(Male Reader x Karina & Yeji, 7.2k Words) Tags: A Gossipy Threesome, Some light Femdom, Anal Vaginal Oral sex, Tittyfucking, Ass and Pussy eating, Several creampies, Your cock gets abused and overused, Hydration is completely ignored for the duration of this work, Yujin and Soyeon show up as well, Rampant Lesbianism, Some Sadistic content, Wholesome best friendships <3
Normally, having two of 4th gen's hottest idols fighting over your cock would have been a wet dream come to life; two gorgeous ladies battling it out over who would earn your seed in a salaciously sexual contest that would have not been out of place in a cheap romance novel. Except for the ever so slight, truly, insignificant fact, that Karina and Yeji actually seemed as if they were about to come to blows over who would get to fuck you senseless. The two hiss and snap at one another, each with one hand digging possessively into your leg, while the others fly through the air in aggressive threat-patterns that betray their violent intent. Karina's elegant face breaks into a sneer of disgust, "Oh, do fuck off, shouldn't you be humping a chair somewhere, you filthy nymphomaniac?"
Yeji bares her teeth in a snarl, "Why, has this guy already paid you as well as the last one, you literal whore?"
Karina's head rears back like a striking snake in outrage, and you fear that this would be the breaking point that would lead to the mother of all catfights; with you pitifully trapped between them serving as collateral damage. Perhaps you should be more choosy about what awards shows you attend...
You had always wanted to attend an awards show, what Kpop fan wouldn't? Being able to cheer your favorites on during their performance, celebrating with them when they win, seeing them arrayed in all of their beauteous splendor in the most expensive outfits their companies can afford, and of course, getting a chance to have sex your favorite idol during the after-party orgy that invariably capped off any event involving idols! But whether through colossal incompetence, or stupefying ignorance, the organizers had failed to remember the one industry truism when hosting idols: Always. Bring. More. Meat. Idols invariably possessed absurd sexual appetites, and could drain even a packed room with appalling ease, so it was common to have several backup waiting areas; just for politeness's sake, as well as preventing any medical emergencies from overused fans (and staff, and executives, and VIPs, and random passerbyers...). But, as noted, the morons in charge of this event had only filled the main hall with rabid fans, and so when it was time for the idols to engage in some "high-touch", their pickings were unfortunately limited. Which meant that much like when carnivores confronted a scarcity of prey, conflict naturally arose.
Fans were fought over like carrion, female idols hissing and snapping at one another while they attempted to cajole fresh life into their lover's cocks, while female fans were rendered practically comatose by the relentless pounding of their male idols. The more senior idols naturally were able to secure their own personal pets, but those could only last so long before they would have to search out fresh bodies, causing further confrontations that would only serve as yet more fuel for the gossip rags (those whose reporters were not currently being violated unto unconsciousness at least). Which meant that by the time the tide of irritably aroused idols finally crested over your line of foldable seats, most of them were in little mood for niceties or politeness; or quite frankly, consent. So when Soyeon dragged the guy to your left to the floor, and Yujin forced herself onto the girl to your right, you should not have been shocked to discover two of the more storied leaders heading towards you. Yeji stalks from the frothing chaos, still surprisingly clothed, glaring hungrily at you, while at the same moment, Karina saunters by, her shorts lost in the bedlam but still eyeing you with obvious interest. Then they both glance at one another, and immediately start bickering.
Karina tosses her hair scornfully as she shoos Yeji away with her hand, "Oh, sorry dear, but I got this one first, I'm sure the next row will have better pickings," she snickers. Yeji shrugs, measuring her opponent,
"I'm good. I didn't know a bitch as fancy as you would go for peasant dick," Yeji sneers, walking closer to you and placing her hand possessively on your thigh "Fuck off, escort."
Karina's face twists with barely contained fury, stepping in and placing her own hand on your leg, "Was that an offer?" she sniffs, "I hear you're quite good at groveling before your betters." Yeji snarls in response, and things go downhill from there. The pair trade increasingly vulgar barbs with one another, making references to past slights or reputations that went far above your head; but what concerned you the most was how increasingly tight both of them were gripping you. There was also the playfully shoving that was fast approaching a full on slap-fight, which while arousing to watch, the fact that it was occurring right next to your most vulnerable portion was dangerous in the extreme. Your fears about an all-out brawl breaking out in your lap peak when Karina hisses in response to Yeji's latest threat, "Oh? And what are you going to do about it?" she cocks her head, "Hmm?" The tension is palpable as Yeji mirrors her motion, still unspeaking, as Karina raises her eyebrows mockingly. Then Yeji leans forward, and kisses Karina full on the lips.
