rosie.

Lix: don’t worry I am sitting patiently for you

Lix: Please don’t rush. My schedule is done for the day. :)

#ღ 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ⸻#sunshineboylix

rosie: sit patiently for fifteen more minutes please rosie: i'm very proud of this outdoor enrichment behavior rosie: and don't worry, i'm not rushing

JYP Entertainment Gangdong-gu, Seoul

Exactly fifteen minutes have passed, the lobby doors part. Hair loosened from the short walk, sunglasses pushed up over the head, bucket bag hanging from one shoulder. And there, Felix is, seated patiently, fresh layer of SPF reapplied, exactly as promised. A small breath leaves, slipping past lips before it transitions into a smile. Not too big. Not too worried. Soft enough to pass as normal. ❝ Oh my gosh, look at you. ❞ Came the greeting, gentle but bright, voice threading into the lobby without disturbing anything around them. A pause, just long enough for the fondness to show and then hide again beneath something that's teasing. ❝ Let's go? Before anyone senses character development happening outdoors and tries to stop us. ❞

Lix: your time is valuable it’s only fair I compensate you for it

Lix: what better payment than boba?

Lix: not to worry, I’m reapplying my SPF as we speak

#ღ 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 & 𝓊𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ⸻#sunshineboylix

rosie: lixie please, you already paid me by calling me for sunlight duties 🥺 rosie: but yes i will accept the boba of course rosie: proud of you for reapplying SPF i might cry in the elevator rosie: i'm leaving now rosie: don't wander off before i get there, baby joey 🦘

Lix: I’ll buy you boba in exchange for your company

Lix: i’m at the company building, about to leave a meeting

#ღ 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 & 𝓊𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ⸻#sunshineboylix

rosie: you had me at boba but i would've come for free rosie: i'll meet you at the building then rosie: please don’t make eye contact with the sun before i arrive rosie: we're doing this safely ☀️🕶️

sweetfridays

♡ ROSÉ the kelly clarkson show

venompinks

ROSÉ ౨ৎ YSL BEAUTY

Lix: rosie are you free for a walk?

Lix: I could use some fresh air and sunlight and you know chris is allergic to both lol

@rosieisroses

#ღ 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 & 𝓊𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ⸻#sunshineboylix

rosie: of course, my dearest baby joey 🥺 rosie: i would never deny a vitamin d emergency rosie: i could use some air too rosie: send me where you are? i'll come meet you

yourlili

Lisa stayed on the couch, quiet for a moment, just listening. She didn’t interrupt. She rarely did when Rosé spoke like this, half joking, half unraveling, the truth always slipping through the cracks of humor. Hank and Lola thundered past again, briefly shaking the peace of the room, and Lisa’s gaze followed them for a second before settling back on Rosé. "A Keynote would be very on brand for you, though," she murmured at last, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Color-coded. Probably a slide titled "emotional recovery arc." "

But the smile faded a little as the conversation shifted.

Lisa leaned back slightly into the couch, one arm resting along the backrest, eyes softer now.

"I don't think people ever really start over, Rosie."

A pause.

"I think we just keep going with everything still inside us. Like… nothing really disappears. It just changes shape."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the window, where the evening light sat quiet over the villa grounds.

"And sometimes you realize you’re exhausted from trying to make it work with people who were never actually trying to understand you."

She didn’t elaborate further.

There were parts of that thought she didn’t give shape to. The way it had started to feel, over time, like dating wasn’t really about connection more like interpretation. People projecting what they wanted onto her, or what she represented. A version of her that was easier to love than the real one. The real one required patience. Time. Silence. Things most people didn’t stay long enough to learn. And when it wasn’t that, it was worse in a different way. Transaction disguised as intimacy. Effort measured, not felt. Lisa had lived enough of it to recognize the pattern early now. Which was why she rarely rushed into anything anymore. Why she stayed guarded even when she was sitting in rooms like this, where she didn’t want to be. She exhaled softly, eyes returning to Rosé.

"I think…" she started, then stopped herself, choosing the rest more carefully.

Because even here, even with her, she didn’t say everything.

She just couldn’t always be the one who poured it all out first. A small smile returned instead.

"I still think there’s someone worth giving your heart to."

Simple.

Honest.

A little quieter than before.

"Just not someone who makes you feel like you have to prove you deserve to be loved." Then, softer again, lightening the weight just slightly as she nudged Rosé’s knee with her foot.

"And if they can’t survive Hank and Lola running a demolition derby through your emotional stability?" A faint exhale, almost a laugh.

"They were never worth it anyway."

