velours

20 / wlw / she/her

[fioredeciliego]

𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕖'𝕤 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕒 𝕥𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖 𝕠𝕗 𝕓𝕠𝕕𝕪 𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕟𝕥 𝕠𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕝𝕖𝕘𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕒𝕣𝕞𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕗𝕒𝕔𝕖 ♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰

♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰♰ ɢօօɖ 𝚊𝚗𝚍 ɛʋɨʟ 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍. ɢօօɖ 𝚊𝚗𝚍 ɛʋɨʟ 𝚌𝚘𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 ɢօօɖ, 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎. 𝚆𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 ɛʋɨʟ.

[ningningwinning]

Save a Horse

Synopsis: Your attempt at making an honest living as a maid falls apart when the master makes a move on you. Luckily, he isn’t the only master at the estate. The woman you yearn for assures you—she has better plans.

Pairing: fem!maid!reader x dom!Winter/Kim Minjeong Charms: smut, masturbation, grinding, scissoring, fingering, cunnilingus, face-riding, multiple orgasms Stats: ✦ 5.8k words ✦ AO3 link

MASTERLIST

A/N: i know this is longer than my other stuff but i promise that it turns into filth. also sorry for shit talking some rich guy for 4 paragraphs, we all need to hate him

The manor was ostentatiously grand, a testament to the greed of who owned the estate. Though it was a place of pretentious snobs under the oversight of an arrogant man, you were spellbound; after all, there’s no way this asshole designed every ornate detail that pleased your eye. The polished surfaces should make you feel dispossessed, fearful of even leaving a fingerprint, but the nature of the estate holder’s vile personality left you resentful and jaded. 

He is rarely seen exploring the depths of the opulent mansion while the housemaids fruitlessly bust their asses to make it spotless. They only do it for one reason: validation. He had a cocky attitude and was the spitting image of a silver fox; the perfect combo for straight women with daddy issues. But with you being more withdrawn, of course he had his eye on you specifically. Just like any other man that can’t let it be if he doesn’t own it.

Promoted to be the sole maid of his quarters left you completely alienated by the other staff. They envy your position, but knowing this man so closely offers no satisfaction, only cynicism and a nagging feeling of reluctance that festers in your mind daily. 

Lucky for him, it’s the weekend. He gets to be home, sitting at his desk while you clean his office. He says he needs you wiping his windows during the afternoon so you can block the brutal sun, substituting the blinds with your silhouette. It is disgusting to think too hard about, but it was ironically your favorite part. The view was stunning, revealing an open expanse of land where his collection of prized horses roamed freely, representing a fantasy most fit for a girl trapped within overbearing walls.

His chair creaks as he leans back, basking in your shadow. “Are the other servants still giving you trouble? They can be so jealous and bitchy, hm? Hahaha!” His laughter booms through the room, echoing off a ceiling built way too high for an office. Disgustingly too baroque for the room in which he most frequently enjoyed filling with such vulgar talk.

You reluctantly chime in with unenthusiastic laughter, quickly trailing off to sigh. “Yes, actually. They treat me like I'm invisible and when they can’t pretend, they snicker amongst themselves and give me dirty looks.”

He’s silent for a moment, his good mood collapsing like a tent with its poles sticking out dangerously. “But you know you’re better than them.” His voice drops low as if his next words will have any substance. “I wouldn’t have you here if you weren’t worth more.” 

You sigh again, feigning a relieved smile at him. “Right, I understand. Thank you, sir.” Turning back to swipe your towel across the surface of the window, your gaze travels down to the stables, catching sight of the stablemaster. 

Your heart skips a beat, the distance doing little to make the image of her familiar figure distort. The fantasy of being amongst free spirited animals could not hold a candle to the fantasies she fueled: the possibility of having a friend. Finally, someone who wouldn’t see you as competition in some strange harem hierarchy.

“Hey. Look at me.” You obey, holding your breath to restrain another exasperated sigh when you turn again. With those icy blue eyes, he gives you a dark and serious stare, black eyebrows furrowing like they’re too heavy, arms crossed. “Tell me…what can I do to punish them?”

“N-no you don’t need to do that. I don’t actually care what they think. I just feel alone.” It feels like a confession. The loneliness is truly a problem. Sometimes, his rambling would suddenly twist like this; with him prying into your mind and forcing you to open up. You hated how it provided relief. He isolated you, making it so that he’s the one person you can talk to in the entire manor.

You huff out the breath you forgot you were holding, expression hopelessly turning wistful and vulnerable before him. Turning to the window, you almost feel tears prick your eyes as they linger on the distant figure that guides a horse into the stable. 

“I see… You know you have me, right?”

“Yes! Of course!” You whip your head back to him as you hear insecurity taint in his tone. “I think I just… need to get out sometimes. I want to walk on your beautiful property; visit with your horses especially.” You expected it to work, stroke his ego then score a field trip, but he grumbles with skepticism, your heart dropping into your stomach.

“What worries me about that, is the lady who manages my stables. She’s stubborn. That bitch may know more than me about training my horses, but she’s just lucky that I value quality more than just my personal grudges.”

“Well, I can just avoid her, right?” You’ve already been doing that anyway. On breaks and moments of free-time, you visit the field to see the horses, only to leave when you see her. Fear of soiling an interaction with her and subsequently losing all hope for human connection on the manor made you completely muted to her.

“Doesn’t work like that.” His sharp eyes connect with yours again like a threat. “She finds a way to talk to the girls I keep here.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what that means.” You hope it's what you think it means.

“I mean that she’s a lesbo.” He practically spits the last word like it’s meant to scare you and make your skin crawl in disgust, but your eyes widen, half-shock, half-excitement.

He rises from his seat, swiftly meeting you by the window, glaring down at you. “The problem I have with that… is that you’re mine. Anybody who doesn’t understand that just pisses me off.” His eyes drag down your body, breathing becoming ragged. “I need you closer.” 

Dread fills your gut as he fulfills his wish before you can protest, pulling you in and pressing his hardness to your crotch. You flinch, springing back and gasping. He grunts with dissatisfaction when you retreat, briefly clenching his fist before releasing it in surrender.

“Think about it. Sun’s going down soon anyway.” He strides back to his desk with an enraged pout. “Dismissed.”

You don’t have to think twice. As you storm out and head to the servant’s quarters, the tears streaming down your face become inevitable. Pausing in the foyer, you inhale deeply, a sniffle firing in your sinus involuntarily as it follows the breath. The possible thoughts of your peers play in your mind:

“Must’ve been rejected.” 

“She gets what we all want and just cries about it. How stupid is that?”

“Can’t handle all that hard work, huh?”

“How can she not handle this? Lightwork.”

Instantly opting to change course, your shoes carry you down the staircase with embarrassingly loud clicking noises. Breaching the oversized door, the vibrant greenery of the shrubs hits you like a tranquilizer. Grass crunches beneath your hurried steps as you disregard the carefully laid paths, weaving through bushes, finally meeting the fence.

You brace yourself on a post, catching your breath between sobs. The white horse you frequently encounter at the fence approaches heavy-hooved, ready to receive an apple. Her head hovers over the rail expectantly, blowing air from its snout. Bringing a shaky hand to the side of her face, you brush it against the soft hide, coaxing a soft sigh from the animal. You find yourself sighing alongside her, and the picturesque scenery finally registers.

The sun was nearing the horizon, its light painting the sky orange and casting golden highlights upon every tree and flower it touched. Your shoulders sag, forehead dropping onto the horse’s in relief. For a moment, the mare is still, frozen by either confusion or reverence. Before you can read into it, muscles ripple beneath its pelt, the creature pulling away to pursue a different objective. Your eyes follow the horse as it walks further down the fenceline.

Saints save me, there she is. Now of all times.

She held her hand to the horse bearing an apple. When the horse took it with a juicy crushing noise, she put her thumbs in her jean pockets and strode closer, head tipped sideways inquisitively.

“I always see you over here, but you get away.” When she’s close enough, her eyebrows raise at the wet streaks on your face. “Not happy to see me? Why are you crying?”

“No, not at all! I’m sorry, it’s just…” your eyes drift back to the pasture in a moment of contemplation. “A hard day at work.”

“Must have those days often. You work over here, right? The owner’s wing can’t be easy—I know how he is.” Her voice is a tender caress of consolation.

Swooning, your expression immediately softens, gaze meeting hers. She smiles even with her eyes in a way the master never could, carrying with it a sense of empathy you haven’t seen in many moons.

“Exactly!” You exclaim, smearing the tears from your cheeks. “He’s very annoying and never stops rambling. To make things worse, it feels like the other maids do nothing but worship him.”

“Close enough to hear those stupid rants, huh? You must be the girl that’s always wiping the huge windows in his office.” She leans with her elbow on the board next to you, attracting the horse again.

“Yes! He has me cleaning them for ages.” Your tone shifts back to melancholy by the end of your sentence as you recall the cleaning process and disturbing confrontation. 

Without an ounce of thought, your hand drifts over to the horse’s head again with repetitive petting motions upon its soothing fur. Her eyes flit from you to the horse, returning with a glint of inspiration. “You wanna try riding her?”

“Um, I’ve never ridden a horse, so I’m not quite sure.” 

“Well, I’m sure you want to.” She states it so matter-of-factly that you blush. To be read with such confidence leaves you anxious, but… more notably, you feel recognized for even your most guarded desires. “C’mon, you know you deserve it,” she says with a smirk.

“Ah… fine you’re right.” You sigh, smiling. “I really do deserve it.” 

She nods and wordlessly leads the way. The smell of hay and manure only intensifies as you near the stables. You follow at her heel, tracking every endearing movement she made until you make it to the door of the tack room. 

“Alright, just give me a moment while I get the riding gear.” She disappears into the room of dust and leather, leaving you to notice the sound of footsteps from behind. Alert, you turn around to see that they aren’t feet, but distant hoof-steps. The white mare approaches lazily, but you’re awestruck by her tentativeness.

“Awwww, she really followed us all the way over here!” Your voice pitches up with glee.

A chuckle comes from inside, followed by the clinking sound of fastenings. She emerges with a saddle draped over her shoulder, clutching the harness in her other arm.

“Winter has made herself my favorite for sure.” She heaves the saddle pad onto the curve of the horse’s back.

“Perfect name…So what’s yours then?”

“Oh, mine is Minjeong. Sorry—I figured you’d be more curious about her name.” As she fastens the harness, she gives you a stupid smirk; cocky and showing off teeth.

“Not true. I’ve been wondering what your name is too.” You state, clicking your tongue at her artificial drama.

“Really?” When she finishes securing the girth strap, Minjeong saunters over to you, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. “For how long?”

“A while.” Your body heats up under the pressure.

“Since when?”

“S-since seeing you from the window, I guess.” Stuttering at the sudden directness, your eyes dart to distract themselves on Winter, who snorts with impatience.

“I have as well.” Minjeong’s smile softens with great contrast to the confrontational tone, confessing her own interest as she inquires about your name. Put at ease, you reveal yourself.

“Beautiful. How about I show you the easiest part?” Minjeong takes your hand into hers, leading you to the horse. “Show me how you would mount her.”

Groaning with skepticism, you grip the horn of the saddle, cantle in your left hand. On the third attempt to heave yourself onto the seat, her hands grip your waist, hoisting you up so you can mount. You squeak in an unseemly manner at Minjeong’s firm touch, leaving you dazed on the swaying horse. She grabs your thigh, immediately making you tense up.

“Try to stay flexed down here, when the horse moves you don’t wanna just slide off.” Minjeong casually drags her fingers down your thigh, all the way down to the reins, guiding the horse on foot. 

Such an insane tease.

“Stay steady and hold onto that horn.” She commands over her shoulder. Listening tentatively, you obey the advice she gives you. Minjeong provides commentary as she leads you to the gate like she’s preparing you for something.

“Think you're ready to go further?” She challenges as she fiddles with the lock on the gate, guiding Winter through before locking it behind her with responsible care. Anxiety crawls up your spine.

“Certainly not! I’m only—“

“Not alone, love.” Giggling, she gestures for you to scoot back, pulling herself up by the horn with impressive ease before you can offer assistance. As she fills the seat, your chest is forced flush against her back, a hand flying to her shoulder as you lose balance. 

Minjeong looks at you from over her shoulder with a raised brow and lidded eyes. “Going anywhere fast tomorrow morning?”

“No.” You blurt impulsively, mind filled with nothing but dirty thoughts at the scent of her hair, voice carrying with it a warm breath upon her neck.

“Good,” she hums, low and seductively. “You'll probably be tired after the ride, but I have a private place of rest out there.” The air from your lungs gets caught tight in your throat as she grabs your wrists, wrapping them around her waist. “Hold on tight.”

You obey, fighting in vain to fight the shyness. “Gunna need to be tighter than that, baby—you’ll see.”

With a click of her tongue, she beckons Winter to drum the earth with her hooves. Minjeong snaps the reins, the white steed picking up the pace to gallop across the open field. She was right; you’re tight now, snugly pressed up on her back, body bouncing on the saddle as you cling to her midsection. 

You realize that she is keeping her own body steady with her feet on the stirrups, leaving you, the secondary rider, to helplessly rock into her. Your inner thighs strain to stabilize as even your fingers start flexing. Minjeong’s abs tense under your fingertips when she chuckles.

Suddenly, arousal shoots through your core. You’re wet, repetitive impact on the saddle making you whimper on her neck. You just want to slide your hands under her shirt and feel her strong abs, eventually creeping up to fondle her breasts. There's no way you can work up that courage, but the shame doesn’t prevent the instinctual reaction from your body, core tightening. All you can think about is those sweet, sultry words before she took off. 

“Be tighter than that, baby.” 

You’re panting and praying the sound of thundering hooves smothers the sound, but your mouth must be way too close to her. She has to know what she’s doing. Throbbing deep inside, at this point you can’t help but grip harder. Your back arches slightly into the perfect pose for your aching clit to get battered. That’s when you realize:

I’m masturbating right next to her.

“You’re so tight right now, good girl.” Her voice is low, but projecting just enough for you to hear through the wind whooshing in your ears.

Then it hits you. A moan escapes and your body shakes viciously against her as you cum. In that heated moment, you can’t stop your hands from sliding up near Minjeong’s chest, eliciting a shiver from her. With perfect timing, Winter slows as she nears the trees, Minjeong lowering onto the saddle.

“Was it too much?” She turns to look at you with those sympathetic eyes, resting her palm on your knee, stroking up and down your thigh, hiking your dress up further—as if that would ease your quivering.

“It was a little fast, but I’m fine.” You say between breaths, the sweat on your forehead glistening back at her to betray your words.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go slower now.” She rubs her thumb on your knee before returning her focus to a dirt path that leads into woods. You slump onto her, nestling your cheek on her warm back.

Still recovering from a full body rush of ecstasy and adrenaline, you feel the sleepiness creep in. As opposed to interrogative conversation, the air is filled with the sound of leaves rustling and the repetitive clopping of hooves. Your eyes flutter shut and maybe ten minutes drift past unnoticed until you're jolted out of the daze by Minjeong steering the horse off the trail, following a path carved by desire rather than gravel. It’s bumpier, but you know by now that Minjeong doesn’t mind you gripping her waist.

“We’re close now,” she says in a soothing tone, “then you can finally rest; I’ll feed you too.”

“Thank you so much.” You hum, nuzzling against her back.

In just a few moments, you meet the cabin. Like a secret in the woods, it sits humble, ivy creeping up its walls. “Not to brag, but I built most of this. I found it in ruins, so nobody really knows about it.”

“Wow… that’s amazing.” Your admiration for her grows more and more by the minute.

Minjeong hops off the horse with grace and extends her arms out, holding onto you as you slip off. Having been on the horse for what felt like ages, you stumble on shaky legs.

“Oh gosh, I almost forgot—you aren't used to this.” Her voice is tinted with worry as she helps you to a creaky chair on the porch, the wood weathered to a silvery grey. “Wait here a moment. I’m going to take Winter to the stall.”

When she returns, Minjeong takes you directly to the couch inside, treating you like some dainty princess to the extent you have to stifle a goofy grin.

“I’ll heat up some soup. Be right back.” She quickly strides away, seating her hat on a rack by the door before disappearing into the kitchen.

Leaning back with a sigh, your eyes travel around the room. Despite its shack-like appearance, the inside is well kept and clean, decorated with restored vintage upholstery and trinkets. The couch is covered by a blanket—probably to hide any holes or tears—so you opt for the plush, soft throw that hid an alluring pillow. As your sore body rests horizontal on the couch, you quickly slip into a shallow slumber. Feeling a gentle nudge, your eyes flutter open to behold a steaming bowl.

“Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, but I thought you might be needing this.” The bowl warms your palms as you take it. You thank her and she smiles tenderly at you, taking a seat next to you as you sit up. 

After some jabbering between slurps about its savory flavor, you both silently decimate your portions. Soon enough, the room is now dimly lit by kerosene lamps as the sun dips beneath the horizon.

“Mmm, thank you—again. I can’t thank you enough for taking me all the way out here and treating me to this.”

“Of course, love.” She rests her arm alongside the couch behind your head. “Like I said, you looked like you needed it… so, tell me: why were you crying?”

“Ah, yea…” You set the bowl down on the coffee table. “Basically, the master wanted me to do more. Sexually.” You peer over at her, sheepishly, as if you did something wrong.

Minjeong looks at you with deep sadness, the arm behind you traveling to caress your upper-arm. “I’m so sorry. How did you respond?”

“I just left. He let me leave, at least. It’s stupid, but I feel betrayed. I just wanted this promotion to be a result of my hard work, but I should’ve known better.” You sigh. “Especially with the way that he is.” 

“Well, don’t worry about that now. You can feel safe here as long as you need.” At her soothing words, you rest your head on her shoulder, releasing yet another sigh. “In fact, you should probably rest for the night, hm?”

“Yeah…” you mumble.

“I only have one bed and it’s a twin, so I can take the couch.” Minjeong offers.

“No, no, I don’t want to be alone,” you plead. “I’ve felt so lonely lately and… you’re the first person here to actually listen to me. I mean, not that I would manage to stay awake much longer, though. I could also take the couch if you want your bed—“

“Hey, It's okay. Of course I can sleep with you tonight.” She chuckles softly and you thank her again like clockwork. After leading you to the bedroom, she hands you some clothes, leaving you alone to change so she can go lock the door and put out the lights.

“Comfy?” Minjeong inquires as she closes the door gently behind her. You were already laying down, weighed down heavily with fatigue and yawning just to prepare yourself for responding. “Nevermind.”

“Yes, I’m very comfy.” You cover your eyes with your forearm out of embarrassment.

“Stay like that and don't look—I need to change too.” Minjeong says before you hear a drawer slide open. 

For some reason, you don’t trust yourself to not look, so you turn onto your side to face the wall. You hear her shuffle for a few moments then you feel a hand pat your shoulder. Unshielding your eyes, you look back up at her to see Minjeong’s tender expression slightly illuminated by the moonlight streaming in from the window. Her gaze emanates a quiet affection that you don’t have the courage to acknowledge.

“Can you scoot for me, love?” She asks softly, breaking you from the trance.

“Oh—yes, of course.” 

As you both shuffle into place beneath the covers, her arm comes to rest across your body and you instinctively tense. At your reaction, Minjeong lifts her arm to a hover.

“Is this… okay? Sorry, I wasn't thinking.” In reverence of the night, her voice is barely more than a whisper.

“Yes… it’s just that nobody’s ever held me like this before.” You whisper back.

“I see.” Her arm lies back onto you, but you still sense nervousness in the touch.

“But it’s okay, I like it.” You delicately pull her forearm closer. 

A breath from her nose brushes the back of your head as she relaxes. With that, silence soon settles over you both, her warm embrace lulling you to sleep. Of course, your bodies would not retain this position for the entire night.

You awaken to find your legs tangled in hers, an arm wrapped around her waist, your face nuzzled against her chest, and shame barging into your mind. Despite the embarrassment, you can’t pull away. If it happened so naturally, how could you? 

Minjeong isn’t having much restraint either; her arms hold your head like it’s her treasured stuffed toy. When you look up at her peaceful sleeping face, she stirs awake, eyes flitting open and slowly focusing on yours. You swear she turns a bit pink at the sight of you, but she just smiles and greets you.

“Good morning,” she purrs.

“Morning,” you reply, scooching up to be at eye level .

“You’re not going anywhere fast today, right?” Minjeong asks.

“…Not anymore.” 

“Mmm, good.” She says.

“Are you?” You ask.

“I need to return around noon.” Her voice was apologetic. You instinctively pout and she sniffles with brief laughter.

“Then can we stay like this a while longer?” You look at her with pleading eyes, but when she answers affirmatively, you can't seem to stop begging with your gaze as it falls to her lips. 

There’s nothing to hide the movement of your eyes and her tongue slides across her lips in anticipation. You inhale sharply, eyes darting back up to hers; Minjeong’s stare back into yours with an intensity you’ve only seen slim glimmers of prior. Your hand on her waist twitches anxiously and moves upward; her hand travels to your face, tucking hair behind your ear.. 

At her touch, you inch forward and hear her breath hitch. That’s when you know—there is no more use in hesitating. Minjeong exhales when you finally kiss her, cupping your face in her hand. Her lips are supple between yours, every movement a sweet reward that leaves you wanting more. In a matter of seconds, she starts to deepen the kiss, coaxing your mouth to open as her tongue hungrily joins with yours. 

Your breathing quickens, hands daring to slide beneath her shirt, softly whimpering and shifting your hips as her thigh pushes up further between your legs. The formerly gentle hand at your face quickly travels down to your antsy hips to forcefully push them down onto her thigh. You break from the kiss to gasp and Minjeong watches eagerly as you squirm before taking the exposed skin of your neck into her mouth, sucking kisses that dangerously border on hickies. Now rutting against her thigh without assistance, she tickles your neck with a low laugh. 

“You want this bad, don’t you?” Minjeong murmurs huskily.

At her words, you nod frantically, hands sliding up her shirt as if to beg for more. She grunts and relieves the pressure between your legs just so she can tug your bottoms down. When the bottoms get lost in the covers, her digits explore your folds, the slick sounds hitting your ears immediately.

“God, you’re so wet…” she groans breathily.

You press your fingernails into her skin and whimper, hips twitching into her touch. Minjeong grunts and throws off the covers, pushing up your shirt to expose you further. You discard the shirt and urge her to do the same. In a heated frenzy, the clothes are lost across the room, Minjeong aligning her cunt with yours as she throws your leg over her shoulder. 

Starting slow, her heat slides against yours, the slickness oozing all over your inner thighs. As she finds the point where your clits clash, she moans, the sound alone making your pussy clench. Minjeong’s hips jerk, making you throw your head back despite the stunning view of her abs. You moan as she starts relentlessly humping your wet sex, her firm fingers gripping your thigh to keep it in place as she fucks you. 

With her free hand, she palms your breast, kneading it until your nipple hardens to a peak and you’re writhing from the stimulation. Your hips buck into hers as your climax approaches and every ragged moan from her lips gives away how close she is too. Minjeong presses her hips hard against yours and they still, her eyes squeezing shut, head dropping to lean on your leg as a cracked noise erupts from her vocal chords.

“Shit, I’m cumming,” she cries out as her body shakes, the waves of her orgasm sending her hips gyrating onto yours, pushing you over the edge as well. Wrecked sobs that blend with hers spill from your mouth, meshing with the wet smacking sounds of your slick mixing. 

As your bodies calm, Minjeong rises to her knees, pussies still connected by clear threads of sticky cum, leaning forward to kiss you. It's slow, like the first one, but with a scorching heat that can only exist after you’ve cum together. The kiss makes your mouth practically melt against her swollen lips, her tongue tangling and teasing another round. 

You jolt as you feel her slender fingers return to your sensitive pussy, a digit circling your clit. Whimpering at the sudden contact, you depart from her mouth, turning your head to the side and scrunching your brows.

“M-more already?” You ask, voice wavering with uncertainty.

“Mmhmm. Just think about how much you’ll miss me later, love.” She purrs.

You look up at her smug expression as your skepticism ebbs away, her hair forming a curtain around you. “Okay—Ahh!”

She stops circling and rubs directly on the bundle of nerves, making you tremble beneath her. Taking her sweet time to watch you wriggle and twitch, she tortures your clit until your moans turn to begs. After Minjeong is finally pleased with your level of enthusiasm, she inserts a finger.  The long awaited penetration makes the moan slip out like a breath you’d been holding too long and your head tilts back. Your shaky fingers wrap around her wrist as you hook your other arm under hers, pulling Minjeong closer until her nose is in your collarbone.

“Aww, you like me inside you, baby? You’re so soaked. I know you want more.” She mutters against your neck before sliding in another digit. 

You moan breathily as her fingers start moving faster, every pass through your walls making you clench around them and raise your hips when her knuckles press against your entrance. The bobbing of your hips only intensifies when Minjeongs fingers curl into the soft, spongy spot that stutters your breathing when pressed. Her thumb swipes side to side on your clit, forcing your hips to quiver helplessly in the air, muscles straining to keep up with the stimuli.

Minjeong pants with arousal as she watches you, reaping the rewards of every reaction by virtue of her skillful deliberation. Every spasm—hers; every whimper—hers; every orgasm that ripples through your body—hers alone.

Your pussy coils around her commanding fingers as they stir up a climax inside of you. You twist toward her, catching her mouth when it hits. They crash into yours, softened by their plumpness and sharpened by the bite of her teeth on your bottom lip. When you can’t hold it in your tensed core any longer, a moan bursts out of the kiss, your hand fisting her hair.

Minjeong’s forehead rests on yours when you let go of her hair, her breathing coming fast and mixing with yours as you come down from the high she gave you. She drags her fingers out with a wet smacking noise and brings them to her mouth, sucking them clean. Then, using that slick hand, she holds your waist, moving onto kissing your neck. As she moves lower and lower with the kisses, you can't help but chuckle at her persistence.

“I won’t be the kind of master you want to run away from. Try complaining about this—I dare you.” 

From anyone else, you’d be skeptical at those words, but with her saying that from between your legs after making you cum, you believe every utterance. You huff with arousal, hips rising to meet her glossy lips, but she pulls away just in time to leave you groaning in betrayal.

“How about you show me what you’ve learned about riding from yesterday, love?” She challenges, looming over you from her knees with hands on her hips.

“N-now?”

“Yes, you’ll act like my face is the saddle. How’s that sound, baby?” Minjeong offers, voice velvety.

You pause, the sensations of yesterday echoing in your body like a ghost. “Do you think I want to cum on a saddle of all things?”

“A bit.” She says with a smirk.

“Pffft. Even if I did want to, I would only be thinking of your face the whole time.”

“So what are you waiting for?” She jabs.

“For you to lay down instead of looking at me like I'm a piece of meat.” You snark.

Minjeong just laughs, crawling into position; you getting on top. When you look down between your legs, her hungry gaze rakes up your body. You throb and her eyes focus on your hole.

“Mmm, god, look at it squeezing for me.” She sighs in arousal, fingers prodding at your pulsing slit.

“Ahh—please, I can’t last long up here; my thighs are still sore.”

“Then sit.” Minjeong removes her fingers from the scene, pulling down on your hips. 

Still afraid of sitting on teeth or hurting her, you remain tense until she wraps her plump lips around your clit, flicking her tongue and ripping off your restraint. You moan and the bed creaks as your thighs relax. 

She hums in satisfaction, rewarding you with firm swipes of her tongue up your slit. Everytime her tongue hits your bud on the way up, your hips buck on her face, seeking more friction to your favorite spot.

“P-please, on my clit please.” You beg, chasing her tongue with each trace and a hand on her head, but she stops you with firm hands to your hips. You whimper in frustration, nails digging into her scalp, but she acts unfazed, instead shoving her tongue into your pussy. 

Your back arches, instinctively widening your legs and grinding down on her face. Minjeong, having savored enough submission from you, mashes her thumb on your clit, making your moans turn to cries as she forces your hips to jerk and drip arousal down her chin. Thrusting into her torturous thumb and dropping onto her tongue leaves you feverishly riding her face, lost of all former inhibitions found on the last ride. The pleasure peaks as her tongue becomes ravenous, swirling in all directions to taste your walls. 

“I-I’m cumming!” You cry out as you fall forward, a hand slapping to the wall. Minjeong’s free hand grips your ass, only releasing to spank and fondle it as the orgasm ripples through your body. You convulse on her tongue rhythmically as her thumb repeatedly strums your clit. 

After your hips rock one final time, you bat her hand away from your abused clit, shakily rising off her face with an obscenely wet sound. You flop down next to her, chest rising and falling, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone now.” She says flatly. 

“No… it…” You nearly lose your thoughts. “…it’s okay… don’t leave yet…” You slur your words like you’re drunk.

“I won’t—it’s only 8:30.” She states with a giggle.

“Don’t wanna… fall asleep… again…” you mumble.

“Stop worrying, I’ll get you up in an hour.”  

Eyes still closed, you sigh in relief. Minjeong chuckles softly and nuzzles up to you, arm around your chest, and her head in the crook of your neck. You coo softly, leaning your head against hers. Just like that, your mind goes blank.

tip your smutender? ╰┈➤ yas! / no.

[fioredeciliego]

gulps … lowkey cried during ur mommy issues rina fic

omg noooooo😭😭😭 (i lowk cried writing it)

we'll be okay queen🫂🫂

[herrscherofinsanity]

In Every Lifetime

Their time was cut short, so they made a promise to find and love each other in every lifetime.

Fluff, a bit of angst

Yu Jimin (Karina) x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5k

____________________

Ancient Roman Empire

The marble halls were quiet at this hour, save for the soft click of leather sandals. Lady y/n Primus, daughter of Lucius Primus, governor of one of Rome’s most profitable provinces, carried herself with the poise expected of nobility — tall, ethereal, chin held high.

Trailing just a step behind her was Jimin, a young guard enlisted to protect the Primus family’s youngest daughter. The rumors in the barracks were endless — “Too soft,” they whispered. “Shows her too much devotion.” But no one could deny that Jimin moved like a shadow forged specifically to guard y/n.

They had known each other for years now. y/n, with her silks, pearls, and floral perfume — Jimin, with her sword, sunburnt skin, and devotion. What began as youthful fascination (a noble girl too curious, a guard too eager to please) had bled slowly, quietly, into something neither of them was allowed to name.

The heated baths.

y/n sat at the edge of the warm pool, legs dipped in, hair unpinned and falling down her back — a luxury reserved for times when no one else was around. “Come here,” she whispered.

Jimin stood near the mosaic wall, trying to pretend to scan for threats.

“My lady, I shouldn’t—”

“Jimin,” y/n warned gently.

She obeyed, dropped to one knee, close enough to feel the steam from the water. y/n’s hand came up, fingertips tracing the line of Jimin’s jaw. That’s when she said it — for the first time.

“If I were not born Primus… would you have loved me then?”

Jimin swore she felt her knees weaken under the armor. “My lady,” she breathed, voice catching. “I have loved you every day — whether you are adorned in gold or ash. I would love you even if we were nobody.”

That was the first time y/n kissed her.

-----

They were caught when y/n dared to sneak Jimin into her bedchambers one night. Laughter, soft touches, forbidden whispers — until suddenly the door slammed open.

Governors. Soldiers. y/n’s father.

Shock. Disgust. Outrage. Betrayal.

Jimin was ripped away from y/n’s arms by two soldiers. y/n screamed, fighting against her mother’s tight hold. “Don’t take her! She did nothing wrong — I love her!”

Jimin was already bruised, blood at her lip, but she still stood tall.

“You are ruining her, you disgrace!” Governor Primus spat at Jimin. “You will never be seen again.”

They dragged Jimin from the room, sword confiscated, sentenced to exile or worse.

y/n broke free just as Jimin was being marched to the palace gates. She ran, barefoot and sobbing, silk nightdress slipping off her shoulder.

They didn’t have much time.

y/n pressed herself to Jimin’s chest, tears soaking the guard’s tunic. “I will find you,” she swore, voice shaking.

Jimin cupped her beloved’s cheeks, even though soldiers were tugging at her arms. “And if they take me far away—”

“Then I’ll chase you beyond the river Styx,” y/n breathed. “Swear to me.”

Jimin nodded, eyes burning with unshed tears.

“In every lifetime, I will love you.”

y/n’s reply was fierce, raw —

“In every lifetime, Jimin?”

Her guard smiled, even as they chained her wrists.

“In every lifetime, my love.”

They were torn apart moments later. y/n screamed Jimin’s name until her throat felt like glass and blood. She never saw Jimin again in that life.

But that promise — that vow — did not die with them.

It echoed.

It lingered.

It followed them into the next life.

____________________

Victorian Era — The Opera House Affair

Lady Yu Jimin stood in the glittering balcony box of London’s most prestigious opera house — La Florentina. Daughter of a wealthy shipping tycoon, she had everything a young lady could want: beauty, position, marriage offers stacking higher than her pearl chokers.

Then she stepped on stage.

y/n y/l/n, the opera’s dazzling lead soprano — a woman whispered about in every tearoom and ballroom from Mayfair to Paris. Rumors said she came from nothing; a provincial girl with too much voice and too little regard for propriety. They also said she seduced audiences with nothing but a single breath.

Jimin had never believed in gossip. Until now.

From the very first note y/n released into the velvet-draped air, Jimin forgot how to breathe. She clutched her opera glasses tight, pulse climbing with every high C, with every dramatic flourish. And when y/n smiled during her final aria — a slow curl of the lip, almost dangerous — Jimin felt something unfamiliar spiral through her ribs.

Something like… recognition?

Backstage, after the performance.

Jimin’s lady maid warned her it was not proper to go behind the curtain, but propriety had already begun its slow death inside her.

Gold buttons and lace whispered as Jimin stepped into the dim, echoing corridor. Costumes and cigarette smoke floated past as workers scurried by. Then y/n appeared, out of costume now — still radiant, still untouchable — with her long hair tied back and cheekbones catching the candlelight.

They nearly collided.

“Oh—! Pardon me, I—” Jimin’s words tangled.

y/n looked her up and down, noticing the expensive silks, the signet ring, the breeding in Jimin’s posture. “You’re far from the audience box, darling,” y/n murmured, voice low and smoky.

“I…” Jimin swallowed. “I wanted to congratulate you. Your voice — it was unlike anything I’ve ever heard.”

The songstress smiled. Dangerous. Magnetic. Like a woman who had cut her teeth on adoration.

“And you followed me backstage. How bold.” She stepped closer, whispering as though sharing a secret. “Do you often chase girls after dark, milady?”

Jimin felt her cheeks burn. “I-I don’t know what you mean—”

y/n brushed past her gently, letting her arm graze Jimin’s. “Come again tomorrow, then,” she murmured, walking away with that self-assured swagger, “and maybe I’ll sing just for you.”

Jimin stayed frozen long after y/n disappeared into the shadows — heart pounding like war drums against her corset.

And so it began…

Night after night, Jimin returned — “to appreciate the arts,” she lied to her parents. y/n would sing, eyes subtly seeking out Jimin’s box each time, until eventually she began to send hidden notes:

We close the curtain at 11. Stay. I’ll be waiting by the red velvet staircase.

Jimin tried to resist, she really did.

She failed.

One stolen midnight encounter turned into another, pressing deeper into the opera house’s forbidden corners — the costume room, the prop attic, near the orchestra pit where moonlight pooled like liquid silver.

They tasted each other’s lipstick for the first time behind a gilded column while violins were being tuned in the distance.

y/n’s hand was in Jimin’s meticulously coiffed hair.

Jimin’s hands were on y/n’s waist, wrenching her closer with desperation she didn’t understand.

“I… don’t know why,” Jimin confessed between fevered kisses, “but I feel like I’ve… known you before.”

y/n brushed her thumb over Jimin’s lips, wonderstruck.

“Funny,” she whispered, “I feel the same.”

-----

The brewing scandal

Lady Yu’s frequent disappearances did not go unnoticed. Whispers spread. “She’s been corrupted by that opera girl — that temptress.” Suitors withdrew their interest. Her mother cried behind lace curtains. Her father threatened to ship her off to Vienna.

Still — she returned to y/n.

Until one night, they were caught — not by staff, not by noble gawkers — but by the songstress’s own manager, who saw fortune and scandal in equal measure.

“If this ruins me—” y/n began, breath shaky against Jimin’s forehead.

“If?” Jimin echoed, gripping her hand tighter. “I won’t let them burn you for loving me.”

The manager sent a letter to Jimin’s family that very night. “Your daughter is conducting immoral liaisons with my singer. Control her — or I will go public for publicity.”

All hell was about to break loose.

And so, on the eve before everything could crumble in headlines, y/n pulled Jimin into her dressing room and whispered:

“Run away with me. Tonight. No carriages. No jewels. Just you and me.”

Jimin stared at her — heart thunderstruck — knowing that to say yes was to destroy everything she’d ever known…

…but somehow, even without knowing why, she knew she was meant to choose y/n.

She kissed her breathless, tasting dust and desperation.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll find you… even if they tear us apart.”

They fled that night — into fog, into danger, into destiny.

They did not yet remember why their love felt like lightning in their veins — why every touch felt familiar.

But fate did.

And it was already preparing their next lifetime.

____________________

Flapper & Mafia Heiress

The smoke in the air was thick, a swirling mix of jazz, gin, and secrets. The Velvet Lounge was a sanctuary for the city’s most dangerous and dazzling, its floors glimmering under the weight of speakeasy glamour.

y/n Primus — now y/n Devereux on stage — was electric. With well-defined curls, ruby lips, and a body wrapped in fringed sequins, she was the star of the show. The moment she stepped into the spotlight; the entire room stilled. No one could look away. She sang, smooth and sultry, as the band behind her played a soft jazz tune that turned quickly into a fast-paced rhythm.

