oi! i'm lulu (she/her) ykw london-based, muslim, and making questionable narrative decisions w confidence. i usually haunt jcink, but somehow hydra got me and now i'm emotionally invested against my will. it happens. i write girls who feel things too loudly and bang minah is my first muse here and genuinely the pinkprint: sweet, sparkly, mildly unhinged, and always one bad choice away from utter disaster. i'm big on messy dynamics and plots that spiral because nobody thought it through (on purpose). i'm friendly, a menace in the dms, let's be besties, rivals, emotional support, or the reason my muse needs a lie-down. 😇
BANG MINAH (21) trainee no. 003 / ex-volleyball player / new money menace
born in busan, south korea -> moved to north carolina, usa 🤠 yeehawww.
her dad is a car dealership commercial mogul new money.
joined her first company at 14 after falling down a kpop fancam rabbit hole (hyolyn ruined her life in the best way)
she went through a survival show similar to "produce 101"
switched to hydra in june 2025 for "better vibes and cuter practice rooms."
[camera rolls to one of a fellow trainee answering q&as] "minah is not dumb, she's just… emotionally aerodynamic."
not the brightest bulb but she is the prettiest, sweetest, and most likely to offer you a snack mid-breakdown.
calls herself "emotionally resilient and spiritually invested" because she always forgets why she was sad 5 minutes ago.
fashion is half y2k glitter bimbo, half borrowed varsity jacket, half messy af (yes that's three halves who are you to judge her + no she can't do math).
thrives in chaos, wilts in silence, hates being underestimated even if she pretends not to notice. she's also terrible at confrontation, but excellent at avoidance via charm, humour, or physical affection
debuted in girlnextdoor lineup (july 2025)!!! she's finally employed
♡ if your muse is a tired realist, fellow disaster, unhinged rival, or someone who mistakes her kindness for flirting let's 🤠 besties or enemies or both. like this post to plot, dm me, or send me your muse's worst moment and i'll tell you how minah would've made it worse but cuter.
🖇️ playlist coming soon
🧃 pinterest board
🩰 debut goals: she got newjeans and illit omfg....
there's been so much happening in the span of the past few months that bohyun can't even remember what day of the week it is. but she's not complaining. she would never as this is everything that she's been dreaming of.
"is it masochist of me to say that i'm enjoying how full-packed our schedule is?" the question's targeted toward minah who happens to be beside her as they're on standby before their group photoshoot. it seems they've been drowning in shoots and activities, but that's just proof of how well they're doing, right?
plus, she gets to take a bunch of pretty photos before each schedule to upload on their social media accounts. bohyun's always wanted to live like a real-life doll, and that's exactly what she seems to be doing these days. "though, it may help knowing what the date even is today," she states with a muffled chuckle. "but someone will claim that we're very lucky! and i like to believe that, too. were your last promotions this hectic as well?"
minah lets out a quiet laugh through her nose, eyes still fixed on the monitor where staff are zooming in on a photograph of them as though national security depends on it. "a little bit of masochistic, yeah," she says, turning her head to look at bohyun over the rim of her sunglasses. minah glances around the room, at the racks of clothes waiting for their next change, the staff huddled around coffees they haven't had time to finish, sighing. "it's strange, innit? you spend years wanting this sort of life, then one day you get it and suddenly everyone's asking where you've been because you've forgotten to answer messages for three weeks." her mouth twitches.
"i couldn't tell you today's date either. i know i've been awake since half five, and i'm about eighty percent sure it's not sunday...? that's about as far as i've got." she draws one knee up slightly as another stylist passes by without stopping this time (a small victory). bohyun's question lingers though. were the last promotions this hectic? minah thinks about it properly before answering. "hmmm busy, yeah. but this feels different. bigger. everyone's expecting something now. don't get me wrong, though. being knackered's not the worst thing in the world. at least it means something's happening." then her smile returns, cocky. "though if anyone asks me what day it is during this shoot, i'm saying september and seeing if they correct me."