#ღ 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ⸻#yourlili

For a while, no words had been said. Not because there was nothing to say... too much, actually. Too many words sitting between the couch cushions now, tucked somewhere beneath Lisa's careful voice and the faint scrape of Lola's paws against expensive flooring. Too many thoughts in the soft dip of the room after honesty had been placed down gently. Not thrown. Not demanded. Just left there between them like something fragile neither of them wanted to step on.

The tote bag remains on the floor, still half-open, tiny designer puppy hoodies peeking out like criminals too cute to prosecute. Eyes darting toward it first. Safer. Ridiculous little things. Tiny sleeves. Tiny seams. Tiny proof that the heart's still very capable of caring too much about very unserious things because the serious ones always required too much skin. Then the light nudge pulled her back, gently, before her mind could wander too far into the room it had built for itself. Lips tugging, a small and familiar smile forming and then crooked, suspicion written over it.

❝ Okay, first of all, my Keynote would be beautiful. Elegant. Slide one. Emotional recovery arc. Slide two. Why men should come with customer reviews. Slide three. Warning signs I ignored because he had such nice veiny hands. ❞

Pausing, eyes flickering toward Lisa.

❝ Slide four. Lalisa Manobal judging me silently from a couch. ❞

Smile remaining, softening around its edges, losing its shape slowly, like warm wax giving up beneath flame. Because Lisa had said it so simply. The sentence. Quiet. Uninvited. Sitting directly at the center of her chest. Fingers finding the hem of the cardigan once more, thumb rubbing over the same stitched line once. Twice. Then once more. A tiny ritual pretending not to be one.

❝ Mm... I know. It's the proving part. You know, when you meet someone and suddenly it feels like you're standing there with all these... documents. Like, here. Here is why I'm not too much. Here are my references. I mean, I would still make the PDF visually stunning, obviously. ❞

Now leaning back, letting her head rest against the cushion again, eyes drifting briefly toward the ceiling as if the answer might be painted somewhere above them. Maybe behind the warm light fixture. Maybe between the shadows. Maybe hiding in plain sight like most inconvenient truths did.

❝ I don't want to audition anymore... ❞

Words coming slower now. Careful. Not dramatic. Worse, honest.

❝ I think I’m scared I’ll give it to someone and then spend the whole time trying to make it convenient for them to hold. ❞

And then, returning the gesture earlier with a light nudge of her own to Lisa's foot.

❝ And for the record, if someone made you feel like they were trying to love the idea of you instead of you, I hope they step barefoot on Lego... mm, not forever. But you know, just enough to reflect. Character development through extreme foot pain. ❞

blackpinkig

[260623] roses_are_rosie: ❤️ voguekorea ysl anthonyvaccarello with the best team and people in La

letjeonkook

Practice wasn't mandatory today. Nobody had texted him. Nobody would've complained if he'd skipped it entirely. Which was probably why he'd gone anyway. Some routines had become too deeply ingrained to ignore. Even with tour temporarily on pause and a rare stretch of days where his schedule belonged almost entirely to him, sitting around all afternoon would've driven him insane. So he'd spent a couple hours at the company building running through choreography that didn't necessarily need running through, followed it up with enough time in the gym to satisfy the restless part of his brain, and only realized he'd forgotten to eat when his stomach loudly reminded him halfway through the drive home.

Cooking sounded miserable. The fridge had exactly enough ingredients to make something decent if he actually wanted to put in the effort, but after weeks of airports, hotels, rehearsals, soundchecks, and performances, the last thing he wanted to do was stand over a stove pretending to enjoy meal prep. Takeout existed for a reason, right?

He'd called in an order before leaving the gym, figuring it'd be ready by the time he reached the restaurant. Easy fix. Grab the food, head home, throw on whatever documentary or mindless YouTube rabbit hole caught his attention first, and disappear from the world for the rest of the night. It was the kind of evening he'd been looking forward to.

Comfortable clothes had replaced practice gear somewhere between the company building and the restaurant. A black hoodie sat over a plain white shirt, baseball cap pulled low out of habit more than necessity. Even off schedule, anonymity had become second nature.

The bell above the restaurant door chimed quietly as he stepped inside. Conversations paired with the clinking of silverware against plates. It wasn't particularly crowded, but busy enough that nobody paid him much attention beyond the hostess behind the counter.

"I'm here for a pickup" then gives a fake name that he would forget by the end of the night.

The host smiled politely after checking the name beside the register. "It'll be just another five or so minutes. The kitchen's finishing it now."