Every single pair of eyes was on her. Every ear was tuned to the way she breathed her lyrics, like she owned every note, every word, every step she took.

But one set of eyes didn’t just watch her — they burned.

Jimin was there. She was always there, every night, sitting at the same corner booth by the stage, perfectly poised in a black velvet dress, pearls draped over her neck. No one knew her as anything other than the daughter of Don Yu, the notorious mafia boss who ran half of the city’s underground operations. Her father’s empire was built on fear, but Jimin? She was a different breed. Cold on the outside, but fire burning beneath the surface. No one could touch her. No one but the Devereux girl.

The moment y/n’s eyes met hers from the stage, Jimin felt something shift in her chest. Her fingers clenched around the glass of whiskey in her hand, her pulse quickening, as though her whole life had led up to this moment.

That singer girl, with the voice that could shatter hearts — she was a temptation Jimin knew she couldn’t resist.

-----

Later that night, as the show ended, the crowd began to spill out into the cool, foggy street, but Jimin didn’t move. Instead, she stood, her gaze locked onto y/n as the singer made her way toward the back of the lounge, where the performers would retreat to their private rooms.

Jimin followed her, unstoppable, the power in her stride betraying the dangerous pull she already felt.

The singer, sensing someone behind her, turned sharply.

"You want something, darling?" she purred, voice dripping with a boldness she hadn’t yet learned to suppress.

Jimin didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, a playful smile curling on her lips. “I want you.”

y/n’s breath hitched. She should have been more guarded, more composed — but something about the mafia princess in front of her made all the rules feel irrelevant.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” y/n said, leaning against the doorframe of her dressing room, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

Jimin took a step closer, her fingers lightly grazing y/n’s arm, sending a wave of electricity through both their bodies. “I know what I want,” she said, voice low and husky. “And I’ve never been good at waiting.”

The heat between them was immediate, charged with the unmistakable tension of two worlds colliding. Jimin wasn’t a woman used to being denied, and y/n? She had never felt so wanted.

Without another word, Jimin kissed her. Hard. Messy. Reckless.

y/n responded instantly, her hands threading into Jimin’s hair, pulling her closer, savoring the feeling of having her at last. Everything else faded away — the smoke, the sound of the city, the jazz that had once entranced her — all that mattered was the woman in her arms.

-----

But of course, nothing was ever simple.

Jimin’s father, Don Yu, did not approve of his daughter’s unpredictable desires, especially those that endangered his empire. By morning, the whispers were already circulating, people were talking, and those who knew better were shaking their heads.

"You know how dangerous it is to cross paths with a woman like that," one of Jimin’s closest associates warned her, his voice thick with concern. “She’s a Devereux.”

Jimin didn’t care. She never did. And yet, something inside her gnawed at her, a fear she hadn’t known she possessed.

The mafia princess and the flapper queen were like fire and gasoline.

But no one, not even Jimin’s father, would stop her from chasing y/n down again.

-----

It was a week later when y/n found a single rose on her dressing room vanity, the petals a deep red, almost too vibrant for the dim-lit space. Attached was a note — no name, just two words.

“Meet me.”

y/n’s heart skipped a beat. She knew who it was. Jimin. Bold, dangerous Jimin.

She didn’t waste time. That night, she slipped into the same flapper dress from the first night — a daring red this time — and made her way to the address scrawled on the back of the note.

She stepped into a dark alley, only to be met with the cool, smug smirk of Jimin, her silhouette leaning against a brick wall.

“Well, well,” y/n said, her lips curling in a flirtatious grin. “You’ve been busy.”

Jimin didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.

Before y/n could blink, Jimin had her pinned against the wall, lips claiming hers in a kiss that was all hunger and raw desire.

“I told you I’d have you,” Jimin murmured, voice thick with passion. “And I always get what I want.”

y/n laughed softly, breathless, “I think I want you too.”

And once again, they were bound by that unspoken, inevitable connection — one that could tear their worlds apart, but neither of them could run from.

____________________

Disco Nights & Roller Dreams

The glowing sign outside Electric Eden flickered hot pink and electric blue. Half roller rink, half nightclub — it was the place you went when you wanted to feel alive, reckless, and young forever.

Inside, glitter balls spun from the ceiling, casting shards of light across sweaty dancers and skaters speeding past to the beat of “Take On Me.”

That’s where y/n y/ln crashed into Jimin Yu for the first time.

Literally crashed.

y/n — wild curls, crop top, metallic pink skates laced up to her knees — was trying (and failing) to land a backward spin in the center of the rink. She spun too fast, lost control and—

WHAM! Straight into the chest of a girl in black skates and a leather jacket.

y/n landed on her ass, dazed.

Jimin looked down at her, chewing gum lazily.

“Nice form, bunny,” she smirked, offering a hand.

y/n took it, sparks shooting up her arm the moment their fingers touched. “You should watch where you’re standing,” she teased back, eyes narrowing playfully.

“I was standing still. You just wanted an excuse to fall for me.”

y/n snorted — and that was it. Destiny struck.

--

A few hours and dangerously strong blue cocktails later…

Their skates were tossed aside as they leaned against a neon wall in the club section, bass thudding, sweat-slick bodies pulsing around them.

y/n twirled a strand of Jimin’s dark hair around her finger.

“So… you come here often?”

Jimin smirked, hands settling low on y/n’s waist. “Only when I’m bored enough to toy with pretty girls.”

y/n laughed, bold and fearless. “Good thing I love being toyed with.”

Their lips crashed next — hot, messy, desperate.

Jimin tasted like mint and danger. y/n tasted like cherry lip gloss and chaos.

They didn’t even make it out of the club before Jimin had y/n pressed against a wall near the bathroom corridor, hands tangled in those wild curls as y/n tugged at Jimin’s jacket to pull her impossibly closer.

“I don’t even know you,” y/n breathed between kisses.

Jimin’s grin was wicked. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.”

--

They became inseparable.

Days blurred into nights. Skating, dancing, breaking into closed pools at 2 AM, laughing until their lungs hurt.

Jimin called y/n her troublemaker.

y/n called Jimin her bad habit.

They didn’t remember the lifetimes before — but their souls couldn’t help it. The way Jimin would find y/n’s hand in any crowded room. The way y/n looked at Jimin like she’d searched centuries just to find her again.

They burned fast and bright — reckless, bold, doomed in the way star-crossed things always are.

Because some loves aren’t meant to slow down.

They’re meant to keep crashing into each other.

____________________

Childhood Friends

It started with a pink bicycle and a scraped knee.

y/n y/n, age seven, was the new girl on Sycamore Lane — a shy, wide-eyed girl in sundresses and jelly shoes, freshly moved into the blue house on the corner. The neighborhood kids had already claimed their alliances, their treehouses, their territories.

y/n? She had no one. Except for her bike… and her stubborn need to ride it down the biggest hill in the park.

Which is how she ended up on the ground, tears pooling in her eyes, a long scratch blooming red on her knee.

“Hey! Hey, are you okay?”

y/n blinked through tears to find a girl standing above her — black hair in a messy ponytail, band-aids on her elbows, and scraped palms that said I do this all the time.

“I’m Jimin,” she said proudly. “You fell kinda bad.”

y/n sniffled. “I know.”

“Want me to walk your bike home?”

y/n hesitated. “...You don’t even know me.”

Jimin grinned. “So what? I like you.”

That was it.

y/n decided right then and there that Jimin Yu was her favorite person.

-----

Years passed.

They were always together. Bike rides, shared juice boxes, walkie-talkie calls between their bedroom windows. y/n was dramatic, artistic, always trying to write songs and make tiny plays in the backyard. Jimin was fearless, fiercely protective, and always ready to punch any boy who tried to tease y/n at school.

They were still just kids, but sometimes their parents would smile knowingly when they caught the girls curled up asleep on the couch, y/n’s head on Jimin’s shoulder.

“You two are gonna get married one day,” y/n’s mom teased once.

y/n turned bright red. “Mom!”

Jimin just grinned. “I wouldn’t mind.”

-----

Then came middle school.

Puberty. New friends. Growing pains. A hundred small ways the world starts to change you.

Jimin cut her hair short and started playing soccer. y/n started writing poems in her diary about soft hands and heartbeats she didn’t understand.

One day, Jimin saw the poems by accident.

She didn’t laugh. She didn’t tease.

She just smiled gently, tucked the notebook back under y/n’s pillow, and whispered, “You’re always writing about me, huh?”

y/n wanted to deny it — but instead, she looked at Jimin for a long, long time.

“I think I’ve always been writing about you.”

-----

By high school, they were inseparable again.

y/n still had stage fright but sang in the school talent show because Jimin swore she’d sit front row and cheer so loud it’d drown out everything else.

Jimin picked fights with anyone who said a word about y/n’s growing interest in music, her dreamy disposition, or her preference for holding Jimin’s hand just a little too long.

Everyone knew.

But they didn’t care.

They were home.

They never questioned why being with each other felt so… right.

So familiar.

They didn’t remember a Roman court.

Or an opera house.

Or a roller rink.

But their hearts did.

And when y/n turned sixteen and made Jimin her first kiss behind the bleachers, both girls swore they had never — ever — felt more at peace.

____________________

College Roommates

The first thing y/n noticed when she walked into their tiny dorm room freshman year?

Black luggage, a perfectly made bed, and a girl with sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones already organizing her desk with terrifying precision.

Jimin.

y/n blinked, dragging her own pastel-colored suitcase through the door. “You’re… my roommate?”

Jimin glanced up. Shrugged. “Apparently.”

y/n set her things down, her usual sunny confidence dimmed just a bit. Jimin looked… intense. Gorgeous, but intense.

“I’m y/n,” she said, offering a hand.

Jimin eyed it. Took it.

“I’m Jimin.”

Their fingers touched.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for something buried in both of them to spark.

Neither of them had names for it yet.

-----

Week one: total opposites.

y/n was the walking stereotype of a performing arts major — always humming, always singing, decorating her side of the room with string lights and glitter-covered polaroids. Jimin, meanwhile, was in political science, kept her side of the room painfully minimal, and looked like she hadn’t slept in years.

But they clicked anyway.

Somewhere between 2 AM ramen breaks, shared headphones during library study sessions, and Jimin showing up unannounced at y/n’s recitals — “just to watch” — they became inseparable.

Roommates turned best friends.

Best friends turned... something else.

-----

The shift came in spring semester.

y/n got dumped. Brutally. Tears, mascara, the works.

Jimin sat next to her on the dorm floor with two slices of cold pizza and her hoodie offered up silently like armor.

“He didn’t deserve you,” she muttered.

y/n sniffled. “You always say that.”

“That’s because it’s always true.”

The other girl turned to her, teary-eyed, soft. “You really think so?”

Jimin hesitated.

Looked at her.

Looked at her like she wanted to say something she’d been biting back since move-in day.

“…Yeah. I do.”

y/n leaned in — just a bit.

“Do you think maybe… the right person for me has been in this room the whole time?”

Jimin’s breath caught.

And y/n kissed her.

They never made it official, but everyone knew.

They shared a bed more often than not. y/n always wore Jimin’s hoodie. Jimin always saved her a seat in every class they shared.

They weren’t technically dating.

But when y/n’s childhood friend visited campus and tried to flirt with her, Jimin turned full deadpan and said:

“She’s taken.”

y/n didn’t correct her.

They weren’t in a rush. They didn’t need labels. Because when y/n laid her head on Jimin’s chest at night, she felt like she’d come home — again.

Like this was the thousandth time she’d found her way back.

_____________________

Pop Diva & K-Pop Idol

By now, their names were everywhere.

y/n y/l/n — the world’s reigning pop phenomenon. The voice, the vision, the headlines. Platinum-selling albums, magazine covers, the Met Gala. If she so much as sneezed, the internet caught fire.

Yu Jimin — Karina, top-tier K-pop idol. Fierce on stage, elegant off it. A goddess sculpted in Seoul, with fanbases that could rival armies and performances that left people breathless.

They were icons in their own worlds. Distant galaxies, orbiting millions of fans and endless expectations.

Until one awards show pulled them into the same room.

-----

Backstage. Seoul. Chaos. Glitter.

y/n stood by the catering table in a silver gown that hugged her like a second skin, sipping sparkling water and trying to escape the crowd of execs.

That’s when she felt it — eyes on her. Intent. Unshakable.

She turned.

And there she was.

Jimin.

Dark hair cascading down her back, a subtle smirk tugging at her lips. Their eyes met — and something ancient snapped into place.

Neither of them spoke.

But y/n swore her heart whispered,

“There you are.”

The rumor mill ignites.

They bumped into each other again. And again.

In Paris. In Tokyo. In Los Angeles.

Casual smiles turned into long stares. Short greetings turned into hushed laughter in corners.

Then someone caught a blurry photo.

y/n, with her hand on Jimin’s back.

Jimin, leaning in too close.

The headlines exploded:

“Global Pop Star Linked to K-Pop Idol!”

“Fans Speculate Romance After Steamy Afterparty Moment”

y/n’s team wanted silence.

Jimin’s label wanted distance.

“No more sightings. No more rumors. This could ruin everything.”

But it was too late. The connection had already sunk its teeth in.

Private worlds, hidden love.

They met in secret.

Hotels under fake names. Rooftops at 2 AM.

y/n would send Jimin voice notes with unreleased lyrics that sounded like confessions.

Jimin would write y/n’s name in her journal, circle it in hearts, then rip the page out and keep it under her pillow.

One night, in a quiet Airbnb in London, y/n curled up beside Jimin and whispered:

“It’s crazy. I’ve only known you for a year, and it feels like I’ve loved you forever.”

Jimin smiled softly, tracing y/n’s wrist with her fingers.

“That’s because you have.”

y/n blinked. “What?”

But Jimin just kissed her — long, slow, full of a thousand lifetimes.

-----

They didn’t plan it. It just… happened.

y/n was at her world tour finale. Thousands of people. Fireworks. Tears.

And right there, in the front row — Jimin.

y/n looked down mid-song. Her eyes locked with Jimin’s. The same unshakable pull. The same heartbeat skipping in her chest.

She sang to her. Only her.

When the final note echoed through the stadium, y/n dropped the mic, ran off stage — and into Jimin’s arms.

A fan captured it on camera. The hug. The way they didn’t let go.

And that’s when y/n whispered — not caring who heard —

“In every lifetime, Jimin?”

And Jimin, breathless and smiling like she finally remembered everything, whispered back:

“In every lifetime, my love.”

And maybe this time… they finally get to stay.

No exile.

No scandal.

No tragic ending.

Just two souls who kept their promise.

Lifetime after lifetime.

Era after era.

Always finding their way back.

____________________

A Promise Kept

It’s quiet now.

No screaming fans. No flashing lights. No bodyguards or managers or headlines chasing them.

Just y/n and Jimin, curled up together on a rooftop in the city that gave them everything — and almost took it away.

It’s early. The kind of early where the sky is lavender and the world hasn’t remembered to wake up yet. The air is cool. y/n’s wearing Jimin’s hoodie. Jimin’s got y/n’s legs draped over her lap, hands gently tracing hearts on her shin.

They’re both quiet. For a while.

Then y/n breaks the silence, voice soft, cracked at the edges.

“You know what’s crazy?”

Jimin hums. “Everything?”

y/n laughs. “No. Well, yeah — but also... I saw this painting once. It was of two women — one dressed like royalty, the other like a soldier. They were holding hands in secret.”

Jimin tilts her head. “Rome?”

y/n nods. “I didn’t know why it felt like us. But it did.”

Jimin’s smile falters — just slightly.

“I used to have dreams about an opera house. I could hear you singing. And I’d always be in the audience. Every single time.”

y/n’s breath catches.

“We remembered, didn’t we? Even when we didn’t know.”

Jimin presses her forehead to y/n’s, eyes closed.

“We always knew.”

They sit like that, trembling, smiling through sudden tears. And then they laugh — breathless, overwhelmed, ridiculous laughter.

Jimin wipes her cheeks. “We were so dramatic.”

y/n snorts. “So dramatic. We ran away from home like three times.”

“I nearly got shot for kissing you in a roller rink bathroom.”

“And I ruined a royal dinner crying over you.”

Jimin grins, teary-eyed. “You always do that. Cry.”

y/n pokes her. “You’re the one crying now.”

They both burst out laughing again.

When the laughter fades, it’s quiet again — but softer this time. Safer.

y/n looks out at the pink sunrise. “We made it.”

Jimin pulls her close, arms tightening. “We finally made it.”

No more hiding.

No more reincarnating with empty hands.

This time, they held on.

And the promise?

"In every lifetime?"

"In every lifetime, my love."

Was kept.

____________________

A/N: Watch me disappear for like a year.

[lascvitae]

DISTRACTION ✵ YU JIMIN

ARE YOU DOWN TO BE A DISTRACTION, BABY?

BUT DON’T DISTRACT ME, LET ME ASK YOU BABY

ᝰ.ᐟ when rising designer y/n jeon is forced to marry her rival, karina yu as pr for her upcoming fashion launch, the only thing that proves to be messier than their contract is their feelings.

ᝰ.ᐟ pairing. model!karina × fashion designer!fem!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre. enemies to lovers, slow burn ᝰ.ᐟ warnings/tags. forced/fake marriage, kissing, cursing, mutual pining, jealous karina, unresolved tension, yall argue and bicker a LOT, one bed trope 🥳 feat. sana of twice && giselle of aespa

ᝰ.ᐟ wc 12.5k (not proofread and ik there’s sm typos cause i was working on this late nights. i apologize chat i’ll eventually get to them and fix them all 🥀)

ᝰ.ᐟ katty a birthday present for my goat ( @1luvkarina ) <3 it was so longg and very much overdue but… happy belated birthday again angel 💕

(🎧) now playing — distraction by kehlani.

masterlist.

TODAY SHOULD HAVE BEEN A good day. you slept great, had your breakfast, and the outfit you pictured in your head turned out perfect. your hair had no flyaways in sight. 

but it was too good to be true. like everything always is.

now, you’re sitting in a conference room with your mother, smiling through gritted teeth.

it’s a smile that you’ve perfected over the years. one that says you hope no one notices how your eye twitches every now and then.

across the room, karina stands like a statue. her arms are crossed and her platinum blonde hair is pulled back so perfectly it looks like she stepped off the runway. she’s flawless, and let's be real. probably completely miserable. 

there’s a strange magnetic pull about her. something about the way she carries herself that makes everyone else feel like they should be privileged to be in her presence. the cameras love her. the media loves her. and for some reason, they all buy the faux perfection she’s selling.

you, however? not so much.

karina has been in your life as long as you can remember. mostly because your mothers despise each other with their entire souls. they’ve spent decades one upping each other at every fashion show, gala, and event. your mother says karina’s family is all about “safe and boring designs” while karina’s mom says your family’s work is “overrated and hard to look at.”

you’re the only daughter from the “party” family who only made it big because of your name. karina’s the “cold, robotic model” who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else than in front of a camera, but somehow that just makes her even more untouchable.

you’re trying to launch your own fashion line while dealing with enough press coverage about your wild nights out. so yeah. this marriage? definitely not on your to do list.

but yet here you are. forced into this contract and forced to pretend everything is fine. not to mention, forced to marry a girl you literally cannot stand. 

just because your pr teams and families decided it was time for an “image overhaul.” apparently, a marriage between the rebellious daughter of a famous designer and the perfect, untouchable model would sell better than any brand deal.

“you really have to look so depressed? we’re about to sign a contract that will change both our lives and you can’t even pretend to be at least a little happy?” karina’s voice is sharp and direct but there’s an edge beneath it that makes you want to throw something at her. she’s glaring at you now.

“excuse me? maybe i don’t think pretending is worth it. i’m not the one trying to act like this is a dream.” you snap, your grip tightening around the pen. 

the blonde haired girl rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair. "you’re not the only one stuck in this, y/n. but maybe if you didn’t make a mess of your career by partying every weekend, we wouldn’t be sitting here." 

she glances towards your mother. "oh, and your brand’s in trouble, isn’t it? before the first launch. a little too much wild behavior?"

the nerve.

you want to snap back, you really do, but there’s no point. she’s baiting you and you knows it. besides, you’ve had this fight in your head a thousand times already. you know she thinks you’re a mess and you know she thinks she’s untouchable.

"don’t act like you’re any better. you’re perfect all the time. isn’t that exhausting?” you mutter, feeling the sting of her words. 

“maybe. but at least i’m not the one sabotaging my future. let’s just get this over with.” she gestures to the paper where both of your names are already neatly printed.

you stare at the page for a long while, watching your name against the white paper. your whole life is about to change. again. but this time, there’s no turning back.

"fine.” you say, voice colder than you expected. you sign your name harshly like the pen could stab through the paper (and the paper is karina).

karina follows you with the slightest flicker of hesitation in her eyes. but it’s gone before you can grasp it, replaced once more by that perfect smile you hate. 

“there. we’re done.”

“yep. we’re done.” you mutter, tossing the pen down. 

the ink dries and neither of you are looking at each other but the realization of the situation dawns on both of you.

there’s a quick, awkward handshake. and then it’s over. at least for now.

───────────────────────

you’re in the backseat of the car, soft hum of the engine doing nothing to calm your nerves. your mom sits across from you with her eyes glued to her phone as if your world isn’t about to explode. her fingers click the screen with precision, completely ignoring the fact that your life is being tossed into the fire. again. 

you think back to the past few days. the whirlwind of meetings, press conferences and forced smiles, and contracts you had no choice but to sign. now you’re on your way to the penthouse. the penthouse. the one you’re supposed to share with karina. the girl who probably wouldn’t spare a second glance at you if the press wasn’t currently making you two out to be the next power couple.

“this is ridiculous, mom. i hate this. this whole thing.” you mutter, letting your head fall against the cold glass window while watching the city pass by. your mom doesn’t even look up.

“you don’t have a choice, sweetheart. you need to get your career back on track and this marriage will make the media forget all the mess that you’ve been in.” she says. it’s not in a mean way but it’s that tone of voice she always uses when she thinks she knows better than everyone else. especially you.

you roll your eyes because you’re tired, and honestly, the last thing you need right now is a lecture on how this could be the best thing for you. “i wasn’t asking for a lecture, mom. i’m just saying — i can’t stand her. we’ve hated each other for years.”

she lets out a sigh. one that makes you feel like she’s already heard this a hundred times. and while she probably has, it doesn’t change how you feel. “i know you don’t get along with karina, but you’re both professionals. this is business. nothing more, nothing less.”

“yeah, well, it sure doesn’t feel like business. we’re basically being sold as a brand now. it’s not even real.” you shoot back in a frustrated tone.

“of course it’s not real. but you’re going to make it real. you’re a designer, y/n. this is what we do. we sell ideas. you’ve always known how to sell an image.” she says, tone softening but you can still hear that undertone that you can never lose from her.

“great. so now i’m selling myself? i didn’t know that was the plan.” you say, a bitter laugh escaping your lips.

your mom finally glances at you. “this isn’t forever, y/n. just… don’t make it harder than it has to be. karina’s a beautiful, talented woman. she’s not as bad as you think.”

“oh, trust me, she’s exactly as bad as i think.” you mutter, staring at the city lights flickering past. you’re already picturing her standing in that penthouse with her perfect, stupid blonde hair. you hate her.

but your mom is right about one thing. you don’t have a choice. at least not anymore. the car slows, tires scraping against the pavement as it turns into a sleek, minimalist building with floor to ceiling windows. your new “home.” you hate the idea of it already.

“here we are. you’re going to be fine, sweetheart.” your mom announces, looking out the window like it’s some beautiful moment. 

you don’t feel okay. you feel like running miles away in your louboutins, iggy azalea style.

but you don’t say anything. instead, you just get out of the car, heels clicking on the marble floor as you step into your future. and apparently, karina’s future too.

the lobby is so silent it’s almost unnerving. clean lines and marble floors with chrome accents. it’s gorgeous, definitely. but it’s also soulless. exactly the kind of place you would expect karina to live in. 

you’re barely through the door before a concierge appears, offering a smile and a clipboard for you to sign.

you print your name quickly, barely glancing at it. another contract, another deal.

"your wife is already upstairs." the concierge says politely, emphasizing the word wife.

you don't even correct him. you just nod and head towards the private elevator, heart hammering against in your chest in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with excitement.

when the doors open to the penthouse floor, you step out. and karina is already there. 

she's standing in the middle of the massive living room, arms crossed, eyebrows arched. her hair is still pulled back into that same sleek bun, not a strand out of place. does that shit not hurt? 

but she looks exactly like you pictured her in the car. annoyingly perfect.

you barely have time to process the room before she opens her mouth.

"what took you so long?" she snaps. 

you stare at her, already exhausted. “really? that's the first thing you're gonna say to me?"

karina shrugs like she’s already bored with you. "i mean, some of us are trying to be professional about this."

you roll your eyes so hard that it’s a miracle that they don’t get stuck. "yeah because nothing says professional like fake smiling your way through a forced marriage. stop saying that, karina.”

"you could at least pretend to be grateful. you needed this more than i did.” she shoots back.

you step further into the room, ignoring the way her words sting. "oh, i’m sorry. i must have missed the part where you were a victim here. must be hard being the golden child of the industry."

karina scoffs. it’s a sharp and humorless sound. "and it must be so hard being the family disappointment."

your mouth drops open. "wow. you didn’t even hesitate with that one."

"i call it like i see it.” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder like she’s already won.

you let out a laugh devoid of humor, crossing your arms. "good to know the fake marriage is off to a great start."

for a moment, the two of you just stand there glaring at eachother like you’re about to launch into round two. and honestly? you would — if something over karina’s shoulder didn’t catch your eye.

you squint, stepping around her to get a better look into the side hallway.

and then you see it.

one bed.

one massive, king sized bed. centered neatly in one room.

your stomach drops.

"wait. is that… is that our bed?” you say slowly, blinking like maybe you’re hallucinating. karina turns lazily to look, face the definition of innocence. "oh, did you think we'd have separate beds? how cute."

"cute?! we have to share a bed?!” you basically shriek, spinning back towards her.

"it's king size. plenty of room. just… stay on your side.” she says it like that solves everything. like you’re supposed to be relieved about it.

you stare at her, absolutely baffled. "i'm going to lose my mind."

karina just smirks, stepping past you like this is all just some big joke to her. "then hurry up and unpack. you’re already late."

you don't even have any words. how could you think of any in this situation? 

so you just stand there, fists clenched, watching her disappear down the hallway like she owns the place (she does. a little). you hope she sleeps on the couch tonight. and the night after that. and so on.

you turn back to look at the bed again, your future flashing before your eyes.

welcome to your new life.

and unfortunately for you? this is only the beginning.

───────────────────────

you step out of the shower with a towel wrapped around your chest. the bathroom is massive but whst you noticed first were the two sinks. side by side. like this is some romantic couple getaway and not your impending doom.

you eye the counter and immediately claim the left sink, unpacking your skincare bag.

you’ve just finished patting serum into your cheeks when the door creaks open and you hear the telltale sound of slippers on tile. you don’t look. you already know.

she glides to the right sink without a word with her toothbrush in hand. like this is normal. like this isn’t your bathroom now too.

you glance over once. just long enough to catch the soft smirk on her face.

“what.” you snap.

“nothing.” she says through a mouthful of toothpaste, brushing like she’s in a colgate commercial. “you just take so long.”

you scoff. “because i have a skincare routine.”

“most people do skincare before they shower.”

you pause and turn slowly. “what the fuck did you just say?”

karina gives you a blank look like you’re the crazy one. “before.”

you gasp. “you do your skincare before you wash your body?”

“yeah?”

you stare at her, completely stunned. “what are you, a war criminal?”

“it makes sense—”

“no it doesn’t! you wash it all off. that’s like brushing your teeth before drinking orange juice!”

“okay well, it’s not like i’m using bee venom and fish eggs. some of us keep it simple.” she spits and rinses her mouth, casually grabbing mouthwash.

“coming from someone who used apricot scrub in high school.”

she gasps. “you did not just bring that up.”

“oh, i did. i remember. you had texture on your cheeks for a whole semester.”

“and now i have a chanel campaign. guess it worked out.” the blonde responds, slamming her mouthwash down.

“still. if you didn’t willingly destroy your skin barrier you wouldn’t have this much to say about mine.”

“you literally steamed your face with boiling water in high school.”

you spin towards her with wide eyes. “that was ONE TIME—”

“you looked like a tomato.”

“you exfoliated with kylie skin!”

“it was natural!”

“IT HAD WALNUTS IN IT!”

you’re both standing there now, halfway through your routines and glaring at each other.

“just— stay on your side.” she reminds you.

“i am on my side.”

you both finish in tense silence, bathroom radiating with the scent of toothpaste and passive aggression. when she spits into the sink, you do too. when she opens the drawer for cotton pads, you grab yours quicker. it’s petty.

eventually, she finishes first, walking back into the bedroom. you follow two minutes later and she’s already in bed. not just in bed. she’s hogging the comforter. no pillow barrier. no separation.

you stop in your tracks. “karina.”

“what.” she says flatly, eyes closed.

“no.”

“yes.”

“we talked about this.”

“you talked. i ignored you.”

“karina.”

“what?” she’s still not even facing you. laying on her side but curled under your side of the blanket. 

“pillow barrier. peace treaty.” you remind her, climbing in and aggressively yanking the comforter. “we agreed.”

“you agreed.” she mumbles.

“well you’re cosigning the agreement.” you say, tugging harder.

“you’re doing too much.”

“you’re so annoying.”

you both have a death grip on the blanket, refusing to look at each other. then finally, you give it one final yank that sends it perfectly into the middle.

“fine.” you say.

“fine.” she repeats. annoying. 

a minute passes. then her knee brushes yours.

you both freeze before violently scooting in opposite directions.

at least you’re able to fall asleep.

───────────────────────

you’re sitting on the edge of your shared bed in a robe, phone propped against a bottle of setting spray as aeri stares back at you mid bite of her yogurt.

“i’m just saying.” you whine. “i haven’t eaten yet and i feel like i’m being exploited. this is child labor.”

“you’re twenty three.”

“and?”

karina, who is currently sitting at the vanity while a stylist infects the area with hairspray to set her hair, doesn’t even glance up. “you’re overreacting. you’ll survive a few hours without toast.”

you scoff. “says the person who stole the entire comforter last night.”

she glances at you in the mirror, arching a perfectly filled in brow. “stole? you gave it up.”

“i did not.”

“you said, and i quote, ‘fine, take it. i hope you sweat hoe.’”

you look at aeri. “see what i deal with?”

aeri smiles, spinning her spoon around. your pout returns at the thought of food. “you two are unbearable. can you both please look hot and act cordial for like, one hour today?”

karina lets out a hum that’s annoyingly calm. “i’m always cordial. it’s her that keeps trying to start shit before ten am.”

“i’m not starting anything.”

“you’re accusing me of blanket theft.”

“it’s not accusations if it’s true!”

“be grateful that i didn’t threaten to put my cold feet on you.”

“first, ew! second, you did put your cold feet on me.”

she shrugs. “then we’re even.”

you roll your eyes and drop back on the bed before groaning dramatically. “i’m gonna die before the event. tell them i was too pretty for this world.”

aeri rolls her eyes through the screen. “stand up and get in the damn dress i picked or i’m making you listen to karina’s stylist permanently.”

the blonde haired girl smirks as the makeup artist starts dabbing concealer under her eyes. “we’d get along great.”

you lift your phone just to glare at her. “she’d dump you after ten minutes.”

“she’d take one look at your crusty lip balm collection and cry.”

you gasp. “you don’t even own lip balm.”

“i do. i just don’t lose it every three hours.”

a stylist walks past, setting a dress over the bed with a whispered “two minutes.” you sigh dramatically and push yourself up.

“okay, i’m going. if i don’t make it, tell my story.”

“i’ll tell them you died trying to sabotage me.”

“i’ll tell them you use skincare before you shower.” you say before shuffling off to the bathroom with the dress draped over your arm, grumbling about lack of food and betrayal by the entire world.

“i’m still here, by the way. just waiting for you to complain about something else.” aeri calls out, voice echoing from the phone.

you stick your hand out of the doorway and flip her off.

the stylist laughs. “is she always like this?”

karina doesn’t answer right away. her gaze flicks towards the bathroom door before she shrugs. “only when she’s being dramatic.”

“…so, always?” someone mutters.

karina just smiles, eyes back on the mirror.

you enter the room again a few minutes later, tugging at the waist of the dress and already shaking your head. “i don’t know. i feel like an ugly bridesmaid.”

the fabric’s nice. sure. the color’s fine. but it’s not doing anything for your mood or your ego. and definitely not for the cameras.

karina glances over at you lazily. the stylist’s still curling a piece of her hair but her eyes move. down, then back up. she doesn’t say anything at first.

then she speaks. “you don’t like it?”

“i feel like i should be holding a bouquet and crying.”

she looks you over again, this time more directly. then she casually nods toward the rack.

“try the black one.”

you pause. “that one’s yours.”

“no, mine’s the velvet one. that’s silk.”

you look at it. its off shoulder and fitted around the waist and hips.

“i’m not trying to match with you.”

“we’re not matching.”

“we’re both in black.”

“we’re both breathing too. wanna fight about that as well?”

you shoot her a look. “you suggested it.”

“you’ll look better in it.” she says flatly.

there’s a silence that you don’t know how to fill yet. so you just walk over to the rack and grab it.

when you disappear into the bathroom again, aeri’s voice rings from the phone.

“she does this shit on purpose.” she says.

karina doesn’t respond. instead, she glances down at her phone with a tight jaw and reaches for her lip gloss.

when you come back out, you immediately busy yourself by adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric over your thighs.

her eyes do that one thing again. they’re barely lingering, like she’s afraid of being caught. there’s no reaction or words. only a look.

you turn towards her. “too much?”

she lifts one shoulder in a half shrug gesture. “better than the bridesmaid one.”

“that’s not a compliment.”

“didn’t say it was.”

you scoff but the heat in your face betrays you. she doesn’t say anything else, grabbing her heels before standing and brushing past you without another glance.

you stay behind for a second then follow after her, grabbing the fine chain of jewelry on the rack as you go. the miu miu pendant gleams in your hand. it was delivered by the same stylist earlier.

karina’s already at the front door of the penthouse by the time you’re slipping into your heels. she doesn’t wait.

“clock’s ticking, princess.”

you roll your eyes and grab your coat, catching up with her at the elevator.

“i still think they should’ve let us go separately.” you mutter as you press the ground floor button.

“they want a show and we happen to be one.” she says simply.

“hey. can you put this on?”

she blinks, clearly surprised. “what?”

“the necklace.” you mutter, holding it out without looking at her. 

she takes it without a word but there’s something in the way she lifts her hands behind you.

you tilt your head slightly, exhaling quietly.

her fingers graze the back of your neck and you flinch. not because it’s cold, but because it’s her. you’re close enough to feel the warmth of her breath as she fastens the clasp.

“there.” she murmurs.

you glance at her reflection in the elevator wall. she’s already stepped back with her arms crossed. like she didn’t just touch you like that.

“thanks.” you say flatly, adjusting the pendant.

“could’ve said please.” she replies quickly.

“i also could’ve asked someone else.”

she hums like she’s unbothered but you see her glance at your lips before she looks away.

then the elevator dings.

you both walk out in sync, heels clicking against the floor.

“wives. stunning as ever.” the concierge greets with a knowing grin.

you groan. “he’s doing it again.”

karina offers a smile that’s too charming. “he’s just doing his job.”

you elbow her, but not too hard. “stop feeding into it.”

“you asked me to help with your necklace in an elevator. that’s wife behavior.”

“it was for the brand. don’t make me throw my heel at you.”

“right. for the brand.”

the car’s already waiting for you outside. the driver opens the door and your “wife” slips in first. you follow, adjusting your coat and smoothing the fabric of your dress as you settle beside her.

“i’m not holding your hand.” you say.

“wasn’t asking.”

“…unless someone asks for a picture.” she adds casually.

“fake couple of the year.”

“we’d win.” she says without hesitation.

you sigh and glance at her outfit. it’s good. like, annoyingly good. you hate how good she looks. or rather, you hate that she looks good standing next to you. like this whole thing is real.

the city speeds past the window in blurs of warm light and for a few seconds, neither of you speak. the only sound is the click of karina’s nails against her screen and the occasional sound of fabric shifting when your legs accidentally brush.

she’s warm beside you and it’s annoying.

you glance over and realize she’s scrolling through the event seating chart, already planning where to sit and how to pose.

you on the other hand, just want to make it through the evening without getting caught drinking too much champagne or rolling your eyes on camera.

you pull your phone out and text aeri under your coat.

you

if i disappear halfway through the party it’s because i pushed her in the fountain

aeri 🧸

Y/N U CAN’T

you

u act like she doesn’t deserve it 🙄 

aeri 🧸

this would be a perfect enemies to lovers kdrama 🥹

you 

blocked

the blonde girl glances over then, lips barely twitching. “texting your fan club?”

“plotting your demise.”

she finally looks up and when your eyes meet, it’s brief, but it lingers. long enough to make you shift in your seat and look away first.

ew. you hate that.

the car slows outside of the venue, flashes already going off like the cameras were waiting specifically for this car to pull up. and honestly, they probably were.

your phone buzzes again.

aeri 🧸

make her laugh

yk they’ll eat it up

btw you guys look scary when you’re both silent

but its rlly hot

two hot scary gays 🤤

you sigh, slipping the phone away as the driver stops the car.

karina straightens her spine and adjusts her coat collar, fingers brushing the edge of her neck “ready?”

“don’t touch me.”

she huffs a laugh. “you wish i would.”

another fake smile. but your neck still tingles where her fingers were and her gaze lingers just a little too long before you both step into the light.

the flashes are disorienting at first.