yeonseok is quiet, and it’s unusual. he doesn’t even have the heart to gloat about the fact that minah’s just called him pretty; he’s too busy trying not to imagine a future where she’s crouched down beside her detonated suitcase. crying in some gloomy hotel room and catching her reflection in one of the tacky, gold-framed mirrors mounted on the wall. cheeks stained with glitter and mascara tears— it’s all very dramatic. yeonseok will be 9,000 kilometers away, then, where none of minah’s hypothetical provocateurs will hear him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, snarl at them all to go kick rocks.
he winds an arm around the narrow line of her shoulders and pulls her into his side. hears his own voice, low and with earnest candor: “take the first flight home to me, if you really end up hating it. i’ll meet ya at the airport.” he presses a kiss into her hair and then another. and the second is loud with exaggeration— an over-the-top smooch! near the crown of her head, characterized with an irreverent sort of nonchalance, because he’s not sure she should grasp the enormity of her absence just yet.
… so he lets her go. obediently parks his ass on the lid of her suitcase before immediately changing his mind and then hurling it open unceremoniously. he starts to reorganize its contents without asking, stopping only to gesture loosely at his bag, discarded at the foot of her bed. “you should take something of mine before y’ leave. rummage around. might have somethin’ in there to ward off bad luck or other annoying shit, ‘cause—” he’s managed to ferret out what must be her favorite tube of lip oil and holds it up to his face, triumphantly. “— i am gonna take this. thank you.”
"you absolute melon," she grumbles at his smooches, though she's thoroughly pleased by the kisses. she's earned all three of them. "i'll be booking that flight on my second day, then. but i feel like i should be, i dunno', professional? i'll try it, maybe..."
minah rummages through his bag without question, all with the practiced entitlement of an only child. "the only bad luck i'm worried about is some french bloke catching me in a dodgy outfit and tanks my likability with the girlies online. that's a nightmare, that is." she tosses aside a rogue sock and a stray charger, then her fingers finally snag on a oversized hoodie that smells aggressively of his coconut shampoo and cologne yeonseok wears that clings to her even after he leaves the room.
she hauls it out, holding it up like a piece of forensic evidence. "i'm nicking this," she declares, already yanking it over her head before he can even open his mouth to protest. it swallows her whole, the sleeves dangle past her fingertips. she turns back to him, her face peeking out from the cavernous depths of the hood. "there. now i look like a total babe and you have lip oil you'll probably end up eating by mistake. we're a right pair of muppets, aren't we?"
The lake bates its breath. Lantern-light fractures into a thousand quiet moons, each one bowing where she stands, white upon water. Xue-lan's voice transcends through the mist, a thread at first, then drawn taut between heaven and earth. She sings them an old song — of frost, of a woman who swallowed the moon and forgot the sun — and the court, eager and gilded, hears only what it has come to hear: purity. Harmony. Her voice falls like fine snow over lacquered smiles, and whispers bloom into praise. This is beauty, they think. This is stillness.
But stillness is a discipline, not a truth. One note bends (barely) and the night, faithless, petty thing, answers her wrong. A string trembles. A pulse missteps. She hears it all, every fracture dressed as music, and beneath it something older listens back, familiar as a shadow of a stranger at night. She gathers it, the flaw, the falter, the almost, and cups it neatly into herself. Her voice smooths the world. The water stills. The illusion does not break and applause soon follows, restrained and glittering, admiration paraded as diplomacy. Above it all, she remains offered, never given.
She leaves the water without ripple, until she stands just beyond the reach of watching eyes. There, Xuelan turns to one guest and her smile is a careful wonder, all grace yet no warmth. "Tell me," she says softly, as if confiding a secret rather than a fault, "when something is perfect, do you ever wonder what it is hiding?"
myeongah watched the singer step off the water, looking for all the world like a delicate bit of ice and snow that might shatter if the wind caught it the wrong way. she wasn't interested in the spectacle, though; she'd spent her whole life surrounded by people pretending to be statues, and she could spot a performative bow with her eyes closed. what caught her was the look in their eyes. it was a look myeongah knew well, a sort of quiet panic. she let her fan hang loose from her wrist, feeling unusually settled.
somehow they find one another and when xuelan spoke, asking about the secrets hidden behind a perfect veneer, myeongah didn't snap back with her usual venom; instead, she let out a gravelly chuckle. "if we weren't hiding something, we'd have nothing to talk about the 'perfect' bit is just bait we throw. in truth, if i saw a person who was actually as pure as they looked, i'd likely have them escorted out for being a liability. it's the cracks that make the light worth looking at, isn't it?"