While this was not the outcome to the conflict you were expecting, it was clear that this was the resolution Karina expected, considering that she returns Yeji's kiss unreservedly. Your jaw drops as the violent cat-fight instantly devolves into a passionate make-out session, the two idols' tongues writhing within each others' mouths while they press their faces together. You meanwhile simply gawp, wondering if the pair would simply devour one another and leave you simply to watch their lascivious embrace; a fate which was not entirely unpleasant considering the girl to your right was currently drowning in Yujin's squirt. But then Karina and Yeji broke off their kiss with a wet explosion of spittle, and after shooting you a glance, resume their conversation, "So" Karina sighs while stroking Yeji's cheek, "What took you so long?"
Yeji lets out a tired groan as she leans her head against her best friend's hand, "I was busy unclogging Yuna, you?"
Karina grimaces, "Unclogging? Do I even want to know...?" Yeji wiggles her fingers mischievously, causing Karina further discomfort, "Ugh! Stop, stop! I was dealing with Ningning, she kept squirting all over NMIXX," Karina rolls her eyes, "You know how it is..."
The girls might have seemed to be ignoring you, but throughout this touching conversation, their off-hands were busy slapping your own out of the way while they nimble undid your pants and started yanking them down. The pair squat down and nudge themselves between your legs once your jeans are around your ankles, Karina greeting you with a kindly smile while Yeji doesn't acknowledge you at all. Yeji's hand slithers around your shaft, gripping it tightly, "You know," she sighs, "sometimes I miss having Everglow around."
Karina raises an eyebrow, "I did not realize you enjoyed their music that much," but Yeji waves in dismissal,
"Not for that," she frowns, "they would make such a mess that nobody would bother paying attention to our problem children." she idly taps your cock as she continues, "Who gives a shit if Lia is screaming about 'morals' while getting ass-fucked, when you have E:U pissing all over the judges, or Sihyeon literally womb-fucking people. Now we actually have to worry about our girls making a scene," she rolls her eyes.
"She really was into pissing, wasn't she?" Karina muses, her hand cupping your balls, "Her being tiny didn't help, but I swear every time she was getting railed she was making a puddle..." Yeji raises a finger,
"Okay, but she could still take dick, remember that one video?"
Karina gives you a queasy glance, "I would rather not, I don't think I've ever seen a penis that large before, and she took it all..."
Yeji laughs at her friend's discomfort, "Oh it isn't that hard, I managed to take most of it when Jihyo lent him to us, Chaeryeong took it balls deep though," she confides with a proud smile, "she's grown up so much..." Both of the girls sigh nostalgically, musing upon the past until your cock twitches in their hands, and they remember the task at, ah, hand, "Oh, right," she smirks and gives your dick a testing squeeze before standing up and pull down her shorts, revealing her meaty lips that are already glistening with wetness. Yeji lifts her leg as she starts to straddle you, until Karina stops her,
"Really, no foreplay?" she sighs,
Yeji shrugs, "He's hard, who cares?" before using her butt to muscle Karina out of the way and for the first time actually giving you her full attention. Her eyes bore deeply into your own before she glances down to inspect your meat with the casual air of someone who has seen and felt thousands of cocks, before letting out a noncommittal grunt; and then sits on your dick.