“karina yu! over here!”

“y/n, who are you wearing?”

“is it true the two of you— ?!”

questions fly like migrating birds but you keep walking. you’ve done this before. being born into this environment taught you how to smile just right. chin tilted slightly, eyes soft but unreadable, lips parted enough to look like you might be about to say something scandalous.

karina walks half a step behind you at first, hands tucked into the pockets of her long black coat. she’s practically glowing under the camera lights. you hate that you notice. hate even more how well your silhouettes match.

she leans in slightly. “you’re slouching.”

you don’t look at her. “i’ll stab you with my heel right here.”

still, you straighten up.

the event handler ushers you both up the carpeted stairs and into the line for press photos. you stand with your hands at your sides. she shifts closer, barely brushing your shoulder. cameras shout your names and the lights start again.

her smile is elegant. yours is more cocky.

“closer, please! give us one for the fans!” someone calls.

you exhale through your nose. you really don’t want to, but karina’s already doing it, stepping closer like it’s nothing and brushing your arm like this isn’t war.

she leans toward your ear, voice soft so the mics won’t catch it. “you want them to think you’re the reluctant one or the mean one tonight?”

you turn your head. “i am the mean one.”

click.

the camera catches the moment your gaze meets hers and it’s way too intense and way too pretty. and you know it’s going to be on some fan edit by midnight with a stupid caption like “the way they look at eachother.”

you’re about to step away when someone from the pr team catches you both.

“quick interview. play nice.” they say.

you force your expression into something neutral as you and karina are ushered toward the mic.

the interviewer is smiling so wide that it’s kinda scary. like she’s so excited to be the one who landed the two of you. “y/n! karina! you both look absolutely incredible tonight. tell me— was the coordination planned?”

you open your mouth, but karina beats you to it with a sugary voice. “not at all. we just think alike.”

“scary, isn’t it?” you say with a dry smile.

the interviewer laughs. “there’s been so much buzz around you lately. everyone’s obsessed with your chemistry. how does it feel to have the internet calling you the most stylish couple of the year?”

karina glances at you and hums. “i think we’ll let the outfits speak for themselves.”

you cross your arms. “speak louder than her, at least.”

karina doesn’t react. she tilts her head and looks at you like you’re a puzzle that she can’t figure out. “i think i’m getting used to the sound.”

the interviewer blinks like she caught something in that moment but she keeps it moving.

“and last question. karina, would you ever consider walking in one of y/n’s shows?”

you raise an eyebrow and turn toward her, clearly amused.

she barely hesitates. “if she designs something worth wearing.”

you scoff. “guess i’ll have to start designing dresses with no personalities.”

she smiles with teeth. “perfect. you’ll have something to wear too.”

the interviewer is too stunned to speak for half a second before nervously laughing. “you two are—” she gestures vaguely, unsure of what to say. “unreal.”

you just smile sweetly, grabbing karina’s arm for the camera. “we know.”

there’s more flashes and buzz. the interview wraps up and you’re both guided into the main venue, shoulders bumping as you step inside.

you don’t look at her again but you feel her looking.

the event is dripping in excess. chandeliers like galaxies hang overhead with velvet walls and champagne towers. you fall in step in beside karina and immediately spot the flashes of press still hovering near the entrance, but you’re safe for now. it’s more exclusive inside.

karina doesn’t say a word when a waiter passes, simply grabbing two glasses of champagne and handing you one. you take it without looking at her.

you wander towards the corner, already recognizing half a dozen industry faces. that one creative director of some company you can’t stand. there’s a singer with their latest muse on their arm. and, of course, you can’t forget the permanently lurking cameras pretending to capture all the “natural moments.”

you’re mid sip when karina’s hand brushes your collarbone and you freeze.

“what are you—”

“your necklace.” she murmurs. her fingers are careful, almost tender even, adjusting the pendant so it lies flat.

“it was crooked.”

you give the blonde girl a skeptical look. “and that bothered you?”

she doesn’t answer, offering you a slow blink and dropping her hand like it didn’t leave heat trailing down your spine. before you can say anything else, a voice steals your attention.

“y/n, you look beautiful. who let you leave the house looking like that and not put you on a runway?” it’s sana, also known as the gossip queen. she’s sipping something from a martini glass and already looping her arm through yours.

“fashion’s newest hostage. have you met my prison guard?” you deadpan.

karina lifts her glass in an idle toast. “charmed.”

sana laughs. “she’s prettier in person. meaner, too. i like her.”

“don’t encourage her.” you mutter.

you’re pulled into more greetings and cheek kisses. karina floats a few feet away, effortlessly slipping into conversations. she doesn’t hog attention. it’s just magnetized to her. designers ask who she’s wearing, some leaning in too close. you try not to look but she finds your eyes through the crowd every few minutes like she’s checking if you’re still there.

you don’t know why that makes you feel steadier.

at one point she’s beside you again, half empty glass dangling from her fingers. your own drink is gone. hou’re about to gesture to a passing waiter when she wordlessly hands you her glass.

you hesitate.

she raises an eyebrow. “scared of my lip gloss?”

you take it and sip slowly. it’s still cold, barely touched.

she doesn’t look away and you pretend not to care.

───────────────────────

the event drags on. hours feel like days. eventually, you’re pulled into one last photo and handshake with someone who couldn’t name a single piece your entire bloodline has designed.

by the time you get back into the car, your heels are throbbing. karina settles in beside you with a sigh that you swear is real.

“finally.” she mutters.

“thought you liked playing dress up.”

“i like the check that comes after.”

you don’t have the energy to roll your eyes. you tilt your head against the window, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. 

“you did good tonight.” she says softly.

you turn your head. “what?”

her gaze is forward, voice quiet. “you looked good and didn’t throw a drink on anyone. impressive.”

“…thanks?”

she shrugs. “don’t get used to it.”

you laugh under your breath and let your head fall against the seat.

when the both of you step into the penthouse, you’re done. the coat’s halfway off your figure, heels discarded by the door. you kick them towards the corner and shuffle across the floor.

karina follows wordlessly, no more interest in bickering with you.

you flop onto the bed. your shared bed. “don’t touch me.” you mumble into the blanket.

karina walks into the closet and you hear the zipper of her dress a moment later.

you don’t mean to turn your head. you don’t mean to look.

but you do.

half of her form is a shadow, hair falling out of its updo as she changes into an oversized shirt and nothing else. she effortlessly takes out her extensions and you see the curve of her back.

then she’s gone again, disappearing into the bathroom.

you stay where you are, face half buried in the comforter and dress bunched awkwardly at your waist. you can hear the shower start a few moments later, water pressure shaking the pipes like the penthouse itself is sighing along with you.

you close your eyes. not to sleep, but just to rest.

the sound of the shower doesn’t stop you from thinking about tonight. no amount of cameras or flashes could make you forget about her hand adjusting your necklace with that softness.

you hear the water turn off and stir, blinking yourself upright again.

when she steps out of the bathroom, she’s wrapped in a white towel.

she glances at you for just a second, eyes flicking from your face to your legs and back, before turning toward the closet.

“don’t slip. if you bust your ass on the floor, i’m not carrying you.” you mutter, standing and peeling off your dress. “you’d be lucky to touch me.”

you scoff, already walking past her. “delusional.” you shut the bathroom door before she can respond.

the shower still holds some warmth, and you sink into it like you’ve been waiting all night.

you dry off quickly after and walk back into the room in one of your own oversized shirts.

karina’s already in bed, lying on her back and scrolling through her phone with the brightness way too high. you flop into your side.

she doesn’t move. “you always smell like strawberries and flowers.”

“are you sniffing me right now?”

“i’m just saying. you always do.” she shrugs it off, but there’s a flicker of something in her voice.

you roll over, facing away. “stop being weird.”

she doesn’t respond immediately, but the glow of her phone finally dims.

you hear her exhale through her nose aou hear the sheets shift. her knee brushes yours under the comforter. barely.

“you snore.” she says way too casually.

“do not.”

“you did last night.”

“you’re making that up.”

“i should’ve recorded it.”

“you’re sick.”

“you like it.”

you do. and you hate how much you do.

but instead you groan and throw the comforter over your head. “goodnight.”

you hear her turn onto her side behind you. except this time, she’s closer than before.

“night, petal.”

you’re still smiling when you fall asleep.

THINGS START TO SHIFT WITHOUT warning. or perhaps the warning signs were always there, hidden behind the way she says your name and looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching.

it begins with the press. you know, photoshoots, events and interviews. before, it was your names side by side in headlines some skepticism, but now they become one. the jeon-yu duo. they refer to you as y/n yu now.

“natural chemistry.” one reporter calls it, voice dripping with fascination. obviously, karina doesn’t flinch. she’s used to pretending for the cameras.

but lately, it’s not pretending anymore. at least not completely.

the first time it catches you off guard is during a vogue shoot.

you’re halfway through a pose when the photographer sighs and mutters something about needing “more intimacy.” karina’s arm slides around you without any hesitation, hand resting against your side while her thumb grazes the bare skin above your hipbone.

she doesn’t even look at you. then she leans in and murmurs “relax, petal.” quiet and just for you.

you don’t relax, but you don’t pull away either.

then it was the variety interview.

you’re both seated across from a roundtable of hosts. she’s in a tailored white blazer with her hair down for once. the conversation trails from your projects into your “new life together.”

“you seem more in sync now. is it just practice?” one host says, half teasing.

“she knows me. it’s not practice, it’s routine.” karina replies easily, hand resting lightly on your thigh under the table. you think it’s just a reminder to behave.

you almost snap at her, until she slides her thumb in one slow circle over your knee.

you say nothing, letting her speak for both of you.

at some point, the edits go viral. there’s loads of fan compilations and screenshots. popular ones are the clips of the two of you holding hands on red carpets or sipping from the same glass at the afterparty. you’re drunk in that clip, dress hiked up slightly as you tip your glass of champagne to karina’s lips. she takes a sip without hesitation even though your lipstick is smudged onto the glass.

“do you guys even like each other?” a designer asks one night somewhere between events.

she smirks and speaks. “you’d be surprised.”

you don’t say anything. you’re still replaying the way her hand skimmed down your back when she zipped up your dress. there was no reason for her to touch you like that. there was a stylist.

but she did it anyway.

now, you’re exhausted. today’s shoot ran two hours over because the photographer was indecisive. apparently the lighting was wrong and your heels were five inches too tall. and most annoying of it all? karina’s perfume was clinging to your dress and they made you retouch your face six times.

when you return to the penthouse, it’s past midnight. you kick off your shoes so hard they hit the baseboard.

karina tosses her jacket onto the back of the couch with a sigh. “don’t throw things.”

“don’t act like you care.”

she pauses in front of the mirror, removing her earrings with the elegance of someone still being watched. “i don’t.”

“great. so stop telling me what to do.” you tug your hair free from its clip.

it’s silent for a moment before she talks again. “you looked okay.”

you scoff. “oh, good. yay! thanks for the approval, karina. must be so nice being you.” you head towards the living room, shedding your earrings with annoyance and tossing them onto the coffee table.

she turns to look at you, leaning against the island with crossed arms. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you know. you could walk onto a red carpet in a trash bag and still make the best dressed list.”

“you think this is easy?” she asks, voice dropping.

“i think you’ve had everything handed to you on a silver fucking platter.”

“you don’t know shit about what i’ve had handed to me.”

you step closer towards the blonde. “oh, please. spare me the sob story. you’ve been the golden child since birth.”

“and you’ve been the mess everyone has to clean up after.”

that stops you.

it’s not the words, no. it’s the way she says it. like it’s been waiting on her tongue. it felt like she meant it.

your throat tightens. “wow.”

karina exhales, but she doesn’t take it back. she looks at you, tense and tired and so clearly not just angry at tonight.

“don’t act like you don’t know it. you show up late and roll your eyes in interviews. you literally can’t go one week without some crazy headline— and somehow i’m the one that’s fake? at least i show the hell up.”

your voice cracks before you can stop it. “don’t say that shit, karina. i do show up. i showed up when i didn’t want to. hell, i signed the same papers you did. i’ve been smiling through all of this shit while you just stand there looking sad and acting like i should be grateful to be in this with you.”

“you should be.”

your breath stops.

her eyes widen like she didn’t mean to say that, not like that, but it’s too late. you heard it.

you swallow. “fuck you.”

she looks at you like she’s stuck between wanting to fix it and wanting to say more.

you shake your head, throat burning and vision blurry for a second too long. “god, you’re—”

“what?” she snaps. “say it.”

“you don’t care about anyone but yourself. that’s why nobody actually likes you. they just want what you have. ” you say with a shaky voice.

her expression falters. you regret it the moment you say it, but you don’t take it back. neither of you do. not tonight.

she turns and walks down the hall.

you drop onto the couch and let the silence swallow you.

───────────────────────

the morning after, the apartment is still. the sun bleeds through the beige curtains, casting soft gold across the floor. you’re still in last night’s clothes, curled pathetically on the couch underneath a throw blanket that doesn’t even cover your legs.

you didn’t sleep much. at all, if that.

you hear her before you see her, footsteps leading into the kettle starting in the kitchen.

you stay on the couch, eyes half lidded while you fling an arm over your forehead. you can hear every little sound of movement, especially her phone buzzing on the counter.

then you hear her speak. you almost don’t register it until you realize that she’s not calling you. she’s on the phone.

“…she’s not like that.”

“no, she’s not. she’s difficult, yeah. but not— she’s not a mess.”

your stomach turns. her voice is low, but not cold. tired, maybe. it’s soft in a way that you’ve never heard when it’s directed at someone else.

“i know what people say about her, but it’s not true. she cares. she still tries when no one gives her credit for it.”

you can practically hear whoever’s on the other line doubting her.

“yeah, well. maybe i care. maybe that’s the fucking problem.”

your heart stutters and you shift slightly. the couch creaks.

fuck.

her breath catches in the kitchen.

she doesn’t say anything else. you hear the sound of her hanging up before she stands still for a long time. you stay where you are.

finally, she leaves the kitchen. her footsteps trail off toward the bedroom and the silence returns, leaving you alone with your racing heart and thoughts.

and that’s when you realize that something has already changed. you just don’t know what to do with it yet.

so you don’t bring it up.

not when she walks out of the bedroom hours later, dressed in a towel with her hair slicked back like she’s waiting for you to ask what you heard.

you don’t.

instead, you get up, allowing the day pass with minimal words exchanged. the silence between you is no longer hostile. it’s unfamiliar.

and when night falls, rain begins to as well. you’re both silent in bed again. there’s no pillow barrier this time, but your backs still face each other. you’re texting aeri.

you

you up?

we fought last night

like bad

she starts typing.

aeri 🧸

u two need to make out alr

wait til she begs tho

hollon ima call u

you let out a half silent laugh. it’s loud enough to make karina stir.

“you’re loud when you text.” she mumbles into her pillow.

“you’re annoying when you exist. stop being nosey.” you shoot back at the blonde out of habit, but there’s no threat behind it. it’s soft.

“hard to ignore when you keep sighing like someone broke your heart.”

you roll over. “bold of you to assume you didn’t.”

her head turns, eyes catching yours in the faint moonlight. the rain gets louder.

a long moment passes before she speaks. “i’m not sorry for what i said.”

“i’m not either.”

then there’s a longer silence. you can only hear the sound of rain pattering against the window.

“but i didn’t mean all of it.” she adds.

you fully turn towards her now. “which part?”

she doesn’t look away. “the mess part. i was mad, but that doesn’t mean i was right.”

“i didn’t mean what i said either.”

karina watches you with an unreadable expression. then she nods slowly, like that’s enough for now.

you both lay there for a while. she shifts closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth between you.

you want to reach for it.

“are you still mad at me?”

you stare at her. she’s been barefaced for hours, and her voice isn’t even trying to be indifferent. it’s oddly cautious. you realize that no one sees this side of her but you.

you shake your head. “no. i’m just tired.”

her shoulders slump as silence envelops you once more.

“you’re really pretty when you’re not talking.” she says, barely teasing.

you scoff, pushing her hand away. but you’re smiling and she sees it.

she shifts closer under the covers and her knee brushes yours.

you could blame the heat under the blankets, or maybe even the leftover adrenaline from the fight. but when your eyes flick to her lips, it’s none of that.

she leans in. so do you.

her hand grazes your jaw, noses brushing against eachother. both of your eyes flutter shut.

then— your phone vibrates. loudly.

you both freeze, foreheads touching.

aeri 🧸 is calling…

“seriously?” she breathes before flopping back with a quiet for fuck’s sake.

you stare at the ceiling, heart pounding.

“i wasn’t going to kiss you.” she says suddenly.

you hum, half bitter. “sure.”

“i wasn’t.” she repeats, but she doesn’t sound sure anymore. you don’t believe her.

you answer the call and karina stays next to you the whole time, one arm folded behind her head as she stares up at the ceiling too. but the difference is, she looks like she’s waiting. waiting for the next moment. the next time you look at her the way you just did.

you can’t stop thinking about how she might’ve done it if aeri waited another second. and how much you kind of, maybe, really wanted her to.

THAT WAS THREE WEEKS AGO. you haven’t brought it up, and neither has she. which means you’ve been living in that silence where everything feels like it’s leading somewhere and neither of you are willing to admit it.

but the thing is, it changed everything. because nothing’s really happened since.

you haven’t gotten that close off camera again. not even close. she’s been soft ignoring you. you barely speak at events unless someone’s watching, but she still zips your dresses and straightens your necklaces like muscle memory.

and that brings you to now, the night before your official launch. you should be panicking. refreshing your notes. checking every tag on instagram. but instead, you’re at a ysl afterparty, buzzed off champagne and dressed to match karina.

she’s somewhere in the room in a structured black ysl suit. you’ve already taken the joint pictures for press.

so you decide to distract yourself. you’re standing near one of the tall glass walls, half lit by the glow of the city. it hits your face perfectly as you tell a chaotic story to a small circle of models and minor celebrities who are visibly enraptured by you.

“…and then i realized the room wasn’t even ours. we were in the wrong suite the entire time.”

laughter erupts, drinks clinking against eachother. you’re grinning with warm cheeks, tongue looser than usual.

you don’t notice the guy step a little closer until his voice cuts in low and playful. “you always cause this much of a scene?”

you look at him, a little thrown off. he’s tall and polished, the kind of man publicists love to pose you next to. his hand grazes yours when he takes your empty glass, setting it on the nearby table.

“only when it’s fun.” you say breezily, but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

“i feel like i should get a warning.” he says, tilting his head, and then he catches your hand. he lifts it and brings it to his lips with a kind of precision that makes your brows lift.

you let him. well. sort of.

he kisses your knuckles gently. you’re not even looking at him. you’re looking at karina in the reflection in the glass.

she’s across the room between two editors, nodding politely at whatever they’re saying. but her gaze is stuck on you. her lips ate pressed into a line that doesn’t match the outfit she’s wearing. then she starts walking.

“excuse me. she’s needed.” karina says smoothly, appearing at your side like she’s always belonged there.

“by who?” the guy says with a chuckle, clearly trying to keep the moment alive.

“by me.” she says quickly. her voice isn’t playful. it’s sharp enough to slice through the air between you.

her arm wraps around your waist then she pulls you away. you let her.

“you okay? you look a little tense.” you ask lightly the second you’re around the corner and near the exit.

she doesn’t answer, turning to face you.

you lean against the wall with a teasing smirk. “what? you jealous?”

karina’s eyes narrow. “no.”

“oh, come on. he was cute.” you continue.

“you’re not taking this seriously.”

your smile slips. “what?”

“this. us. you don’t take it seriously.” she says, gesturing between you.

you stare at her. “that’s funny. cause i’ve been showing up to every event. standing next to you and leaning into every touch like this is real.”

“it’s not just about events.”

“then what is it about, karina? because when the cameras go off, you vanish. you avoid me. don’t act like i’m the one faking it.”

“god, you don’t get it.”

“i don’t. i really don’t. because you never say anything. you just look. leave me. or pull me away like you own me.”

“what if i want to?”

you let out a breath.

karina steps closer and her voice drops. only you can hear it. “you’re not the only one confused by this. you think i haven’t wanted to kiss you since that night? i’ve been trying not to all night. but then you let him—”

“prove it.” you cut her off. “prove it then, karina.” you repeat breathlessly.

and then she leans in and kisses you. hard.

her hands cup your face, jaw tilting as her mouth meets yours like she’s been starving for this moment. your heart thuds in your ears as one hand snakes to your hip, thumb caressing it the same way it did in that photoshoot weeks ago.

you gasp against her mouth. she swallows it.

and then, just as suddenly, she breaks it. her eyes are wide when she steps back, mouth parted. she looks like she’s realizing something she can’t say out loud.

you don’t move. you just watch as she turns and walks off.

then you lean against the wall again, dizzy as you try to blink away the lightheaded feeling her lips left against yours.

she tastes like vanilla.

you fish your phone out of your bag, hand shaking.

you

aeri

karina just kissed me

you don’t even get to send a third message before aeri’s voice cuts through the air like she’s been waiting in the wings.

“oh my god, finally.”

you jump. “what— where did you come from?”

“i have ears. and i saw that. it was hot. but what the fuck took you two so long?”

you stare at her, searching for words. but your hands search for a glass. of anything. “she’s so— ugh.”

“she has a death wish, huh?” you say dramatically, eyes wide.

aeri laughs. “a fat crush. but go off.”

you throw a macaron at her. it bounces off her shoulder and lands somewhere under the couch, lost to the ysl afterparty dimension forever.

“i hate her so bad. she had to do that in a suit. with her hands on my—“ you groan, covering your face.

“say it. say ‘my waist.’” aeri says.

you screech into your hands.

“she kissed me like she meant it.”

“do you want her to do it again?”

“yes. and no. i wanna slap her.”

aeri nods, sipping from her own glass.

you groan. “this is your fault. you told me to wait til she begs. i was literally normal before i met you.”

“you’ve never been normal.” she says, patting your thigh. then she straightens suddenly, eyes lighting up.

“oh. my. god. that’s him. i have to go.”

“what?”

“that’s the actor from that french vampire show! he’s wearing the suit with the mesh undershirt. i have to go.”

“aeri—”

“drink water! look at his hair—“ she squeals, already walking away.

you’re left in a half lit corner, few drinks deep, dressed to match your fake wife who kissed you like you were her real one. and now you’re alone. again. you reach for another glass anyway.

───────────────────────

by the time your security appears at the exit with karina beside him, you’re definitely drunk. but you look good. like, really good.

and there’s definitely going to be a viral clip later of her hand wrapped around your waist as she guides you out the building in front of the flashing cameras. she holds you like you’re fragile. you smile like nothing’s wrong.

but karina sees everything. you stumble as you make it towards the entrance, fingers clinging to her jacket.

and she doesn’t say anything when the car door shuts and you slump back against the seat, barely holding yourself up.

her nails click against the screen as she opens her phone and sees it. the photo of your kiss. your first kiss.

it’s blurry and taken from a distance. but anyone can see how breathless you look as her hand cradles your jaw like it’s muscle memory.

the internet thinks it’s romantic. it starts trending immediately.

you’re still slouched against the seat, legs crossed and arms folded. you refuse to look at her. not after she kissed you like that and then walked off like it meant nothing.

you tell yourself it’s fine. that you’ve felt worse. but then she breathes and it’s like your whole body remembers.

karina sits beside you, perfectly fine in her suit. one hand rests against her thigh, the other one scrolling through her phone.

you can feel her looking through the photos. in your head, you know one of them is already trending.

“you’re going viral again.” she says coolly with the same lips that were on on yours twenty minutes ago.

“cool. add that to the list. ‘makes out with fake wife in public.’” you mutter. she doesn’t respond.

instead she leans back, exhaling like she’s already tired of this. as if dealing with you is exhausting. “you’re drunk.”

“wow, thanks for the update. next breaking story? you’re a coward.”

“you’re blowing it out of proportion.”

you scoff. “really? you kissed me like it meant something and then walked away like i had cooties.”

karina’s head turns slowly, exhaling. “cooties? y/n. god, you’re— such a problem.”

your eyes narrow. “then stop looking at me like you want to make it worse.”

she doesn’t answer. even though you want a verbal one, the way her jaw clenches is enough.

the car glides into the garage. and the second it stops, you’re out the door with your heels in hand. walking barefoot into the elevator like you’re on a mission. karina stares at them like she wants to take them for you.

you don’t wait for her. she still follows.

“you’re upset.”

“ding! next question.”

“because i kissed you?”

you spin on your heel. “because you always pull away, jimin.”

her name hangs between you. it’s the first time you’ve said it to her.

you can see her expression change.

“you always disappear. or worse, act like it didn’t happen. like i’m the one imagining shit.”

karina exhales. “we agreed not to make this complicated.”

“yeah? well guess what. you complicated it when you started looking at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like you felt something.”

her mouth opens then closes. then she backs you up without touching you until your spine hits the wall just outside of the bedroom.

“you think it’s easy for me? you think i haven’t wanted to kiss you since that night?”

“then do it again. if it mean nothing, do it again.” you glare. you’re not even sure if you’re making sense anymore.

her eyes drop down to your lips.

“you’re drunk.”

you shove past her. “coward.”

“spoiled brat.”

“you like it.”

“you wish.”

you get to the bedroom first. your fingers fumble with the zipper of your dress before you give up entirely.

karina walks in behind you.

you turn to face her, arms out. “you gonna help or keep staring like a creep?”

she crosses the room quietly, one hand lifting to the zipper. it slides down slowly, making your breath hitch.

your dress falls and then she turns, pulling the blanket back on the bed like she didn’t just undress you with her hands.

“bed.”

“make me.”

“you’re sleeping while standing up.”

“your fault.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“and you’re so obsessed with me that it’s embarrassing.”

karina looks at you and something in her expression falters. just for a second. then it’s gone.

she straightens up. “get in bed.”

you crawl in. she tucks the blanket over your legs. her fingers brush your bare thigh.

“you kiss everyone like that?” you ask.

“only the girls who drive me crazy.”

“mm. should’ve gone for him them.” you hum.

karina flexes her jaw. “i’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

“no you’re not.”

“you can’t stop me.”

“you kissed me first.”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

“nothing. everything.” you whisper. and then you both go quiet.

she stares at you for a moment. then she turns off the light. she stays beside you, but neither of you sleep for hours.

───────────────────────

“i feel like death.”

aeri doesn’t look up from her phone across from you, scrolling with her thumb. “but you look like a million dollars. and someone who’s about to have a phenomenal launch.”

“can you at least look at me when you compliment me? makes it feel authentic.” you roll your eyes.

she raises an eyebrow, giggling away at something, or someone on her phone.

“you are like papa.” you mutter once she completely ignores you.

“don’t compare me to your emotionally repressed wife.”

“fake wife.” you correct, stabbing your straw into the untouched iced coffee beside you.

“emphasis on fake. she kissed me like it was real and then left me painkillers on the nightstand like we’re married and going through a divorce.”

aeri just hums. it’s her way of saying you technically are without actually saying it.

“she didn’t even leave a note. not even a ‘good luck baby’ or something. don’t i deserve compensation for the way she tried to shove her tongue down my throat then disappeared?” you add, flopping dramatically against the back of the chair. your stylist audibly grumbles from behind you.

“maybe the pills were the note.”

you scoff. “aeri, be for real. he leaves me mints everyday. does that mean he’s in love with me too?”

you gesture to the man fixing your hair before crossing your arms.

“girl, i’m gay.” he says.

“but you treat me better than karina.”

“she’s gay too.” aeri deadpans.

you look at her. “okay? i’m just saying, being gay doesn’t make you a good person. or a good fake wife. stop defending her.”

your stylist muffles a laugh behind you.

“i’m not defending her.”

“you totally are. but it’s fine.” you sigh dramatically.

“you sound like you caught feelings.”

you glare at the pink haired girl before speaking. “what i better not catch is her walking in here like nothing happened.”

“and if she does?”

“you’re still defending her like she didn’t ghost me while we share a bed.”

“you mean the california king?”

“our shared bed.” you repeat, sipping your coffee.

aeri begins scrolling again. “i’m actually kind of obsessed with you two.”

you tap your nail against the cup. “i cursed her in my head. don’t get comfortable.”

“you’re so annoying.” aeri grins, but she sounds endeared.

you groan and glance at the time. twenty one minutes until your first collection walks down the runway. the final outfit you chose is hanging up, zipped and untouched. you haven’t even changed yet.

“i don’t even know if she’s coming. and i don’t know if i want her to.” you mutter.

“she’s in love with you. of course she’s coming.”

you try to ignore the way your pulse quickens. “maybe she’ll finally do something on brand for once.”

aeri raises a brow. “you mean something that’s oddly thoughtful?”

before you can respond, a knock echoes throughout the room from against the dressing room door.

“if that’s an interviewer, ignore them.” you say instantly.

your assistant makes eye contact with aeri then heads to the door anyway.

“don’t open it!” you repeat.

but it’s already creaking open. your stylist turns around.

“oh. it’s your wife.” she says in a surprised tone.

you whip your head around so fast your earring nearly flies off.

she’s calmly standing in the doorway, wearing a matching cream suit with stitching that looks suspiciously similar to the one you’re about to wear.

and then her eyes meet yours.

“you’re not dressed yet.”

“what happened to hello?” then you slowly look over her clothes. the realization dawns upon you. “you color matched our outfits?”

aeri looks between you two, silent.

karina fully steps into the room now. “yeah. you say it like i don’t watch you.”

aeri sighs dreamily.

you spin around to face her. “don’t encourage her.”

the blonde is already walking towards the hanger to unzip your piece. your stylist stares at her like he might kick her out. you kinda want him to.

“you came.” you say, quieter now.

karina doesn’t even hesitate. “why wouldn’t i?”

“maybe because you ignored me like i was a bad tinder date.”

“you were asleep.”

“that’s never stopped you before.” you mutter.

her brows rise in an amused manner. “you want me to wake you up next time?”

“i want you to stop acting like everything’s fine when you literally mouth fucked me against a wall and then left before sunrise. why did you come?”

someone coughs awkwardly in the background. aeri stands and your stylist follows, ushering out the assistant with a look. the door closes gently behind them.

karina sighs and steps closer to you. “do you want to fight or do you want to get dressed?”

“why not both?” you lift your chin in defiance.

her fingers find the zipper on the hanging bag with a sigh.

“stop doing that. you kissed me first.”

“you kissed me back.”

“you left painkillers on my nightstand like we’re divorced.”

she turns to face you again, holding your outfit in one hand. “i was trying to be nice.”

“be meaner then.”

“you wouldn’t survive it.”

you try to come up with a comeback, but your brain stops functioning when she sets the hanger down and reaches for your waist instead.

her fingers skim your sides. “arms up.”

you hesitate.

“i’m not going to try anything.” she says, but her voice is smug.

“unless you ask.”

“i’d rather die.”

you raise your arms anyway.

she helps you out of your robe with a kind of gentleness that only makes you more feral inside. her touch is light but it lingers over your skin. it’s like she knows what she’s doing.

“stop looking at me like that.” you murmur.

“how?”

“like you’re about to kiss me again.”

she fastens the hooks at the back of your dress. her mouth is near your shoulder now.

“don’t tempt me.”

you glance at her through the mirror. she’s already looking at you with fascination in her eyes.

“tighten the corset a little.” you say.

“don’t tell me what to do.”

“karina.”

“i got it.”

she tightens it, knuckles brushing against your spine.

“we still have ten minutes.” she adds quietly.

you hold her gaze. “so?”

her hands pause at your back. “so… you still haven’t said thank you.”

you scoff. “for ignoring me?”

“no. i’m basically your unpaid assistant right now.”

“you’re basically my emotionally unavailable situationship.” you shoot back.

“you say that like i’m not here right now.“

you hate how your chest aches. “showing up isn’t the same as being there, karina.”

that leaves a silence between you two. her hand lingers at the small of your back, thumb pressing into the fabric.

you turn around to face her with a sigh. “you’re so full of yourself.”

“you’re dressed like my soulmate.”

“because you picked the outfit!”

“we were gonna end up matching anyway.”

your jaw tightens. she reaches around you again, taking a necklace into her hand.

“you look good. you’re beautiful.” she mutters.

“you didn’t answer me.” you say.

“about what?”

“why you came.”

karina’s fingers still and her voice softens.

“because you’re about to walk out there and show the world exactly what you’re capable of. and if i wasn’t here, it would be the dumbest decision of my life.” she says.

you look at her.

“that’s not saying much. you’ve made a lot of dumb decisions lately.” you mutter.

“you’re my favorite one.” she replies.

your lips part but nothing comes out.

then you swallow hard. “stop saying things like that.”

“why?” her voice is low. it feels like she’s not even trying to fight you anymore.

“because it feels like you mean them.”

her eyes flicker to your lips for just a second. “would it be easier if i didn’t?”

“yes. no. maybe. fuck.” you blink too many times.

she exhales like she’s been holding her breath this entire time. her fingers move to clasp the necklace around your neck with slow and gentle movements, and it feels like an apology.

you watch her in the mirror again. you hate her. her stupid, pretty blonde hair. the way her eyes soften when she looks at you. how her lips always look so kissable. you hate everything.

“please don’t tell me came here to make it worse.” you say.

“i guess i sort of came too because i knew i already fucked it up.”

the clasp clicks into place. you spin to face her again. she’s too close.

“and what happens after this? when you leave again?” you ask, voice quiet.

“i won’t.” she says.

“don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“i’m not promising. i’m saying it. unless you don’t want me to stay.” she tilts her head.

you hate how bad you want her to. you hesitate long enough for her to notice.

“i hate you.” you mutter.

“i know. you’re pretty when you do.” she almost smiles.

you stare at her and she stares right back. it would be so easy to just close the distance.

but your name is called from the other side of the door. “five minutes!”

“fix my hair?” you ask just to be difficult. she rolls her eyes like she already knows that, but obediently steps behind you anyway.

then she steps back. her hand slides down your waist as she does, like she doesn’t wanna let you go.

“i’ll be front row. just like we planned.” she says.

“we didn’t plan anything.”

she gives you a look, smirking like it’s already been decided.

“we matched, didn’t we?” then she walks out.

“i’m gonna punch her later.” you murmur to your ancestors, looking over yourself in the mirror. you take a few deep breaths, hands ghosting across the pendant before perfecting your smile, clearing your throat, and walking out.

───────────────────────

flashes blind you the second you step outside.

your heels click against the pavement, seemingly louder than everyone else’s, because you’re kinda the main character right now.

your show just ended fifteen minutes ago and people are already calling it the collection of the season. cameras shout your name, karina’s too, but you don’t break stride.

she’s walking next to you, hand firm on your waist, practically glaring paparazzi out of the way as her other hand waves security forward. she’s muttering something about how some of them are getting sued tonight.

you’re just smiling.

once you reach the car, karina opens the door for you like a gentleman (even though security is right there?). “you take one more slow mo step for the cameras and i’m pushing you.” she grumbles.

you laugh as you slide in. “jealous they love me?”

she has to stop herself from saying “i love you.” so instead she climbs in beside you, door shutting just as your phone buzzes.

aeri 🧸

IM W THE HOT FRENCH ACTOR AYEEEEE 👅👅👅

he looked at you suspiciously tho…

BUT UR GAY AYEEEEE 👅👅👅👅

ur welcome for the emotional support this morning btw.

you

thank u 🥹

do i have to pay a fee for therapy

and don’t do anything i wouldn’t do

which is like

nothing

so go crazy ahhh

“texting your lawyer?” karina teases.

“texting aeri so she can help me sue you for emotional damage.” you say sweetly.

“gotta sue yourself first. you kissed me too.”

“don’t flatter yourself.”

she hums. “too late.”

you roll your eyes and glance out the window, city lights blurring past.

she doesn’t look at you right away. her palm rests on your knee, thumb brushing absentminded shapes against your skin.

“you were insane.” she says, quiet but sure.

“what?”

“the entire show. and that last model with the corseted jacket? your brain is perfect.” she says.

your throat tightens a little. “oh.”

then she finally looks at you. “you don’t believe me? you’re trending again.”

you shrug, eyes still on the window. “i just… haven’t heard you say anything like that in a while.”

her thumb pauses for a second before it resumes. “doesn’t mean i haven’t thought it.”

you glance over at her. she’s not teasing or smirking. you can see the devastating softness in her eyes as she watches you. it’s stupid.

you blink fast and look away again.

“you looked like you owned everything in that room. even the air.” she adds.

“and i still almost had a breakdown in the bathroom.”

“that’s the secret to your charm. you make everything look good.” she says like it’s obvious.

you huff a laugh, barely managing to hide how much that lands. “i hate you.”

“i know.”

your lips part again, useless. you have no words. she just keeps doing this. keeps showing up and saying things that make you believe she means them.

your phone buzzes again, thankfully pulling you from the tension.

aeri 🧸

he asked if we’re dating 😭😭😭

i said no but i think he’s suspicious

should i kiss him anyway???

AND pls eat something or i’ll be mad

you smile, thumbs moving quickly before she can peek.

you

kiss him

make out w him

and i’ll eat bread just for u

karina leans closer, peeking at the screen. “is that aeri? tell her to use protection.”

“the last person she needs advice from is you. you raw dog emotional damage.”

she grins. “you love it.”

you refuse to answer that.

outside the car window, more camera flashes burst like fireworks as the driver pulls up to the curb. your heart rate kicks up and karina’s hand doesn’t move from your knee. the car slows in front of the restaurant.

you hesitate. “you sure you’re ready for another round of this?”