"i'm surrounded by scholars who speak in poems and royals who speak in riddles, and i'm absolutely parched for a bit of honest grit." she wondered if xuelan realised how much that slip in her performance had actually bought her. in a world where everyone was busy polishing their reputations until they bled, that small friction was the only thing that felt real. myeongah found herself thinking about her own masks and how exhausting it was to keep the gears turning without a soul in sight who understood.
time runs now in a nonlinear way— yeonseok finds himself in the future, on a french train with his knees crowded up against the seat in front of him, watching fields of yellow flowers and broad-leaved trees hurtle past the dark waves of minah’s hair. café crème is served in a plastic cup, and the vision of it is half-baked, at best. minah wouldn’t have time to travel like this, in leisure, with or without yeonseok there. even if, by some miracle, he were to gather himself into her suitcase, successfully convince her to suffer the excess baggage fees, and pass through airport security, frankly, he’d spend his days in france exactly the same as he would here in korea: he would wait. he would be immaterial. he feels minah’s fingers tug at his hair and tries not to sulk or make a sound.
“… move? i’ll allow it,” he says, feigning authority, as he finally drifts back into the room. piece by piece. his legs relinquish their hold on her but remain loosely arranged around her waist. “you’re still stuck here as my emotional support, though. ‘m sorry to say, shift’s not over.” — and will it ever be? he purses his lips, thoughtfully, and lets his eyes wander the room.
“so… ‘re you actually almost all packed? if you need me to make a last-minute run to the convenience store, i could, unnie. — for snacks? or… medicine? hangover cures?” scoffing quietly, he runs one of his hands through his still-wet hair. “feel like between your managers and the rest of the group, you’ll be fine. … know there’s no point worrying about ya, but. i still do.”
"i'll be sure to put in for overtime when i'm back." minah groans, quite a theatrical sound of physical pain, and finally hauls herself off him. the loss of contact is immediate, like stepping out of a hot shower into a drafty hallway. she stands there for a second, adjusting her top and running a hand through her hair, then she moves over to the suitcase, looming over it like a judge passing sentence on a particularly pathetic criminal. it's a right state. some clothes, at least three different hair tools that she's definitely going to forget the voltage adapter for. she nudges a stray boot with the toe of her heel, and huffs; she actually wants to crawl back into bed.
"look at it. it's a funeral for my social life," she mutters, grabbing a handful of miscellaneous cables and stuffing them into a side pocket with zero finesse. "i'm going to get to the hotel, open this, and it'll just be a literal explosion of regret. and i'll have to call you, won't i? in the middle of the night, crying because i can't find my favorite lip oil you definitely took and the parisians are being mean to me about my accent..."
she turns back to him, one hand on her hip, her silhouette framed by the mess of her departing life. "you’re just stood there looking pretty. if you're not going to be a suitcase-dweller, at least be a pack mule. come here and sit on this lid for me." she gestures to the bulging suitcase, her eyes flashing, sharp wit that hides the fact that her heart is currently doing about a hundred miles an hour. she'll miss yeonseok a whole lot. "well? chop chop, yeonseok-ah, then we can head to the convenience store."
while bohyun was more than ecstatic to finally get her chance at debuting, she didn't think this many cameras would be surrounding them. of course, she was ready for the stardom to come, but she could see why some stars had to find a separate ego to put on in front of the camera. how could she not feel the pressure, right?
they're finally given some time to breathe, and she hadn't even realized she's looked so tense until minah starts speaking to her. "yeah, i think i'm good," she states with a smile that probably isn't convincing enough. "how long did it take for you to adjust to all these cameras? i mean i'm not camera shy like at all, but this is simply so many people," she explains with a slight shake of her head. "i'm sure they'll edit out anything that doesn't seem broadcast-worthy, but it's still kind of a lot."
they hit the café checkpoint. it's all wicker chairs and postcard synergy, a set piece waiting for a script neither girls got. minah spots a table and nudges bohyun's arm, a sharp mini wake-up call. "look. they're letting us sit. expect a lot of questions about your childhood dreams or what you'd tell your ten-year-old self. it's all very peak-tv, isn't it?" she pulls out a chair carelessly, a small act of rebellion against everyone circling with their lens caps off. she leans against the table, intentionally angling her shoulder to block the primary camera's view of bohyun's nerves. a total accident, obviously.