You were still processing the fact that you had even seen Yeji's, the Yeji, drooling pussy, and so were utterly mentally unprepared for the idol to start bouncing on your cock with that same pussy wrapped around it. Her folds voraciously grip your shaft, smearing it with her thick juices that slop down your wrinkled sack and pool in your crack, and the heat of her sex felt as if it was a furnace. Yeji wraps her arms around your neck, glaring steadily at you while she gives you the best ride of your life, slamming herself vigorously down onto your crotch until you start to worry she is going to fracture your hips. Luckily for your health, your boner was going to break long before your bones would, and you feel the familiar tingles of pleasure emanating from your shaft that could only mean one thing. Yeji's eyes narrow draconically, evidently able to feel your dick pulsating as it prepares to breed her, and simply keeps pistoning herself up and down your length, uncaring of your oncoming orgasm, her petite breasts flailing wildly in her unsupportive top. But suddenly her hips jerk to a halt, stifling your climax, and ensuring only a trickle of precum leaking into Yeji's ravenous hole, and she looks up in annoyance at Karina who is resting her body weight on Yeji's shoulders, her cleavage squishing against the back of her head. Karina pouts down at both of you, "I would like a turn before he finishes, please," she says dryly, "He was about to cum you know?"
Yeji growls in annoyance, "Who cares? It's just more lube, just keep fucking him and he'll keep it up," Your dick twitches eagerly in agreement, but Karina remains unmoved,
"Sorry my sweet little kitty, but I want to fuck him while he's still nice and hard," she smiles sweetly, cheerfully ignoring whatever input you might have regarding the use of your penis.
Eventually Yeji sighs, grimacing in annoyance but slowly unmounting you as Karina eases off of her, giving you a frown of disdain as your cock slips out of her stuffy confines, "He's almost as bad as Jihyo's cousin," she complains, "I didn't even get close to cumming!"
Karina laughs, "Oh he's not that bad, trust me, I had to babysit him a lot while Jihyo was busy popping her baby out, her dear cousin was adorably quick,"
"I know," Yeji pats her pussy, "I took him a week after Gahyun and Swan popped his cherry, I'm still mad I wasn't the one to break him in..."
Karina raises an eyebrow as she wiggles out of her top, allowing her voluminous breasts to spill out down her chest, "How many times?"
Yeji smirks, "Five. Jihyo was pissed when she saw the mess I made of him," she giggles while squirming out of her own top, her perky tits wobbling appreciably.
Karina groans, "Oh don't tell me about the mess, whenever he would finish between my tits, it would look like someone dumped a jar of melted butter on my chest."
"He did have huge loads," Yeji agrees, "He finished in my ass twice, and I was shitting white for like a week,"
Karina groans in disgust, "Yeji!" she slaps the other idol's ass, and the pair dissolve into giggles before their attention back to you.
Now that both idols were fully naked, you were able to truly appreciate their gorgeous bodies, at least in the moments you had before they started ravishing you again. Both shared the same slim figure, though Yeji was slightly thicker around the waist and thighs, and her dainty boobs were unusually delicate looking, and Karina's elegant chest was graced by a pair of incongruously massive, weighty breasts. How her thin frame managed to support such hefty mounds of meat was beyond you, but you were certainly not complaining as you drink in the sight of her pale cleavage. Yeji, by contrast, was of a darker tone, her skin tanned by both nature as well as the loving kiss of sunlight; and both sported similarly dark brown hair that fell past their shoulders. And you, well, you were wearing naught but a shirt and sitting in an overly padded folding chair, and soon even that dignity was denied to you as Yeji kicks it closed and it, and you, collapse onto the curiously spongy floor. You look somewhat fearfully up at the twin goddesses of lust standing before you, their bodies pressed sensually together as they glare appraisingly down at you. Then, with her hips swaying, Karina saunters closer, her discretely sheltered folds gleaming with just a hint of wetness, and she languidly squats down onto your crotch.
"Try not to disappoint me," Karina sighs as she leans over you, her breasts swaying ponderously above your head, her fingers gently orienting your manhood towards her soft entrance, causing it to twitch fitfully, "Hmm?" Karina gazes at you curiously, causing your stomach to roil with anticipation, "Does that thought... arouse you?" A smile slowly spreads across her face, "Are you getting excited thinking about leaving me unsatisfied, about failing a woman as lovely as I?" Frankly, you were appalled at even the thought of Karina's scorn for failing to perform, but evidently your cock was far more honest than you thought you were, and it bulges obscenely in her grasp. Karina laughs and glances back at Yeji, "Oh Kiry, you are going to love this one," before returning her attention to you and politely slipping your member inside of her. You groan as her pussy envelopes your cock, her slick folds massaging your length as it slides fully into their embrace, "Agreeably average," Karina declares musingly, as if sampling a fresh bottle of wine, "let's see if it can hold up, shall we?" With that, she starts to move, slowly at first, but gradually picking up tempo as she explores every inch of your cock with her plush walls, her breasts wobbling only slightly from her movements. Unlike Yeji's sex, which had felt like someone was jackhammering a recently boiled fleshlight up and down your cock, Karina's technique was far more subtle, her hips levitating in beguilingly complex patterns around your shaft.
