the music swelling at precisely the right moment.

The living room erupted into chaos.

"WHAT?!"

"OH MY GOD!"

"THAT WAS, WOW!"

You twisted around to look up at Sana, an apology already forming on your lips. Your girlfriend's face was completely frozen, her eyes still locked on the TV screen where the scene had faded to a commercial.

"Sana, my Love—“

"You KISSED him?" Her voice came out higher than usual.

"It was for the drama, baby, I.”

"That was quite a kiss" Mina said.

"That was like, a serious kiss" Dahyun added, eyes wide. "That wasn't a little TV peck.“

You scrambled to turn around properly, kneeling in front of Sana. Her face had gone through several emotions in rapid succession and seemed to have landed on a mix of shock and something that looked suspiciously like a pout.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked, and there was a note of genuine hurt under the surprise.

"I didn't think... I mean, I forgot it was in this episode and we've been so busy”

"You forgot you had a whole makeout session with Kim Seonho?" Jeongyeon's eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline.

"It wasn't a makeout session! It was one kiss! A professional kiss!"

"There's nothing professional about the way his hand was in your hair" Sana muttered.

"Okay, she's jealous" Nayeon declared. "This is amazing."

"I'm not jealous!" Sana's voice went up another octave. "I'm just... surprised! Y/N and I have been together for two years and she didn't think to mention that she'd be kissing actors in Korea?"

"Well, Kim Seonho is very hot" Tzuyu said to no one in particular.

"Everyone thinks Kim Seonho is hot" Jihyo said reasonably. "That's why he's famous."

"Can we get back to the part where my girlfriend locked lips with him and didn't tell me?" Sana crossed her arms and you would have found it adorable if she didn't look genuinely upset.

You reached for her hands, gently uncrossing her arms. "Baby, I'm sorry. I really did just forget to mention it. We filmed that scene weeks ago and I've done so many interviews and promotions since then that it just slipped my mind. I should have told you."

"Weeks ago?" Sana's eyes widened. "You've known for weeks?"

"Oh, this is getting worse" Dahyun whispered gleefully to Chaeyoung.

"Shh!" Momo hushed them, not wanting to miss the show, not the one on TV.

"It was just work" you said earnestly, squeezing Sana's hands. "I swear, I felt nothing. Actually, that's a lie, I felt really awkward and weird, and the director made us do it three times because he said I wasn't 'emoting correctly.'"

"Three times?!" Sana's voice could have shattered glass.

"You're not helping yourself" Mina observed quietly.

You tried a different approach. "Okay, remember last month when you had that music video with the male backup dancer? The one where he lifted you and you did that really close face move?"

"That's completely different!"

"How?"

"Because I told you about it beforehand!"

She had you there. You bit your lip, trying not to smile because she looked so indignant and adorable with her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing.

"Are you smiling right now?" Sana asked incredulously. "I'm upset and you're smiling?"

"You're just really cute when you're jealous."

"I'm not—" She stopped, seeing the soft look in your eyes. Some of the tension left her shoulders. "I'm not jealous, I just don't like being surprised like that."

"I know. I'm sorry." You brought her hands to your lips, kissing each knuckle gently. "It really was just acting. I promise. The whole time we were filming it, I was thinking about how I couldn't wait to come home and kiss you instead."

"Really?" Her voice was smaller now.

"Really. Because kissing you is infinitely better than any scripted kiss could ever be."

"Okay, that was smooth" Nayeon admitted.

Sana's lips twitched, fighting a smile. "It did look very professional."

"The most professional kiss in the history of professional kisses."

"And you felt nothing?"

"Less than nothing. I felt vaguely uncomfortable and very aware that there were like thirty staff members watching."

That got a small laugh out of her. "Okay, but you have to admit, it looked really good. Like, cinematically."

"The director is very talented."

"And Kim Seonho is very handsome."

You tilted your head, studying her. "Are you trying to make yourself more jealous, or...?"

"Maybe I just want you to reassure me more." She was definitely fighting a smile now.

"You're ridiculous" you said fondly, standing up and settling onto the couch beside her properly. She immediately curled into your side. "But fine. Kim Seonho is handsome, but he's not you. He doesn't have your smile or your laugh or the way you scrunch your nose when you're concentrating. He doesn't know how I take my coffee or that I can't sleep without your goodnight texts when we're apart. He's a great actor and a nice person, but baby” you turned her face to yours gently, "he's not even in the same universe as you."

The living room had gone suspiciously quiet. When you looked around, all eight members were watching you with various expressions ranging from soft (Mina, Jihyo) to wickedly amused (Dahyun, Nayeon).