"but seriously, don't worry about the 'too many people' thing. half of the staff are here to make sure we don't spill coffee on our outfits. the other half? background noise to the soundtrack of us actually getting through the day." she taps the rim of the oversized shades. "and for me, whenever it got too much, i would just look at miru's or naimei's sunnies. you can see your own reflection in them. a trick to check if our 'separate ego' is still pinned on straight."
Clan: the house of nang. basically, they own the keys to the kingdom and probably the skeletons in your nan's closet, too. royal, but they're the ones actually pulling the strings while the king's busy being a "puppet."
The Reputation: according to the plum blossom rags, she's the "gilded viper." the whispers say she's got a tongue that'll take your head off before you've even finished your bow. most folks reckon she's colder than a january morning on the thames, plotting moves three seasons ahead of everyone else.
🦋 SECTION II — Aura
Color: let's call it bruised damson and spilt gold. the color of a nasty punch-up at sunset. expensive purple that bleeds into gold when she's properly wound up.
Trigger: disrespect. you look at her funny or try to treat her like a decorative bit of ornament, and her aura starts flickering like a faulty streetlamp. mention the word "king" or anything from the "before times," and she'll turn the color of a fresh bruise.
The Interpretation: the ton thinks the purple means she's hungry for the throne, for power. your standard power trip, yeah? but that gold shimmer? pure panic mates. she's someone realizing the pedestal they're standing on is made of glass and everyone's got a stone.
🌷 SECTION III — The Heart
Arrangement: playing the field (a minefield) and loving it. she's got the matchmakers in a headlock. she tells them she's not "looking," she's recruiting. if your harmony doesn't bring a fleet of ships or a ministry to the table, please don't bother knocking.
Memory: she remembers nothing. why would the future empress clutter her head with the delusions of a commoner? to myeongah, the 21st century is fantasy. she's lived a thousand years in this skin, and she'll live a thousand more. should another world exist, she's already conquered it and moved on.
The Scandal: word on the streets is, she didn't inherit her spot. there's a pesky rumour about her brother death during the last winter thaw, how the hairpins found next to his body look suspiciously like their family's heirloom silver.
she’s not really sure how she should act around minah now. they’ve always been in between reaching this point: a push and pull where each of them gets dragged back up by the collar before it reaches too far. jaeyi’s gotten too used to the anticipation that this relief is now new ground.
“thank you,” she says shortly, makes sure that her voice is light and relaxed. minah shouldn’t know about how much she’s been worrying over fitting in a piece of the group’s puzzle. the thought of having fans is foreign but welcomed, because jaeyi’s been dreaming of it for as long as she’s remembered. the landscape of france embraces them with, of course, romantic undertones. it’s almost as if she could forget being under the eyes of these fans and their cameras because she’s beside minah.
still, she doesn’t tell her that. what are the extent of these feelings? how much has this connection changed? are they still half acquaintances and half rivals, except now they kiss frequently? “you’re used to that madness, i’m assuming? you should help me settle in.”
minah stops her backward-walking-dance-routine just before she can actually commit to the bit and trip over a stack of sandbags, leaning her weight onto one hip with a forced, practiced grace. "okay, i'll help. rule one: if you're going to cry, do it in the third stall of the practice room toilets. better acoustics, and the manager never looks there because the lights dodgy."
she stares at jaeyi then for a fraction of a second longer than her 'cool girl' persona should allow. the rival-half of their equation is screaming for her to say something cutting, but the 'kissing' half is making her heart do a pathetic little syncopated rhythm.