“with you? everyday.” she shrugs.

the door opens. you step out first, letting your gaze flick to the crowd and then back at her. just briefly.

she smooths her suit and joins you, hand on your back.

the flashes keep going even after the door shuts behind you. her hand doesn’t move from your back as you walk into the venue, long marble corridor echoing beneath your heels. she nods politely at the host who leads you through the front.

your names are on the list. y/n jeon-yu & karina yu.

the room opens up with candlelit tables and a stupidly elegant floral centerpiece you know your mom picked. you spot her instantly, already waving excitedly like she hasn’t seen you in years.

your father looks unimpressed, but even he stands when you approach. karina’s hand only leaves your back once you’re pulling out your chair.

“darling! you were exceptional. absolutely amazing. it was art.” your mom gasps.

“and you. you looked like you were in love.” her eyes flick between you and karina.

you choke slightly on your water.

“she means with the clothes.” karina says smoothly, helping herself to a slice bread.

“of course. but the chemistry? oh my god, girls. i’ve been getting messages. they think you’re soulmates.” your mom says. karina stifles a laugh. you can hear her going “that’s what i said” in her head.

you roll your eyes. “those people also think i’m secretly pregnant. somehow.”

“maybe you are. would explain all the mood swings.” karina mutters beside you.

you kick her under the table. she kicks you back.

“i’m just saying. now that you’re actually getting along, we should start planning the real ceremony.” your mom starts again, clutching her wine glass with too much force.

both you and karina speak up. “no.”

but you go “nooo…” while she goes “no, thank you.” with that ridiculous perfect politeness.

your dad sighs. “this again?”

across the table, karina’s mother appears mid sip of her cocktail and glares. “you think your daughter made my daughter less uptight? please. jimin’s the one carrying this pr disaster on her back.”

“oh, whatever. if anything, your daughter is lucky mine even agreed to go through with this—“ your mom snaps, lifting a brow.

“you act like she didn’t beg.”

you open your mouth but karina beats you to it. “okay. alright. that’s enough.”

the table goes awkwardly quiet. then she speaks up in a softer voice.

“this is her night. and she was incredible.” karina says.

your mom stares. her mom sets down her drink.

you glance at karina who’s already looking at you.

“we’re proud of you.” your dad says gruffly.

karina’s mom nods without looking at anyone. “she was very professional, i suppose.”

your throat gets tight again. karina leans closer.

“they’re annoying. but they’re right.” she whispers.

you almost smile. almost.

“wanna fake elope just to spite them?”

she shrugs. “tell me when and where.”

your mom gasps. “what was that?”

“nothing!” you both say in unison, grinning now.

karina’s hand brushes yours beneath the table. and for the first time in weeks, you let it stay there. you’ll probably fight again tomorrow. but right now, she’s here and she showed up.

taglist @saysirhc @blissfulflw @yuyuy90

[fioredeciliego]

Do you use AI for your fanfics?

haha, i don't.

i've always liked to read, and i even won some competitions in hs for writing short stories, so now that i can't do it in uni, i decided to do it here.

when i write essays and stuff for projects, teachers ask me the same thing, but i just like to write 'well' i guess (there's no 'correct' way of writing, everybody has their own style). also english isn't my first language, so sometimes i write the stuff in spanish in a translator when i want to say something specific that i don't know how to put to words in english, and vice versa for uni, so that's why it might seem that way.

ai can be a useful tool to help give ideas, but i hope people stop using it to make the whole thing for them. it's already doing enough damage.

[rraaaannnn]

Summary: All Minji did was stop some books from killing a nerd.

It's clear that I put effort into the picture😝

— fem reader🧍🏽‍♀️

It was too early for public humiliation.

YN muttered a quiet curse under her breath as she adjusted her crooked glasses for the third time. She stood in the far corner of the university library, struggling with a stubborn book lodged high on the shelf. Her hoodie sleeves were pulled over her hands, her expression pinched in frustration. She knew she could’ve asked for help—but she didn’t do help. She did solitude, sarcasm, and a healthy dose of avoiding all human interaction.

With a determined huff, she stepped up on the very bottom edge of the shelf, fingers stretching toward the book she absolutely needed for class.

Bad. Idea.

With a terrifying creak and a swift betrayal by gravity, three other thick volumes gave up on life and came crashing down toward her head. Her eyes widened, body frozen, mouth opened in a silent scream—

—and then, arms.

A warm, solid arm curved around her shoulders just as the books slammed into the air where her skull should’ve been. Her back was pressed against something—or someone—tall, strong, and inexplicably citrus-scented.

“What—” YN gasped, blinking up into—

No. Freaking. Way.

Kim Minji.

The girl who had a fan club without even trying. Who looked good doing nothing. The cool, tall, “of course she plays basketball and gets straight A’s” type. Universally loved. Universally not in YN’s life. Until now.

Minji raised an eyebrow as she looked down at YN, a crooked half-smile forming. “You okay? You looked like you were about to become one with the Dewey Decimal System.”

YN pushed her glasses up in a flustered panic and immediately scowled, stepping away as fast as she could manage. “I had it under control.”

“Sure you did.” Minji crouched to pick up the fallen books. “These just volunteered to attack for no reason.”

YN grabbed one of the books and clutched it to her chest. “I didn’t ask for help.”

Minji handed her another book, unbothered. “You also didn’t die. You’re welcome.”

YN turned, ready to disappear into a hole—or at least the nearest exit—but Minji followed her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’ve seen you around, right? You’re in that, uh... abstract painting class that smells like turpentine and sadness?”

YN narrowed her eyes. “How would you know what sadness smells like?”

Minji grinned, undeterred. “It’s a talent. I’m Minji.”

“I know who you are,” YN muttered, already walking away.

Minji kept pace beside her. “Cool. So, who are you?”

YN sighed. “Someone who’s trying to study alone.”

“Noted.” Minji gave a mock salute but didn’t leave.

YN stopped in her tracks. “Why are you still following me?”

Minji tilted her head, like she was trying to figure something out. “Because, I don’t know… You look like the kind of person who forgets to eat while studying. And fall off ladders. You might need supervision.”

YN’s jaw dropped. “I’m not a hazard.”

Minji just shrugged, lips twitching like she was holding back laughter. “Could’ve fooled me.”

YN groaned loudly. “Unbelievable.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Minji said brightly, and for some reason—annoyingly—YN’s heart skipped a beat.

YN absolutely hated mornings. She hated mandatory events even more. But what she hated the most… was walking into a crowded auditorium where the only thing louder than the echo of her footsteps was the collective energy of people who actually wanted to be there.

A university-wide “Vision Conference.” Whatever that meant. Probably just another excuse for the administration to hand out tote bags and pretend they cared about student input. She dragged her feet inside the hall, hoodie half-zipped, earbuds dangling but not even playing anything. It was her last line of defense—if people thought she was busy, maybe they’d leave her alone.

She scanned the room. Packed. Great.

Some overenthusiastic emcee at the front was already shouting into the mic about student potential and growth and future excellence. YN tuned them out instantly.

Her eyes locked on the one safe space: the very last row, right by the wall. Perfect. Shadowed. No chatty people. Minimal eye contact.

She made her way toward it, clutching her water bottle and notebook like a shield. But as she weaved between knees and backpacks, her boot caught the strap of someone’s oversized designer tote.

Of course she stumbled.

Her arms flailed like a windmill in crisis, and she mentally braced for impact—

Again.

Except... again, it never came.

Because of course.

Because standing there—like some guardian angel with a basketball scholarship and a smug smile—was Kim Minji.

Again.

“Do you fall a lot, or do I just have amazing timing?” Minji asked, holding YN upright by the elbow like she didn’t just appear out of thin air like a protagonist.

YN blinked up at her, stunned. “Are you stalking me?”

Minji tilted her head, smirking. “Please. If I were stalking you, I’d know not to sneak up while you’re about to faceplant.”

“I wasn’t going to fall!” YN snapped, yanking her arm free and immediately regretting it because she nearly lost her balance again.

Minji caught her again, with one arm, like it was nothing. “Yeah. Super stable.”

“Stop catching me!” YN hissed, cheeks burning.

“I’d love to,” Minji said cheerfully. “But you keep launching yourself into the floor.”

Several students in nearby seats turned to look, curious about the chaos in the back. YN shrunk into herself, mortified.

“Just—go sit with your fan club,” she muttered, finally making it to the empty chair and throwing herself into it like a sack of bricks.

To her horror, Minji didn’t move.

In fact, she sat down right next to her.

“What are you doing?” YN whispered, horrified.

Minji leaned back in the chair, arms crossed behind her head like she owned the place. “Keeping an eye on you. Safety hazard, remember?”

“I am not a safety hazard.”

“Tell that to the bookshelves. And the tote bag. And gravity.”

YN groaned and buried her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

“Then why is it kind of fun?” Minji said, glancing sideways at her with that maddening sparkle in her eyes.

“Stop smiling at me,” YN muttered.

“Can’t. It’s a reflex when I see you trip over your own feet.”

YN looked away, jaw clenched, but her ears were glowing red. She didn’t respond—and Minji didn’t push.

For a few minutes, they sat in silence as the presentation continued, filled with overly enthusiastic buzzwords and PowerPoint animations no one asked for.

Then Minji leaned over and whispered, “Bet you ten bucks the next speaker says ‘innovation’ at least seven times.”

YN blinked, then... almost smiled—before catching herself. She elbowed Minji lightly instead.

“Shut up.”Minji grinned, victorious

The laundry room smelled like lavender detergent and bad choices.

YN pushed open the heavy basement door with her elbow, her laundry basket balanced on her hip like a baby she didn’t ask for. Her hoodie sleeves were rolled up, hair tied in a messy bun, and oversized glasses sliding down her nose. It was already a bad day, and the last thing she needed was other people.

She let out a long sigh when she saw it: only one washing machine free.

She marched toward it like a soldier in battle, muttering to herself. “Just ten minutes. In, out, peace.”

But when she got there—

Click.

The door to the machine shut just as her fingers touched the handle.

YN blinked.

A beep. A cheerful whirr.

No.

She slowly turned her head, and there she was.

Sitting casually on the folding table, legs crossed, back leaning against the wall like a scene from a youth drama, was Kim. Freaking. Minji.

She had her AirPods in, a half-eaten granola bar in one hand and a book in the other. She looked cozy. Calm. Incredibly annoying.

YN stared at her in disbelief. “Are you serious.”

Minji looked up, startled, and paused her music. “Hey.”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me.” YN gestured dramatically at the machine. “I was literally reaching for that.”

Minji tilted her head, blinking innocently. “I didn’t see you. You move real quiet for someone who walks like she hates the ground.”

YN’s jaw dropped. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Minji just grinned. “You want me to cancel the wash and give it to you?”

“Yes,” YN said, without hesitation.

“Too bad,” Minji replied, hopping off the table and walking over to the dryer. “Laundry rule #2: First come, first wash.”

“There are rules?” YN groaned, setting her basket down with unnecessary aggression.

“Yeah,” Minji said, opening the dryer and pulling out a hoodie. “Rule #1: Don't bleach your roommate’s black shirt unless you’re ready to move out.”

YN sighed dramatically and sat on the edge of the empty counter next to the vending machine. “I hope your machine explodes.”

Minji glanced back, folding a sweatshirt neatly. “It’s not the machine’s fault you’re late.”

“I wasn't late. I was precisely on time. The universe just hates me.”

Minji chuckled, stuffing clothes into a laundry bag. “Maybe it’s trying to throw us together.”

YN looked at her, deadpan. “Is that a pickup line or a threat?”

“Would you prefer a threat?” Minji’s voice was light, teasing.

YN didn’t answer. Instead, she pulled out her phone and began scrolling aimlessly, pretending not to notice the way Minji leaned casually against the washing machine now, looking at her instead of her book.

Minutes passed like that—soft humming of machines, awkward silence, and that quiet tension hanging in the air like steam.

Then Minji casually said, “So… Do you always sort your laundry by color like a perfectionist, or is that just a nerd thing?”

YN raised a brow. “I am a nerd.”

“Yeah,” Minji said, smiling. “It’s cute.”

YN choked on her own breath. “Excuse me?”

“I said it’s cute,” Minji repeated with absolutely no shame. “Your whole glasses-wrinkled-shirt-angry-girl-who-knows-how-to-fold-socks vibe.”

“I’m not angry,” YN protested, clutching her water bottle defensively.

“You literally just wished death on my washing machine.”

“You deserved it!”

Minji let out a real laugh then—low, genuine, relaxed. The kind that filled the echoey room and made YN’s face go hot. She hated how nice it sounded. She hated how warm she felt.

“I’ll be done in like…” Minji checked her watch. “Seven minutes. You can have the next machine.”

“Wow,” YN muttered. “So generous.”

Minji leaned closer, elbow resting on the machine. “Or… we could share.”

YN looked at her, appalled. “I’m not mixing my laundry with a stranger.”

Minji shrugged. “I’ve seen you trip three times. We’re not strangers anymore. We’re a recurring event.”

YN tried to hold back the smile tugging at her lips. “You are so annoying.”

“Yet here you are,” Minji said with a wink. “Again.”

The campus bookstore was unusually crowded that day. A new shipment of specialty notebooks had arrived—something about recycled paper, limited cover art, and QR codes that linked to calming lo-fi playlists. In other words: Gen Z bait.

YN didn’t care about the trend.

She just needed one decent notebook to replace the one that got coffee-bombed earlier that week. (Still a sore subject.)

She ducked inside the shop, sleeves tugged over her hands, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside. Her glasses fogged up instantly, and she muttered under her breath while trying to wipe them clean on the edge of her hoodie.

“Ugh. This is fine. Totally fine. I love communal humidity.”

Navigating between displays, she headed to the back wall where the last stack of the limited edition sketch notebooks sat on a shelf—glorious, untouched, perfectly organized.

She reached for the top one—

“Whoa, déjà vu.”

The voice made her freeze.

She knew that voice.

She despised how familiar it was becoming.

She turned slowly to find Minji—again—standing across the display, holding the same exact notebook, her smile far too pleased.

“Are you following me?” YN accused immediately.

Minji raised an eyebrow. “This is a public bookstore. You’re not the main character, Nerdy.”

YN blinked. “Did you just call me—”

“Nerdy? Yeah,” Minji said, flipping the notebook cover open and inspecting the pages. “You’ve got the glasses, the emotional damage, and the tendency to argue with shelves. It fits.”

“I do not argue with shelves,” YN snapped.

Minji didn’t even look up. “The laundry room shelf still hasn’t recovered from what you said to it.”

YN looked skyward, as if asking the ceiling to take her. “Why do you keep showing up everywhere I go?”

“I think you’re underestimating how much you go where I go,” Minji replied easily.

“I’m not stalking you!”

“Never said you were,” Minji said with a grin. “But you’re definitely consistent.”

YN groaned and turned to leave with the notebook clutched in her hands—but not before Minji noticed which one she picked.

“Of course you went with the one with the tiny constellations,” Minji teased, falling into step beside her. “Very on brand.”

“Why are you walking with me?”

“Because I’m bored,” Minji replied. “And maybe I like watching you pretend you’re not flustered every time we run into each other.”

YN stopped in her tracks. “I’m not flustered.”

“Sure, Nerdy.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Minji tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm… Nah.”

YN glared at her. “Do you just collect nicknames for people you annoy?”

“No,” Minji said, taking her notebook to the counter. “Just for the ones I like.”

YN blinked. Hard.

Like actually froze-in-place kind of blink.

Minji was already halfway through paying when she turned back around and saw YN still standing in the same spot, eyes wide.

She smirked.

“Relax. It was a joke,” she said with a shrug. “Unless you want it not to be?”

YN didn’t answer—mostly because she couldn’t remember how to use words at that moment.

Instead, she quietly walked up beside her, placed her notebook on the counter, and muttered under her breath, “You’re so annoying.”

Minji bumped her shoulder lightly. “You keep saying that. Yet here we are.”

It was already a mistake.

YN knew it the second she stepped into the tiny, overly warm on-campus café. The lights were dimmed to “emotional damage” levels, and fairy lights were strung across the ceiling like someone tried too hard. A sign near the door read: "Open Mic: Pour Your Soul or Go Home."

She absolutely should have gone home.

But her roommate had begged her to come. “Come on, YN, it'll be good for your soul or whatever. You’ve been staring at that same brushstroke for five hours.” And like an idiot, she caved.

Now she stood awkwardly near the espresso machine, clutching a cup of lukewarm tea and trying to pretend she didn’t want to disappear.

A girl onstage was reciting a poem about being left on read. Someone in the crowd actually snapped their fingers in response.

YN grimaced. “I hate this timeline.”

“Wow. That’s the most dramatic reaction I’ve heard and you’re not even on stage yet.”

YN froze.

No way.

Not again.

She turned slowly—and of course.

Minji.

In jeans, a black bomber jacket, hair slightly damp from the drizzle outside, and that same cocky smile like she was here for entertainment—and YN was the show.

Minji wasn’t alone this time. Behind her was a whole squad of chaos:

Yunjin, who wore headphones around her neck and smirked like she knew everything about everyone.

Hanni, who was already waving excitedly at someone across the room and half-spilling popcorn.

Jiwon, the fashion major who looked like she’d stepped off a runway and was judging the fairy lights.

“Please tell me this is a simulation,” YN muttered, sipping her tea like it had answers.

Minji just laughed, nudging her shoulder. “What, you don’t like poetry?”

“I don’t like people.”

“Fair,” Minji said, then motioned toward her group. “Come on. You already look miserable alone. Might as well suffer near us.”

Before YN could protest, Minji had already grabbed her by the wrist—lightly, casually, like it was no big deal—and was pulling her toward a corner booth where her friends were camped out.

“Guys,” Minji announced as they sat down. “This is Nerdy.”

YN nearly choked. “Don’t call me that in front of people!”

But it was too late.

Yunjin grinned. “Nerdy? I love her already.”

Hanni scooted over excitedly. “Hi! You’re so pretty! Do you write poems? Can you write one about bread?”

Jiwon just raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but curious. “So this is the girl Minji keeps talking about.”

Minji’s face didn’t even twitch. She just sipped her iced Americano.

YN turned to her sharply. “You talk about me?”

“Only when it’s relevant,” Minji said. “Like gravity. Or fate. Or sudden disasters.”

YN buried her face in her hands.

But despite the embarrassment, she didn’t leave.

She stayed.

Because the energy around the table was stupid and chaotic and oddly warm. Yunjin made dry jokes under her breath, Jiwon kept critiquing every poem with fashion metaphors (“This piece has strong 2019 Pinterest vibes”), and Hanni kept offering everyone snacks from her oversized tote bag.

Minji, meanwhile, kept leaning closer to YN every time someone read a dramatic poem, whispering sarcastic commentary:

“Oh my god, he said ‘I am the moon, and she was the tide.’ That’s, like, peak Tumblr 2014.”

“Ten bucks the next one mentions ‘rain’ as a metaphor for depression.”

“Okay wait… that one was actually kind of good.”

At one point, the host called out, “Anyone else want to sign up for the mic?”

And Hanni—traitor—shot her hand up and pointed at Minji. “SHE DOES!”

The crowd clapped automatically.

Minji looked stunned. “What the hell, Hanni?!”

YN burst into real laughter for the first time that night.

Minji narrowed her eyes. “You're enjoying this, Nerdy.”

“Absolutely,” YN grinned.

Minji stood up with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

She walked up to the mic, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and with no prep, said:

“This poem is called: ‘I wasn’t supposed to be here tonight, but then I saw someone trip on a bookshelf and now I can’t stop showing up.’”

The crowd laughed.

YN blinked, caught off guard.

Minji smiled—not at the crowd. At her.

It was raining. Again.

Not the dramatic storm kind, but the annoying drizzle that clung to your clothes and made everything feel damp and inconvenient. YN tugged her hoodie tighter, adjusting the sleeves over her hands as she jogged toward the small ramen shop tucked between two convenience stores near campus.

It was one of those hidden places that didn’t even have a sign—just a flickering neon bowl in the window and the smell of broth that could bring tears to your eyes. It was comfort food for tired students and broke souls. Exactly what she needed.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the warmth. The bell above the door gave a soft chime.

The place was full. Great.

There were barely any seats left, and the one corner booth that she usually claimed was already occupied by a group of students who looked like they were planning a group project—or maybe a coup.

She glanced around quickly, hopeful.

Then saw it.

One empty seat. At a two-person table. Already taken on one side by— Oh, come on.

Minji.

Sitting casually, long legs crossed under the table, chopsticks in hand, already halfway through a steaming bowl of ramen. Her hair was slightly damp, strands curling at the edges. She wore a grey hoodie under her jacket and looked like she’d just wandered out of a music video.

YN considered walking out.

Truly. She turned toward the door.

“Don’t even think about it,” Minji said without looking up.

YN froze.

Minji raised her eyes, one brow lifted. “There’s nowhere else to sit. Come on, I don’t bite.”

YN narrowed her eyes. “You absolutely bite.”

Minji shrugged. “Only people who deserve it.”

“Perfect. I’ll eat standing.”

Minji slurped some noodles, completely unbothered. “Suit yourself. But the owner does get passive-aggressive if people loiter.”

And as if on cue, the ahjumma behind the counter shouted,

“You eat, or you leave!”

YN groaned and shuffled over to the table, dropping her bag and sitting across from Minji with all the grace of someone being punished by fate.

“Thanks,” she muttered dryly. “I love being stalked by you across campus.”

“Right,” Minji said, chewing slowly. “Because you totally invented this ramen place, and I just followed your scent like a wolf.”

YN gave her the most exhausted glare she could muster. “You are unbelievable.”

“And yet,” Minji said, pointing to her with her chopsticks, “you’re still sitting here. Across from me. Again.”

YN huffed and waved at the owner for a menu, refusing to meet Minji’s eyes.

“You always eat ramen alone?” Minji asked after a moment.

YN didn’t look up. “You always talk this much?”

Minji leaned back, stretching her arms behind her head. “Only when I’m bored. Or entertained.”

The menu arrived. YN ordered the extra spicy bowl, mostly out of spite. Minji raised an eyebrow.

“Spicy?” she asked. “Didn’t take you for a masochist.”

“I didn’t ask you to take me for anything.”

Minji smirked. “I’m just gathering data. Nerdy’s got layers.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Never.”

Silence fell for a while as they waited for YN’s food. The rain pattered gently against the windows. The warm yellow lights made everything feel slower, softer.

And for a moment... it wasn’t so bad.

Minji tapped her chopsticks against the bowl. “You know, I don’t usually like sharing meals with people.”

YN looked up in surprise. “Why not? You’re everyone’s favorite.”

Minji shrugged. “Too much talking. Too many expectations. I don’t like pretending to care about shallow stuff.”

YN blinked. “That’s surprisingly honest of you.”

“You bring it out of me,” Minji said without missing a beat.

YN stared at her, suspicious. “That... sounds like a pickup line.”

Minji just grinned. “Wouldn’t work anyway. You’re immune.”

YN’s ramen finally arrived—red, steaming, dangerous.

Minji leaned in slightly. “You sure you can handle that?”

YN broke apart her chopsticks with the confidence of someone lying to herself. “Watch me.”

One bite later, she regretted everything.

Her eyes watered instantly, face turning red.

Minji burst out laughing. “Oh my god. You’re dying.”

“I’m fine,” YN coughed, grabbing her water.

“You’re not fine. You’re actively ascending.”

YN glared at her between gulps. “Shut up.”

Minji handed her a napkin, still laughing. “You’re cute when you suffer.”

YN nearly spit out her water. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Minji said, smiling. “You’re just really fun to mess with.”

And as the rain continued outside, they sat together—two stubborn souls, sharing warm food, sarcastic banter, and something neither of them would admit just yet.

By the time they left the ramen shop, the rain had gotten heavier. Not storm-heavy, just that steady kind that soaked through your sleeves and made the world smell like wet asphalt and fresh beginnings.

YN tugged her hood over her head, but it was too late—her hair was already damp. She groaned quietly, pulling her sleeves over her hands as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Beside her, Minji was unfazed. Hands in her pockets, face tilted slightly up to the sky like the rain didn’t bother her at all. She looked annoyingly cinematic, like she belonged in a slow indie film with Korean subtitles and lo-fi music playing in the background.

They walked in silence for a moment, the only sound being their footsteps on the wet pavement and the cars whooshing by on the road.

Then Minji broke the quiet, as usual.

“So,” she said, kicking at a puddle. “That wasn’t horrible.”

YN glanced at her. “The ramen or your company?”

“Both.”

YN smirked. “Well… you’re tolerable in small doses.”

Minji grinned. “Wow. The highest praise I’ve ever received.”

They turned a corner toward the main road where a few taxis idled under the shelter of a bus stop. YN spotted one with its light on and picked up her pace a little.

“Hey,” Minji said behind her. “Before you go—what’s your actual name, anyway?”

YN slowed just a little. “It’s YN.”

“That’s it? No middle name? No tragic backstory attached?”

YN rolled her eyes. “Just YN.”

Minji stepped closer, smirking. “Still gonna call you Nerdy.”

“Don’t.”

“Too late. It’s branded now. You even respond to it.”

“I do not respond to it.”

Minji leaned in just a fraction. “You literally turned your head in the ramen shop when I said it.”

YN stopped in front of the taxi, hand on the door. “I was trying to figure out if I should throw miso in your face.”

“And yet,” Minji said, stepping beside her with a slight shrug, “you didn’t.”

YN shook her head and opened the door, then paused.

Minji tilted her head. “What?”

Without a word, YN reached behind her, shrugged off the black hoodie Minji had tossed over her shoulders when they left the shop earlier, and handed it back—folded clumsily but warm from her body heat.

Minji blinked. “You could’ve kept it. It looks better on you.”

“I don’t borrow things from people who call me Nerdy.”

“Ouch.”

YN smiled faintly, already half inside the car. “Well... Thanks for the meal. Or the seat. Or whatever.”

“Anytime,” Minji replied, taking the hoodie with a slight grin.

YN closed the door, rolled the window down halfway, and leaned out slightly as the taxi started to move.

She gave a casual wave, as if they hadn’t just spent the weirdest, warmest evening together. As if she hadn’t just memorized Minji’s stupid smile.

“Bye, Minji,” she said, emphasizing her name teasingly.

Minji stood on the curb, hoodie in hand, rain still falling softly around her. She didn’t say anything—just lifted one hand in a lazy, smug wave.

But as the car pulled away, she watched it go with something restless in her chest.

A hum.

A flicker.

Something that felt like… “See you soon, Nerdy.”

Even if she didn’t say it out loud.

YN had made a very clear decision when she entered college: no sports. ever.

She hated noise. Hated uniforms. Hated the very concept of teamwork. (Also? She once got hit in the face with a volleyball in middle school PE and never emotionally recovered.)

So how, exactly, did she end up standing at the edge of the university’s indoor basketball court, clutching a bottle of water like it was a weapon?

It started when she got dragged by her roommate to “watch the legendary Kim Minji at practice, just for fun.” Apparently, it was a thing—Minji’s practices often attracted a crowd. There was even an unofficial fan club:

Front row girls with matching headbands

A dude with a DSLR zoom lens the size of his arm

And one girl actually holding a handmade sign that said:

“Minji, step on me (respectfully) 💘”

YN had rolled her eyes so hard it hurt.

She had every intention of hiding in the back row of the bleachers and sketching quietly on her iPad. Until the coach’s voice boomed across the gym:

“We’re short a player for the scrimmage—anyone want to volunteer?”

And before YN could process what was happening—

“She’ll do it!” Minji’s voice. Loud. Clear. Pointing straight at her.

YN nearly dropped her water bottle. “WHAT—?”

Too late. The coach waved her in. Minji was already jogging toward her with that damn smirk on her face.

“Come on, Nerdy. Let’s see if you’re useful outside of sarcasm.”

YN whispered harshly, “I don’t do sports!”

“You’ll be fine. Just run around and pretend you care.”

YN found herself somehow in gym shorts (borrowed, too big), standing awkwardly on the court, surrounded by tall, intimidating athletes and... Minji, who looked completely at home, spinning the ball on one finger like a showoff.

The scrimmage started.

YN didn’t run so much as she panicked while moving forward.

She got in people’s way, ducked instinctively every time someone passed the ball, and screamed once when someone just looked like they were about to throw it at her.

The team was wheezing with laughter.

“MINJI! YOUR GIRL’S GOT DEFENSIVE MOVES LIKE A CRAB!” “CAN WE GET A HELMET FOR HER?” “YO, FAN CLUB, CHEER FOR HER TOO!”

Even the fan club started chanting:

“NE-RDY! NE-RDY!”

YN wanted to dissolve into the floor.

Minji, of course, was thriving. Effortless dribbling, perfect form, tossing the ball in with a casual flick that made people in the bleachers scream.

Every time Minji passed near her, she’d throw in a smug:

“Having fun yet?”

YN’s answer was always a death glare.

But then... it happened.

Someone threw a clumsy pass from behind. YN—too shocked to react—just stood there.

The ball flew past her ear.

Minji shouted, “Watch out!” and ran to intercept—only it was too fast, too close, and—

CRASH.

They collided.

Hard.

The ball bounced somewhere off-court. People gasped.

Minji instinctively grabbed YN’s arms to keep her from falling completely—but the momentum pulled them both down to the floor in a heap.

And just like that…

Silence.

The gym faded. The laughter stopped. Even the fan club paused.

Because suddenly, Minji was on top of YN, both breathless, tangled limbs and pounding hearts.

Their faces—

Centimeters apart.

Minji’s hands were braced on either side of YN’s shoulders, her breath hot and fast. YN’s glasses were askew. Their eyes locked.

And stayed locked.

Too long.

YN’s voice came out barely a whisper:

“…ow.”

Minji blinked. Her voice was weirdly soft.

“You okay?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Neither moved.

Not yet.

Minji’s eyes flickered—YN’s flushed cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her lips parted slightly like she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Her breath hitched. Just a little.

It was the closest they’d ever been.

Closer than teasing. Closer than sarcasm. Real.

And that was what made it terrifying.

The spell broke with a loud whistle.

“YOU TWO GONNA MAKE OUT OR GET UP?” someone from the team yelled.

The gym exploded in laughter.

Minji’s ears turned red. She scrambled up quickly, brushing her hair back.

YN just lay there for another second, staring at the ceiling, silently begging the universe to end her.

Later, outside the gym, Minji caught up with her near the vending machine.

“Hey.”

YN didn’t look at her. “Don’t.”

Minji grinned. “You didn’t completely die.”

“I literally got tackled by a basketball and you.”

“You’re welcome,” Minji said, handing her a sports drink. “For the hydration and the trauma.”

YN took it silently, cheeks still pink.

Then, softer: “Thanks... for catching me. Again.”

Minji glanced sideways at her, smirked.

“It’s becoming a habit. Guess I just like falling into you.”

YN choked. “Minji—!”

Minji only laughed, turning away, her voice echoing in the hallway.

“Nice fall, Nerdy.”

The moment YN woke up, her brain kindly played the memory of Minji’s face hovering inches from hers on repeat. Again. And again. And again.

The way her hair had fallen into her eyes. The way her voice softened when she asked, “You okay?” The way their noses almost touched—

“NOPE.” YN flung a pillow at the ceiling and rolled out of bed like it had betrayed her.

This was fine. She would go to campus. Avoid Minji. Pretend the incident was a dream. Maybe she hallucinated it from sodium overload.

9:22 AM — Art Building Courtyard

YN ducked behind a stone pillar, clutching her iced coffee like a weapon.

Minji was standing across the courtyard with some friends, her bomber jacket slung over one shoulder, laughing at something Jiwon said. She looked carefree, magnetic… exactly how she always did.

YN didn’t even mean to stop and stare. It just… happened. For like, three seconds.

Five.

Maybe eight.

Until Minji turned, as if she felt the stare— and locked eyes with her.

YN’s soul left her body.

She ducked back behind the pillar so fast she hit her own elbow.

“Nope. Nope. Just a ghost. She didn’t see me. That wasn’t real.”

She spent the next ten minutes taking the long way around campus to avoid passing within five meters of Minji.

11:03 AM — Library

YN tiptoed into her favorite section and crouched behind the philosophy shelf, clutching a book she didn’t intend to read.

Safe.

Alone.

Until—

“Are you hiding from me, or do you just like creeping next to Nietzsche?”

YN’s blood ran cold.

She turned slowly.

Minji was leaning on the opposite shelf, one hand in her pocket, smirking like she’d just discovered YN’s search history.

YN cleared her throat. “I’m not hiding.”

“Oh really? Because you ducked behind a literal pillar earlier. I thought you were reenacting a spy movie.”

“I was just… admiring the architecture.”

“In the opposite direction?”

“Yes.”

Minji stepped closer. “Is this because I tackled you?”

YN stepped back, hitting the shelf. “You fell on me.”

Minji shrugged. “Tomato, tomahto.”

Silence.

Too much eye contact again.

YN stared at the floor. “I just didn’t sleep well.”

Minji tilted her head. “Was it… the emotional damage? Or the physical proximity?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

Minji grinned. “You’re blushing, Nerdy.”

“I’m literally not—”

“You are.”

YN pushed past her, muttering. “God, you’re so annoying.”

Minji followed her, slow and smug. “You keep saying that, but you never leave.”

“Because you keep showing up!”

“Maybe I like watching you panic.”

YN spun to face her. “Why?!”

Minji’s smirk flickered, just for a second. Something real passed behind her eyes.

She leaned in. Not close, but… closer than necessary.

“Maybe it makes me feel something.”

YN blinked. “What?”

Minji leaned back with a shrug, already turning away.

“Anyway. I’ll see you in class, Nerdy.”

YN stood frozen in place, heart hammering against her ribs like a drum solo.

She whispered to herself, “What the hell is she doing to me…”

Later That Day — Cafeteria

YN finally sat with her roommate, trying to zone out and eat in peace.

Then, out of nowhere, a tray slid next to hers.

She didn’t have to look.

Minji sat beside her, biting into an apple like she belonged there. Then casually, softly:

“You still taste like blushing.”

YN almost choked on her rice.

Minji reached out and handed her a napkin without a word. When their fingers touched—just briefly—

It was worse than yesterday’s fall.

Because now, she was aware. Every breath. Every graze. Every heartbeat. Louder. Closer. Realer.

“Remind me again why I’m awake before sunrise and holding a hiking backpack?” YN muttered, adjusting the strap on her shoulder with the enthusiasm of a hostage.

Besideها, her roommate—Sohee—beamed like she was going on a honeymoon.

“Because you never go out, you live like a vampire, and I’m worried for your social development.”

“I’m perfectly developed. Socially deficient, by choice.”

They reached the university bus parking lot, where students were already milling around, chatting and loading their bags. A large chartered bus waited with the engine running, its front plastered with a big printed sign:

“Faculty Cross-Department Nature Retreat: Art x Media x Sports”

YN groaned. “I can already feel my soul dying.”

Sohee shoved a paper into her hands. “Group B. Sit wherever. It’s a two-hour ride, so make friends or at least don’t bite them.”

“Zero promises.”

Inside the bus, it was already buzzing with energy. Someone was playing K-pop quietly from a speaker in the back. A couple of athletes were throwing snacks across seats. Fan club girls had already claimed the row behind the driver and were whispering excitedly while scanning the aisle.

YN climbed aboard and scanned for the least chaotic spot. Spotting a window seat halfway back beside a quiet-looking student from media studies, she slid in without a word and immediately put in one earbud.

Safe.

She slouched, pulled her hoodie up, and stared out the window. If she ignored everyone long enough, they might forget she existed.

But of course, peace doesn’t last when Minji’s fan club is within a 20-foot radius.

The bus erupted in noise as soon as Minji boarded.

Cheers, claps, and someone actually gasped. Minji walked down the aisle, unbothered as ever, wearing a black baseball cap low over her eyes, hoodie sleeves pushed up, and a duffle bag slung casually over one shoulder.

“Why is she dressed like a main character…” YN muttered under her breath.

Fan club girl #1:

“Minji-unnie! Sit with us!”

Minji gave them a small wave, barely smiling. “I’ll find a spot.”

She passed YN’s row. Didn’t glance. Didn’t stop.

Good.

Forty minutes in.

The bus had settled into soft chatter and occasional snoring. YN had almost managed to doze off, forehead resting lightly against the window.

Until—

“We’re stopping for a break! 15 minutes!” The bus driver’s voice echoed through the speaker.

The bus jolted slightly as it turned into a rest station.

YN blinked awake, grumbling, and followed the crowd off the bus to stretch her legs.

Sohee appeared out of nowhere with a coffee and handed it to her.

“Drink. You look like you fought sleep and lost.”

“I did.”

As she wandered toward a vending machine, Minji passed her in a soft jog, earbuds in, doing small stretches like she wasn’t made of bones and fatigue.

YN tried not to look. She really did.

But the way Minji flicked her ponytail, took a long sip from her water bottle, then leaned against a railing with her head tilted back— It was criminal.

YN huffed and looked away.

Back on the bus.

The seat beside YN… was taken.

Great. Someone had filled it while she was out.

She turned, looking for an open spot. Everything toward the back was now filled. A group of three girls had merged into two seats. Someone had their feet stretched out.

Then—

“There’s a spot here,” a voice said behind her.

She turned and froze.

Minji. Sitting alone. Patting the empty seat beside her.

YN opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Why?”

Minji tilted her head. “Why not?”

“The fan club will start a petition to assassinate me.”

Minji leaned back casually. “Let them try.”

YN stood awkwardly, debating. Her old seat was gone. Everyone else was paired.

Minji gave her a slow smile.

“Come on, Nerdy. I won’t even talk if you don’t want.”

YN groaned and slid in beside her. “Only because I have nowhere else to go.”

Minji shrugged. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

Ten minutes later, they were back on the road.

The bus vibrated gently under them, mountains rolling by through the window.

They sat in silence at first.

Minji was looking out the window, one earbud in, foot tapping lightly.

YN stole a glance at her.