"That was actually really romantic" Chaeyoung said. "I'm impressed."

Sana hid her face in your shoulder. "Everyone stop looking at us."

"You're in our living room having a moment" Jeongyeon pointed out. "We live here."

"Did we miss anything in the drama?" you asked, trying to redirect attention.

"Oh, we paused it" Nayeon held up the remote. "We weren't going to miss this."

"You paused my drama to watch us argue?"

"Obviously" Tzuyu said. "This was way more entertaining."

Sana lifted her head, still nestled against you. "For the record, I'm not actually mad. Maybe a tiny bit jealous."

"A tiny bit?" Momo raised her eyebrows.

"A reasonable amount of jealous" Sana amended. "A normal girlfriend amount."

You kissed her forehead. "You're allowed to be jealous. I'd be climbing the walls if I watched you kiss someone without warning."

"Really?" She perked up a little.

"Really. Remember when you had that drama cameo last year and just held hands with that actor? I watched that scene like fifteen times trying to see if you looked too comfortable."

"You did?" Sana's eyes went wide. "You never told me that!"

"Because I felt ridiculous about it after."

"Oh my god, you're both as bad as each other" Jihyo laughed.

"This is what we call a healthy relationship" Nayeon declared sagely. "Equal jealousy distribution."

"Can we please just watch the rest of the episode?" you pleaded. "I promise there are no more surprise kisses."

"Are you sure?" Sana asked suspiciously. "Because if there's even a hint of an another romantic scene.”

"I swear on my career, no more kisses this episode. Just good old-fashioned dramatic tension and maybe some crying."

"Crying I can handle." She settled more comfortably against you, then paused. "Wait, are you crying or is he crying?"

"Does it matter?"

"If he's crying over you, yes."

"Sana!"

"What? I need to be prepared this time!"

Nayeon pressed play before you could respond and the drama resumed. You felt Sana's hand slip into yours, fingers intertwining. When you glanced at her, she was smiling.

"I really am sorry" you whispered as a commercial played. "I should have told you."

"It's okay" she whispered back. "But maybe give me a heads up next time? My heart can't take many more surprises."

"Deal. And for what it's worth, you're a much better kisser than Kim Seonho."

"I better be. I've had two years of practice."

"And you're only getting better."

"Okay, no flirting during the drama!" Dahyun threw a cushion at you both. "Some of us are trying to watch Y/N's character have an emotional breakdown here!"

You both laughed and as the episode continued, through plot twists and dramatic revelations and yes, one scene where Seonho's character cried (which earned you a pointed look from Sana), you felt perfectly fine. The drama was doing well, your career was thriving, but this sitting in a chaotic dorm with the people you cared about most, your girlfriend warm against your side? This was what mattered.

When the episode ended and the credits rolled, Sana turned to you with serious eyes.

"So" she said solemnly. "How many more kissing scenes are in this drama?"

Eight members leaned in to hear your answer.

You grinned sheepishly. "Would you believe me if I said I'd have to check the script?"

-🫐

The Shape of HOME

CHARACTERS. minatozaki sana × female reader

SUMMARY. after a breakup leaves you feeling adrift in ways you can’t quite explain, you lean on the person who has always been your constant: Sana, your best friend since childhood. through quiet moments and conversations only the two of you could have, you begin to realize something you couldn’t fully understand before.

WARNINGS. pure fluff

NINI NOTES. sorry for keeping you waiting my dear anon, i hope you’ll like it! idk why while writing this i thought about BTS’s “spring day”, i love that song…

The breakup didn’t shatter you, that was the part you couldn’t explain to anyone.

It just unmade you quietly. Like a sweater pulled at the wrong thread, unraveling slowly until you looked down one morning and realized there was nothing left to hold together. You and Junho hadn’t fought at the end. You’d simply looked at each other across a dinner table and understood, without words, that you’d grown into the shapes of two people who no longer fit.

You were on Sana’s couch, wrapped in the blanket she kept folded over the armrest specifically for you — she’d bought it two winters ago because you always complained about getting cold. The television murmured something neither of you were watching. A bowl of sliced strawberries sat between you, because she remembered that it was your favorite.

You didn’t even have to tell her, she just knew.

“You’re doing the thing again.” Sana said softly, tucking her knees under herself.

“What thing?”

“You go somewhere else behind your eyes.”

You looked at her. In the low lamplight, she looked the way she always did, like the first warm day after a long winter. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder, and she had a small piece of strawberry stem on her finger that she hadn’t noticed yet.