"don't worry," minah whispers, spinning back around to face the catering van, dangerously close to sincere. "it's mostly just sweat and hairspray from here on out. the girls are opinionated, but they always mean well. and... you're a fast learner. you'll fit into the puzzle just right." she starts walking again, faster now, the distance between them a safety net she isn't ready to burn yet. that's how she'll help jaeyi, too. "come on then. if we're late for the debrief, i'm telling miru stealing those chips was your idea."
yeonseok seems to dissolve under minah’s touch, entirely mollified. he lets his eyes fall shut, sighs against the gentle draw of her thumb along the nape of his neck. the feeling of it is a familiar comfort. so much so that he listens to her opinion on croissants— an opinion he’d typically consider an act of sacrilege— without any protest whatsoever. it’s a win for him, all things considered. and if there’s anything yeonseok likes more than the thought of a flaky croissant, then it’s the thought of winning.
he opens his eyes again. minah is closer now. yeonseok nearly goes cross-eyed trying to fix his gaze upon her. he wants to waste more of their time trying to count each one of her eyelashes, but from up this close, everything about her is spongy and indistinct. blurred edges like a halo of sun. yeonseok lowers his voice: “well, my thing is being more than slightly obsessive, so where do we go from here.”
if he’s honest with himself, he’ll come to find that it’s not france that unnerves him. not really. what unnerves yeonseok is a future of facetimes. of having to witness minah’s life through a camera lens. digital testimony. choreographed programming followed by candid debriefs. “… i don’t wanna hear you just moan about it. i wanna be with you, in your rubbish café. drinking your rubbish coffee.” and it’s all a very juvenile train of thought, he knows. he tightens his hold around her, then drops his forehead to the junction between her shoulder and neck. exhales something that sounds almost like a laugh. “tell me ‘s not a bad idea, though— you know, i’ve never been to europe. if y’ got room in your suitcase, i’m… very flexible.”
minah lets out a breathy, lopsided laugh that vibrates against his collarbone. the mental image of yeonseok, all long limbs and expensive tastes, trying to fold himself into her battered hard-shell suitcase between her dr. martens and a tangled mess of charging cables is almost too much. "you're a menace," she mumbles, her fingers stalling their rhythm on his neck for a second to give his hair a playful, but grounding tug. "an absolute menace. i'm not paying the excess baggage fees for a sulky boy who's just going to complain that the french train seats are too small for his legs."
she settles her body more comfortably against him, the bravado of her earlier entrance fully drained away. his admission is a raw, juvenile honesty of just wanting to be there and makes her chest feel tight in a way that's lovely. minah is a softie behind her cool girl act. she pulls back just an inch, her nose brushing against his as she searches his face. "but if you did happen to find yourself in the 11th arrondissement... i suppose i could show you where the least-rubbish coffee is. since you're so 'flexible' and all."
she gives his cheek one last, affectionate squish. "don't make me get all sappy," she warns, pulling back with a tiny smirk. "i've got a reputation to uphold. now, are you actually going to let me move, or am I stuck here as your emotional support human for the rest of the afternoon?"
the logistics of having a responsible meltdown.
for @hdminah 🌿
YEONSEOK HAS MADE HIMSELF A COFFIN OUT OF MINAH’S BED. fresh off a post-practice shower, skin rubbed raw and red and radiating heat, he lies motionless in it: too alive to be mistaken for a corpse, and yet, he hopes she’ll still mourn him all the same. it’s nearing the end of february. it’ll be spring soon, and yeonseok has historically been good with change. haru had flown out a month ago, and yeonseok had learned what it was to live without him, resigned himself to learning this about the others too: bohyun. jaeyi. but not minah. — not yet.
when she’s near enough, he hooks one of his long legs around her and pulls her close. just enough, until he’s able to sit up and wind his arms around her too. real iron maiden, medieval torture device type shit. yeonseok knows he's being unreasonable. “… don’t go, unnie.” he doesn’t look up at her. instead, stares vacantly at the wall across the room. sullen and sulky. “you’re gonna have the time of your life, take a bite from some stupid croissant and forget all about me here. i know you will.”
minah takes the scene in with one sweeping glance. her bed. her pillows. yeonseok sprawled across the middle of it like a victorian widow waiting for consumption to finally finish the job. she shuts the door behind her with a sharp click of her boots heel. "you're being a proper melt, yeonseok-ah."