Minji’s profile was… calm. Unbothered. Like nothing could shake her. Like falling nose-to-nose yesterday didn’t faze her at all.

YN turned her gaze back forward and sipped her coffee.

“You really didn’t want to sit next to me, huh?” Minji said suddenly, voice soft.

YN tensed. “I didn’t say that.”

Minji looked at her, eyes narrowed playfully. “You said everything but that.”

YN hesitated. “You’re… distracting.”

Minji raised a brow. “That’s a compliment, right?”

YN flushed. “No. It’s a warning.”

Minji chuckled, low and warm.

“Well, Nerdy… we’re stuck on this ride for another hour. Might as well get used to being distracted.”

The bus finally rolled to a stop at the retreat site — a cozy mountain camp nestled between pine trees and misty hills. The crisp air bit gently at everyone’s cheeks as they stepped out one by one, stretching, yawning, groaning.

YN rubbed her eyes and looked up at the cloudy sky. “Great. Nature. Dirt. Cold. Love this.”

Sohee bounced beside her, camera out already. “Don’t be grumpy! Look how peaceful this place is.”

“Peaceful until the mosquitoes find me.”

In front of them, a staff member was setting up a whiteboard. She banged a metal triangle loudly for attention, like this was summer camp for overworked adults.

“Alright everyone! We’re assigning tents now. Two people per tent. Grouped randomly from the sign-up list. No swaps!”

YN whispered, “Please not Minji. Please not Minji. Please not Minji—”

“Group 4,” the staff called. “Kim Minji and... YN.”

Complete silence.

YN stared blankly at the board. Minji, standing a few feet away, looked over her shoulder with the most smug face YN had ever seen.

“The universe is getting bold.”

One of the fan club girls gasped dramatically. “WHAT?!”

Another muttered under her breath, “There must be a mistake. Minji-unnie wouldn’t voluntarily—”

Minji ignored them completely and strode toward YN with her duffel bag, stopping just a foot away.

“Guess we’re roommates now. Try not to kill me in my sleep.”

YN looked up at the sky. “Take me, Lord.”

Their tent was small, beige, and way too intimate. It had just enough space for two sleeping bags side by side. Maybe six inches apart.

Minji tossed her bag down on the left side, flopped back like this was her private studio apartment.

YN stood at the entrance, still clutching her backpack like a shield.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” Minji asked, head tilted.

“This is a nightmare.”

Minji smiled. “You say that, but you still came on the trip. Must be fate.”

“I was blackmailed by my roommate.”

“Fate with extra steps, then.”

YN finally threw her bag down on the right side and sat, arms crossed.

Outside, they could hear the others setting up nearby. Laughter, gossip, zippers opening and closing, someone struggling with a lantern.

From just beyond their tent, a whisper:

“I heard Minji was smiling when she read the tent list.”

“Do you think she likes her??”

Minji and YN froze at the same time.

YN whispered, “Do they not know we have ears?”

Minji grinned. “Let them wonder.”

“You enjoy this, don’t you?”

Minji turned her head slowly toward her. “What, sharing a tent with you? The best sleepover I never asked for.”

YN glared. “I hope you snore.”

“I hope you talk in your sleep. I’m curious what secrets are locked up in that head.”

They stared at each other for a beat too long.

Then—

“CAMPFIRE IN TEN!” someone shouted outside.

Minji stood up, stretching. “Let’s go, Nerdy. I’ll save you from the mosquitoes.”

YN sighed. “Can you save me from yourself?”

Minji smirked. “Unlikely.”

By the time the sun dipped behind the trees, the campfire was already crackling, painting everyone’s faces in warm orange light.

Students gathered in a messy circle, legs crossed, marshmallows in hand, mugs steaming with cheap cocoa.

Minji flopped onto one of the camp chairs like she owned the mountain. YN stood at the edge of the group, clearly evaluating if this was worth her social energy.

Sohee tugged her arm.

“Come on, just sit! Stop hovering like a socially anxious bat.”

“I am a socially anxious bat.”

“Then come hang upside-down next to Minji, Batgirl.”

Before YN could object, Sohee shoved her into the only empty spot. Right beside Minji.

Again.

Minji looked over, casually raising an eyebrow.

“Look who’s back. Can’t stay away from me, huh?”

“I was forced. This is a crime.”

Minji offered her a marshmallow on a stick without a word.

YN narrowed her eyes… then took it.

The first activity started: “Pass the Question” — someone spins a bottle, and whoever it points to has to answer a random prompt.

The bottle spun wildly.

Landed on Minji.

Jiwon grinned. “Alright, superstar. The question is… Describe your type.”

Minji didn’t flinch. She sipped her cocoa.

“Someone who doesn’t annoy me.”

The entire circle booed dramatically.

“That’s too vague!” “Cliché!” “Be specific!”

Minji smirked. “Fine. Someone smart. A little weird. Quiet but secretly deadly.”

Someone laughed. “You mean like… a cat?”

YN, trying not to react, sipped her cocoa like her life depended on it.

Minji glanced sideways at her. “Yeah. Like a cat.”

A few rounds later, the bottle spun again— and landed on YN.

“YEAHHH let’s gooo!” someone shouted.

Question:

“What’s your most embarrassing school memory?”

YN blinked. “...There’s a list.”

“Pick one!”

She hesitated. “...In 10th grade, I accidentally entered the boys' bathroom, panicked, ran into a urinal, knocked it off the wall, and then slipped.”

The circle exploded in laughter.

Sohee was wheezing. “You told me it was a faucet!”

Minji leaned in closer.

“You broke a urinal?”

YN groaned. “Please bury me in this fire.”

Minji grinned, voice low:

“That’s iconic, Nerdy.”

Later that night, everyone broke off into mini-groups.

Some were roasting marshmallows. Others doing riddles. A group was playing “Guess Who” — where they stuck post-its on each other’s foreheads with a name, and had to guess who they were.

“Sit here!” someone from media waved at Minji.

“No—sit here!” her fan club chirped, patting the log beside them.

Minji ignored them, walking straight to where YN sat cross-legged on the ground, doodling idly in a small notebook.

Without asking, she sat beside her.

“Busy drawing how much you hate this trip?” Minji asked.

YN didn’t look up. “No. Drawing ways I could disappear.”

Minji peeked over. “That’s… actually kinda cool.”

Just then, someone tripped over a rock near them and fell forward— accidentally bumping into Minji—

Who fell sideways—

Straight into YN’s shoulder.

Both froze.

Minji didn’t immediately move. Neither did YN.

Their heads were practically touching.

Silence.

“...You’re warm,” Minji murmured.

YN, heart hammering: “That’s because you landed on me.”

Minji didn’t apologize. Just leaned back slowly, that unreadable smile on her lips.

From across the fire, someone whispered, “Are they flirting? Or about to fight

The next morning started with a megaphone and far too much energy.

“WAKE UP CAMPERS! Stretch, hydrate, and meet at the flagpole in fifteen!”

YN sat up in the tent with a groan. Her hair was a mess, her back ached from the thin sleeping bag, and Minji… Minji was already up, stretching outside like a human anime protagonist.

Sohee passed by with a protein bar. “Minji’s already awake? Of course she is. Did she even sleep?”

YN stepped out, blinking at the sunlight— only for Minji to toss her a water bottle without turning around.

“Drink before you pass out, Nerdy.”

YN caught it, scowling. “Thanks, I guess.”

The first activity was a group hiking challenge.

Teams of five had to follow a marked trail, collect puzzle pieces hidden at waypoints, and return in under an hour.

YN tried very hard to be placed on any team but Minji’s.

It didn’t work.

The coach called out:

“Team Three: Minji, YN, Sohee, Jiwon, and Lina.”

YN stared at the trees like they were the gates of doom.

Minji shouldered her backpack with a grin.

“Don’t worry. I’ll carry your body down if you pass out.”

Sohee whispered, “Why does she say stuff like that like it’s sweet?”

Thirty minutes into the hike,

YN was sweating, breathing harder than she wanted to admit, and absolutely regretting all life decisions.

“Why. Are. There. So. Many. Hills.”

Jiwon looked back. “You okay back there?”

“I’m fine!” she snapped—just as she tripped on a root.

Before she could hit the ground, Minji caught her by the wrist, pulling her upright with one quick movement.

Their faces were close again. Too close. Familiar close.

Minji tilted her head. “That’s twice now.”

YN muttered, “Stop catching me like I’m fragile.”

Minji replied without thinking, “You are fragile.”

Silence.

YN looked away quickly. “I’m not made of glass.”

Minji, softer this time:

“No. But you walk like you're allergic to the ground.”

Later, at the clearing,

The teams had a short break. Everyone spread out on blankets, eating snacks and chatting.

One of Minji’s admirers approached YN with a sugary voice:

“Are you sure you’re supposed to be here? This is more for, like, active people.”

YN raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I didn’t realize gatekeeping fitness was trendy now.”

The girl pouted. “Just saying. Wouldn’t want you to slow anyone down.”

Before YN could snap back, Minji walked up behind her—slow, calm, dangerous.

She stepped right beside YN and said simply:

“She didn’t slow anyone down. I was watching.”

The girl blinked. “Oh—I didn’t mean—”

“Yeah, you did.” Minji’s voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to.

The girl shrank away with a nervous laugh and scurried off.

YN blinked up at her. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Minji sat beside her on the blanket. “Sure I did. That was my job.”

YN narrowed her eyes. “Since when is it your job?”

Minji looked at her like the answer was obvious.

“Since you keep needing saving.”

Final activity: Sketch & share.

All students were told to find a view, sketch something they felt described the trip, and present it to the group.

YN sat on a rock, pencil in hand, drawing the surrounding forest—but her focus kept slipping.

Minji walked up, tossing a snack into her lap.

“Eat something.”

“I’m fine.”

Minji sat behind her this time, back against a tree, arms crossed.

YN tried to draw. But her mind kept returning to the way Minji caught her earlier. The way she stood up for her. The quiet comfort of her presence now—even saying nothing.

“Minji.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you always near me?”

Pause.

Minji opened her eyes, voice low, teasing.

“Maybe I just like your gravitational pull.”

YN snorted. “That’s not how gravity works.”

“It is when it’s you.”

The late afternoon sun began to dim behind the trees as the last activity of the day commenced: "Solo Exploration." Pairs were given small paper maps and told to collect colored tokens placed along a short forest loop trail. "Short" being a very generous word.

Minji and YN were—of course—paired again.

“It’s only a fifteen-minute loop,” the staff reassured. “You’ll be back before sunset!”

Spoiler: they were wrong.

Ten minutes into the trail, the path had become narrower, rockier, and completely unmarked.

YN held the map upside down. “This is either a hiking route or a prank.”

Minji leaned in to glance. “You're holding it backwards, Nerdy.”

“I’m not used to manual orientation! My GPS is emotional support.”

Minji took the map gently from her hand. Their fingers brushed. YN didn’t comment, but her heart did a little skip.

“We’ll figure it out,” Minji said, folding the map and tucking it in her pocket. “Just stay close.”

And for once—YN didn’t argue.

They walked in silence for a while. The forest around them grew quieter… thicker.

The path forked, and Minji took the left instinctively. YN followed, careful not to step on anything slippery.

But then the wind shifted, the trees creaked— and the trail ended.

Like, fully. Gone. No signs. No markers. Just ferns and shadows.

YN stopped, chest tightening slightly. “Wait… this isn’t right.”

Minji scanned the area. “We didn’t turn wrong…”

YN spun. The way they came now looked… unfamiliar. The light had changed. The air felt colder.

“Okay. Slightly terrifying.”

Minji pulled out her phone.

No signal.

“Cool,” Minji muttered. “Nature’s so welcoming.”

YN folded her arms, trying to stay calm. “Okay, it’s fine. We’re probably not lost-lost.”

Minji raised a brow. “Define ‘lost-lost.’”

Just then— A loud crack echoed nearby. Like a branch snapping hard.

Both of them froze.

YN instinctively moved closer, almost pressed against Minji’s side.

“…That was probably a squirrel,” she whispered.

Minji smirked, voice low. “A demon squirrel?”

“Shut up.”

They kept walking—slowly, now.

Minji lit her phone’s flashlight and held it out.

YN shivered slightly as the air grew chillier, evening creeping in fast.

“…Here.” Without warning, Minji shrugged off her hoodie and draped it over YN’s shoulders.

YN blinked. “What are you—”

“You’re cold. Your shoulders were tense. I noticed.”

YN clutched the hoodie tighter. It smelled like detergent, pine trees… and Minji.

Her voice softened. “Thanks.”

Eventually, they reached a mossy log and sat for a moment to rest. Everything was quiet now, almost too quiet.

YN leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I always hated being lost.”

Minji watched her. “You panic?”

YN shook her head. “No. I just hate not knowing where I stand.”

She wasn’t just talking about the trail.

Minji picked up a small twig, twirled it between her fingers.

“You always try to control things, huh?”

“Only because I’ve seen how messy people are when they don’t.”

Minji gave her a look. “You're not one of those ‘people are disasters’ people, are you?”

“I am the disaster. I just try to limit the damage.”

Silence. Then:

“I like your damage,” Minji said quietly.

YN turned to her slowly.

Their eyes met. Neither looked away.

A cool gust of wind passed, and YN shivered again without meaning to. Minji noticed.

She leaned slightly closer, shoulder brushing against YN’s.

“You okay?”

YN nodded, but her voice came out small. “Yeah.”

Minji didn’t move away.

They sat like that a moment too long. Close. Warm. Uncertain.

And then—

YN quietly reached out and held Minji’s hand.

It was small. Almost nothing.

But Minji didn’t pull away.

Her thumb gently brushed against YN’s knuckles.

Neither of them spoke.

Because words… would’ve broken whatever this was.

Eventually, voices in the far distance echoed—staff calling names.

They stood, still hand-in-hand for a beat longer, then let go as if nothing had happened.

But something had.

By the time Minji and YN made it back to the campsite, the sky had gone deep blue and the stars had started to blink through.

They emerged from the treeline quietly—calm, walking close, a little dirt on their knees, leaves tangled in their hair.

The fire was already lit again. The others turned at the sound of footsteps.

Then—

“They're ALIVE!” Sohee practically shouted, clutching her chest dramatically. “I thought we’d have to call mountain rescue!”

Jiwon grinned. “Where the hell were you two? It's been, like, an hour and a half.”

YN opened her mouth, but Minji answered first.

“We took a wrong turn. It was... scenic.”

Lina raised a brow. “You mean romantic?”

Minji didn’t respond. She just walked past them all, brushing leaves off her shoulders. YN followed, flustered, head slightly lowered.

But the fan club girls?

Laser-focused.

One of them whispered, way too loudly:

“They came back together?” “They weren’t even talking last week!”

Another one crossed her arms. “Minji’s probably just being nice. Like always.”

As if on cue, Minji turned, looked directly at them—then right back at YN.

And smiled.

It wasn’t a wide smile. Not smug. Not sarcastic.

Just... soft.

Like she was seeing something no one else did.

YN froze in place.

Her heart: not beating. Her brain: rebooting. Her body: floating.

And everyone noticed.

Later that night, the campsite quieted. The stars stretched across the sky like scattered wishes. Inside tent 4, everything was dim. Soft. Breathing slow.

YN lay on her back in her sleeping bag, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the tent.

Minji lay a few inches away, hands behind her head, staring at nothing.

Silence.

But it wasn’t awkward.

It was loud in its own way. Like every breath was saying what mouths couldn't.

Finally, Minji spoke, voice hushed.

“Are you mad I dragged you off trail?”

YN turned her head slightly. “You didn’t drag me. I followed.”

Minji looked over. “You didn’t have to.”

YN’s voice was quiet. “I know.”

Pause.

The moonlight barely lit Minji’s face. But even in shadow, her eyes were visible—watching.

“Back there,” Minji said. “You held my hand.”

YN swallowed. “…Yeah.”

Minji didn’t tease. Didn’t smirk. Just looked at her like she was trying to figure something out.

Then:

“I didn’t mind.”

YN’s throat tightened.

She rolled to her side to face her. They were so close now. Only the thinnest air between them.

YN whispered, “You always act so calm. Like nothing fazes you.”

Minji gave a tiny smile.

“You faze me.”

The words dropped like a match in dry grass.

Neither moved. Neither blinked.

Then—Minji’s hand reached out slowly, like she wasn’t even thinking, just drawn—

She brushed a strand of hair from YN’s face.

And her fingers lingered. Just for a second.

“Goodnight, Nerdy.”

YN whispered, “…Goodnight, Minji.”

But neither of them slept.

Not for a while.

The final morning of the retreat arrived with sleepy yawns and messy hair. Students packed up their tents, laughed over spilled toothpaste, and posed for last-minute selfies with the mountain in the background.

The vibe? Lighthearted. The emotions? Chaotic.

YN zipped her bag with a yawn, ready to disappear into the bus and sleep for three hours straight. Sohee, however, had other plans.

“There’s still one last group activity, sleepyhead! Don’t you want to say goodbye to nature properly?”

“I want to sue it.”

Sohee dragged her anyway.

At the camp center, the instructors had set up a fun final activity: “Compliment Circle.”

Each person had to give a quick compliment to someone they appreciated during the trip.

“Let’s end on a positive note,” the coach said, clapping. “Spread good vibes!”

YN immediately tensed. “This is a trap.”

Minji leaned behind her, whispering:

“You’re gonna compliment me, right?”

YN turned, deadpan. “I was thinking the squirrel that didn’t attack us.”

Minji smirked, hand brushing her shoulder.

“Rude. I literally gave you my jacket and my hand.”

“Yeah, and now your fan club wants to curse me.”

When it was Sohee’s turn, she stood with sparkly eyes and announced:

“I want to compliment my roommate YN—who actually came on this trip—and was super brave even when we thought she got eaten by a bear.”

Everyone laughed.Then Sohee added, smiling playfully:

“Also… Mr. Jaehwan from the media department for helping us find the trail again.”

YN blinked.

“Who?”

From the side, a tall guy in glasses raised his hand with a polite smile. “That’d be me.”He walked up to give Sohee a high-five—then turned to YN.

“Glad you made it back safely. You were… walking with Minji, right?”

YN nodded. “Yeah.”

“You looked cool. Very survival-movie aesthetic.”

And then—

He winked.

YN: (processing error)

Across the circle, Minji stared.Expression: neutral. Body: stiff. Aura: “Who is this tall discount actor and why is he looking at Nerdy like that.”Sohee whispered to YN, “Oh no. She saw the wink.”

YN looked at Minji—And yep. The glare. The micro-pout. The crossed arms.

She wasn’t even trying to hide it.Later, during the goodbye group photo, Jaehwan walked past Minji and casually said:

“You’re lucky to be her tentmate.”

Minji tilted her head. Smiled.

“Oh, I’m not just that.”

He blinked. “Oh?”Minji leaned slightly closer.

“I’m the reason she made it through this trip alive. So, yeah. Luck is a funny thing.”

YN, watching this from a few feet away, muttered to herself:

“What is she doing? Marking territory?”

Sohee whispered, “Are you jealous now?”YN: “No. I’m annoyed. Very different

Back at campus, the world felt louder. Traffic. Cafeterias. Lecture halls.YN walked across the quad with her sketchbook, headphones in. Trying very hard to pretend her heart wasn’t still on a mountain trail holding Minji’s hand.

From a distance, she spotted Minji across the lawn.Surrounded by her usual group. Laughing. Hair down. Head tilted back. That easy charm.

And yet— Her eyes scanned the crowd.Until they landed on YN.Just for a second.They didn’t wave. Didn’t smile.Just… held the gaze. Too long. Too much.And then looked away. Like nothing happened.YN exhaled and walked faster. “This is getting stupid.”Later that week, Minji passed by YN outside the art building.Their eyes met.Minji slowed.

YN didn’t.Minji called out, casual:“Still ignoring me, Nerdy?”YN turned just enough to reply:“You seemed busy. With your fanbase.”Minji blinked, amused. “Are you mad?”YN didn’t answer.

Minji leaned in slightly.“You’re cute when you’re jealous.”YN stopped. Turned. Eyes blazing.“I’m not jealous.”Minji grinned.“Sure, Nerdy. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”YN’s heart was racing.But she said nothing.She just walked away.Minji watched her go.Still smiling.But now— A little softer.Like she already knew:This war? Far from over. The party was loud. Of course it was.It took over the campus quad like a swarm—fairy lights hanging overhead, music pounding through portable speakers, half-spilled drinks sloshing in red cups, and students everywhere. Dancing. Laughing. Falling over.

YN stood on the edge, hoodie on, expression blank.Sohee nudged her. “You promised to stay at least an hour.”“I didn’t promise. You threatened.”

“Same thing.”Sohee twirled away toward a circle of students, leaving YN alone under a swaying light.As usual.

YN took a seat near the fence, where the music felt more like distant thunder than a personal attack. She pulled out her sketchbook, only half-seriously.

Just as her pencil touched paper—

“Is that your version of dancing?”

YN didn’t look up. “Is bothering me your version of flirting?”

Minji’s voice curved with amusement. “You admit I’m flirting?”

YN finally raised her head.

And immediately regretted it.

Minji was… Wow.

Hair tied up loosely, skin glowing under the golden lights, leather jacket slung casually over a fitted shirt. She looked like a scene from a movie. Unreachable. Unapologetic.

And the worst part?

She was smiling at her.

YN looked away. “Didn’t think this kind of party was your style either.”

Minji shrugged. “I go where the chaos is.”

“Then you’re in the right place.”

“And apparently…” Minji stepped a little closer.

“So are you.”

Soon enough, other students spotted them.

“Look who came out of hiding!” “YN, you clean up nicely!” “Minji, is she your bodyguard or your girlfriend?”

The teasing escalated. Minji shot back with sarcasm, YN rolled her eyes.

Then—

A guy stepped into their space. Tall, energetic, clearly tipsy.

“Hey—you're Minji, right? I’ve seen you at the gym.”

Minji nodded politely. “Yeah.”

The guy turned to YN. “And you’re... the artist? I’ve seen your stuff in the atrium.”

YN gave a stiff nod.

“You two together?” he asked, not really caring about the answer.

YN opened her mouth to say something biting— but Minji beat her to it, jokingly:

“She wishes.”

Everyone laughed.Even the guy.Everyone… except YN.

Ten minutes later, YN sat back down, face unreadable.

Sohee came over, cautious. “You okay?”

“I’m going back to the dorms.”

“What? It’s still early—”

“I’m tired.”

Sohee didn’t argue. But she watched her walk away with quiet worry.She wasn’t the only one watching.

From across the party, Minji saw it too— the way YN left without a word, shoulders tense.

Something in her chest twistedIt took Minji a few minutes to shake off the voices around her, the noise, the drink in her hand. She followed the direction YN had gone.Away from the lights. Past the quad. Into the garden path behind the library building.

There she was. Sitting on a bench under a lamppost, hoodie up, arms crossed.Alone. Again.

Minji didn’t say anything at first. Just walked up and stood in front of her.YN didn’t look up.

“…Why are you here?” she asked quietly.Minji's voice was low. “Why did you leave like that?”

YN scoffed. “Why does it matter?”

“It does.”

YN finally raised her eyes. There was fire there. But underneath it? Something brittle.

“You act like you care,” she said. “But then you joke. In front of everyone. About how I wish we were together.”

Minji stiffened.

“That was—”

“A joke?” YN stood up suddenly. “Right. That’s what you do. You flirt, then pretend it was nothing. You’re always half in, half out. You always act like you’re in control, and I’m just—what? Entertainment?”

Minji’s jaw clenched. “That’s not fair.”“Neither is this!” YN said, her voice cracking for the first time. “I didn’t ask for this! I didn’t want to feel anything. You just kept showing up. Every time I tried to keep space, you closed it. Every time I hated you, you saved me. You made me need you and now—”

Minji stepped closer.One step. Then another.

Their faces were inches apart now. Breathing heavy. Words gone.“Say something,” YN whispered, voice trembling.And Minji said nothing.

She just kissed her.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t soft.

It was need.

Fingers tangled in the hoodie’s collar, pulling her in. Lips pressed like they’d been waiting for this exact moment to stop pretending. All the teasing, the fights, the denial—it melted, burned, collapsed into this single kiss.

YN didn’t freeze. She melted into it.Hands finding Minji’s shoulders, then her hair. Their bodies fit like puzzle pieces. Like a crash and a landing at the same time.Minji pulled back just slightly, eyes half-lidded, lips flushed.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” she whispered.

YN, breathless, shook her head.

“Then show me.”

Minji kissed her again.Slower this time.But deeper. More desperate. Like she wanted to memorize every second.

It was hot. Messy. Real.And when they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, the silence returned.But this time, it wasn’t empty.It was full of everything they couldn’t say.

The kiss had ended. But they hadn’t moved.

Minji’s forehead still rested against YN’s. Their hands were still tangled in each other’s sleeves. Their breaths? Still fast. Still shared.

YN blinked slowly. Her voice came out low.

“So… that’s what all the teasing meant?”

Minji pulled back a little—just enough to look into her eyes. Her gaze was raw. Stripped.

“No.”

YN blinked. “No?”

Minji’s voice was quiet. Shaky. Real.

“It meant less than this.”

Then she leaned in again— and pressed a kiss to YN’s cheek.

Then the corner of her lips.

Then her jaw.

Tiny, desperate kisses like her body was acting faster than her brain.

“I didn’t mean to…” A kiss near the ear. “Fall this hard.” A kiss against the neck. “But I did.” A pause. Their eyes met.

Minji swallowed. Her voice broke just a little.

“And now I don’t know how to stop.”

YN didn’t move.Her heart was pounding, but her body felt frozen. Not with fear. With the terrifying softness of being truly seen.Minji looked at her like she was standing on a cliff— And falling.

“I kept telling myself it was nothing. That I was just being stupid. That the reason I noticed when you were cold, or mad, or quiet was because… I liked annoying you.”

She smiled, weakly.

“But I wasn’t teasing you. I was… looking for reasons to be near you.”

YN felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Minji touched her face again, this time slower, her fingers brushing her cheek.

“And then tonight—when you walked away—I panicked. I thought, ‘She’s leaving. And I’ll never get to tell her what she does to me.’”

A pause.

Her thumb traced YN’s lower lip, eyes flickering.

“How every time you look at me like I’m a problem… I want to be solved by you.”

Then— Another kiss.This one softer. Lingering. Barely there. Like her mouth was writing an apology against YN’s lips.

Minji tried to pull back. Her voice cracked.

“I should stop.”

But she didn’t.She kissed her again.Once. Then again.

Each kiss shorter. Hungrier. Like she was trying to hold back but failing.

“I told myself just once would be enough.”

A kiss.

“But I lied.”

A longer kiss. Slower.

“I don’t want to stop.”

YN whispered, breath catching—

“Then don’t.”

And just like that—

Minji sank into her.A tangle of fingers in hair, jackets slipping from shoulders, lips pressed with desperation.But in all that heat, there was something achingly gentle in the way Minji held her.Like even as she consumed her— She was trying to protect her.When they finally broke apart—again, breathless, quiet— Minji leaned her forehead against YN’s and whispered, almost like a secret:

“I don’t know what we’re doing.”

YN nodded slowly.

“Neither do I.”

Minji’s hand closed around hers.“But I don’t want to pretend anymore

It was almost 1:00 AM.

The campus laundry room was dimly lit, humming quietly with the low mechanical growl of washing machines and the occasional clink of zippers tumbling in metal drums.

YN shoved a basket of clothes through the door, hoodie halfway off her shoulder, hair tied in a lazy knot, eyes half-closed from lack of sleep—and mood fully grumpy.

She muttered under her breath as the door squeaked behind her.

“Why are college students incapable of doing laundry at reasonable hours?”

She made her way down the row of machines—only to find them all either full… or blinking “OUT OF ORDER.”All except one.The last one.YN narrowed her eyes.And then—

“Oh. You again.”Minji.

Leaning against the last washing machine like it was hers by divine right, sleeves rolled up, hair down in soft waves, wearing a T-shirt way too big to be anything but stolen from YN’s drawer.

She was smiling, of course. That soft, slow, smug sunshine smile.

“Fancy seeing you here, nerdy.”

YN sighed. “Please tell me you didn’t actually use the last one.”

Minji shrugged. “I was here first.”

“How much is in there?”

Minji peered through the door.

“Well… about half of my stuff. And half of yours.”

YN blinked. “Wait—what?”

Minji looked over her shoulder, feigning innocence.

“You left your laundry basket outside our room. Again. I just figured… joint life, joint wash.”

YN stared.

Minji took a step closer, arms crossed.

“Or should I separate your socks out next time?”

“You washed our clothes together without asking?”

Minji tilted her head. “I mean, we already sleep together. It felt symbolic.”

YN blinked twice. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet.” Minji grinned wider. “You’re here.”

They stood like that for a beat.

Two people who still clashed like fire and ice— but now, the warmth in the middle belonged to both of them.

Minji leaned back against the machine, arms open in mock surrender.

“Go ahead. Glare at me. Grump about it. I’ll still kiss you.”

YN stepped closer, expression unreadable.

And then—

She did glare. But only for a second.Then she leaned forward and kissed her.A slow, drawn-out kiss.Soft at first—just the press of lips. Familiar now. Easy. But then… longer. Warmer.Minji smiled against her mouth. YN sighed through her nose and deepened the kiss.Their bodies leaned closer, comfortably tangled. Fingers slipped into hair. A hand brushed down a waist. A soft, muffled hum filled the space between them.Outside, the night kept moving. But in here? It was just them.

The washing machine beeped.They didn’t flinch.Minji pulled away just enough to whisper:

“Cycle’s done.”YN tucked her face into Minji’s neck.“Let’s stay a little longer.”Minji smiled. “We can dry them later.”Eventually, they opened the machine. Pulled out a pile of warm, tangled fabric.Minji held up a hoodie. “Yours.”YN held up a black t-shirt. “Yours.”They looked down.The rest? A mix of shirts, jeans, socks. No difference. All blended.Just like them.

“You realize,” Minji murmured, “we really are that couple now.”YN smirked, brushing her shoulder against Minji’s.“Gross.”

Minji kissed her cheek.“You love it.”

YN didn’t answer.She just smiled—soft, hidden, shy.The kind of smile only Minji could bring out of her

End

[rosachae]

safe | karina x reader

⁍ song: hold on, we're going home - drake ⁍ genre: idol!karina x idol!reader. angsty, suggestive. ⁍ w.c: 14.3k ⁍ warnings: curt language, a little bit nsfw(?), more so just suggestive. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n is the 6th member of le sserafim, and an incredibly skilled dancer. when she's set to perform a special stage with karina, she finds herself growing closer to the girl in ways she'd have never imagined. the problem is, sometimes things don't work out the way you want them to.

current day

there were plenty of pretty people in the world, each carrying their own charm, but none of them compared to yu jimin. there was something about the way she carried herself that made everything else fade into the background. it wasn’t just her face, though that alone could turn heads with little effort. it was the way her expression shifted when she listened, the way her eyes held a quiet confidence that made you want to look longer. her beauty didn’t scream for attention. it settled into the room like it belonged there, like it had always been there. from the moment you saw her, you felt it, this quiet certainty that no one else would ever measure up. not because she tried to be more than anyone, but because she simply was. every small gesture, every glance, every word seemed to land with a weight that lingered longer than it should have. you didn’t even try to convince yourself otherwise. no one could rival her. not for you.

if you’d have asked your childhood self where you’d be in your twenties, you never in a million years would have expected this.

your knee bounced up and down, restless against the pleated fabric of the le sserafim dorm couch. across from you, chaewon watched in silence, her stare steady and unreadable. it wasn’t disappointment. it wasn’t frustration. it wasn’t pity either. whatever it was sat heavy between the two of you, stretching out the quiet until it felt suffocating. she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, unmoving behind the coffee table, her lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back words she didn’t want to say yet. her voice cut through the stillness, sharp and persistent.

"when did it all start?"

the question echoed inside your head like a bell that refused to stop ringing. you knew exactly what she meant, but the weight sitting in your chest made it impossible to speak the truth. shame curled in your stomach, anchoring you to the couch.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about." you lied, eyes darting anywhere but at her. the words came out dry and sharp, like something sour you had no choice but to swallow.

chaewon shook her head, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips before she finally stepped around the coffee table and lowered herself onto the couch beside you. with the distance gone, you had no choice but to meet her eyes. her face was drawn tight with concern, but beneath it was something softer, something like confusion that she couldn’t quite mask. she didn’t let up.

"y/n, don’t play stupid with me now. why are you so reluctant to talk to me?" her voice dropped, softer this time, almost unsure. "when have i ever made you feel like you can’t?" 

the vulnerability in her voice was all it took for everything to finally crack open. the frustration that had been building inside you surged forward, breaking free as sobs shook through your body. you lurched forward and felt her arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you into the safety of her shoulder. you cried harder than you had in years, not since you were fourteen and your parents sat you down to tell you your beloved pet was gone. but this sadness was different. it felt like grief that hollowed you out, like something inside you had splintered and left you struggling to hold the pieces together. part of you was thankful the dorm was empty, the other members busy preparing for the upcoming ‘different’ comeback. you weren’t sure you could handle their quiet concern or the weight of their sympathetic stares.

"i’m sorry, chae," you mumbled through your sobs, your arms tightening around her waist as if afraid to let go.

"hey, no, no, why are you apologizing to me?" chaewon’s brows pulled together in concern, her voice soft and steady as she instinctively began to rock you back and forth. her hand found the small of your back, drawing slow, soothing circles, trying to ease the tremors still rolling through your body.

"i made a mistake," you choked out, barely louder than a whisper. the words clung to your throat like they didn’t want to leave, heavy and sharp, weighed down by the shame you could no longer suppress.

chaewon’s arms tightened around you, anchoring you to her warmth. she didn’t say anything right away, giving you space to breathe, to find your footing. when she finally spoke, her voice was even softer than before. 

“talk to me," she coaxed, patient and careful, like she was afraid to push too hard but needed you to know she was right there, ready to catch whatever you couldn’t hold on to anymore.

you took a deep breath, letting it rattle through your lungs as you tried to gather the courage. the words sat heavy in your chest, but there was no turning back now. finally, you spoke.

“it started when we met.”

__

past

the energy backstage hummed like a slow building current, thick with hairspray, heat, and the collective nerves of idols pacing polished floors in their stage outfits. someone from the sound crew was yelling into a walkie, his voice half swallowed by the bass leaking from the main stage monitors. across the corridor, makeup artists huddled near mirrors, adjusting stray strands and patting down foreheads, while stylists crouched on the floor, arms filled with lint rollers and spare in-ears. you were standing with the rest of le sserafim near the waiting area, makeup carved sharp to match the mood of the performance and a dark brown trench coat tight around your frame to combat the arena's cold conditioned air. you were set to go on after txt and just before illit, the kind of lineup that kept your stomach in knots no matter how many stages you’d done.

no matter how many times you’d been here before, performing in front of fans at music bank, the nerves never seemed to completely fray. 

you’d rehearsed ‘hot’ until your joints felt fused with muscle memory, the choreography living in your spine even when the music wasn’t playing. still, the thought of the audience made your breath catch in the back of your throat. fans, seniors, label staff, cameras broadcasting to god knows how many countries. it was so numbingly daunting. especially considering it was your first performance back from a hiatus.

chaewon was beside you, quietly mouthing the chorus under her breath, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket like she was trying to keep every last ounce of warmth close. kazuha stood a little apart from the group, leaning against the wall with one heel pressed to the baseboard, head tilted like she was listening to something no one else could hear. yunjin adjusted her belt with a short sigh, chewing at the inside of her cheek. eunchae held her water bottle like a lifeline, wide-eyed as she stared at the screen above the hallway showing the live feed from inside the venue.

you stayed still. part of you wanted to stretch again, or check your reflection in one of the handheld mirrors scattered across the benches, but your body didn’t move. the adrenaline had started to creep in already, making your pulse feel a beat too fast under your skin.

chaewon leaned in just slightly, her shoulder brushing yours as she glanced down the hallway.

“you okay?” she asked under her breath, voice low enough to disappear under the buzz of staff calls and monitor feedback. she didn’t look at you directly when she said it, but you could feel her watching anyway.

you nodded once, too fast to be convincing. “yeah. just cold.”

she huffed a soft laugh, barely audible. “you always say that when you're about to freak out.”

you cracked a smile, or tried to. your face didn’t quite cooperate.

“how’s your leg?” she added, quieter now.

you shifted your weight subtly, the movement instinctive. it didn’t hurt, not exactly. not anymore. not in the way it did when you first fell wrong during rehearsal, when the whole room had gone sideways with pain and panic, or in the weeks after when even watching the others practice felt like swallowing glass. but you still felt it, like a ghost in the muscle.

“it’s fine,” you said. “tight. but fine.”

chaewon finally looked at you then, head tilting the slightest bit. “don’t push it.”

you nodded again, this time slower. “i won’t.”

the injury had pulled you off the last cycle of promotions, and even though everyone was supportive, there was a quiet pressure in your chest that hadn't gone away. something about being away too long, about having to prove you still belonged here. you’d come back in time for end-of-year rehearsals, cleared for stage just weeks ago, and every performance since had felt like walking on a wire.

chaewon’s hand brushed yours for a second, nothing more than a touch, and then she stepped back into place as the call came through the earpieces.

“le sserafim, standby.”

you felt your body move before your brain could catch up, following the rest of the group toward the stage entrance. only, before you could step too far, you’re stopped at the feeling of a lean body knocking into you. your shoulder jerked slightly from the contact, slightly dazed. it wasn’t hard. more of a fleeting bump, the kind that happened constantly backstage with too many bodies moving through tight hallways. still, something about it snapped you out of your thoughts like cold water poured down the back of your neck.