“I’m just tired,” you said.

“I know.” She nudged the bowl toward you. “Eat something. It won’t fix anything, but it’ll be nice.”

She called every other evening. She’d call and say things like: I found the café where we used to get those almond croissants, it’s still there, or remember when you convinced me that roller rink was a good idea and I sprained my wrist? I was thinking about it today and I don’t think I’ve ever forgiven you.

She made you laugh without trying, that was her talent.

You’d known Sana since you were seven years old, since the two of you had lived three houses apart on a street where the cherry trees bloomed every April and dropped petals like soft pink snow. You’d grown up through every awkward, terrible, beautiful phase of life side by side — bad haircuts, first crushes, school exams, the years when everything felt impossible and then, somehow, didn’t.

Most people who met you together assumed you were sisters. Some assumed you were more than that.

You’d never really thought about what you were. You were just you and Sana and that was a complete sentence.

It was a Friday night in late spring when you went for a walk.

Not for any reason. Sana had appeared at your door with two coffees and said let’s go nowhere for a while, and you’d put on your shoes without a second thought. That was how it worked with her, decisions were easy.

The streets in your neighborhood were quiet at this hour, lit gold under the lamps, the trees full and sighing in a warm wind. You walked without direction and slowly you found yourself on the overpass above the river — the one you’d crossed together a hundred times, back when you were teenagers who thought the city was endless and yours.

You leaned against the railing and looked out at the lights reflected on the water.

“This place looks the same,” you said.

“It does,” Sana agreed, standing close enough that your shoulders touched. “We used to come here when we had nowhere else to go.”

“We had nowhere else to go a lot.”

She smiled, and you felt it before you saw it that particular warmth she radiated, the one that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with her.

“Sana.”

“Mm.”

“Why do you always stay?”

She turned to look at you, and something in her expression shifted enough that you noticed. A softening around the eyes and a breath held too long.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean—” You struggled for the words. “You stayed through everything. All these years. Even when I was with Junho and I talked about him too much, and I know I must have been unbearable sometimes, and you never once—” You stopped. “Why?”

The river moved below. A light wind lifted the ends of her hair.

“You want the real answer?” she said quietly.

“Yes of course, we promised to not have secrets between us.”

Sana turned back to the water. When she spoke again, her voice was careful, low, like she was handling something fragile.

“Because I’ve loved you for a very long time. Longer than I’ve known what to do with it.” She paused. “I love you the way you love something that’s just… part of you. I don’t know how to explain it except that I have never once imagined my life without you in it, and every version of my future has always, always had you somewhere in the middle of it.”

“Sana—”

“You don’t have to say anything.” Her voice was steady, though her hands on the railing weren’t quite. “I’m not telling you this to change anything. I just — you asked me why I stay, and I wanted to give you the true answer for once, because you deserve that.”

“How long?” you whispered.

She laughed once, short and quiet. “Honestly? I think since we were sixteen and you stayed up all night with me when I was sick and you made terrible instant noodles and read to me out of that ridiculous fantasy novel until I fell asleep. And I remember thinking—” She shook her head. “I thought, nobody’s ever going to love me the way she does, and she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.”

Something in your chest broke open. Not painfully. Like a window finally cracking in a room that had been airless too long.

“When I was with Junho,” you said slowly, “I used to tell myself I was happy. And I was, sometimes. But there was always this part of me that felt like something was missing. Like I was always—” The words came slow and honest. “Like I was always reaching for something just a little to the left of where I was.”

Sana looked at you.

“I didn’t understand it,” you continued, “until right now. Standing here, with you. It was you.”

Her eyes grew bright.

“I kept thinking,” she said softly, “that wanting you was something I was just supposed to learn to carry quietly. That it was my thing to manage. I didn’t want to make you feel like our friendship was conditional, like I was waiting for something from you. Because I wasn’t. I just—” Her voice broke slightly at the edges. “I wanted you to be happy. Even when that meant it wasn’t with me.”

You reached out and took her hand from the railing. Her fingers were cold from the metal, and you folded both your hands around hers.

“That” you said, “is the most Sana thing you have ever said to me.”

She let out a watery laugh. “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s the best thing,” you said. “It’s exactly why.”

She looked at you for a long moment, wondering, and then slowly understanding.

You leaned in first, the kiss was soft and brief and felt like the end of a very long sentence you’d both been trying to finish for years. Her hand tightened around yours.

When you pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, and she was smiling with her whole face the way she only did when something genuinely surprised her.