"No worries" He responds. Honestly, five minutes wasn't worth complaining about.

Jungkook thanked her with an absent smile before drifting toward the small waiting area near the entrance. He leaned lazily against the wall as he pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb immediately beginning its usual cycle through unread notifications, social media, group chats that hadn't stopped blowing up despite everyone supposedly being on break.

Endless notifications from Tiktok, likes from Instagram, a gym video someone had already tagged him in three separate times. He barely registered any of it. Then, somewhere deeper inside the restaurant... a voice caught his attention. His eyes lifted from the screen almost automatically, head turning toward the dining room before he could really think about it. Before he could talk himself out of it, his phone slipped back into the pocket of his hoodie and his feet were already carrying him farther into the restaurant, weaving between tables in search of where the voice had come from.

@rosieisroses

#ღ 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ⸻#letjeonkook

The restaurant had too many mirrors.

The first thing the eyes noticed the moment designer stilettos had stepped inside. Not the flowers pressed into low crystal vases, not the wine list bound in leather, not the quiet sweep of the servers moving between tables with their perfect posture and customer service smiles, but the mirrors. Tall ones. Slim ones. Antique-edged ones catching pieces of the room from every angle until everything looked doubled, softened, and expensive. Already seated beneath one of those mirrors, ankles crossed underneath the table, a hand resting beside an untouched glass of wine, the other curled ever so loosely around the strap of that little statement piece of a black bag, elegant gold against luxurious black, as though it were simply an accessory and not the only thing in the room currently keeping polished composure from making into national news.

Always polite.

So terribly polite.

An almost heroic amount of polite, truly.

Perhaps adding another stellar merit as the speedrun through sainthood continues.

That practiced, easy smile curling instinctively at her lips when he introduced himself, even though he had said her name with that faint, pleased confidence of a man who had rehearsed it once in the car and decided that was enough intimacy for one evening. Nodded through the first fifteen minutes about his family's business, the next ten about his luxury apartment in Hannam, the following twelve about how hard it was to meet women who understood privacy, which had been funny in the way bruises were funny when someone asked how they happened.

Then came the compliments, pretty at first, expected, safe. About the dress how it perfectly fits. About the distinctive accent curling through a calm, slightly whispery voice. About the packed schedules. About the discipline that comes through all of it. The sort of things men said when they wanted to sound admiring, but were really just walking around the perimeter of what they wanted to ask. And then, as always, the perimeter became a door. Maybe it was the voice. Maybe it was the face. Maybe it was the fact that kindness, on those angelic features, looked too natural for people to understand that it still had to be chosen. Chosen every day. Chosen even when one's patience was thinning into a fine wire. Chosen even when the little locked doors inside the chest had started shutting one after another with soft, final sounds.

A sound of chair scraping closer, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for the senses to feel it.

Then a hand comes across the table, fingers brushing the inside of the wrist before settling there as though the permission had been waiting for such audacity, already granted. Just a wrist. A hand. A thumb pressed too comfortably against skin it had no right to know. Eyes looking down. At the hand. At the cuff of that crisp dark shirt. At the vein near around the knuckle. At the little shine of oil left near the edge of plate. At the ridiculous half-moon mixture of lipstick and gloss smeared on the water goblet. At one's own fingers, still curled around black leather, still elegant. Inventory. That was what the mind did first. It made a list because anger, if named too quickly, could become messy. And messy things should only be given to derserving men. Not him. Definitely not him.

❝ Don't touch me. ❞

Still quiet, still terribly pleasant. A warning wearing perfume. Those fingers remained around delicate wrist, did not move at all.

❝ I said⸻ ❞

The bag coming off the chair, slowly. The chain sliding through slightly trembling fingers, landing directly against the center of that trouser-clad lap with a hard, luxurious thud. Not a full swing. Not a spectacle. A correction. A punctuation mark fully-dressed in Yves Saint Laurent couture. The said chair jolting back. The porcelain shivered. And somewhere nearby, a fork stopped halfway toward someone's mouth.

❝ Don't touch me. ❞

apateu

ROSÉ for LEVI’S ✨

jnnekims

jennie: ignoring everyone on purpose? jennie: even hank? jennie: i was bored and missed you. nothing too important :/ jennie: you feeling better?