“sorry,” came a voice, low and smooth, so casual it almost didn’t register.

you turned, expecting a rushed bow from a staff member or maybe one of the rookie groups shuffling into their next camera queue. instead, your gaze landed on her.

not framed by a screen. not softened by filters or distant from across a press conference room. she was right there, close enough that you could make out every detail. her presence hit you before your brain even had time to register it properly.  

karina. there was something absurd about seeing her in person. she wasn’t supposed to look like that up close. flawless skin, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, that slight smirk playing on her lips like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had. you’d seen her before, who hadn’t? her pretty face was almost everywhere you looked. but this was different.

her outfit clung to her like it was built around her frame. the black crop top, bold with white lettering, sat sharp above her waist. her camouflage jacket hung from her shoulders in a way that looked effortless but deliberate, like it was meant to fall just so. she wore a belt low on her hips, her entire look edged in something that felt like danger wrapped in gloss. gold hoops caught the light as she turned slightly, and the chain around her neck only made the entire picture feel more untouchable. her makeup was heavy but immaculate. smoky eyes that gave her an almost feline sharpness, lips painted in a soft gradient that contrasted the fierceness of everything else. her hair was loose and wild in the best way, falling in soft waves that framed her face with a kind of studied mess. and her face—god, her face. she looked like a portrait. so symmetrical it almost hurt to look at her for too long. so composed it made you forget how to stand.

her eyes flicked toward you, cool and unreadable, and in that moment it felt like the world around you fell silent. the chaos of backstage, the pounding of your own pulse, even the call in your earpiece faded into nothing. 

you didn’t mean to stare, but the moment stretched longer than it should have. your gaze locked onto her as if your body had forgotten how to look away.

“it’s– karina– i’m– you’re—” you stuttered, the words tangling before they even left your mouth, your brain scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

you weren’t the type to get rattled. years in the industry had taught you how to keep your expression measured, how to stay centered even under the weight of bright lights and louder voices. you’d stood beside artists who had ruled charts before you’d even auditioned, and still managed to hold your ground. but there was something different about this– about her. she didn’t feel like just another idol.

karina tilted her head, just slightly, like she was watching a familiar reaction play out for the hundredth time. the look on her face wasn’t smug, but it was clear she knew exactly what effect her presence had.

she took a small step back, almost unnoticeable, and let the light from the stage hallway catch the side of her face. it brought out the shimmer along her temple, the warm gleam of her earrings, the perfect stillness of someone who didn’t need to say much to own the space around her. her smile curved, a subtle upward tilt that said she wasn’t surprised by your reaction in the slightest.

“i know who you are, too,” she said, voice low but steady, with none of the awkwardness you were currently drowning in. “you’re the one coming back from hiatus, right?”

you blinked, caught between confusion and disbelief. “wha–?”

“you’re hard to forget,” she said, her tone steady, neither flirtatious nor performative. there was no pause for effect, no expectation in her eyes. it was just something she believed, something she thought you should know. “it’s good to see you again.”

she didn’t linger, didn’t wait to see how you’d react. her voice had already landed, leaving you to stand in the echo of it.

her manager approached from the side, moving with the kind of quiet urgency that only came from years of shepherding someone through back hallways and call times. they said something under their breath, too low to make out, and karina nodded in response, already shifting forward. the moment ended as easily as it had begun, her silhouette gliding back into the tide of backstage traffic, the space where she’d stood still warm in your memory.

you hadn’t even noticed you’d stopped breathing until your lungs drew in sharp, like surfacing after too long underwater.

“hey,” chaewon said softly, reappearing at your side, her hand wrapping around your wrist with a gentleness that steadied you. “you good?”

you nodded, slower this time, like your body had finally caught up to itself.

“yeah,” you swallowed. “i’m good.”

the voice in your in-ear sounded again, a warning you were running out of time. chaewon practically dragged you up the stairs leading to the main stage. the bass from the opening bars was already humming through the soles of your boots, the kind of low thrum you felt more than heard.

you took a breath and stepped forward, coat shifting around your frame as you moved into position. but even as the adrenaline surged, even as you slipped back into the choreography that had been burned into your bones, one thing refused to quiet.

the place where her shoulder brushed yours still tingled beneath your coat, like her presence had branded itself into your skin.

no matter how sharp your lines were on stage, no matter how many cameras found your face, the imprint of her gaze clung to the back of your mind like it had nowhere else to be.

__

the practice room was quiet except for the low hum of the heater in the corner, a steady, almost soothing sound against the silence. you sat cross-legged on the floor, your hands resting loosely on your knees, absentmindedly stretching your fingers and wrists while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely. two full days had passed since the performance, but karina’s presence refused to fade. it kept replaying in your mind, like a song stuck on repeat, subtle but impossible to ignore.

her face slipped into your thoughts at odd moments. when you were tying your shoes, when you caught your reflection in the mirror, even during quiet moments when nothing was demanding your attention. it wasn’t just the fact that she was famous, or how every detail of her appearance was sharp and flawless under those unforgiving stage lights. it was something deeper than that. you could still hear the tone of her voice, calm and steady, without any hint of performance or pretense. the way she spoke to you was simple and straightforward, but it carried a weight that suggested she meant every word. her certainty had caught you off guard, and you couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind. it was strange how something so small could linger like this, how the memory of her had settled quietly inside you, pulling at your thoughts in a way you hadn’t expected.

you found yourself replaying the moment she brushed past you backstage, how her shoulder had lightly touched yours for just a second, but it left a strange warmth that lingered longer than it should have. even now, you could almost feel it, like a quiet spark beneath your skin.

chaewon settled against the mirror, her back resting lightly on the cool glass as she glanced your way from the corner of her eye. there was a quiet patience in her gaze, like she was giving you space but still keeping track of you. across the room, yunjin was half sprawled on the floor like she’d been poured there. she looped a hair tie around her fingers with the slow boredom of someone who was pretending she wasn’t waiting for a cue to speak. the silence hung for another beat before she cracked it open.

"so," yunjin said, twirling the elastic. "are we just gonna sit here breathing at each other like a lofi-girl youtube live stream?"

"don’t encourage her," chaewon replied under her breath, a habitual comment whenever the younger girl would stir the pot. 

"i’m just saying," yunjin went on, ignoring the warning like she always did, "if i wanted to watch two people avoid talking, i’d go back to my last situationship."

you didn’t say anything. you weren’t even sure what mood you were in. just the dull ache of overstimulation and not knowing what to do with yourself. practice had ended, no one was filming, and you were just left with too much of your own brain.

“you’ve been kind of quiet lately,” chaewon said softly, ignoring yunjin’s comments with a subtle eye roll as she turned her full attention your way, curiosity embedded in her soft gaze. “everything okay?”

you forced a small smile, trying to sound casual. “yeah, just tired i guess. being back on stage, it’s a lot.”

yunjin nodded. “we get it. it’s a lot for all of us sometimes.”

chaewon gave you a look that said she wasn’t convinced. “you’re not telling us everything.”

you hesitated, the weight of keeping your thoughts to yourself pressing down. “it’s nothing. just nerves. i’m still getting used to stuff again.”

chaewon’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but she didn’t press. instead, she leaned her head back against the mirror, watching you like she was waiting for the right moment to push a little further. yunjin stayed quiet for once, her usual teasing energy simmering down as the room settled into a softer, quieter kind of tension. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt fragile.

you shifted your weight, letting your fingers fidget against the fabric of your sweatpants. the truth sat heavy in your chest, but you weren’t sure how to shape it into words that didn’t sound ridiculous. how could you explain that it wasn’t the comeback, or the pressure, or even the exhaustion that had you tangled up like this. it was one moment, one person, one look that kept resurfacing no matter how many times you tried to push it aside.

“you know,” yunjin finally said, her voice lighter now, as if trying to ease the edge of the silence, “it’s okay to admit when something’s got you in your head. we’ve all been there.”

"or someone," chaewon added softly, like she was testing the waters, her eyes still fixed on you, steady and patient.

your stomach twisted, the words clawing at your throat. you stared down at your hands, thumbs pressing into each other in a nervous rhythm. the name hovered at the edge of your tongue, ready to tumble out before you could stop it. you hated how easily she occupied your mind, how quickly her name wanted to surface.

only, before you could say anything, the sharp click of the practice room door opening cut through the moment. you all turned as your manager stepped inside, his head poking through the doorway, eyes scanning the room before landing squarely on you.

"y/n. company meeting."

"now?" your voice came out confused, your brows pulling together. no one had mentioned any meeting to you.

"yes. let’s get moving," he said with a quick nod, already stepping back into the hallway, expecting you to follow.

you rose to your feet automatically, your body moving before your brain had the chance to catch up. behind you, you could feel chaewon and yunjin exchanging glances, their confused stares following you as you trailed after your manager and disappeared down the corridor.

every time you opened your mouth to ask your manager what the meeting was for, something held you back. maybe it was the way he walked ahead without looking back, or the tension in his shoulders that made you think twice. the words sat heavy on your tongue, but never quite made it out. you told yourself you’d ask at the elevator, then in the hallway, then right before the door. but each time the moment slipped past.

by the time you finally worked up the courage to speak, you were already standing outside the meeting room. the door loomed in front of you, quiet and familiar. you had been in that room more times than you could count, but something about it felt different now. the lights inside were already on, shadows shifting through the frosted glass, and your heart began to thud with a dull, uneasy rhythm. inside were the other managers, already seated and waiting. at the forefront of them was a familiar face, sumin. his eyes met yours the moment you stepped through the door, a small smile tugging at his lips.

his face was weathered in a way that spoke of long nights and too many years in the industry. though still young by most standards, he was clearly older than your own manager, who barely looked past his twenties. sumin had to be in his mid-thirties, if not a little older. there was something steady about him, something that made the room feel more serious the moment he looked your way.

he was already seated when you walked in, scrolling through something on his tablet, a half drunk coffee sweating on the table beside him. you barely had time to sit before he spoke.

“we’ve been reached out to,” he said, tapping once on the screen without looking up. “sm wants you to participate in a special stage.”

your brows lifted slightly, but you didn’t say anything right away. special stages came up all the time, especially with award season approaching. sometimes it was a group number, sometimes backup for a bigger act. but rarely did the spotlight land on you, and definitely not like this.

you settled in slowly, your voice cautious. “okay... what kind of stage?”

he tapped the screen once more before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. his expression was calm, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, something that made your stomach tighten just a little.

“they want a duet with karina from aespa.”

you blinked. the name settles over you like a quiet shift in atmosphere, not loud or dramatic, but enough to stop your thoughts in their tracks for just a moment. karina. the same girl who had been circling your mind without pause for the past two days, refusing to leave no matter how many times you tried to shake her off. you could still see her face clearly in your memory, almost annoyingly so. delicate features sharpened by confidence, eyes that held your gaze a little too long, and lips that moved with a softness that made everything she said feel like it was meant only for you.

“me and karina?” you asked, trying to keep your tone even. “just us?”

he nodded once. “just the two of you. high profile. one performance only.”

you sat back in your chair, the weight of it starting to settle. it wasn’t just any special stage. it was the kind people talked about before and after. clips that trended. gifs that never stopped circulating. and now, for some reason, they wanted you in it. 

“the team said you match well, in contrast and intensity. they want a dance stage, so there won’t be any singing. something dark and gritty.” he paused, then added, “they asked for you, specifically.”

you stared at the floor for a second. your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror wall. tired, slightly hollowed out from the week’s rehearsals. not someone who seemed particularly suited for a ‘concept-heavy duet.’

but still, you said “okay.” 

he didn’t look surprised. just gave a short nod and went back to his tablet.

you weren’t sure what you’d just agreed to. not really. but her name echoed in the back of your mind like a half-formed thought you couldn’t shake.

__

current day

“it started then? y/n, it’s been months.” chaewon’s voice was soft but edged with disbelief, like she was trying to process the weight of what you were finally admitting.

you exhaled, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. “yeah. time flew by, i guess.”

she shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. “when did everything get complicated?”

you paused, searching for the words, feeling your chest tighten with the memory. “after a few practices together. i don’t know exactly when. it wasn’t one moment. things just... shifted.”

chaewon arched a brow, her arms folding across her chest as she leaned in a little closer. “things don’t just shift without a reason. run me through it. from the beginning.”

you nodded, your throat dry as the scenes unfolded in your mind. “it was awkward at first. not in a bad way, just... careful. we were both professional. polite. she was warm, but reserved, like she was holding back a version of herself until she figured me out. and i was trying not to read into anything.”

chaewon’s gaze softened, but she stayed silent, letting you keep going.

“the first few rehearsals were strictly business. we went through the choreography, fixed timing, adjusted spacing. every move was so precise, so close. i kept thinking about how close we had to get for some of those lifts, how her hands felt steady on my waist, how her breath would catch for just a second after a hard set.”

you swallowed, the words catching a little as you spoke them out loud. “and then little things started happening. small stuff. she'd linger after practice to chat. offer to go over a part one more time even when we didn’t need to. she’d compliment me, not in a forced way, but like she genuinely meant it. and every time, it got a little harder to stay neutral.”

chaewon hummed under her breath, her expression unreadable now.

“sometimes i’d catch her looking at me when we weren’t even dancing. like she was studying me. like she was waiting for me to say something first. and i kept pretending not to notice because i didn’t want to ruin whatever... whatever was building.”

you trailed off for a moment, the weight of it thick in the air.

“and eventually it wasn’t just practice anymore. we started texting. we’d stay late to talk. sometimes she’d show up early just to see me before anyone else got there. i tried to convince myself it was just friendship, but every time she smiled at me like that, i felt it. like my chest would tighten and i’d forget how to breathe for a second.”

chaewon let out a quiet sigh. “so you let yourself fall.”

you looked at her, the vulnerability raw in your voice. “i didn’t even realize i was falling until it was too late.”

__

past

anticipation buzzed through hybe the moment word spread that you would be performing with karina. the excitement was immediate. you, arguably the strongest dancer in le sserafim, maybe even one of the most skilled female dancers in the entire company, set to share the stage with the industry’s untouchable ace. karina wasn’t just popular. she was the kind of idol other idols admired, the one who turned heads without trying, who carried a presence that seemed almost unfair. her reputation spoke for itself. an idol’s idol.

“that’s so exciting!” eunchae practically bounced up and down when you got back to the dorm after sumin informed you of the stage. she clasped her hands together and grinned widely.

and it was exciting. even through the nerves crackling under your skin like static, you couldn’t deny the rush of it. the thought of seeing karina’s pretty face again, of spending real time together, stirred something light and breathless in your chest. maybe you’d become friends. maybe you’d exchange numbers, share advice, trade stories only idols understood. maybe, if you were lucky, this wouldn’t be the last time you worked together.

if only you’d known at the time that you’d be getting more than you bargained for. 

the practice room smelled faintly of pine cleaner and sweat, the kind of lived-in scent that clung to wood floors and mirrored walls no matter how many times they scrubbed it down. it was your first time ever stepping foot into the sm building. the room was practically filled to the brim already with choreographers as you pushed the door open slowly, half expecting to be alone.

karina was already there, too. 

she stood near the center, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she watched her own reflection, quietly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. her cropped hoodie clung just above the waistband of her track pants, rising slightly every time she moved. her hair was down, the strands falling past her shoulders in a way that looked entirely accidental but probably wasn’t. a familiar choreographer stood on her side, regailing information off a clipboard held firmly in her hands. but through it all, the noise and chatter, karina’s eyes glanced up at you through the mirror when you entered. 

maybe you imagined it in your daze, starstruck by her sharp eyes and pretty lips, but you could’ve sworn her eyes lit up when they landed on you. it felt almost cinematic. like a slow motion scene in real time where your breath knocked clean from your lungs. only, before you could sit in the moment a second longer, the choreographer followed karina’s gaze and turned to face you. you recognised her. 

“oh, y/n!” lee yejin bowed ninety degrees, clipboard tugging under her armpit. 

you bowed back, relief coursing through you. truth be told, in a space as unfamiliar as this sm building, you were happy to see a familiar face. yejin was one of the choreographers to work with you on ‘hot’, a kind and creative woman you got along with through the entire comeback process. something told you this was your managers doing. 

the corners of your lips quirked up into a small smile. “yejin.”

“it’s so good to see you again! i’m so excited to work with you both. so, we have a vision here, and i think it’s going to be absolutely groundbreaking. if there’s anything you-“ 

yejin’s voice fell on deaf ears. you nodded along with her words, blips of them registering when you needed to give half measured ‘yes’ or ‘no’s’. but your attention kept drifting off to the girl behind her. 

you watch her stretch in silence. her movements were clean, intentional, grounded. there was a stillness to her that made you feel like any sudden motion might shatter something delicate. if only you noticed that she was sparing you glances, too. that you were both stealing glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking. 

yejin clapped her hands once, snapping your attention back. “okay! before we get started, let’s officially introduce you two.”

you blinked, suddenly aware of how fast your pulse was thudding in your ears. as if you didn’t already know who was standing in front of you.

“y/n, this is karina. karina, this is y/n,” yejin said with a bright smile, like the formality wasn’t a little ridiculous.

karina turned fully to face you now, her expression softening into something warmer. “it’s really nice to meet you properly,” she said, voice even, steady, but with a gentle edge of sincerity that landed heavier than it should have.

you dipped into a short bow, your hands clasped politely in front of you. “nice to meet you, too. i’ve… heard a lot about you.”

“same,” she replied, and there was the faintest hint of something playful behind her eyes. “looking forward to working together.”

her gaze lingered a second longer than it needed to, holding you there. you tried not to read into it, but your skin prickled anyway.

“alright!” yejin said, cutting the tension before it could swell. “let’s walk through the choreography. we’ve got a rough draft set, but i want to see how you both move together before we finalize spacing and transitions.”

the word together hung in your head as you followed yejin to the center of the room. karina moved alongside you, close but not too close, and for a brief second, your shoulders nearly brushed.

you couldn’t help but wonder if she noticed the space narrowing, too.

they pressed play. take me to mars poured into the room, the bass low and deliberate, crawling across the floor like something alive. your bodies moved in sync, mirrored but not matching, each beat pulling you closer. the choreography was sharp but sensual, built on tension. every step narrowed the space between you, like an invisible thread pulling tighter with each count.

yejin and the other choreographers moved fluidly around you, watching with practiced eyes. you could feel their gazes tracking your frames, adjusting angles in real time, but none of it seemed to reach you fully. your focus stayed locked on the girl across from you.

karina danced with a kind of contained energy, every movement precise but loose, like she was barely holding back a stronger current beneath the surface. her gaze flicked up every few counts, meeting yours in quick flashes before dropping back into the steps. it made your stomach flip every time. the first contact came fast. on the turn of the next eight count, your arms swept into an intertwined movement, palms grazing as your bodies shifted past each other. the warmth of her skin against yours was brief, but enough to spike your pulse. her fingertips brushed yours like she was reading you, testing the weight of the space between you.

your breath hitched, but you didn’t miss a beat. if she felt it too, she didn’t show it. her face stayed composed, but her eyes flicked to yours again, just for a second. a glance that didn’t need words.

when the moment came, the one where your hand hovered near her waist, where your face came just shy of touching, you felt it. the falter. it was barely anything. a pause no longer than a breath, but enough to notice. her fingers hesitated before landing on your collarbone, a little too soft, a little too late.

after a few run-throughs, yejin clapped once. “that’s good for today. we’ll refine the arm transitions next time. don’t overthink it. the more you do it, the more natural it’ll feel.” they scribbled something onto the clipboard, glanced between the two of you, and added, “great work, both of you.”

then the choreographers, lead by yejin left, pulling the studio door shut behind them with a soft click.

the silence that followed was almost jarring. no music. no directions. just the sound of your own breathing, fast and uneven, as the adrenaline started to fade. karina was still standing at center, arms back at her sides now, her expression unreadable.

you let the quiet stretch a little longer, both of you standing there in the center of the studio, caught in something that didn’t quite have a name yet. after a moment you took a slow step toward her, pulling the words from the space between you like they’d been hanging there the whole time.

“so,” you finally say, your voice soft but steady, “what do you think about all this? the choreography, the concept... everything?”

karina lets out a slow breath, her eyes flicking down briefly before returning to you. “it’s different,” she admits. “i wasn’t sure at first. it feels raw, kind of vulnerable. but i like that. it’s honest.”

“did i make you uncomfortable?”

her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected the question to be so direct. she opened her mouth, then closed it again. finally, she let out a breath, not quite a sigh.

“no,” she said, shaking her head. “not really.”

you tilted yours, not buying it. “but something was off. i could feel it.”

she looked down for a second, her fingers brushing against the hem of her hoodie. “it’s just…” she paused, her voice quiet. “i didn’t expect to be doing a choreo like this with a girl.”

you nodded slowly, letting the honesty settle between you. “yeah. me neither.”

karina glanced up again, meeting your gaze for the first time since the song ended. her voice stayed soft. “i thought it would feel different.”

“and did it?” you asked.

she hesitated. “yeah. but not in a bad way. just… surprising.”

karina shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her arms folding loosely across her chest. she looked over at you, her expression curious but careful, as if she was testing the waters, trying to figure out how much to say and how much to hold back.

you swallow, feeling the weight of her gaze as it lingers on you, steady and unreadable. the air between you shifts, growing dense with something unspoken, something just beneath the surface. it hums quietly, tension curling around the edges of the moment like smoke. after a pause that stretches longer than it should, karina finally speaks, her voice low, almost hesitant.

"do you want to run through it again? just us this time."

you nod, maybe too quickly, grateful for the excuse to move, to shake off the stillness pressing against your skin. the room suddenly feels different. quieter. more private. the kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound too loud in your own ears. without the others, without the eyes and voices and pressure, the space closes in. not suffocating, but intimate. familiar in a way that makes you uneasy and excited at once.

karina steps to the side and taps the speaker. the low, deliberate pulse of the bass rolls out across the floor like a slow wave. you both move into position, muscle memory taking over. the choreography returns easily, but now it carries a different weight. a sharper edge. it’s not just movement anymore. it’s something else.

there’s no one to count the beats. no one to correct your lines. just your body and hers, responding to rhythm and instinct. to each other. every movement is charged. every glance feels like a question. every brush of her fingers sends heat crawling beneath your skin. the air vibrates with it. something electric, something fragile.

your eyes lock again, mid turn, and you realize there’s a conversation unfolding between you with no need for words. it lives in every shift, every breath, every mirrored motion. your bodies speak in silences, in touches that last just a second too long, in the way she watches you like she’s waiting for something. at first, it was just about the routine. the shape of the steps. the mechanics. but now, something else threads through it. you move when she moves, catch her rhythm without needing to think. you dip when she dips. you spin when she spins. her fingers graze your waist, trail along your jaw, and even though she doesn’t say a word, it’s all there. unspoken but loud.

"you learn fast," she murmurs, her gaze flicking toward the mirror, not quite meeting yours.

"so do you," you reply, but your voice is softer now. like you’re both trying not to break whatever this is. whatever it might become.

the moment passed, but something in it stayed with you, clinging to your skin like static. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it pulsed quietly beneath the surface, impossible to ignore. later that night, as your manager drove you back to the dorm, the city lights blurring past the window, your thoughts refused to settle. they circled around one thing. or rather, one person. karina.

you kept replaying it all in your head. the way her body moved, precise and fluid, like every beat was something she was born to feel. the way she looked at you during that final run, eyes locked, unreadable and intense. it had made your chest tighten, your breath catch, like your body had picked up on something your mind couldn’t yet name.

you told yourself it was the routine. the high of dancing well. the natural chemistry that comes with hours of practice. but even as you stared out the window, pretending to listen to whatever song your manager had playing, you knew that explanation wasn’t enough. it wasn’t just the steps. it wasn’t just muscle memory or partnership.

something about her had shifted something in you. and now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shift it back.

before you knew it, several sessions had come and gone. each one bled into the next until time stopped feeling separate from movement. you grew attuned to her, how her body flowed with the rhythm, how she anticipated changes in tempo before they even landed. instinctively, you adjusted your own movements to match, to compliment her lines with your own. and she did the same. without words, you learned each other’s timing, each other’s weight and pace, until it all clicked into something seamless. but it wasn’t just your bodies falling into sync. somewhere in between the stretches, the water breaks, and the long hours under dim studio lights, you started learning the smaller things too. how she liked her coffee, the songs she played when no one else was around, the way her laugh softened when she was tired. she asked questions that lingered in your mind long after practice ended, listened closely when you answered.

you learned that she hated the cold but always carried a hoodie in her bag, just in case. that she cracked her knuckles when she was thinking too hard, and that she danced even when there was no music playing. she told you about the time she sprained her ankle during a middle school performance and still finished the routine with tears in her eyes and a smile plastered on her face. in return, you told her things you didn’t usually say out loud. how you got stage fright right before every show, how you used to practice in your bedroom with the door locked and the lights off.

you fell into rhythm, not just with the music but with her. the choreography smoothed out, every transition clean, every beat hit with intention. there were still details to polish, still corrections and notes, but you could feel it coming together. the routine lived in your limbs now, familiar and natural, like muscle memory laced with electricity. not quite stage-ready, but close. so close you could taste it.

today was the fifth session. the bass echoed low through the studio floor, reverberating up your spine as the track looped for the third time. you exhaled, rolling your shoulders back as you caught your breath. sweat clung to your skin, strands of hair sticking to your neck. you were tired. just yesterday you were singing and dancing across the stage at mcountdown performing ‘hot’, running between shoots and interviews, and just narrowly making it on time for a company dinner. today, you wanted nothing more than to collapse on the cold floor.  

across from you, karina stood with her hands on her hips, chest rising and falling in sync with the beat still playing from the speakers. her expression was unreadable.

“again?” you asked, grabbing your water bottle off the ledge beneath the mirror.

“mm,” she nodded, wiping the side of her neck with a towel. “you were a little early on that last transition.”

you raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “i think that was you.”

karina’s mouth twitched, something dangerously close to a smile ghosting over her lips. but she didn’t argue. instead, she walked toward the speaker to restart the track, her silhouette backlit by the soft overhead light. the air in the studio was warm and thick with the scent of sweat, fabric softener, and whatever expensive perfume she always wore that clung to the inside of your lungs.

you moved back into position, eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

“from the chorus?” she asked.

“yeah.”

the music swelled, and you both dropped into motion. each step, each beat, choreographed to bring you closer. your movements mirrored one another, bodies shifting with practiced ease. but the closer you got, the harder it was to ignore the electricity simmering just beneath the surface. it had been building all week. maybe longer. the brush of her arm when she passed too close. the way her gaze lingered too long when you weren’t looking. the deliberate softness in her voice when she said your name.

karina stepped into you for the partner moment, hands on your hips, her body sliding just barely against yours. her touch was firm, professional. but her breath hitched. just for a second, and her hands stayed there too long. you held her gaze in the mirror.

“your count’s off,” she said, but her voice was lower now, less sure.

“no, it’s not.”

only silence followed when the music ended, fading into static and stillness. you didn’t move and neither did she. your reflection looked back at you.  two figures standing too close, eyes locked, tension drawn taut between you like a wire about to snap.

karina stepped back a half inch, but it was pointless. the charge in the air didn’t go anywhere.

“why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, voice calmly measured.

she blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. her pretty features twisted up into a small confused frown. “like what?”

“like you’re trying not to.”

her expression cracked, just slightly. she sighed, shaking her head dismissively. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

karina didn’t answer. her eyes were on your mouth now, flicking back and forth between your collarbone and eyes like she was searching for an out to the conversation. lowe and behold, she found one. 

“we should go again,” she said finally, retreating behind something safe and professional as she hit play on the record for the nth time that session.

only when the music started, she didn’t move right away. she stepped behind you instead. slowly, deliberately. her hands found your waist like muscle memory. 

“fix your posture,” she said, but her voice was hoarse now.

your stomach tightened. 

she stood close, so close you could feel the rise and fall of her breath brushing softly against your neck, just beneath your ear. the air between you was thin, heavy. her chest, warm and steady, pressed lightly into your back, and your body tensed without meaning to. the contrast was jarring. her hands were cold, fingertips like little jolts of static as they slid down your sides, slow and deliberate.

goosebumps bloomed in her wake, a shiver chasing the trail she left behind. she didn’t rush. her fingers paused at your waist, then tightened, just enough for you to feel her there, claiming that space. her breath hitched. maybe yours did too.

the room felt suddenly smaller, the silence stretched and loaded with everything neither of you was saying. the weight of her touch, the heat of her body, the sharp sting of her cold hands. it all sank into your skin like a question waiting to be answered.

you watched her through the mirror, the way she studied you with that same quiet intensity she always wore. eyes dark, lips drawn into a firm line, her expression unreadable. she didn’t blink much. just let her gaze roam over you, slow and deliberate, like she was cataloguing every inch. 

you weren’t naive. you knew she didn’t need to touch you like this. she didn’t need to correct your stance, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. she especially didn’t need to do it with both hands. not this slowly. she knew it, too. that knowledge hung between you like a thread, neither of you acknowledging it but both of you feeling the weight of it in every careful motion, every inch of space that no longer existed.

she touched you carefully, as if the wrong move would have you crumbling in her grip. her touch was cautious, curious. 

karina wasn’t sure what it was about you that made her so confused. every carefully crafted belief she had was tested the very minute you stumbled into her life. every religious idea embedded into her mind, every self deprecative whisper that told her she was wrong for finding beauty in another woman. with your waist between her hands, your body reacting, your stomach clenching taut and your head tilting slightly so her breath hit your neck— she decided then and there that you were like a drug. 

she tried to tell herself to step away, she really did. she tried to push her attraction to you into the deepest depths of her mind, forced herself to think about the allure she found in tall men like jaewook with coy smiles and handsome features. each and every time, she failed. the intoxication smell of your perfume permeated her senses. the intoxicating way your breath hitched when her right hand drifted up from your hip, nails lightly grazing your back beneath your shirt, lived in her mind like a memory she would never be able to shake. everything about you, she craved. no amount of gospel would ever equal the way she knew she’d commit to you like you were holy. 

whatever guilt she felt in that fleeting moment immediately evaporated when her body reacted on instinct. karina gently turned you around so you were facing her, closed in between her arms. the second you were face to face, she suddenly pushed you against the mirror she ogled you down through only seconds before. a quiet gasp slipped past your lips when your back met the cold surface, but it was her eyes that undid you. 

“this is wrong,” karina whispered, her voice low and wrecked, almost like she was pleading with herself more than with you. her hands still rested at your waist, but there was a tremble in them now, like she was on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she should fall into.

your eyes searched hers, the reflection of the two of you in the mirror blurring behind her. you didn’t look away. “does it feel wrong?” you asked, barely above a breath. your tone wasn’t challenging. it  was gentle, honest, like you were offering her a lifeline instead of an excuse.

she blinked, slow, as if the question hit something deep in her. her jaw clenched, the war playing out across her face in full view. “i don’t know what i’m doing,” she admitted, and it cracked something open in you.

“then stop thinking,” you said, voice soft but certain, and that was all it took.

karina surged forward, her mouth crashing into yours with a desperation that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. it wasn’t tentative. it wasn’t careful. her kiss was messy, searing, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs and left no room for second thoughts. her hands slid up your sides, fingers curling under the hem of your shirt, clutching like she needed to ground herself in your skin.

you kissed her back just as hungrily, your hands finding her jaw, her hair, anything you could hold on to. there was heat everywhere. between you, around you, pulsing through every inch of your bodies as they pressed together. your back arched slightly against the mirror, the cold glass a sharp contrast to the fever in your blood.

karina groaned softly into your mouth, her fingers digging in just a little deeper, her lips parting like she wanted to drink you in, like she didn’t know how to stop now that she’d started.

whatever guilt she thought she’d feel was drowned beneath the tide of want, swept away by the way you kissed her like you’d been waiting for this moment just as long. her mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses that left your skin burning.

“tell me to stop,” she whispered against your throat, breath hot and shaky.

you didn’t. you tilted your head back and pulled her closer. her fingers curled against your waist, possessive, desperate, like she thought you might disappear.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” she breathed, the words so quiet you barely caught them, but the weight of them slammed into you like a wave.

her voice was raw, frayed at the edges, like the feeling had clawed its way out of her chest. she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and blown wide with something far past want. it was too much, too fast, and not nearly enough.

“i think about you all the time,” she continued, barely pausing for air. “when i shouldn’t. when i’m alone. when i’m with other people. and i hate it. i hate that i want you like this.”

you stared at her, stunned by the intensity pouring out of her like it couldn’t be stopped, like she’d cracked open and spilled everything she was too scared to say until now.

“but i do,” she whispered. “god, i do. and right now, i don’t think i can pretend i don’t.”

she trailed kisses down your throat again, each one slower than the last, lips parting just enough to taste. her hands traveled with her mouth. up your sides, around your ribs. not quite touching, but close enough to make your breath catch.

“you drive me crazy,” she murmured, lips barely grazing your collarbone. “i’ve tried so hard not to want this.”

“then don’t try,” you whispered back, voice trembling.

that was all the encouragement she needed. she tugged your shirt over your head in one fluid motion, eyes devouring you like she couldn’t believe you were real. her touch followed, fingertips dragging down your torso, lingering in reverent, slow passes like she wasn’t in a hurry. like she wanted this to last.

you reached for her, fingers sliding beneath her hoodie, needing to feel her just as bare, just as close. her skin was warm, soft under your touch, muscles tense as if holding back. she helped you pull her top off, and suddenly you were chest to chest, skin to skin, heat rolling off her in waves.

her mouth was back on yours in an instant, hands framing your face now, like you were something delicate, something sacred. she kissed you like prayer, like apology, like surrender.

nothing had ever felt more like heaven than it did coming apart in karina’s arms. 

__

current day

at some point, the others came home. you heard them before you saw them. shoes kicked off by the door, the rustle of jackets, the low hum of familiar voices echoing down the hall. normally, you would have greeted them, maybe even joined in on the quiet chaos of winding down after a long day. but tonight, you stayed curled on the couch, chaewon’s arm around your shoulders, your body still trembling in the aftermath of everything that had come undone.

they paused in the entryway. you could feel the weight of their curiosity before they even stepped into the room. yunjin was the first to cross the threshold, all teasing grin and raised brows. until she saw your face. the moment she caught sight of your tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes, the expression melted off her like ice in warm water. all that was left was quiet concern. her mouth opened, like she was about to ask something, but sakura shot her a warning look sharp enough to cut glass.

whatever question was on yunjin’s tongue died instantly.

the rest of the girls lingered for only a moment. kazuha gave you a gentle nod, eunchae hovered like she wanted to come closer but didn’t know if she should, and then, one by one, they dispersed down the hallway without a word. no one asked. no one pried. not yet.

the silence they left behind felt heavier than the noise.

chaewon didn’t speak right away. her arm was still around you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, grounding you. the silence stretched for a few moments more, just long enough to make you wonder if she was waiting for you to say something first. but then, quietly, she broke it.

“do they know?” her voice was soft, but steady.

you shook your head. “no. just you.”

chaewon nodded slowly, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face with a kind of gentle care that made your throat tighten.

“do you… want them to?” she asked.

you hesitated, staring at the space where the others had just been. your voice came out small. “i don’t know.”

chaewon’s brows pulled together. not judgmental, just thoughtful. “you don’t have to tell them. not if you’re not ready. but you can’t keep letting this eat you alive.”

“i thought i could handle it,” you whispered, blinking hard. “i thought keeping it quiet was the right thing.”

“maybe it was. at first,” she said gently. “but things change.”

you nodded, eyes burning again. “i didn’t think it would get this far.”

chaewon leaned back a little so she could see you better, her expression quiet but fierce in its protectiveness. “y/n… are you in love with her?”

the question knocked the breath from your lungs. you didn’t answer right away. you couldn’t. but she saw the way your jaw clenched, the way your eyes dropped, the way silence folded in around you again.

chaewon let the silence settle again, but only for a breath. she looked at you closely, the kind of look that felt like it could see past your skin, straight into the mess you were trying to hide. her voice was quiet when she asked, but there was no mistaking the weight behind the question.

“when did things start to go south?”

your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. your fingers curled tightly into the hem of your sleeve, knuckles pale. you weren’t sure which moment to name. when the first lie slipped from your mouth? when she started pulling away? when you realized her idea of safety didn’t include you?

“i think…” you started, swallowing hard, “i think it was always heading this way. but i didn’t want to see it.”

chaewon’s gaze didn’t waver. “tell me.”

you took a deep breath.

__

past

you knew what you were getting into. you truly did. in moments of silence, your mind subconsciously drifts back and forth between all of the stolen moments and the late nights where you felt like you were the center of her world. but of course, you remember her warning. a warning laced in sweetness and compassion, but one that you should’ve known would keep her from ever truly being yours; wholly and completely.  

you swallow when you remember a particular time in one of the many hotel rooms of daegu. she’d just snuck in with her face mask pulled up over her mouth, but still you were rocked by her beauty. you don’t think you could ever truly get used to the absurdity of how gorgeous she was. 

the minute you let karina in and shut the door firm behind her, she practically raced to take you into her arms. discarding her face mask haphazardly, she pulled you in close and towards the bed. she wanted so badly to be close to you that it physically hurt her. she pushed her face into your neck as she held you tight, her breath warm against your neck, her nose cold from the trekk she’d made through the cold hotel elevators. but you didn’t mind. not when she held you like you were the one and only thing she needed. 

her fingers traced idle patterns over the fabric of your sleeve, but you could feel the tension underneath her soft touch. she had been quieter than usual all night, and even now, curled into you like she never wanted to move again, her mind felt far away.

“you okay?” you asked softly.

her hand stilled for a moment. “mm-hm.”

you waited. you knew her well enough to know that when she got quiet like this, it wasn’t nothing. she was trying to find the words, but the words scared her.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” you whispered, brushing your hand gently through her hair.

another beat of silence. her breath hitched slightly. “it’s not you,” she said finally, her voice barely audible. “you know that, right? it’s never been you.”