“Hi,” she said, a little breathless.

“Hi,” you said back.

Below you, the river moved on. The city hummed its quiet, endless hum. Somewhere behind you, the cherry trees you’d grown up under were probably blooming in the dark.

You thought about all the moments that made sudden sense now and now you knew.

“I’m not in a hurry,” you told her. “I just want this, whatever this is. I want to figure it out with you.”

Sana squeezed your hand. “We have time.”

“We have so much time.”

She leaned her head against your shoulder the way she had ten thousand times before, except this time you both knew what it meant.

Home, you thought, is not always a place.

CHARACTERS. im nayeon × female reader

SUMMARY. you are a part of the national south korea football team and happily married to the one and only im nayeon.

WARNINGS. none, pure fluffy (in honor of 2026 world cup)

The stadium had never felt this alive.

Seoul World Cup Stadium, dressed in red and white from pitch to the highest row of the upper deck, hummed with the kind of energy that pressed against your ribs and made it hard to breathe. Seventy-eight thousand people had found their seats, waving scarves and plastic thundersticks, the noise already cresting into something enormous even before a single whistle had been blown.

It was the quarterfinals of the FIFA Women’s World Cup. South Korea versus Spain.

And before the game, TWICE were performing.

You stood in the tunnel with your teammates, shin guards taped, laces double-knotted. You should have been running through set pieces in your head, rehearsing defensive lines, mentally mapping Spain’s left winger who’d terrorized three teams already in this tournament.

Instead, you were watching your wife on the big screen.

The stage had been erected at the far end of the pitch and even from the tunnel, the sound was crystal-clear, TWICE’s latest title track bouncing off every surface, the nine of them moving in that sharp, synchronized way that still made your chest squeeze no matter how many times you’d seen it. But your eyes found Nayeon every time, the way they always did. Front row, center stage, grinning like she’d been born standing in front of crowds. She had been, practically.

“Yah, Y/N-ah.” Your teammate Jiyeon nudged your arm. “Stop making heart eyes at your wife and get your head in the game.”

“I’m focused,” you said.

“You’ve been staring at that screen for four minutes.”

“I’m strategically focused, trust me.”

A laugh rippled down the line. You smiled and looked away from the screen, but the image of Nayeon stayed with you, the way she’d kissed you this morning in the team hotel hallway, two seconds stolen before your coach had rounded the corner and you’d both jumped apart like teenagers.

You’d pulled back just enough to look at her face her eyes bright, lipstick already slightly smudged from the kiss, expression somewhere between proud and desperately nervous on your behalf.

“You’ll be performing,” you’d said.

“I’ll be watching in my heart,” she’d answered squeezing your cheeks.

Three weeks married. You’d had the ceremony quietly, a small garden in Jeju, eight very loud and emotional bridesmaids. The ring on your finger was thin gold, simple, exactly what you’d wanted. You’d slid it off before games because of tournament rules, no jewelry; and it sat in the small zippered pocket of your training bag at all times. Close enough.

The roar from the stadium surged as TWICE took their final bow, and the lights shifted from concert-warm to floodlight white. The crowd didn’t stop cheering. If anything, it got louder.

Time to go.

The first half was brutal.

Spain’s defensive line was the best you’d faced in the tournament: organized, physical, quick to cut passing lanes before they opened. Your striker, Minji, had been held scoreless despite three dangerous runs. You yourself had found space twice in the midfield only to have the ball dispossessed before you could thread through.

0-0 at halftime. The coach’s talk was calm, precise. Adjustments. Movement. Patience.

You rolled your shoulders in the tunnel, took a long breath, and thought about what Nayeon would say. She’d probably say something embarrassingly cheesy, like “You’re going to be incredible, you always are, I believe in you so much,” and then she’d mean every single word of it.

You jogged back out.

The sixty-third minute.

A corner from the right side. Jiyeon’s delivery was high and angled, designed for the back post. Spain’s keeper called for it, punching outward, but the clearance fell short, right to the edge of the box, and suddenly there was a scramble, bodies and boots and the ball bouncing somewhere in the chaos —

And then it was at your feet.

Ten meters out. One defender between you and goal. A fraction of a second in which the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.

You didn’t think. You just did — a drop of the shoulder left, a touch right to make the angle, and then your right foot connected and the ball flew, low and hard, swerving just inside the far post before the keeper could dive.

The net rippled.

The world exploded.

You didn’t hear it so much as feel it the noise as a physical force, thousand voices detonating at once, red confetti falling somewhere in the upper tier, your teammates crashing into you from every direction. Jiyeon’s arms around your neck. Minji screaming something you couldn’t understand. Your name reverberating off the roof.