he looks pink and overheated, sulking into her duvet but then; the leg. it hooks around her waist, dragging her in like she's a heavy asos parcel he's absolutely refusing to return. she stumbles forward with a startled, "oi, watch it," but she doesn't actually fight him. she never does. it's their rhythm, the pull and the inevitable give. minah exhales through her nose, the scent of his shampoo, something clean and coconut-y filling her head. "you're so precious," she pushes at his shoulder just so she can see him properly, her hand coming up to squish his warm cheek until his mouth puckers.
"first of all, i don't even like croissants that much. crumbs everywhere. dead flaky. massively overrated," she says, while her thumb begins to trace absent, rhythmic circles against the back of his neck. a reflex she isn't quite ready to break. "second of all," she continues, softness slipping in around the edges of her accent, "i don't just forget people. my thing is being loud and slightly obsessive." she bumps her forehead lightly against his, "i'll facetime you from whatever rubbish café i'm in just to moan about the coffee. you'll be sick of me by tuesday. i promise."
after the cameras pack up and the stylists scatter in flocks, minah's still got glitter still clinging to her collarbone and she treats the whole thing like a minor inconvenience. jaeyi being a new member of the group? fine, super tidy. makes sense, actually. nothing to unpack there. nothing at all.
they drift behind the set; crates, cables, a catering van that smells like chips. minah walks a step ahead, swinging her lanyard, laughing too loud at nothing and everything. "your photos went hard," she announces to no one in particular. "the fans will eat that up." she spins, walks backwards, nearly clips a light stand. doesn't apologise. "you settling in alright then, newbie? still weird seeing your name on that," she says, breezy as a bus announcement. "but yeah. welcome. congrats. all that jazz. anyway," eyes everywhere but jaeyi. "schedule's mad tomorrow. fittings, dance run-throughs, probably someone crying and, or screaming. pretty standard."
minah is wearing sunglasses too big for her face (borrowed from miru) and behind the camera crew, since she's testing how far she's allowed to drift before someone clears their throat and says her name in that please behave voice since it's filming day. bohyun is beside her who is a new member in the formation. unfamiliar. "you alright?" she says, not looking over yet, fingers hooked into the strap of a little canvas bag.
they pass a window and she catches them doubled in the glass: two girls, styled but tired, france sits behind them much like a postcard they're not allowed to crease. "your debut is always the weird one. everyone says 'take your time' while booking your schedule down to the second." she gestures ahead, where staff cluster near a café. checkpoint. her lips twitch, "rule of thumb is if they let us sit, it means they want us talking about the future. if they make us walk, it means they want us smiling." closer, not for the camera. "either way, you don't have to perform with me. you can… exist. i'll fight off the vultures for you."
france smells different when you're on the clock. less perfume and fantasy, more hot stone and burnt sugar. they're on "free time." to roam about the city, but it's a massive lie. it means be seen, but don't mess up. so minah naturally rebels and puts on a tee that costs a mortgage. the mic pack on her spine stays cold though, taped secret. she spots naimei by a shop in the marais. it sells candles and the idea of being better than you are. "so," minah whispers. she scans the street. tourists. lenses. "this is 'bonding,' then? pretending we like shopping while some bloke named pierre films our elbows." she nods at the crew. they're pretending they didn't make a mental note to edit all of minah's takes.
the girls walk slow, but the pace is for the edit. minah hates this. she's fuming, but she lowkey loves the buzz. "they're calling it a 'soft exposure arc,'" the words feel like rot in her mouth. code for act natural, but remember you're a product. "apparently, france is meant to make us look expensive." she looks at naimei and thinks she fit the frame like a bespoke coat. "you're moving mad, you..." naimei's like a proper collector's edition barbie, yeah? infinite fits and the kit to match. everything minah never had growing up.
she gets back late. the driver drops her two streets away because she's asked.