“i know,” you whispered, but your chest tightened anyway.

she shifted, sitting up just enough to meet your gaze. her eyes were glassy, wide, full of something heavy she’d been carrying for too long. “it’s just… this isn’t like other places,” she said softly. “it’s korea. you know how it is here. you know what happens.”

you swallowed, nodding. “yeah.”

“it’s not just the fans,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly now, words starting to rush like she was afraid she might lose the courage to say them if she didn’t spill them all at once. “it’s the companies. the sponsors. the media. even my own family. it’s not just about me being happy. it’s about all the people who depend on me. all the people watching. waiting for me to slip. and if this ever got out—” she broke off, biting her lip. “we’ve seen what happens to people here. to idols who don’t fit what they’re supposed to be.”

you reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “i know. i’ve seen it too.”

“they ruin you.” her voice cracked. “the headlines. the rumors. the fake stories. the comments. people get blacklisted, abandoned by their own companies. brands drop them overnight. fans turn on them like they never loved them to begin with. even if it’s not true, even if it’s just speculation, it’s enough to destroy someone’s career. to destroy their life.”

her fingers tightened around yours. “sometimes i think about what they would say. about you. about me. what they would write. how fast it would all unravel.”

you stayed quiet, letting her speak, not wanting to interrupt the dam finally breaking.

“i’ve worked so hard for this,” she whispered. “i’ve built everything on being perfect. being who they want me to be. i know it’s stupid, but i’m scared. i’m scared of losing it all. of losing you, even. if it all fell apart, i don’t know how i would survive it.”

your heart ached. “you wouldn’t lose me,” you said softly. “not ever.”

you meant it. with every fiber of your being, you spoke your words and committed to them like gospel. you knew as well as she did that keeping your situation private was the best for your careers. still, when your mind then drifted between all of the instances it felt like more, the tug in your chest sweltered into a sharp ache. 

another hotel room in busan. the room was quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only came late at night, when the world outside slowed down just enough for you to breathe. thin streaks of city lights slipped through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting faint reflections on the walls. everything felt distant. the traffic below, the cameras, the eyes always watching. here, inside this small bubble, it was just you and her.

the door opened with a gentle click, barely louder than a breath. she slipped inside, her movements careful, deliberate, as if even the air might be listening. the moment her eyes met yours across the dimly lit room, her shoulders relaxed, her entire frame softening as though she had been waiting all day for this exact moment.

you sat on the bed, legs folded beneath you, watching her with a small, involuntary smile pulling at your lips. “hey,” you whispered.

“hi,” she breathed, her voice a quiet exhale as she crossed the room to you. her bag slid from her shoulder, forgotten on the floor as she climbed onto the bed beside you, immediately curling into your side like muscle memory. her head rested against your chest, one arm slung across your waist, her fingers lightly brushing your ribs. the weight of her pressed into you in a way that felt grounding, like you were anchoring her.

your hand found her hair, fingers slipping through the soft strands, tracing lazy paths over her scalp. you felt the tension leaving her body piece by piece with every stroke. she let out a long, quiet sigh, like she had been holding her breath all day and could finally let it go.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in silence, not because there was nothing to say but because neither of you needed words to fill the space. outside these walls, everything was complicated. endless obligations, careful glances, coded answers. but here, where no one could see, it was easy. you could be soft with each other. you could be real.

“i missed you,” she whispered eventually, her voice barely more than a breath against your skin.

your chest ached, the words both sweet and heavy. “i missed you too.”

her fingers traced idle patterns on your side, drawing invisible shapes as her breath slowed. “sometimes i wish i could just stay here,” she said quietly. “never leave. never have to pretend again.”

you kissed the top of her head gently, feeling the familiar sting behind your ribs, the one that always came when you thought too hard about all the ways you had to stay invisible. “me too.”

her voice grew softer, more fragile. “it’s scary, you know. how badly i want this. how badly i want you.”

you held her closer, your hand smoothing down her back in long, soothing strokes. “i know,” you whispered. “i know.”

she exhaled again, and for a few precious seconds, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. just her breath, warm against your collarbone. just your fingers in her hair. just the steady thrum of both your hearts, tangled up in something that felt impossibly tender, impossibly dangerous, and impossibly good.

you remembered the stolen moments at award shows and group stages, the ones where she would find you between the noise. 

the music still throbbed faintly through the walls, distant now, like a heartbeat fading into the background. backstage was a maze of shadows and hurried footsteps, voices calling out instructions as crew members darted back and forth. but for a brief moment, tucked away behind a heavy curtain, there was a pocket of quiet that belonged only to the two of you.

karina slipped through the gap, moving quickly, her eyes darting once over her shoulder before they landed on you. the moment they did, the tension in her shoulders softened, replaced by that familiar look that always made your stomach flutter. like you were gravity, and she was helpless against it.

“there you are,” she whispered, already closing the distance.

her hand reached for yours, fingers slipping between yours with practiced ease. the warmth of her palm sent a tiny spark up your arm. you smiled as she tugged you gently back into the narrow space behind one of the stage drapes where no one could see.

her skin still glowed under the remnants of stage lights, faint glitter clinging to her collarbone and neck, her lips still painted perfectly from earlier. you watched her for a moment, taking in every detail, the adrenaline still humming softly beneath her skin.

“you looked…” you started, but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

her lips curved into a knowing smile. “i know.” she leaned in, voice dropping slightly, playful. “but i want to hear you say it.”

you exhaled a quiet laugh, your free hand sliding up to rest lightly on her waist. “you looked incredible.”

she hummed softly, her body swaying closer to yours, her eyes sparkling under the dim lights. “it’s the outfit, isn’t it?” her voice was teasing, but her gaze dipped to your lips for the briefest second before returning to your eyes. “the way you were looking at me during the performance was very… distracting.”

“was i that obvious?” you whispered.

“completely.” her smile deepened, her fingers tightening around yours. “i could feel your eyes on me the whole time. i liked it.”

the air between you grew warmer, heavier, not uncomfortable but charged in a way that made your breath catch slightly. the press of her body was subtle but deliberate, her fingers brushing lightly over the inside of your wrist, tracing gentle circles like she couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

“you’re really playing with fire,” you murmured, voice low, the smallest edge of teasing creeping into your tone.

“maybe i like playing with fire,” she whispered back, her voice silk-soft but charged. her face was close now, close enough that you could see the faint shimmer on her lips, smell the faint trace of her perfume, feel the ghost of her breath against your mouth. “it’s only dangerous if someone catches us.”

“they’re everywhere,” you breathed, but neither of you made any move to pull apart.

“i know.” she smiled, biting her lip. “but you’re standing so close. you’re making it very hard to behave.”

your hand slid up her waist, fingers splaying gently across the small of her back, drawing her closer until there was barely a sliver of air between your bodies. her breathing quickened just slightly, her eyes never leaving yours, pupils dark and wide.

“then don’t,” you whispered.

for a moment, it felt like the entire world shrank to the space between your mouths. but just before your lips could meet, voices rose from the other side of the curtain, snapping you both back into the reality waiting just beyond this sliver of stolen time.

she laughed quietly, soft and breathless, forehead falling against yours. “one of these days, i’m going to get us into so much trouble.”

you smiled, savoring the warmth of her so close. “i’ll take my chances.”

she squeezed your hand one last time, reluctant but already starting to pull away, her smile still lingering like the echo of a kiss that almost happened. “later,” she promised softly.

and then she was gone again, slipping back into the noise and lights, leaving behind only the memory of her breath on your skin and the electric hum still sparking through your veins.

of course, your mind drifted to those moments. moments where she touched you like you were some kind of delicate scripture she so badly wanted to commit to memory. 

her room was quiet, wrapped in the soft glow of a single lamp that pushed back the darkness just enough. the light was warm and low, curling into the corners and leaving gentle shadows in its wake. shoes were scattered by the door, left where they had fallen. her makeup was gone, wiped away to reveal bare skin that caught the dim light and made her look almost unreal. she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs drawn up slightly, wrapped in loose sweatpants and a simple camisole. she looked tired. but she was beautiful in a way that made your chest tighten. beautiful in a way that felt too fragile to name. it made your breath hitch.

you closed the door behind you, the quiet click echoing like a secret between you. neither of you spoke.

she moved first. she stood slowly, her movements smooth but deliberate. she crossed the small space between you with a quiet kind of confidence, stopping just close enough that you could feel the heat of her skin. her eyes lifted to meet yours, wide and searching. there was something raw in them. something she had been holding back.

“does this mean something to you?” her voice was quiet. steady, but careful, like she was afraid of what the answer might be.

you looked at her. you felt the weight of her question settle heavy in your chest. “does it to you?”

her hands rested on your arms, then climbed to your face, then tangled in your hair as her body pressed against yours. the kiss deepened, pulled, turned rough. she backed you into the wall, her breath hot against your neck. you didn’t know how it turned into the bed, or when your shirt came off, only that when her fingers traced the skin above your waistband, you let her.

it was fast and breathless and intense, like everything unspoken between you poured out through touch.

you swallowed, a feeling of bile rising to the back of your throat. some part of you felt almost guilty. you knew the conditions. hell, you may as well have wrote half of them. still, somewhere along the way, the hotel rooms lost their meanings. the pit stops between shows made you feel like more of an afterthought. 

you just didn’t expect it to come to a collapse just three days before the special stage during a shared interview. 

the studio was too warm, the kind of warmth that made the skin feel tight and the breath shallow, like the air itself was trying to press you down. above, the lights buzzed softly, casting a false glow over everything, as though the moment could be softened by something as simple as studio lighting. between takes, the silence had stretched unnaturally long, not heavy enough to feel like tension to anyone else, but sharp enough that every second vibrated beneath your skin. you hadn’t seen her since that night. not in a way that mattered. not in a way that left you pretending you didn’t still carry her fingerprints on your body.

she entered just before filming began, her arrival quiet but impossible to miss. her hair had been cut, dark waves now framing her face perfectly, falling just below her shoulders in soft, deliberate layers. the light makeup made her features look delicate, almost impossibly so under the brightness of the cameras, and the dark blazer draped over her cropped top hugged her frame with an effortlessness that made your stomach twist. she looked beautiful. too beautiful. like nothing had ever happened, like the late nights and the trembling hands and the whispered confessions had been nothing more than some fever dream you had failed to wake from.

the host’s voice, bright and unrelenting, filled the air almost immediately, eager to direct the scene, to keep things light and marketable. they asked the usual questions, the rehearsed ones, the ones meant to make the viewers at home smile and feel as though they were seeing something candid and sweet. promotions were mentioned, schedules were discussed, jokes about long working hours and friendly banter exchanged. and through all of it, you sat beside her, close enough for your knees to brush, the contact igniting a strange ache inside you, an ache that made you resent your own body for still wanting to be near hers.

the conversation shifted, as you both knew it eventually would, to the dynamic between you. the chemistry. the playful teasing your fans adored. the host grinned widely, their excitement almost palpable as they leaned into the question. "so," they said with a sparkle in their eye, "what’s it like working together? there’s clearly some amazing chemistry here."

karina answered with the ease of someone who had perfected this performance long ago. her smile was flawless, the kind that looked natural to anyone who hadn’t seen the version of her that came apart beneath you. "we clicked quickly," she said, her voice light, her tone effortless, "very professional."

the word professional struck you with a force you hadn’t braced for. as though the stolen glances and secret rendezvous in the quiet hours had been some kind of contract fulfillment. as though the nights where she had whispered your name like a prayer, where you had held her as she cried because she was so afraid of what this all meant, had simply been part of the job. like the trembling in her hands when she first kissed you hadn’t meant anything at all.

and then came the question that you had felt looming in the air, inevitable and cruel in its timing. the host grinned again, voice lilting with playful curiosity. "last question," they said with a theatrical pause, "ideal types?"

karina didn’t hesitate. not even for a moment. her answer was as smooth as it was devastating. "i like someone dependable," she said with a soft laugh that made your skin crawl, "funny, strong. like… a guy who’s confident. someone who knows what he wants."

for a moment, it was like your heart forgot how to beat altogether. you had never expected her to speak your name into this space. you knew better than to think she would take that risk. you hadn’t wanted her to confess you, not here, not like this. but the ease with which she had erased you, the casual way she made you invisible, carved into you with a quiet brutality you hadn’t prepared for.

the host leaned forward, emboldened by her answer. "oh, very specific," they teased. "tall? handsome? does he work in the industry?"

karina’s gaze drifted somewhere distant, not meeting anyone’s eyes as she added, "maybe. someone who can handle the spotlight. someone my parents would approve of. someone stable. safe."

the word safe echoed through your mind, splintering into every corner of your memory. safe. was it safe when she had pulled you into her arms after long days, when her voice broke as she told you she didn’t know how to want you and still fear you at the same time? was it safe when she had whispered that no one had ever made her feel like you did, that she had never wanted anything like she wanted you? was it safe when her body had trembled beneath your hands, when her lips had found yours in the darkness where no one could see? nothing about what you had shared had been safe. it had been terrifying and thrilling and raw, but never safe.

the host chuckled, still completely unaware of the quiet devastation unfolding between you both. "ah, you have high standards! love that."

the noise around you blurred, the studio shrinking into a narrow tunnel of light and heat. your heartbeat pulsed painfully in your ears, the air growing thinner with each breath you tried to take. but she kept smiling, as though her words hadn’t just gutted you in front of the entire world. she smiled because that was what she was trained to do. the perfect answer. the perfect idol. the perfect fiction. the one who could never claim you. not here. not now. and maybe not ever.

the host, still entirely too cheerful, finally turned to you. "and y/n? what about you?"

you smiled. it was slow, deliberate, and held together by sheer will, even though your entire chest felt like it might collapse inward. you could feel her answer hovering in the space between you, still thick in the air, suffocating and heavy. your voice came out steady, but every word scraped against something raw inside you. "i think i like someone who’s not afraid."

the host blinked, leaning forward slightly, as though sensing the shift but unable to comprehend it.

"someone who isn’t scared to claim me," you continued, your voice quieter now but impossible to mistake. "publicly. fully. not just when it’s easy."

the silence that followed was not soft. it was jagged and brutal, cutting through every false smile in the room. you didn’t need to look at her to feel her shift beside you, but you turned anyway. you met her eyes, wide and full of something that looked like panic, or maybe shame, or maybe the sharp realization of what she had just done. she opened her mouth slightly, as though words might come, but nothing did.

the host gave a small, nervous laugh, desperately trying to break the tension that now choked the air. "oh—mysterious! sounds like there’s a story there!"

but you weren’t listening. not to the host. not to anyone. you stared ahead, your gaze fixed somewhere distant beyond the cameras and the lights, beyond the stage where you had been reduced to a secret that no one would ever be allowed to know. your words hovered, irreversible and final, hanging like an open wound between you both. unapologetic. and for the first time, you felt your heart begin to fracture in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to mend. she was afraid. she had always been afraid. and maybe, no matter how much you had given her, no matter how much you had held her trembling hands in the dark, she always would be.

that wasn’t something you could carry for her anymore.

you felt your heart rip in two.

__

current day

when you finally finish regaling chaewon with the story, you see it in her face. not right away. she stays quiet at first, her expression still, eyes fixed on some invisible point just past you. the room feels too quiet, like even the air is holding its breath. but then her brows pull in slightly, her mouth presses into a thin line, and her fingers curl tighter where they rest against the fabric of the couch. it’s not anger exactly. it’s something quieter. deeper.

frustration. secondhand hurt. the kind that doesn’t explode, but settles heavy in her chest, in her shoulders, in the way she blinks like she’s trying to process too many things at once. her silence isn’t cold. it’s protective.

“you didn’t deserve that,” she says finally, her voice low and steady, but there’s a sharpness to it now. “any of it.”

you don’t answer right away. there’s a lump in your throat, thick and unmoving. you’re not sure what response would even be fair. you’re not blameless. you knew what you were getting into. still, hearing it out loud, from someone who’s always been a step outside the storm, makes it feel real in a way you weren’t ready for.

“i told myself it was worth it,” you murmur, eyes locked on your hands. “that it didn’t matter if it hurt, as long as it meant something.”

chaewon shakes her head slowly, a breath leaving her like it’s been sitting there too long. “but it did matter. it does. you can’t keep setting yourself on fire just to keep something warm that won’t stay.”

your throat tightens. “i know.”

she shifts beside you, reaching out to gently touch your wrist. her hand is warm. grounding. “you love her,” she says, and it isn’t a question. it’s just the truth, spoken softly enough not to break you.

you nod, eyes burning.

“but love isn’t supposed to feel like this all the time.”

you don’t say anything, because you know she’s right. because deep down, you’ve known it for a while.

chaewon squeezes your wrist, just once. “whatever happens next, you don’t have to go through it alone. even if she’s not there... i am.”

your chest tightens and you nod, afraid that saying anything will split you open. chaewon doesn’t speak. she just stays beside you, quiet and solid, like she’s holding the space steady so you don’t have to. still, your mind drifts.

you think of karina. the way she held you like you were hers, kissed you like it meant something, then acted like none of it ever happened. how she made you feel seen, then vanished into silence. how she smiled through that interview and said she liked confident men, like you weren’t sitting right there.

to make matters worse, you still had to see her again. the special stage was in three days. you ignored your managers calls when you hauled yourself home and into chaewon’s arms, her comfort the only tether you had keeping yourself to reality. truthfully, you didn’t think you could face her again.

still, chaewon held you.

[fioredeciliego]

lol,that one anon hating on you,but at the same time hiding behind the anonymity💀if you're that brave hating on Karina,show your username. They're definitely someone who dickride male idols when they get some allegations💀

lmao fr, can't even get mad, just a bunch of pathetic people wanting to be hateful cuz they have nothing better to do with their life

[fioredeciliego]

Ignore that stupid anon they cant even understand whats your point lol

i noticed LMAO. kinda pathetic the length people will go to hate on someone lol

[percivaloath-deactivated2025080]

So,the rose isn't even the symbol of that party🙂

If im being honest,yes,i am honestly disappointed at Karina at first. But after doing some research,and even ask some of my K-Mys moots on Twitter,Karina post is straight up harmless. So, please. I know moral over kpop,but before you decide to be 'dissapointed' or punish her , please do some research🙂

Now all of the girls are getting dragged in twitter for so much allegation coming from haters. And some of you who decided to blame the girls blindly, didn't help at all.

If you have bubble subscription,please send kind messages to the girls too.

You can read more about this here

[fioredeciliego]

Poor Karina can’t have an opinion, while some idols can open their criminals mouth. Even if it was the case she can’t be conservative? Think other things? She must be the good thinker liberals? I will not talk about SK bc I don’t know the politics but in my country the president is right wing (I’m not right or left party) this time after years of liberals, nothing changed I still have my rights and actually a better economy and a lowest crime. The right is seen as a villain (left media propaganda) but not everything is bad. The good thinker hates that to have a better economy we stopped to take illegal alien only allowing those who come by law and actually want to embrace our culture

Left vs right is a pure propaganda mean to make us hate each other all done by powerful people who don’t give a sh t about us.

that's the thing, politics are different in every country. so is culture. from what i've read, SK is fucked no matter if they choose the liberal party candidate or the conservative party candidate as their president.

we have to understand where the korean people are coming from, it is not our culture. but when korean's start defending her against INTERNATIONAL people, it's when you know karina is getting hate just because she is famous, not because of the post

[fioredeciliego]

bruh sybau u riding her wit no license 😭🥀

god forbid i have working brain cells

[fioredeciliego]

the karina situation

i'm not going to lie, when she first uploaded the picture and i saw the meaning behind it in korean culture, i was skeptical. we don't know the idols we stan, not fully at least, so i kept quiet to see what happened.

she deleted the picture 10 minutes after uploading it, she apologized before SM did, saying it was a misunderstanding, so why are people still hating on her? specially international people who have nothing to do with the korean politics culture?

she made a mistake, people are not perfect. i think she has shown us enough to see that she does not support the conservative party.

she has recommended a feminist book, she talked about how women in the idol industry have to work harder, she uploaded a picture with a blue scarf during the last election, and even when korean incels were throwing her hate, she didn't delete it, much less apologized.

the misinformation that is going around is crazy. ai pictures of a jacket with a 1 and blue color? fake. the rose representing the conservative party? fake, it actually represents the labour party of SK. taking clips of her and cutting them out of context so that she looks bad, and people believing it?

and of course she is not going to talk about the other party. do you guys even know what the nasty ass son of the "liberal" president candidate said about her? i hope he burns in hell too.

its crazy what people will do to hate on a woman that made a mistake, but throughout her years of being a public figure has done nothing but show love and respect.

do you know all the male idols that uploaded things in red and red hearts in the captions of ig picture during the last election, and even after getting called out on it, they didn't delete them nor apologize? probably not, cuz they're men, not women. i didn't see ANYONE talking about it. the double standards are crazy.

korean fans and korean feminists are defending her, isn't that enough to believe that she really isn't a conservative? and do not use her religion as an excuse, real catholics love people for who they are. we, who do not live is SK, cannot talk about it. really the only people making it an even bigger deal, EVEN after she apologized, are the international "fans", who finally have a reason to hate her. straight up nasty people.

she held herself accountable for her mistake. she apologized. she deleted the picture. if you don't want to stan her anymore, that's on you, but leave her alone, she just made a mistake, like all of us do. she has been through enough.

inform yourself better. be a better person. don't fall for all the fake things that you see in the internet.

[percivaloath-deactivated2025080]

Why can't all of you just believe Karina,or at least SM this time? All of you who act like you're 'dissapointed' on Karina,are no different from the haters. If it was an accident,it was an accident. Karina and the other girls have done so many goods,with Karina talking about how women was treat differently from men in the industry and she have donated to so many charity,but one mistake like this,all of you defame her like she have done worse than Taeil or Soohyun. At this point, people just use this chance to be misogynist and drag Karina more than what she deserves,and all of you just make it worse😐

[rosachae]

existentialism | karina x reader

⁍ song: bleed - malcom todd, omar apollo ⁍ requested: yes-- thank you anon! ⁍ genre: AU! angsty, fluffy. idol!reader x fansite!karina ⁍ a/n: i hope this is what you were looking for, anon <3 ⁍ wc: 11.3k ⁍ warnings: none that i can think of. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n is an idol in a struggling group from a nearly forgotten company. karina, an amateur photographer, accidentally captures her most unguarded moment onstage. as their lives begin to intersect through late-night messages and fleeting encounters, both must confront what it means to be seen. not as a persona, but as a person beneath the facade.

karina hadn’t meant to become anyone’s favorite fansite. that kind of attention belonged to people with ring lights in their backpacks and watermark signatures they spent hours perfecting. she didn’t even think of herself as that kind of photographer. she just liked the way light hit things. how it caught on collarbones, glinted off earrings, poured over a stage like it was part of the performance.

it started quietly, the way most important things in her life did. it was her 22nd birthday. the restaurant had closed early, not because her parents had time to spare, but because they loved her. aeri had shown up late, out of breath, hair messy from the subway, holding a perfectly wrapped box like it was fragile.

“don’t say i never give you anything,” she’d said, plopping it onto karina’s lap as they sat in the backroom, legs curled on crates of radish and flour.

karina peeled the wrapping slowly, careful with the tape, as if savoring the moment might stretch it out a little longer. inside was a fujifilm x-t4, sleek and unreasonably beautiful. she blinked at it, then looked at aeri, who just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

“you’re always noticing things,” aeri said. “figured you should have something that keeps up.”

karina didn’t touch the camera again for a week. it sat in its box under her bed while she sliced scallions and restocked soy sauce bottles and worked double shifts on weekends. but sometimes, when the dining room was empty and sunlight crept in through the windows just right, she’d find herself picturing how it would look through the viewfinder.

the first real photo she took was of her mother rolling out dough in the morning, flour dusting her hands, her expression somewhere between focused and serene. the shot was imperfect—slightly overexposed—but karina stared at it for longer than she meant to. it didn’t just look like her mother. it felt like her. solid. enduring. full of quiet strength.

after that, she started carrying the camera everywhere. tucked into her tote bag beside chopsticks and gum and receipts she never threw away. she shot alleys and rain puddles, foggy bus windows, the backs of people’s heads on the subway. it wasn’t about creating art. it was about holding onto moments before they passed.

and then one night, aeri dragged her to a music showcase in hongdae. a half-basement space with sticky floors and too many bodies, where the speakers were too loud and the lighting was an assault of reds and blues. karina wasn’t planning on shooting. she almost didn’t bring the camera at all.

but when the first group stepped onto the stage, something shifted. the lights flared, the bass rolled through her ribs, and the girl in the center smiled like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had. karina reached into her bag before she even knew what she was doing. the lens cap came off, the camera powered on, and her fingers moved on instinct. framing, adjusting, snapping, again and again.

later, when she uploaded a few shots—just a handful, raw and unedited, she thought maybe a few friends would see them. maybe aeri would leave a sarcastic comment. instead, her inbox filled up overnight. reblogs. retweets. strangers asking for more. someone called her “the eye behind the moment.”

she didn’t know what to do with that. she wasn’t trying to be known. she just didn’t know how else to look at the world.

but that was only part of it. there was the camera, sure, but karina’s life didn’t revolve around it—not completely. not yet.

the restaurant kept her grounded. a narrow two-story space tucked between a laundry shop and a bike repair store, with faded signage and the smell of grilled mackerel permanently baked into the walls. it used to belong to her parents, but they’d stepped back a few years ago, retiring with the quiet relief of people who had worked too long and too hard. now it was hers, even if she didn’t say that out loud too often. it felt strange, being twenty-something and responsible for payroll and supplier invoices, but she was doing okay. the regulars still came. the lights still turned on every morning.

ningning and minjeong, her best friends since high school, worked the evening shifts. both were juggling classes and internships, trying to survive off iced americanos and convenience store triangle kimbap. working at the restaurant was supposed to be temporary, but it never really felt like work. they were here, together, and that was enough reason to stay.

aeri didn’t work there, but she might as well have. she spent most of her afternoons at one of the corner tables, sketchbook open, doodling commissions or drawing whatever her brain felt like spitting out that day. she said it was the atmosphere. the way the place smelled, the sounds, the way the light fell through the front window. “and also,” she’d added once, “because you feed me for free.”

on nights like this, after hours, the place felt like theirs. dishes cleaned. chairs stacked. lights dimmed. the doors locked, but no one really ready to leave yet.

“minjeong, you missed a whole-ass table,” ningning called out, balancing a wet rag in one hand and dramatically pointing with the other. “again.”

“do you ever shut up?” minjeong deadpanned, wiping in increasingly aggressive circles. “it’s a water ring, not a war crime.”

“i’m just saying, the health inspector would have a field day with your laziness.”

“and yet,” minjeong replied, tossing the rag at ningning’s face with perfect aim, “i’m the one who passed organic chem senior year. unlike somebody.”

ningning shrieked and ducked behind a chair. “low blow! low blow! i was sick with a broken heart!”

“girl, he ghosted you after three dates and a noraebang session,” aeri chimed in without looking up from her sketchpad. “that’s not heartbreak, that’s natural selection.”

karina didn’t laugh, though she probably should have. she didn’t even look up. she was sitting at the far end of the dining room, camera resting on her knees, flicking through photos from a small showcase she’d wandered into last night. it wasn’t a big deal. just a filler show at a lesser-known venue, one of those lineups with too many groups and not enough lighting. but she’d gone anyway. she’d been bored. curious. sometimes the smaller acts surprised her.

and then there was you.

you weren’t even the headliner. she didn’t know your name, didn’t know your group. maybe she wasn’t even supposed to be filming by that point. but you’d stepped into the spotlight and something about the way you moved made her pause. not because it was clean or polished. not because it was loud. there was just something there. something raw and sharp and almost too real to be coming from a stage performance. it wasn’t the choreography. it was your eyes.

she hadn’t even intended to take more photos, but her fingers had moved on instinct. she zoomed in. framed. captured. the moment felt urgent, like it would disappear if she blinked too long. and now, in the quiet hum of the closed restaurant, she was staring at a still image of you mid-chorus, mouth open in song, hair clinging to your cheek with sweat. your expression was unreadable. eyes wide, almost desperate, like you were trying to claw your way out of the screen.

there was something beautiful about that. not in the traditional sense. not the curated kind of beauty fans expected from fancams and photobooks. no, this was different. you looked like you were trying to survive something.

karina liked photos like that. more than she ever admitted. she posted the clean ones, the ones where idols looked like perfection incarnate, frozen in joy and light. she knew that’s what fans wanted. but sometimes, she kept the others for herself. the moments when an idol’s smile didn’t quite reach their eyes. when their shoulders sagged between movements. when their mask cracked.

once, she’d used a photo of a male idol for her university thesis on existentialism. in the picture he was smiling for the crowd, full teeth, perfect posture. but his fists were clenched at his sides, and his knuckles were white. the angle of his body betrayed exhaustion. slightly hunched, like he was about to fold. the essay argued that idols existed in a liminal space between personhood and persona, between being seen and being known. her professor called the photo “haunting.” karina just thought it was honest.

you looked honest, too.

“karina,” aeri called from across the room, pencil tucked behind her ear. “if you don’t stop spacing out and come look at this cursed drawing of ningning with cat ears, i’m going to print it on a t-shirt and wear it to your funeral.”

karina didn’t answer. her thumb hovered over the save button, eyes still fixed on the image of you. something inside her twisted. not unpleasantly. not quite.

maybe she’d go to your next show. maybe she’d take more photos. maybe, this time, she’d take a video. 

there was just something about you that she couldn’t shake, even as the night shifted to morning. 

__

y/n was tired in the way that didn’t show on her face, but lived somewhere in her bones. another performance day. another barely promoted showcase in a cramped venue where the dressing room was just a partition and a folding table, and the smell of sweat and floor cleaner clung to every surface.

it wasn’t that she didn’t love performing, because she did. she really did. but lately, it felt like the love was one sided. her group had been active for long enough that the silence felt personal. comebacks with no traction. practice videos with barely any views. they trained like everyone else, starved like everyone else, cried in stairwells like everyone else. but they weren’t getting anywhere. not really.

their company was small. generous with promises, stingy with everything else. they’d been wearing the same reworked stage outfits for three promotions now, and their stylists had long since stopped showing up to these smaller events. today, they’d done their own makeup in a bathroom mirror with cracked lighting, blending eyeshadow with their fingers and praying no one would notice the frayed edge of a hem or the glue dot holding an earring in place.

“they’ve only got handhelds,” their manager said on the way in. “no headsets. sorry.”

y/n hadn’t answered. she just nodded and adjusted the strap on her mic pack that she now didn’t need.

the group before them was finishing up. another act from another no-name company, probably in the same situation as them. bright smiles, tight formations, doing their absolute best for a crowd of maybe fifty people and a camera crew that would forget their name by morning. they were solid. enthusiastic. the kind of performance that reminded y/n just how replaceable she might be.

she took a breath and let it out slowly, gripping the mic in both hands, the weight of it heavier than usual. it wasn’t nerves exactly. it was something deeper. a slow, crawling ache in her chest that whispered to her long into the quiet hours of the night. every night.

what if this is it? what if this is all there ever is?

“you okay?”

the voice pulled her back. she blinked and asa was suddenly next to her, fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket, eyes darting between her and the edge of the curtain.

“you look like you’re about to throw up,” asa added, laughing, but it was tight. nervous. she was trying to be casual  but the crack in her voice gave her away.

y/n forced a small smile. “thanks. that’s reassuring.”

asa shrugged, tugging at the hem of her sleeve like she always did when she was anxious. “sorry. i just… i dunno. i can’t tell if this venue is hotter than usual or if i’m overheating from impending doom.”

“maybe both.”

asa snorted, then paused. “you think people will actually cheer this time?”

y/n didn’t answer right away. she looked out past the curtain where a small crowd was gathering. half of them probably friends or staff, maybe a few real fans, maybe none at all. she could hear the muffled bass from the group on stage before them, feel it thrumming through the floor.

“i think,” y/n said slowly, “we do what we can. and we make it count. even if no one claps.”

asa nodded, quiet. then she sighed. “i swear to god, if my mic cuts out again mid chorus, i’m quitting and becoming a barista.”

“you can’t even drink coffee.”

“exactly. motivation to keep going.”

y/n huffed a laugh despite herself, and for a second, the ache in her chest eased. not gone. just quieter. 

the stage manager gave them the nod. tight, brisk, all business. asa straightened beside her, tugging her jacket into place one last time. their other members fell into formation like instinct, like ritual. y/n felt her feet move before her mind caught up, boots scuffing slightly against the edge of the raised platform. the mic was cold in her hand, heart knocking against her ribs in a rhythm too fast, too loud.

the lights hit first. hot, blinding, a poor imitation of grandeur. and then the music, tinny through the speakers but familiar in a way that wrapped itself around her spine. she stepped into position, found her mark, breathed.

and then she was performing. no room left for doubt, for fear, for aching questions about whether anyone out there even knew her name. there was only the music, the motion, the echo of their voices layered imperfectly through handheld mics and trembling breath.

she didn’t know if anyone would remember it. 

but she would give them something they could.

karina, embarrassingly enough, had spent most of the night deep in the trenches of the internet. the kind of rabbit hole where time folded in on itself and the only light came from a glowing screen and the blurry reflection of her own dumb, obsessed face. she wasn’t proud of it. but she also wasn’t stopping.

she’d found the smallest of leads. a screenshot from a barely active kakao chatroom used by venue staff. a schedule list, blurry and cropped, buried in a thread about broken light fixtures. in the corner was a group photo of five girls, clearly snapped on someone’s phone with zero artistic intention. the lighting was bad, the focus worse. but one face stood out.

y/n.

karina didn’t know her name at the time. didn’t know the group’s name either, not really. just a half readable hangul tag someone typed without bothering to correct the spelling. it didn’t matter. the only thing that did matter was that the photo didn’t do her justice. not even close.

karina stared at the screen, frustrated. not with y/n, but with the way the world had failed to capture her properly. if it had been her behind the lens, she would’ve framed her with softness and sharp light. she would’ve caught the way her expression shifted between verses, the fire tucked behind her eyes. maybe it was bias. or maybe it was just that she saw what others didn’t. and once she saw it, she couldn’t not see it.

so of course she had to go. of course she had to try. and somehow, by some divine combination of manipulation, bribery, and guilt—she managed to convince aeri, minjeong, and ningning to come with her.

“we closed early for this?” ningning groaned, arms folded as she eyed the neon-lit venue like it had personally offended her.

“my eyeliner is melting,” minjeong added flatly. “you said this was a cultural experience. you didn’t say it would be humid and depressing.”

karina ignored them, already scanning the crowd near the entrance with laser focus.

“do we even know the name of the group?” aeri asked, squinting at the flyer taped to a post. “because i’m not gonna lie, i’m seeing at least three acts with glitter names and vaguely tragic-sounding concepts.”

“we’ll know when we see her,” karina muttered, tightening her grip on her camera like it might help her focus.

“so just to recap,” ningning said, deadpan, “we abandoned paying customers to follow our emotionally repressed friend across the city to chase down a girl she doesn’t know, whose name she doesn’t know, in a group she also doesn’t know, all because she took one blurry photo of her looking vaguely ethereal.”

karina didn’t even flinch. her eyes were locked on the stage entrance like a hunter waiting for a sign. “when she comes out,” she murmured, “you’ll understand.”

“that’s what you said about the tofu place in yongsan,” minjeong replied. “we all got food poisoning.”

“and the time you dragged us to that underground film screening in itaewon,” ningning added, crossing her arms. “you know, the one where the director made us sit on the floor and watch three hours of interpretive dancing and crying in slow motion.”

“art is subjective,” karina said, without looking away from the stage.

“i hate it here,” minjeong cried, but she didn’t move. none of them did. despite all the complaints, the three of them stood beside karina. tucked just inside the dim edge of the crowd, the air heavy with stage fog and cheap hairspray. 

the music had dipped into transition mode. those awkward ten seconds where the next act lined up and the audience collectively held their breath.

karina leaned forward slightly, camera already raised. “shut up,” she whispered. “this is it.”

ningning sighed. “if she’s not the reincarnation of venus i swear to god—”

then the lights came up, and karina pressed the shutter.

the rest of the world collapsed into static. the chatter of the crowd, the sharp whine of a speaker adjusting, even her friends bickering a few steps away. it all blurred into the background. karina didn’t hear a thing. didn’t want to. her camera was already in place, viewfinder pressed to her eye like a second heartbeat.

and then, there you were.

center stage, swallowed in too-bright lights and haze that clung like mist. not even fully in frame yet, but karina felt it in her chest, low and sharp, the same way she sometimes did when stumbling across a perfect shot at golden hour. your movements weren’t perfect, not polished like bigger groups, but there was something in the way you carried the weight of the song. the way your body snapped from choreography into raw instinct. your expression wasn’t just practiced. rather, it looked like it meant something. 

like you were clawing your way out of anonymity with every verse, like every beat might be the last chance you’d get to be seen.

karina adjusted the focus, breath shallow. it wasn’t just technical skill, though you had that, too. it was presence. the kind of magnetism that cracked through cheap lighting and echoed off concrete walls. something unruly and honest. like pain, or hope, or both tangled together.

she didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping the camera until the shutter clicked—soft, barely audible under the music. she filmed. slowly, reverently. tracking you through the chorus, through that sharp turn of your chin, that flicker of emotion in your eyes that felt earnest. 

the music cut out on a final, echoing note, and the lights dimmed just a beat too late—just enough for karina to catch the way y/n’s chest rose and fell, quick and uneven from exertion. and then y/n bowed with the rest of her group and slipped backstage like a ghost.

the crowd gave polite applause. not wild, not dead, just that middle ground kind of lukewarm appreciation that stung more than silence. but karina wasn’t paying attention to them. she let her camera fall against its strap, her fingers still tingling.