But even in the middle of all of that, you were already thinking of something else.

You peeled away from the pile, held up one hand to pause them, and looked around with a half-wild grin until you spotted what you needed one of the sideline cameras, tracking you, the red recording light blinking.

You jogged over.

And you lifted your red Korea jersey.

Underneath, a plain white t-shirt. And on it, written in your own handwriting — blue marker, slightly messy, undeniably sincere —

나연아 사랑해 ♡

(Nayeon, I love you)

The camera held on it for three full seconds.

Then your teammates understood, and the screaming got somehow louder.

In the TWICE backstage area beneath the stadium, nine phones lit up simultaneously.

Jihyo grabbed Nayeon’s arm before she’d even finished reading the texts. “NAYEON. NAYEON LOOK AT THE SCREEN —”

Nayeon looked.

She saw your face, flushed and grinning and wild-eyed with joy, holding up your jersey. She saw the white shirt underneath. She saw the words.

The sound she made was not a word. It was something between a gasp and a sob and a laugh, all collapsed into a single breath. Momo and Sana were already screaming. Chaeyoung had both hands over her mouth.

Nayeon pressed her fingers to her lips.

나연아 사랑해.

“I’m going to die,” she announced to no one in particular.

“You’re going to the field,” Jihyo corrected, already steering her by the shoulders. “We cleared it with the organization. You’re going to the field right now.”

Final score: South Korea 1, Spain 0.

The whistle blew and the stadium became something beyond sound — something felt in the bone, in the chest, in the throat. Your team was already piling again, and you let yourself be pulled into it, laughing and crying with no real distinction between the two, Jiyeon spinning you around by the waist.

And then someone tapped your shoulder.

You turned.

Nayeon stood on the pitch in her offstage outfit white shirt, jeans, face entirely undone. Eyes red-rimmed. Smile so wide it looked like it almost hurt.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Around you, chaos: photographers, teammates, staff, the roar still going, reporters already positioning. None of it touched the small, still circle where the two of you stood.

Then she took one step forward and you met her the rest of the way.

The kiss was immediate and total, her hands in your hair, your arms around her waist, lifting her slightly off the ground because you couldn’t help it, because she was here and you’d scored and her name was written on your chest and you were married and hopelessly in love. She laughed against your mouth and kissed you again, softer this time, and you pressed your forehead to hers.

“I saw it,” she whispered. “The shirt.”

“I know,” you said. “I wore it for you.”

“You are so —” Her voice broke. She laughed to cover it. “You are the most embarrassing person I’ve ever —”

“You love me.”

“So much.” She pulled back to look at you properly, both hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing the streaks of sweat and maybe a few tears from your cheeks. “Y/N. That was — you were —”

“I was thinking about you,” you told her. “The whole game. That’s why I scored.”

She laughed, bright and full, the laugh you’d fallen in love with years ago, the one she gave when something caught her completely off guard. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure it does.”

Behind you, eight TWICE members had gathered in a loose cluster, several of them crying, all of them making noise. Jihyo had her arm around Jeongyeon. Momo was eating a snack she’d produced from somewhere. Sana and Dahyun were already trying to get into your team photo.

The cameras were on all of it.

Nayeon kissed you one more time, quick and certain, then tucked herself under your arm as you turned to face the chaos together. You felt her fingers curl into your jersey.

“Semifinals,” she said.

“Semifinals,” you agreed.

She looked up at you. “Wear the shirt again.”

You grinned. “For every goal?”

“For every goal.”

The lights were bright, the crowd was still singing, your name moving through the stands in waves you could feel underfoot. And Nayeon was laughing beside you, her head against your shoulder, the gold ring waiting in your training bag for after the celebrations, for the quiet that would come eventually a hotel room, two cups of instant ramyeon, her feet in your lap while the highlights played on mute.

But for now: this. The pitch, the noise, the red of seventy-eight thousand strangers who had no idea they’d witnessed a love story nested inside a victory.

You held her a little tighter.

나연아 사랑해.

I was hoping if I could request for a hurt/comfort fic. Sana and reader are close friends who kinda in love but both are afraid because of well they don't know if the other likes them in that way (internalised homophobia and what not) But then the whole world tour happens and its up to you if U want one of them to confess or just leave it to them being afraid, esp since the tour is ending. (or U cld absolutely kill it by letting the reader confess after the tour only for Sana to deny it cuz she a) doesn't like her (won't admit it) or b) found jihyo

hahah. Well that's all for now 😁

hope you have a great day!!