#ღ 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 & 𝓊𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ⸻#jnnekims

rosie: never hank 🥺 rosie: please don't bring my son into this investigation rosie: don't say you missed me like that now i feel worse rosie: but omggg my wifeyyyyyy 😭 i'm sorry i didn't mean to disappear rosie: you know how it is when i'm preparing for an album rosie: it takes my blood, sweat, tears, soul and at least one emotional support squishy rosie: i'm feeling a bit better now though rosie: i was just hiding in my little blanket cave for a bit rosie: are you back in seoul?

yourlili

Lisa was laughing before Rosie had even finished her explanation. Not because it was ridiculous. Because it made perfect sense. To Rosie, at least. "Tiny isn't a valid excuse anymore." she informed her immediately. Her eyes dropped to the designer hoodies sticking out of the bag. A beat passes. "...They're cute though." Complete betrayal of her own argument. She picked up the tote effortlessly and carried it further into the house while Rosie and the dogs created chaos behind her. The familiar sound of paws skidding across expensive flooring echoed through the living room. Neither of them reacted. Far too used to it. "Also, we're not becoming weird pet moms." Lisa glanced over her shoulder. "We passed that stage months ago. Keep up."

By the time she reached the living room, Rosie had already claimed an entire section of the couch like she'd just returned from war instead of driving over. Lisa snorted. "Hard day?" Setting the tote bag down beside her, she dropped onto the couch as well, stretching out comfortably.

The house felt different when Rosie was there.

Louder.

Warmer.

More lived in.

For a moment she simply watched Hank and Lola sprint around the room like tiny maniacs, while Leo watched them still comfortable beside her.

Then her gaze drifted back toward her best friend.

A softer smile appearing.

"So." She reached over, stealing a snack from Rosie's bag without asking.

"How are you doing?"

Another beat.

"And don't give me the interview answer."

#ღ 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓊𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ⸻#yourlili

The living room had already accepted them both. Naturally. As it should be. Some spaces resisted visitors. Staying so polished, so perfect. Keeping every corner arranged like proof that nobody had ever been tired there, never eaten on the couch, never laughed too loudly at something stupid, never let a dog steal a sock and declared war from beneath the expensive designer coffee table. Almost empty. Almost feeling like a minimalist museum instead of a home.

Yet here, in Lisa's apartment, it's the opposite.

Not resisting, but accepting and swallowing her whole.

Warm lights. Soft expansive couch. Luxurious marble flooring currently being terrorized by eight eager tiny paws. Tote bag sitting nearby, evidences peeking out—hoodies, tiny and limited edition pieces, absolutely guilty. Already had taken over one side of the couch before realizing, shoes off, legs tucked underneath, as though been dropped there by weather.

❝ I had to exist in public today. ❞ A pause, eyes closing with the initial usual dramatic statement. ❝ And then I had to parallel park... so yes. ❞

Hank and Lola shot past the coffee table in a blur, claws clacking against the floor with the urgency of a very tiny emergencies. Lifting one foot just in time without opening her eyes just yet. Practice. Muscle memory. Motherhood, apparently.

How are you doing? And don't give me interview answers.

Only one eye decides to open, slowly, offended in theory. There it was, that little knife hidden inside softness. Undeniably Lalisa. Smile curls upon lips, small and crooked, entirely unhelpful to her defenses. Gaze stayed on Hank for a moment longer, how her own firstborn son attempted to follow Lola around the edge of the rug and fail with such a spectacular commitment.

❝ I'm okay... mostly. I think I'm okay and then someone asks me what I want, and suddenly I feel like I need to call my sister. Who also happens to be my lawyer. I just⸻ ❞ A laugh slipping, more air than sound. ❝ I don't know how people do this, Lili. Dating. Starting over. Throwing yourself back into the world like you're not carrying this entire haunted house or museum of these stupid little heartbreaks in your purse. ❞ Accidentally the tote with her foot, those tiny dog-sized Chrome Hearts hoodies shifting slightly with it. ❝ Like, listen, what am I supposed to do? Just sit across from someone and say, hello, I'm Roseanne Park, nice to meet you, here are my hobbies, my trauma, my preferred coffee order... ❞ That familiar expression twists at her features, genuinely considering it. ❝ Should I have a PDF? A Keynote? ❞

sweetfridays

♡ ROSÉ vanity fair lie detector test

jnnekims

jennie: answer your phone. jennie: i know you're ignoring me on purpose. jennie: and before you say you were sleeping, i can literally see you're online. @rosieisroses

#ღ 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 & 𝓊𝓃𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 ⸻#jnnekims

rosie: unnieeeee 😭 rosie: okay but before you start yelling or get angry at me rosie: i wasn't ignoring you on purpose rosie: i was ignoring everyone equally rosie: but i'm here now 🥺

apateu

ROSÉ Gets Ready for the Met Gala | Vogue