“…okay,” ningning said slowly. “i’ll give you that one.”

karina blinked, turning toward her.

“what?”

“you were right,” aeri continued for her, her tongue clicking against her cheek, a look of genuine surprise on her face. “she’s got something. i don’t know what it is exactly, but i wanna draw her like, fifty times and then write poetry about it.”

“i felt things,” minjeong muttered. “against my will.”

“you’re welcome,” karina said, dazed, still watching the empty stage like she expected you to come back out.

ningning raised an eyebrow. “you got the shot?”

karina nodded slowly. “i got something.”

a beat.

“so… what now?” aeri asked. “are we gonna become groupies? follow them around the country? make a fan club?”

karina didn’t answer. not right away. she was already thumbing through the footage, pausing on a frame where y/n’s expression looked too real to be staged. 

“i don’t know,” she murmured. “but i’m not done.”

her friends exchanged a look.

“this is going to turn into another ‘project,’ isn’t it?” minjeong said.

“worse,” ningning sighed. “it’s gonna turn into a feelings thing.”

“i hate when she gets feelings,” aeri added.

karina didn’t bother defending herself. she just hit play again.

because something in her gut told her this wasn’t a one-time thing. this was the beginning of something she didn’t quite have words for yet. but she’d find them.

and when she did, you’d be in every frame.

when y/n stepped off stage, her chest was heaving, every breath thick with adrenaline and exhaustion. sweat clung to the back of her neck, her limbs heavy, the kind of heavy that only came after pouring yourself into something with no guarantee it mattered.

she gave it her all. she really did.

“you okay?” asa asked, brushing past her to grab a water bottle off the folding table in the corner of the backstage hallway. her voice was hushed, cautious.

y/n nodded, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “yeah. just… heart’s still racing.”

“mine too,” asa admitted, cracking the cap. “i thought my mic was gonna short out halfway through the bridge.”

“it might’ve,” y/n muttered, half-laughing, rubbing at her temples. “i think i was singing in the wrong key the entire chorus.”

“you were fine. we were fine,” asa said, then added more quietly, “better than we usually are.”

before y/n could respond, their manager rounded the corner with that frantic, harried look she always wore after a performance. clipboard in one hand, phone in the other, pressed between her shoulder and ear.

“come on, come on,” she barked, waving them forward. “wrap it up. van’s waiting out back. you guys did great. people clapped. that’s something.”

asa rolled her eyes and shoved her bottle into her bag. y/n followed, muscles aching, nerves still frayed. but there was something buzzing beneath it all. a strange energy she couldn’t place.

they stepped out into the back lot, the cool night air a welcome slap of relief. she was just about to pull her hoodie up over her head. 

flash.

a camera went off. bright, sudden, close. too close.

y/n flinched, instinctively jerking back, hand half-raised in defense. she blinked hard, vision adjusting, and there—just a few steps away—was a girl.

not a fan, not press. she didn’t look like the others. she wasn’t shoving a phone in y/n’s face or shouting a name. she was just standing there, camera still in hand, eyes wide with guilt and something else. awe, maybe.

“shit,” the girl said quickly, lowering the camera. “sorry. that was… i didn’t mean to get in your face like that.”

y/n shook her head, still catching her breath. “it’s fine. just surprised me.”

the girl stepped back, hands slightly raised like she was trying to prove she meant no harm. her features were striking. she almost looked unreal. elegant, sharp around the edges, but softened by the way she kept worrying her bottom lip. probably the prettiest girl y/n had ever met. which was unfair, honestly, considering she had just finished a performance looking like she crawled out of a thunderstorm.

“i, um…” the girl hesitated, then gestured vaguely to her camera. “i like your music. i mean. tonight. you… stood out.”

y/n blinked. what? she let out a short laugh, soft and self-deprecating.

 “you must’ve really low standards.”

the girl smiled, slow and a little crooked. “or really good taste.”

that pulled a quiet laugh out of y/n, one that surprised even her. there was something disarming about the way the girl looked at her. not in a dissecting, distant way, but like she saw something worth keeping.

“i’m karina,” she offered, finally.

y/n glanced over her shoulder at the van, her group piling in, her manager waving impatiently. then she looked back.

“y/n.”

karina nodded, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “i know.”

and somehow, that didn’t feel creepy. it felt… kind.

the flash didn’t seem so jarring anymore.

y/n lingered at the edge of the lot, hoodie bunched in her hands, still warm from the stage lights and not quite ready to disappear into the van’s flickering overhead bulbs and the smell of fast food wrappers. karina hadn’t moved either. camera still slung over one shoulder, fingers curled around the strap like she didn’t want to let go just yet.

“you always do this?” y/n asked, tilting her head slightly. “ambush tired performers in alleys with flashes and compliments?”

karina grinned, just a hint. “only the ones who make me feel something.”

y/n raised a brow, caught off guard by how sincere it sounded coming from someone with a smile that could cure all ailments. “you’re smooth. has anyone told you that?”

“no,” karina said, a little too quickly. “i mean. they have. but not like… seriously.”

y/n laughed, properly this time. it came up from her chest, unexpected, and when it slipped into the air, karina looked—well, proud. like she’d won something.

“i just wanted one more shot,” karina added, a bit softer now. “you had this moment on stage. just… I don’t know. you looked like you were carrying the whole song in your bones. like it was breaking you and holding you together at the same time.”

y/n’s smile faltered.  not in a bad way. just… enough to let something real settle between them.

“you saw that?”

karina nodded. “yeah. and i got it. i think. i hope.”

a honk cut through the quiet. asa leaned out the van window, clearly fed up. “y/n! if we leave without you it’s not personal!”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t turn away just yet.

karina cleared her throat, suddenly shy. “i mean. if you want the photo, i could send it. or… whatever. if that’s weird, ignore me. this is probably weird.”

y/n held out her hand. “give me your phone.”

karina blinked. “what?”

“so i can put my number in it. for the photo,” she added, almost teasing. “and maybe because I owe you a proper thank you that doesn’t involve me looking like i’m about to collapse.”

karina handed it over without a word, eyes wide but amused. their fingers brushed.

and y/n, still riding the echo of a half-empty stage and a performance she’d nearly drowned in, thought—for the first time in a long while—that maybe someone had seen her after all.

not just the version she performed.

her.

y/n finished typing and handed the phone back, her thumb brushing lightly against karina’s as she did. the contact was brief, but it left something charged in the air, something that hummed between them like the aftermath of a too-good chorus.

“thanks,” y/n said, backing toward the van. “for the picture. and, you know… seeing me.”

karina offered a crooked smile, a little too honest. “i couldn’t not.”

y/n’s lips twitched. half amusement, half something softer. “you’re gonna make me regret not being more photogenic.”

“you’re already wrong about that,” karina said, voice barely above the sound of the idling engine behind them.

y/n shook her head, cheeks warm, and turned to leave.

asa opened the door from inside, leaning out dramatically. “did you just flirt with a fan?”

“you don’t even have fans,” one of the others chimed in from the back.

“shut up,” y/n muttered, ducking into the van as laughter erupted.

karina stood there for a moment longer, watching the van pull away until its tail lights blurred against the city’s glow. her hand was still wrapped loosely around her phone, like it hadn’t registered yet that she was holding more than just a contact. it was the beginning of something.

she wandered back toward where she left her friends, the girls loitering near the venue entrance just outside a half-shuttered convenience store, picking at bags of chips like they hadn’t been standing in the cold for twenty minutes.

“well that took forever,” ningning said as karina approached. “what’d she do, recite her entire discography?”

minjeong popped a chip in her mouth. “karina’s blushing.”

“i am not,” karina said, immediately.

“you so are,” aeri chimed. “girl, you’re one soft smile away from writing her poetry in your notes app.”

“shut up,” karina muttered, but she was smiling, and they knew it.

by the time they got back to the apartment, it was late and the city had settled into its usual lull. neon signs blinking slower, streets emptier, the hum of life still present but quieter now.

karina plugged in her camera the second she walked through the door, pushing past the chaos of their coat pile and ignored dinner dishes. she transferred the files with practiced ease, fingers flying across her keyboard, eyes scanning through each frame.

she didn’t post everything. just her favorites. the ones that mattered.

a still of y/n mid chorus, eyes wide, mouth open, hand outstretched like she was trying to grab something intangible.

a candid just before the final note, sweat glinting at her temple, expression cracked open with something raw.

a short clip from the bridge— shaky, imperfect, real—where y/n’s voice dipped low enough to sound like a confession.

she uploaded them to the fansite, quietly, without fanfare. no clickbait captions. just a few words.

“she deserves to be seen.”

and then she closed her laptop, let her head fall back against the couch, the hum of adrenaline slowly dying down.

she had no idea what she’d just done.

no idea that by morning, the photos would be everywhere. that hashtags would start trending. that the internet would do what it does best. amplify. echo. obsess.

no one knew yet, not even karina, that the post would change everything.

__

one day y/n’s group was scraping together performances at half lit venues with static ridden mics and lukewarm crowds. almost overnight, their company—which had long operated on the thinnest of margins, barely scraping together enough for rented rehearsal spaces and reused stage outfits—found itself overwhelmed. it started slowly, then all at once.

more likes on a performance clip, a few reposts from bigger accounts, a comment section that suddenly wasn’t empty. then, emails came in faster than they could answer them. variety show invitations, modeling inquiries, stylists offering racks of clothes they never would have dreamed of affording, choreographers who used to work exclusively with chart topping acts now asking if they had time to meet. people who once ignored them suddenly wanted a piece of them.

the difference was staggering. their managers were stunned, stumbling through new opportunities with wide eyes and open calendars. it wasn’t luck. it wasn’t a random viral moment.

everyone knew where it started. even if they didn’t say it out loud. it was the photos.

karina’s photos.

not just because they were beautiful, though they were. it was the way they captured something deeper. something true. the exhaustion behind a sharp smile. the fire behind a subtle glance. the quiet power of a girl mid performance, holding nothing back because she never had the luxury of half trying. and for the first time, everyone was finally paying attention. not the passive kind of attention, not the polite clapping or half hearted glances they had grown used to. this was real. eyes wide, breath held, curiosity turning into obsession.

karina had managed to benefit from it, too. her inbox was filled with requests from magazines, creative agencies, brand managers. people she once looked up to were asking her to shoot for them. she was getting job offers, collaboration deals, invitations to events where her camera had once only earned her sidelong glances. they weren’t just looking for any photographer. they wanted the one who saw what others missed. the one who told stories through still frames. the one who captured something real.

karina was no longer just another fansite admin with a good lens and a sharp eye, working nine to five in her parents old shop.

she was an artist. a name people remembered.

but even with all the momentum, all the noise and new beginnings, she never stopped being what she had been from the start.

your biggest fan.

she sent the photo late one night. for a moment as she sat in the closed restaurant, minjeong and ningning arguing about in their typical way, she stared down at the contact you put in her phone. she hesitated, at least for a moment. the memory of your kind smile, your soft spoken voice. her fingers glided across the screen in tandem with her beating heart. no fanfare, no filter. just a single image attached to a quiet message. it was the close up she took of you after the show. you were caught mid-step, your hoodie bunched loosely in your hands, the flash of her camera catching you off guard. there was no performance left in your face. no mask, no practiced smile. just fatigue and something softer beneath it.  you weren’t posing. you didn’t even know she was watching. the message that came with it was short.

thought you might want this one. it felt like yours.

you stared at the photo longer than you meant to when the message chimed in your phone. not because of the lighting or the angle or the composition. it was the way it made you feel like someone had been paying attention, not to the version of you you put forward, but to the one you were seldom able to show.

you didn’t know what to say, so you kept it simple.

i don’t know how you did that. but thank you. really.

and that was how it started. not with fireworks, not with some grand confession or twist of fate. just a photo, a message, and the quiet, unmistakable feeling that someone out there understood something about you before you’d even found the words for it yourself.

there were late night messages, the kind that came unprompted but never unwelcome. blurry voice notes where laughter bled into silence. text threads that stretched past 2am, full of half-formed thoughts and gentle check ins. karina always said she was just doing what any fan would do, but it never felt like that—not to you. because when she spoke to you, she didn’t perform. she didn’t talk like someone trying to impress a name on a screen. she never asked for a selfie or a signature, never treated you like a symbol to collect or admire from a distance. instead, she asked about your day. she wondered if the stage lights ever gave you headaches, if you ever got tired of being seen all the time, but rarely looked at for real.

you told her things you hadn’t said out loud in months. about how much you missed home.  about how your own voice made you wince when you heard it back in interviews. about how surreal it felt to be loved so loudly and still feel, somehow, invisible.

karina never rushed to reassure you. she didn’t offer pity or polished wisdom. she just listened, and when she answered, it was always with care. always in a way that made you feel solid again, like a person instead of a product.

and you gave that back, in your own way. you asked her about her photography, about her life. you asked about her best friends, the ones you started recognizing in the background of her instagram stories. ningning with the bright smile, minjeong with the dry wit, and aeri, the chaotic artist who seemed to live in bursts of color.

karina began sending you photos she never posted anywhere else. quiet moments. behind-the-scenes shots of a life unfolding in soft focus. unedited, warm, honest. glimpses of the world as she saw it, framed not for performance, but for truth.

and somewhere in those quiet, electric moments, something shifted.  not all at once. not with drama or declarations. just a bond.

weeks later, your group found themselves sitting beneath the glare of studio lights, surrounded by producers, stylists, and a modest but buzzing live audience. it was your first real appearance on a major network talk show—an undeniable sign that something had shifted. the couches were too stiff, the air too cold, and you were suddenly aware of every camera angle, every eye trained on you.

and yet, when the host leaned forward with an easy smile and asked, “what do you think changed? what made things finally click for your group?”

you didn’t hesitate.

“a fan,” you said.

then, almost instinctively, you softened. your fingers fidgeted slightly in your lap, but your voice held steady.

“or… maybe not just a fan. she took this photo of me that kind of blew up online. it wasn’t, like, flattering in the usual sense. it wasn’t pretty-pretty. i looked tired. drained, even. but it felt real. like someone had caught something honest. i didn’t even realize how much i’d been holding in until i saw it.”

you paused, glancing down as if the words themselves carried weight.

“i guess it was the first time i looked at a photo and didn’t think, that’s what i’m supposed to look like. instead, i thought, yeah. that’s me. and somehow, that made me want to keep going. she didn’t glam me up. she gave me back to myself.”

the studio went quiet for a beat. not out of discomfort, but reverence. then the applause came. soft at first, then rising.

across the city karina sat in her apartment above the restaurant, laptop balanced on a stack of art books, camera lenses spread across the coffee table like instruments mid-performance. aeri was on the floor beside her, paint-splattered sweatpants and brush in hand, halfway through a bold, chaotic canvas.

minjeong was sprawled on the couch, bowl of popcorn in her lap. when the interview clip played and your voice filled the room, she didn’t even look up. she just tossed a handful of popcorn straight at karina’s head.

“you’re in love,” she said, deadpan.

karina didn’t blink. didn’t even react. her eyes were locked on the screen, on the way you smiled at the end of your sentence like you were thinking of someone specific.

“shut up,” she mumbled.

aeri snorted from the floor. “it’s giving muse energy.”

karina said nothing. she was already reaching for her camera bag.

the next day, she was at inkigayo. her press pass hung around her neck, laminated and slightly bent from use. her camera bag was snug against her hip, and her hands were calm, practiced, like they’d been made to hold that camera. the venue was a storm. fans crowding the barriers, chants echoing, lightsticks flashing like signals in a galaxy of movement.

but when you stepped on stage, something in the atmosphere changed.

karina found her place front left of the pit. she didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until your eyes found hers. it happened somewhere between the pre-chorus and second verse. one glance, a pause in the blur of it all. you saw her. really saw her. hair tied back, camera steady, face tilted just slightly as if she didn’t want to blink and risk missing something. 

you smiled. not the practiced curve they taught you during training. not the camera ready flash for fanservice or headlines. this smile was different. unguarded. real. and in that moment, amidst the pulsing beat and the sea of screaming voices, you didn’t feel like a product. you didn’t feel like a placeholder in a group scraping to stay relevant.

you felt like you.

and it was all because of karina.

__

karina wasn’t sure what exactly made her send the message. maybe it was the way the restaurant felt too still that afternoon, the echo of wiped-down surfaces and idle ceiling fans humming like a nervous heartbeat. maybe it was the thought of y/n finally having a rare day off, the kind she barely got anymore, and wanting—no, needing—to be part of how she spent it. either way, her fingers had moved before her brain caught up, and suddenly the invitation had been sent.

it wasn’t phrased like an invitation, not really. just a casual mention.

 i’m at the restaurant today. it’s quiet. 

she’d told the others to clear out well before sunset. ningning pouted. aeri dramatically draped herself over the bar like it was a tragedy. minjeong smirked with that knowing look that made karina want to crawl into the floor. they left, eventually, but not before tossing back a few parting jabs.

“don’t combust,” ningning had said sweetly, snatching her drink on the way out.

 “try not to sweat through your shirt,” aeri added from the doorway.

 minjeong just leaned in, low and amused. “don’t blow it.”

karina scrubbed the same table three more times after they were gone, even though it was already spotless. the place looked as perfect as it could. lights dimmed just enough, music barely audible, the warm smell of soy and grilled rice still lingering from the afternoon rush. she fixed her shirt twice, changed it once, then changed back. she told herself it wasn’t a date, even though her heart hadn’t stopped racing since noon.

when y/n arrived, it was quiet. no cameras. no staff. just asa’s car slipping down the street and disappearing around the corner like a secret. the door creaked open, and there she was. hood up, mask tucked low on her chin, eyes wide with something that looked almost shy.

“hey,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

karina could barely breathe. “hi.”

y/n pulled her mask down fully once the door clicked shut behind her. she glanced around, taking it all in. the faded wood of the booths, the soft clatter of wind against the windows, the smell of something warm and faintly sweet still hanging in the air. her expression softened. 

“it’s cute,” she said. “feels like home.”

karina didn’t know how to answer that, not really. she just rubbed the back of her neck, nodded awkwardly, and offered to make her something to eat. y/n didn’t protest. she perched on a stool by the counter, elbows resting loosely on the edge, watching with something like quiet amusement as karina bustled around the kitchen pretending she wasn’t hyper aware of every movement.

they talked about nothing at first. food, the weather, the stray cat that kept appearing by the dumpster out back. y/n teased her about being bossy with her friends. karina rolled her eyes and muttered something about “necessary survival tactics.” there was laughter, easy and unforced, and then there were silences that didn’t feel empty at all.

at one point, karina dropped a spoon. y/n leaned down to pick it up before she could, their hands brushing, barely. it wasn’t a moment worth writing down, but it lingered.

after dinner—mismatched bowls and a shared plate of grilled dumplings—they moved upstairs to the apartment above the restaurant. karina unlocked the door like it was something intimate, not just a key, and y/n stepped in slowly, quietly, her eyes moving over the space.

it was simple. lived in. warm in the way real places are, the kind that don’t need curated furniture or expensive lighting to feel whole. a stack of photo books by the window. slippers kicked halfway under the couch. art pinned carelessly to the fridge with old magnets.

“this feels familiar,” y/n said, her voice lower now, thoughtful. “my parents used to have a place kind of like this. smaller, though. messier. but... same energy.”

y/n drifted toward the table by the window, where the light hit soft and slanted, and her gaze landed on the camera resting there like something waiting to be remembered. her fingers hovered first, then moved with quiet confidence, tracing the curve of the strap, the smooth edge of the body, as if she already understood it wasn’t just a tool. like she knew that it was an extension of karina herself.

karina stilled, halfway through reaching for a pair of glasses to pour water, the motion forgotten as she watched. 

“can i?”

the question landed like a hush in the room. karina didn’t answer right away. the instinct to say no curled at the edge of her thoughts, the way it always did. no one touched the camera. not her friends. not even family. it wasn’t about possession, not really. it was about the way memory clung to film, the way the lens saw everything and sometimes too much. she guarded it because she didn’t know how not to.

but y/n didn’t reach like she wanted to take. she waited, like she already knew the weight of what she was asking for.

karina looked at her, at the patience in her eyes, the quiet way her fingers curved but didn’t close around the camera. and something softened.

she nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “yeah. okay.”

her voice was barely above a whisper. but she meant it.

y/n held it with reverence, turning it gently in her hands, fingers moving over buttons and dials like she was trying to learn the shape of karina’s world through touch. the moment stretched, soft and quiet. then, without asking, she lifted it, brought it to eye level, and pointed it at karina.

karina blinked, caught somewhere between startled and breathless.

“wait, i—”

click.

y/n lowered the camera, grinning a little. “too late.”

karina stood frozen, heart thudding in her chest. “you didn’t even warn me.”

“i didn’t need to,” y/n said. she turned the camera around, looked at the preview screen, then smiled again. this time quieter, fonder. “you always say your best photos happen when no one’s paying attention.”

karina didn’t answer right away. her voice felt caught in her throat. when she finally spoke, it came out softer than she meant.

“can i see it?”

y/n hesitated, then handed the camera over. karina looked. the photo wasn’t perfect. her hair was a little out of place. she looked tired, maybe. surprised. vulnerable in a way she usually tried not to be. but there was something else there too. a light behind the eyes. a softness. like maybe, just for a second, someone had seen her without the walls.

“keep it,” karina said, surprising even herself. “if you want.”

y/n just nodded. “i do.”

they stood close now, the space between them quiet but charged. y/n looked at her the way she always did. unflinching, sincere. not with expectation, not with some idolized version of karina in her head. just... her.

“i think,” y/n said slowly, “i wanted to see how you looked when you weren’t behind the lens.”

karina didn’t know how to respond to that. not with words.

so she didn’t.

she stepped forward, just slightly, enough that she could feel the warmth radiating between them. y/n didn’t move back. her eyes flicked to karina’s mouth, then back up.

“is this okay?” karina asked, barely more than a whisper.

y/n smiled, gentle and sure.

“yeah,” she said. “it’s more than okay.”

when they kissed, it wasn’t fireworks or orchestras. it was slow and quiet, like the closing of a door, like the breath before a song begins. it tasted like dumplings and late summer air. like truth. like a beginning. their mouths met gently, not in a rush, not all at once. lips parting slow, testing the shape of closeness. karina’s free hand found y/n’s waist, tentative at first, then firmer when y/n responded with the same kind of softness. the kind that steadies rather than consumes. their noses bumped, slightly, but neither pulled away. instead, they smiled into it—barely, just enough to feel the curve of each other’s lips.

the kiss deepened, not with urgency but with familiarity, the kind that comes from long nights spent talking about nothing, and photographs that said everything. it was quiet. a little clumsy. real.

karina’s fingers slid up the back of y/n’s shirt, curling into the fabric like an anchor. y/n’s hand lifted to her cheek, thumb grazing just beneath her eye, like she was trying to memorize the moment by touch alone. there was no need to fill the silence. no need to ask if this meant something. it already did. the camera between them carefully lowered to a side table, forgotten.

somewhere, downstairs, the ice machine clicked on. a car passed by outside, headlights sweeping shadows across the window.

but up here, there was only the soft thud of a camera on the table, and two girls finally leaning into the gravity that had been pulling them closer from the start.

__

a week had passed since their kiss, since the night they had spent together, a night that lingered like a secret melody beneath everything y/n did. even though they hadn’t seen each other since, karina was the first name on y/n’s lips when she woke, and the last thought before sleep took her. every message from karina was a small lifeline. quiet jokes, shared moments, bits of their worlds folded together across the distance.

today, y/n was back in the practice room, the weight of the choreography solid and familiar beneath her feet, but her mind kept drifting, pulling to the memory of karina’s smile. the warmth of her hand, the way the quiet between them felt less like emptiness and more like space made just for two. moving through the routine gave her a strange kind of comfort, something steady to hold onto while the rest of the world spun faster and farther away.

but then y/n’s phone buzzed. once, twice, a steady stream that pulled her attention away from the mirror where she’d been rehearsing the steps again. she glanced down, the screen flooding with messages. urgent, clipped, impossible to ignore. her manager appeared beside her, eyes wide and serious, voice low but sharp like a warning.

“you need to see this,” she said, handing over her own phone. her hand trembled just a little, the way someone might if they’d just stumbled into a storm.

y/n’s fingers hovered over the screen before she swiped, revealing the dispatch article that tore through the quiet like a blade. the headline was blunt, loud, impossible to miss.

 “rising idol caught in ‘dating scandal’: secret visits to family restaurant spark rumors.” 

the photo below was grainy, taken from a distance, but unmistakable. y/n stepping inside karina’s restaurant, hood pulled low but face visible enough for anyone who knew her to recognize. the caption twisted the simple truth into something explosive, something meant to divide and shame.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat. her heart hammered so fiercely against her ribs she was sure it might burst free at any moment, wild and desperate. no warning came before she was pulled aside from rehearsal, her manager’s grip firm but hurried on her arm as they navigated through sterile hallways to a small, windowless room tucked behind the scenes. the air inside felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves held the weight of every decision made within.

waiting at the long, polished table were the company executives. their faces were unreadable masks, eyes sharp and cold, devoid of any trace of empathy. they didn’t ask how she was doing or what she wanted; they only delivered orders.

“this has to be contained,” the eldest executive said, voice low and clipped, like he was issuing a verdict rather than offering guidance. “the group just broke into the mainstream. your image is crucial. any hint of controversy could set us back months, if not years.”

another executive, younger and more impatient, leaned forward, fingers steepled. “we’ll draft a statement. something tight, professional. deny everything. discredit the source.”

“you understand,” a third added, voice even colder, “you cannot be seen with her again. no contact. no meetings. no social media interactions. if you don’t comply, your career is at risk.”

y/n swallowed hard, words lodged in her throat. she tried to find a foothold in the conversation, to explain, to plead. “but it’s not true. karina and i—we didn’t want this. we didn’t do anything wrong.”

the executives exchanged glances, unimpressed. “this isn’t about truth,” the eldest said flatly. “it’s about control. perception. you are a product. you have a responsibility to protect that.”

the cold finality of their tone crushed something fragile inside her. the group was finally on the rise, the spotlight shining brighter than ever, and now the one thing she wanted most—the quiet connection she’d found—was being torn away, dismissed like a distraction, a liability.

she nodded silently, the weight of their demands settling like a stone in her chest. there was no room for hesitation, no space for feeling. only the harsh reality that the life she had been building might unravel in a heartbeat.

karina was at the restaurant, wiping down tables with a tenderness that seemed almost reverent. the afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting long, lazy shadows across the floor, and the soft quiet wrapped around her like a blanket, fragile and precious. every folded napkin, every wiped surface held an echo of the calm she found in the idol she couldn’t shake from her mind no matter how hard she tried.

and then her phone lit up.

a message from y/n. another from the group chat with her friends, followed by dozens more. strangers with sharp tongues and cruel words.

her fingers trembled as she opened the article. the headline screamed across the screen, twisting the memory of y/n walking through that very door just a week ago into something dark and explosive. her breath hitched. the rag slipped from her hand and fell silently onto the floor.

karina had faced criticism before, the kind that stung and lingered. but this was different. this was a storm that threatened to drown everything she’d built, everything she cared about. her phone flooded with messages calling her reckless, selfish, an opportunist who had destroyed y/n’s rising career. the restaurant’s ratings plummeted, reviews turning venomous, and anonymous whispers spread across social media like wildfire, each one cutting deeper.

her parents called, worried but unsure how to help. karina couldn’t meet their eyes when they asked if she was okay. the guilt weighed heavier than any insult, twisting tight around her chest.

karina slid down behind the restaurant counter, the worn wood cool against her back, just beneath the register where the afternoon light fell soft and golden through the window. her fingers trembled around her phone, still buzzing faintly from the recent facetime call with her parents, their worried faces lingering in her mind. she stared at the screen, the quiet hum of the empty restaurant wrapping around her like a fragile shield.

then, her phone lit up again. y/n’s name, bright and sudden, breaking the silence. karina’s breath hitched. she hesitated a moment, then swiped to answer.

“karina?” y/n’s voice came through, low and fragile.

“yeah,” karina whispered, voice barely steady. “i’m here.”

they sat with the silence for a beat, neither sure where to start. finally, y/n’s voice cracked, raw and uncertain. 

“i’m sorry. for everything. for how this all happened. i didn’t want any of this. especially not to hurt you.”

karina bit her lip, the ache settling deep in her chest.

“i’m scared,” y/n confessed, voice trembling. “they told me to cut you out or i’d lose everything. and i don’t even know what losing you would mean, but it hurts more than i thought it would.”

karina swallowed the lump that rose tight in her throat. listening to y/n made everything feel real. her mind kept bouncing back and forth through memories. seeing y/n on stage at that shabby venue for the very first time, seeing her again and taking all the pictures she knew she would commit to her heart like gospel. the late night calls, the laughter, the vulnerability that y/n shared with her– only her.

the feeling of y/n’s body beside hers last week, her fingers brushing over y/n’s bare shoulder. it was that moment karina decided that no photo, not even her own, could do y/n justice. not when her chest rose and fell with breaths shared between them in that moment then.

karina shook her head, raising a palm to wipe at her eye. she didn’t want to cry. 

 “i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t.” y/n said, voice fragile but steady. “i want to fix this. but right now… i can’t. i’m sorry.”

the call ended, leaving the quiet heavier than before. karina held the phone close to her chest, breathing in the silence. 

a few hours later, y/n’s social media account posted a carefully crafted statement. the words were measured, rehearsed. she denied the rumors, calling karina a “family acquaintance” and insisting they were just friends. her hands trembled as she typed, each sentence feeling like a weight she had no choice but to carry. the message wasn’t hers but it was the only way forward, the only way to keep the chaos from swallowing her whole.

and in the silence that followed, when the noise finally dimmed, there was only one thing left. a photograph resting untouched on y/n’s bedside table. a fragile, quiet trace of what had once been real.

__ 

eight months had passed. eight months of radio silence. eight months y/n spent staring down at karina’s contact, fingers itching to send a message or maybe even call, but she never did. 

y/n stood on a bigger stage than she’d ever imagined, lights blinding, the roar of the crowd a steady pulse beneath her feet. the group had broken through, bigger names, bigger stages. the company still watched closely, but the tight leash had loosened just enough for y/n to breathe without suffocating.

she fought tooth and nail to stay in the group through the scandal, and slowly, the rumors faded, replaced by new headlines, new stories. but the feelings she carried for karina didn’t fade. they lingered, quiet and stubborn, beneath the gloss of the spotlight and the endless cycle of rehearsals and performances.

asa noticed, of course she did. they shared every moment on stage, every late night in the practice room. asa watched y/n carefully, her eyes sharp behind a calm smile, the kind that didn’t miss a thing. one night, after a long day, she finally asked.

asa sat beside y/n on the floor of the practice room, their backs leaning against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them. the hum of the overhead lights filled the quiet space, the only sound left after the others had trickled out hours ago. sweat clung to their skin, and the ache of the day settled deep in their bones, but neither of them moved to leave.

asa nudged a water bottle toward y/n with her foot. “you’ve been zoning out during cooldowns,” she said, not accusing, just stating. “your balance was off in the last run-through.”

y/n took the bottle, twisting the cap with tired fingers. “just tired,” she muttered.

asa nodded, letting the answer sit. she didn’t push. just drank her own water and rested her head back against the mirrored wall behind them. they sat like that for a minute, letting the silence stretch.

“this comeback’s going to be huge,” asa said eventually. “crazy to think about, huh? the venues, the collabs, the brand deals.”

“yeah,” y/n said softly. her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

asa glanced over, watching her carefully. “it’s everything we used to talk about back then. when we were stuck in those tiny green rooms and eating takeout at 3am.”

“everything we wanted,” y/n echoed.

asa was quiet for a moment. then, gently, she added, “but you haven’t really smiled since we got it.”

y/n’s breath caught, but she didn’t say anything right away. instead, she stared at the water bottle in her hands, fingers tightening around it.

asa didn’t push. she never did. she just waited, her presence steady and warm beside her.

“i never asked,” asa said quietly. “about… everything that happened. with her.”

y/n didn’t look up. her throat tightened. “there wasn’t anything to say.”

“maybe not then,” asa said. “but maybe now.”

y/n blinked slowly, eyes stinging for reasons she didn’t want to admit. the wall she’d built around those memories had held for eight long months, but asa’s voice chipped at it with every soft word.

asa reached over, placing a hand gently over y/n’s. “i’m not asking because i want the story. i’m asking because you look like you’re carrying something too heavy on your own.”

the quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. it was the kind that made space. the kind that waited, patiently, for whatever came next.

and this time, y/n didn’t pull away. her grip loosened around the bottle. her shoulders, tense and drawn for what felt like forever, slumped the slightest bit.

“she saw me,” y/n said, voice so quiet asa had to lean in. “before all this. before the stages and the endorsements. she saw me.”

the words hung in the air between them, soft but heavy.

“i think that’s what scared me the most,” y/n continued, her gaze fixed on a smudge on the mirror across from them. “that someone could see me like that… and i let her go anyway.”

asa stayed quiet, giving her space. she didn’t press, didn’t try to offer empty comfort. just waited.

“everything’s gotten so big,” y/n murmured. “and i thought that was the point, right? to make it. to have people scream your name and sing your lyrics back to you. but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like mine.”

asa finally moved, reaching out to gently nudge y/n’s knee with her own. “you’ve been carrying that by yourself for a long time.”

“yeah,” y/n whispered. “and i’m tired.”

asa exhaled softly. “she’s the reason we’re even here, you know. if she hadn’t believed in you back then...”

“i know.”

asa gave her a long look. “so let me ask you something. when was the last time you were happy? like really, genuinely happy?”

y/n didn’t answer at first. her throat felt too tight, her chest too full.

asa tilted her head, voice gentle but firm. “i think you know. and i think you’ve known this whole time. you’ve given everything to this dream, and you’re still standing, y/n. but maybe it’s okay to want something that doesn’t come with stage lights and fan chants. maybe it’s okay to want something just for you.”

y/n looked down at her hands. her voice barely made it out.

“i miss her.”

asa nodded. “then go.”

and that was it. just the quiet support of someone who understood. the next steps were y/n’s to take, but for the first time in months, the path forward didn’t feel so impossible.

asa didn’t stop there. quietly, she reached out to contacts. first it was aeri, an artist she found through a post karina tagged her in on instagram. karina had kept posting after the worst of it. the restaurant, the sunrises, the small joys she’d reclaimed for herself. she no longer took photos of idols. no one could match the beauty she’d found in y/n.

with aeri, minjeong, and ningning’s help, a plan took shape. one quiet night, far from the prying eyes that once haunted them, y/n found herself standing outside karina’s apartment above the restaurant. it was two in the morning, the streets hushed and safe.

y/n took a deep breath and knocked.

karina opened the door, blinking against the dim hallway light, still wrapped in the warmth of sleep and the softness of an old sweatshirt. her brows furrowed for half a second in confusion. until she saw who it was.

“y/n..? wha—”

but she didn’t get to finish.

y/n stepped forward without hesitation, the weight of months crashing into her all at once. she grabbed the front of karina’s coat, fingers curling tight like if she let go, she might lose her again. and then she kissed her.

not tentative, not gentle. it was aching and desperate, like a dam breaking, like all the silence between them finally gave way. y/n poured everything into it. every sleepless night, every unsent message, every whispered apology. karina froze for only a heartbeat before she melted into it, her hands rising instinctively to cradle y/n’s face, thumbs brushing damp cheeks she hadn’t realized were wet.

the kiss deepened slowly, softening. less desperation now, more familiarity. recognition. karina tasted salt and the faintest trace of mint lip balm, and something about it broke her open too.

when they finally pulled away, karina simply stood in shock. her offhand found y/n’s waist, holding her close. y/n stared back at her, eyes wide and sincere.

“thank you,” y/n whispered, voice thick with everything left unsaid. “for seeing me when no one else did.”

karina didn’t speak right away. her thumb brushed gently over the fabric at y/n’s side, grounding herself in the moment, in the weight and warmth of her. everything felt fragile. like if she moved too fast, it might vanish. but y/n was still there. standing in front of her. real. closer than she’d been in months.

karina’s voice came soft, caught somewhere between wonder and heartbreak.

“you think i could’ve looked at you and not seen you?”

y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes flickering down for a second before finding karina’s again.

 “i lost so much of myself trying to hold on to the dream,” she said quietly. “but you… you made me feel like a person, not a product. like i mattered even when i didn’t know if i did.”

karina’s hand slid from her waist to her wrist, fingers curling around her gently. “you always mattered. i just didn’t know if you’d come back.”

“i didn’t either,” y/n admitted. “but somewhere between the stages and the silence, i realized… none of it feels like enough without you.”

the words hung in the air like something sacred.

karina’s eyes searched hers for a long moment, as if trying to find the truth beneath all the hurt, all the time they’d lost. what she found there must have been enough. because when she leaned in again, slower this time, more certain, it wasn’t a kiss born of urgency or ache.

in that moment, beneath the quiet hum of the city at night, y/n realized something that had been true all along. through every stage and every spotlight, through every dream she chased, it was karina who mattered more than anything. more than fame, more than success, more than the future she thought she wanted.

the future she truly wanted was here, in this small, fragile moment, with karina.

[fioredeciliego]

kingdom come is done!!!! so sorry for making you guys wait:( uni kicked my ass frfr. anyways, now that kingdome come is done, and i am officially out of ideas, you guys can send in your requests! once again i am so sorry for how long the final chapter took. thank you guys for enjoying kingdome come! until the next!!!<3