LET HER GO

CHARACTERS. minatozaki sana × female reader

SUMMARY. you’ve always had Sana by your side. But with the end of the world tour approaching, you’re forced to confront the things you’ve both been too afraid to say.

WARNINGS. none just a bit angsty, one-sided love (or is it?), internalised homophobia

NINI NOTES. sorry for keeping you waiting dear anon and i hope this is what you asked for!

The tour has been eating you alive, one city at a time.

You stopped counting the airports somewhere between Toronto and São Paulo, stopped tracking the time zones when the numbers blurred into each other. What you kept track of was Sana.

Where she was in the green room. Whether she’d eaten. The exact pitch of her laugh when she was genuinely happy versus when she was performing it for someone else. You knew the difference and hating that you knew had become its own quiet ritual.

Seoul was where it started, though you’ve revised this timeline so many times you no longer trust it.

Maybe it started earlier. Maybe it started the night she fell asleep on your shoulder during a six-hour flight and you stayed completely still for four of those hours, afraid to wake her. Maybe it started before you even had a name for what it was, before you understood that what you felt in your chest when she walked into a room wasn’t just closeness, wasn’t just years of familiarity compressing into something warm.

You told yourself it was normal. Girls were like this with each other. You had seen it everywhere, this softness between women, and you decided that’s all it was. Softness. Affection. The kind of love that didn’t count.

Tokyo, Week Three.

She finds you in the hallway outside your hotel room at two in the morning, still in your stage makeup, your performance dress replaced by an oversized hoodie that you’re reasonably certain belongs to her.

“Can’t sleep,” she says. Not a question.

“Can’t sleep,” you agree.

She slides down the wall to sit on the floor, pulling her knees to her chest. After a beat, you sit beside her. Your shoulders touch. You are both looking at nothing, a stretch of beige corridor, a fire exit sign blinking its steady red and saying very little, this is somehow exactly enough.

“I liked tonight,” she says eventually.

“You cried during the encore.”

She bumps your shoulder lightly. “Don’t tell anyone.”

You won’t, you never do.

She rests her head against the wall and turns to look at you, and in the red blinking light her eyes are very dark and very quiet. You don’t look away fast enough but you should have.

“You seem pretty tired,” she says softly.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“I’m fine,” you say again, which is not the same as it being true.

She doesn’t argue. She just takes your hand where it’s resting on your knee and holds it loosely, her thumb tracing a small absent circle against your knuckle. You stare at the fire exit sign and breathe.

This is what you mean when you say you’ve been eating yourself alive.

Chicago, Week Seven.

After the show, during the chaos of backstage and staff and adrenaline, forty people all moving at once, she finds you anyway. She always do and you have spent a lot of time recently trying to determine whether this means something or it simply means that you’re comfortable, that you’re safe, that after years of closeness she gravitates toward you the way you’d reach for a familiar jacket in a cold room.

That’s all. That’s what it is.

Except she’s laughing at something you said, her face turned up toward you, and for a second you feel something shift behind her eyes — something that passes before you can identify it — and she looks away first, still smiling but quieter now.

You file it alongside all the other things you’ve decided not to interpret.

You tried, once, in Berlin, to stop.

To create a little distance. To remind yourself of the shape of the friendship without the weight you’d been layering onto it. You sat across the room at dinner instead of beside her. You let someone else ride in her van. You answered her texts quickly but without the small extras like the extra line, the inside reference, the photograph of something you knew would make her laugh.

She noticed within forty-eight hours.

Are you okay? she texted at midnight. You seem far away.

You were fine, you told her.

She showed up at your door anyway, holding two cups of convenience store tea, frowning at you with her brow creased in the particular way that meant she was genuinely worried and trying not to show how much. You let her in. You let her sit cross-legged on your bed and complain about the choreography notes until she’d talked herself calm, and somewhere in the middle of it you gave up entirely on the project of distance.

There was no distance from this. You had already let it go too deep.

London. Final city. Last night.

The concert ends the way they all end — with noise and heat and light. You stand in the wing listening to the crowd and you are crying before you understand why, which is either because the tour is ending or because you know what you’re going to do tonight, and both of those things are terrifying.

She finds you backstage, still in her stage outfit, sequins catching the work lights. She looks at your face and her expression shifts immediately.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“I need to talk to you,” you say. “Later. After everything. Can we — “

“Yes,” she says, before you finish. “Of course.”