walking makes the world settle. the pavement is wet and the cold has teeth. seoul has learned some tricks apparently. finally inside the dorm, she leaves her heels by the door, pointed like they're still paying attention. she washes her hands before anything else. soap, warm water, a tradition she learned as a kid. there is comfort in it. the mirror above the sink is kind. it does not say award or loss. it just shows a girl with eyeliner smudged and hair pulled tight with gel because it had to be. she loosens it. her scalp sighs.
she actually prays... she thanks god for the year surviving her. she asks, quietly, for consistency. she does not ask for a comeback or more awards or more fame. she has learned not to bargain.
the kettle clicks on. she eats something simple. rice, an egg, salt. the kind of meal that does not applaud you. her phone is face down. she knows what is on it. clips. comments. theories. her name typed by strangers who think they've discovered her. chaeyeon probably asking the groupchat if she left her bag with any of them. she lets it sleep on do not disturb.
then she stretches on the floor like she always does. hamstrings tight. calves bruised from practice. she counts the ceiling cracks. she thinks of the stages. the lights that feel like they are watching back. she thinks of how the girls who won alongside her. she thinks of how close everyone stood at the after parties, how miru managed the girls like a military squad. proximity became a story. she had laughed. she had danced. she had left before it tipped into something else. growth looks like leaving early sometimes. 2025 was a year when she thought effort meant making noise. now she knows effort can be quiet. it can be showing up clean. it can be knowing when to keep your mouth shut. she used to want to be seen so badly it hurt. now she wants to be precise. she wants her body to tell the truth without begging.
before bed, she checks her phone once. a message from her mum. proud of you. come home when you can. she answers with a heart and a promise that is not dated.
when jaeyi pulls away, she knows that everything will have changed. she won’t be able to deny what her extended gazes mean, and she won’t be able to conceal whatever it is that bubbles in her chest as simply dislike or jealousy. thus, she tries to prolong it. jaeyi hums and sighs into minah’s mouth, gentle and wanting like she’s taking a bite from a forbidden fruit. she continues to kiss her before she has to pull away, because she loses her breath and these feelings she’d spent so long trying to ignore are overwhelming.
she tries to not ignore it anymore. jaeyi looks at minah’s face and smiles. kisses her again one more time. two, three more times. the gloss on minah’s lips is sticky, and jaeyi doesn’t wipe it away from her as she pulls back from her for the last time. instead, she bites her lip, placing her palms on minah’s chest like she’s about to push her away.
“was that okay?” she asks, just to make sure. all of her false bravado is gone, and it’s almost as if jaeyi reverts back to a more timid version of herself. “i did, i did,” she repeats instead of making an effort to find something smart to say. her left hand finds some strands of minah’s hair, absentmindedly twirling her fingers around them. “i think i wanted to do it for a while. sorry if i was weird. i want to spend more time with you.”
minah's very aware (acutely, painfully aware) that it's a good thing the gym's empty. no witnesses. no one to later say, "bit much, that?" jaeyi keeps kissing her, little pauses, hums, and minah memorises it all before it disappears. by the time jaeyi pulls back, minah's lips are tacky with gloss and her chest feels like someone's wedged a foot in the door and refused to leave. jaeyi's palms are on her chest... will she shove her away? looks like she's considering it very seriously. "you've just derailed my entire week, girl." she glances down at jaeyi's hands, then back up, left brow lifting. "and for the record, yes. very. top marks. gold star. no notes." jaeyi's fingers slide into her hair and minah feels something amazing but stupid loosen in her ribs. she brings her hands up, resting them over jaeyi's wrists, "you weren’t weird," she adds, a little dry. "i mean, you were, but that's hardly new, is it." minah huffs a quiet laugh through her nose.
"yeah," she says. "clocked that about… oh, several years ago." she leans in, forehead almost touching jaeyi's, "you keep showing up when i ring. that's basically a written statement." her mouth quirks, "just so you know," she adds, nudging their noses together, "i'm absolutely unbearable when i get my way. and right now? i'm well pleased."
minah won't kiss her again. won't ruin the moment by being greedy. she does the only sensible thing. she pulls back. enough to breathe, and with the same casual drama she flairs into action, turns, grabs a ball from the trolley and lobs it straight at jaeyi. not hard. but not soft either. "oi. another match?"