Later is three in the morning in her hotel room. You are sitting on the edge of her bed facing the window and she is sitting beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her, and you cannot look at her.

“Whatever it is,” she says quietly, “it’s okay.”

“You don’t know what it is.”

“I know it’s you.” A pause. “That makes it okay.”

You close your eyes.

You tell her.

It doesn’t come out beautifully. It comes out tangled and halting, wrong words followed by other wrong words, no perfect sentence. You tell her that it’s been a long time. You tell her you tried not to, that you told yourself it was just closeness, just years of being near someone, just the way girls love each other. You tell her you don’t expect anything. You tell her you’re sorry if this changes something. You tell her you just couldn’t keep carrying it alone anymore, that you were so tired of carrying it, and that if you left this city without saying it you thought you might never say it at all.

When you finish, the room is very quiet.

She doesn’t move away. That’s the first thing you notice. She stays right beside you, and for a second you mistake that for something.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Her voice is so gentle that it almost makes it worse.

“I care about you,” she says. “So much. You know that.”

“I know.”

“But not — “ She stops. Starts again. “I don’t think I can give you what you want. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You’re not hurting me, you almost say, except you are. Except it’s doing exactly what pain does, moving through you slow and complete.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she says, and her voice has changed now, something unsteady at the edge of it. “That’s — I’m scared of that. More than anything.”

You nod. You don’t trust your voice.

She reaches over and takes your hand, the same way she took your hand in Tokyo in the blinking corridor light, and you let her, because you have never been able to refuse this.

You sit there together for a long time without speaking.

At some point you realize she’s crying very quietly, almost silently, the kind of she doesn’t want you to see. You don’t mention it. You stay still and let her hold your hand and look at the city outside, its lights blurring softly at the edges.

You don’t know what she’s crying for.

Maybe it’s the end of the tour. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s something she won’t let herself look at directly — a door she’s decided to leave closed, for reasons she’s never said out loud and perhaps never will.

You will probably never know.

Eventually she asks, very quietly, “Can we still — ?”

“Yes,” you say, and mean it, and hate that you mean it.

She lets out a breath. Nods once, her eyes still wet.

You look at your hands — hers over yours, fingers loosely woven — and you think about the particular cruelty of loving someone who is gentle with you. If she had been cold, if she had pulled away or laughed or looked at you with the blank discomfort of someone blindsided by the unwanted, it would have been cleaner. Grief needs edges. It needs something to push against. But she is warm and she is close and sorry and there is nowhere for the hurt to go except inward, where it will sit quietly for a very long time.

I care about you. But not like that.

CHARACTERS. hirai momo × female reader

SUMMARY. you cross paths with Momo, a masked spirit who kills those she asks “am I beautiful?” but when she reveals her scars, you don’t flinch.

WARNINGS. none, mentions of “body horror” (scars)

Kyōtanabe breathes differently at midnight. You had learned this slowly. The daytime city rattled and steamed and pressed itself against you; but at night, after the last izakaya pulled its curtain and the salarymen dissolved into taxis, the streets became something else entirely. Quieter than quiet.

You were walking home from a late shift at the flower shop where you worked three evenings a week, arranging ikebana displays for an hotel lobby. Your tote bag was heavy with leftover stems your manager let you take: chrysanthemums mostly, bone-white, their scent sharp and sweet against the cool November air. You liked this walk. Thirty minutes through the old quarter, past stone walls draped in moss, past a shrine whose red torii bled color into the dark, past vending machines humming their soft electric lullabies in the otherwise total stillness.

You were not afraid. You had never had reason to be.

She appeared on the corner of a street so narrow it barely qualified as a street more like a seam between two buildings, stone on either side slick with old rain. She was standing perfectly still beneath a single amber streetlamp and the first thing you noticed was how still she was, like a figure in a painting.

She was tall, dressed in a long dark coat that fell past her knees, her black hair spilling over one shoulder in a way that looked almost deliberately beautiful, like calligraphy. And she was wearing a mask, a plain white surgical mask.

You slowed.

She turned her head toward you. Her eyes were dark and very large and they caught the amber light in a way that made them look almost gold, and you thought absurdly, irrelevantly, that you had never seen eyes that shape before. Long at the corners. Tilted up the faintest degree, like a fox’s.

“Watashi, kirei?”

Her voice was low and unhurried. Am I beautiful? The question landed in your chest like a stone dropped into still water and for a moment all you could do was stand there with your chrysanthemums and your mouth slightly open.

You had heard the stories, of course. Everyone had. Kuchisake-onna, the slit-mouthed woman, the spirit who walks the streets at night wearing a mask, asking her terrible question. The one from which there is no correct answer, no safe door. You had heard the stories the way you hear ghost stories at a sleepover: with pleasurable terror and the comfortable certainty that such things are not real.

And yet here was this woman. And here was this question. And neither of them felt even remotely like fiction.

You should have run. Every rational part of you was screaming to go away and be safe. Instead, you said:

“Yes.”

It came out simply, quietly. Because even standing ten meters away in the amber wash of a lonely streetlamp, she was undeniably, almost painfully beautiful. The line of her jaw, her hair and her eyes, most of all, which had not left yours since she first turned her head.

She tilted her head. Just slightly.

And then she reached up and pulled the mask down.

You had braced yourself. You had, in the half-second between her reaching for the mask and the mask leaving her face, constructed a very detailed internal scaffolding of composure you would not scream, you would not run, you would look. You would be brave.

What you had not braced for was what you actually saw.

The scars were there and they were real. Two curved lines that stretched from the corners of her mouth toward her cheekbones, pale and old and healed over, faded now to something almost silver in the lamplight.

And her mouth beneath them, her actual mouth, was trembling the faintest degree.

“Even like this?” she asked. Kore demo?

You did not answer immediately, not because you were trying to find the trick answer, the safe answer, the one that would let you walk away unharmed. You did not answer because you were looking. Taking her in. The eyes still holding yours. The scars catching light. The way she stood as if she had asked this question ten thousand times and received ten thousand identical reactions and had simply decided to keep asking anyway, out of something stubborn and private and desperately human.

Something cracked open in you, small and quiet, like a seed.

“Yes.” You said again. “Still yes.”

The silence that followed was extraordinary. She stared at you. You stared at her. Somewhere up the alley, a cat landed on something metal and then was gone.

She blinked.

It was such a small thing and yet it rearranged something in the night.

She did not move toward you with violence. She did not move toward you at all. She stayed where she was under the amber lamp, mask hanging loose in one hand and she looked at you, simply.

“You should be afraid of me.” She said.

“I know.” You responded back.

“Everyone is afraid of me.”

“That sounds very lonely.”

Another silence, longer this time. She looked away from you, down the empty street and you watched her profile against the dark the perfect slope of her nose, the proud set of her chin, the scars on her cheeks.

You took one step toward her. Then another. Your heart was doing something dramatic and inadvisable, but your feet seemed to have arrived at their own separate agreement about this situation and they were carrying you forward, slowly.

She turned back to look at you when you were close enough that she could have reached out and touched you. She didn’t. She just looked.

“What is your name?” you asked.

A pause so long you thought she would not answer.

“Momo” she said at last. Barely a sound. As if the word were something she had to exhume. “My name is Momo.”

You sat with her on the steps of the closed shrine, the torii rising red and enormous behind you.

Her hands, you noticed, were elegant and careful.

She told you nothing directly.

You gave her one of the chrysanthemums from your bag. You’re not sure why maybe impulse, instinct, some old training from years of arranging flowers and understanding that they are a language. You held it out and she looked at it for a long moment before taking it. Her fingers brushed yours. Cold. But present. Undeniably, warmingly present.

“White chrysanthemums.” She said quietly. “For mourning, in Japan.”

“Also for honesty.” You said. “And devoted love. Depending on who you ask.”

She looked at the flower in her hand. Then at you. And something in her face shifted.

You don’t know when, exactly, you understood that you were interested, curious about her, maybe in Love? Her beauty, in your eyes, was ethereal.

It was not sensible and were fully aware. Love rarely announces itself in sensible circumstances and it has never waited for a convenient moment.

When the sky began to change that first pale betrayal of indigo at the horizon that means morning is thinking about arriving, Momo stood. She held the chrysanthemum still.

“You should go home” she said “before it gets light.”

“Will you be here tomorrow night?” you asked.

She was quiet for so long that you thought the answer was no or worse, that she didn’t know, that she had no agency over where the night put her.

But then

“This corner.” She said. “After midnight.”

You stood. You were nearly the same height. Close enough that you could see each scar in detail close enough to see that they were, in the morning’s first tentative grey light, even more arresting than they had been in amber.

You did not say goodbye. Goodbye felt wrong for this, too small a word for what had happened here.

“You’re beautiful, Momo. I meant it both times.”

Her eyes curved at the corners. You realized with a small shock that she was smiling beneath the mask. That the expression reached all the way up.

After that, you walked home through a city waking slowly from its dark with your heart full of questions and curiosity.