With your cock already weakened from Yeji's rough handling, Karina's exquisite movements were quickly wearing you out, and you knew that even with your utmost focus you would not be able to resist climaxing. Karina smiles knowingly, "Are you going to finish, already?" she pouts in exasperation, as if her pussy was not writhing about your shaft in ways that would have melted even the hardiest pornstar in minutes, "Oh nooo," she purrs, "how humiliating, I am nowhere near being satisfied but, oh well," Karina leans down and puts a finger on your lips, silencing your gasped protests, "Hush. Disappoint me. Now." And her folds tighten insistently, and it is all you can do but moan ashamedly as your load spews against Karina's cervix, who sighs dreamily as your warmth spreads through her belly, gently rocking on your crotch.
"What happened to not making him cum?" Yeji interjects tartly, standing right next to your joined bodies, "Or were you just that desperate for his jizz?"
Karina rolls her eyes, "Oh don't be a bitch, he was already on the edge of orgasm after you were done with him, so of course I was going to end up finishing him off," your cock flops noisily out of Karina, and both idols glance down to appraise the quality and quantity of semen leaking out of Karina's pussy, "A touch thick, he must have been saving up," Karina informs Yeji, who nods in agreement, her arms crossed across her chest, "Now then, I'm going to enjoy myself until his refractory period truly kicks in and we have to take a break.
You were more than a little opposed to this idea, considering how sensitive your manhood was after orgasming, and the thought of being subjected to Karina's intensive attentions was concerning, and so you say as much. Karina nods empathetically, hearing you out before interjecting, "Your objection has been noted," she politely informs you, "and duly ignored," before shoving your partially erect cock back inside of her. Under her fold's strenuous urging, your dick manages to regain partial rigidity, and she proceeds to ride you once more, this time eschewing her more advanced techniques for a more simple movement that slams your cock against her sensitive spot before grinding deeper. You gurgle helplessly as pleasure jolts through your body, your poor member burning with painful heat as your nerves are overloaded until they cannot take any more abuse, and you numbly soften. Karina looks more than a touch miffed by this, but shrugs at Yeji, "Well, that's that until we can get him up again I suppose, shall we, then?" she cocks her head, her delicate neck seductively exposed.
But Yeji merely grunts, "Want me to get him hard then, it won't take long..." she wiggles her fingers emphatically.
Karina snorts, "What, do you have a bottle of aphrodisiac shoved up your ass? Chaewon pulled that trick one time at a private party and I nearly died of mortification."
Yeji crouches behind Karina while she blithers, her hands cupping her best friend's capacious cleavage while she nuzzles at her neck, "Girls these days. You're lucky Jihyo brewed up that shit, if you can't even get a fan hard again, are you even an idol?" Karina rolls her eyes,
"I can, I just don't want to, drugs make things so much easier, so less... undignified," Yeji growls in response, nibbling at her skin
"If you keep acting like a pillow princess, I will make you eat my ass," and Karina sighs with pleasure as Yeji digs in, her teeth indenting the soft flesh of her neck,
"Oh fine," Karina breathes, "I wanted to give him a little break but, who needs niceties, hmm?" Then she turns her face upwards and Yeji's lips meet hers as they descend into yet another intensive makeout session, except this time they were doing so right on top of you. Spit trickles down Karina's sharp chin while Yeji voraciously kneads her breasts, if the sight of two beautiful idols devouring one another was supposed to get you erect again quicker, it was certainly not a bad plan; but it was not the only one. Breaking off their embrace, Yeji jerks her fingers upwards towards you,
"Stand up, fuck meat, let's see how long we can make you go..."
You lurch to your feet, and Yeji follows you up, slipping behind you to either steady you or remove any chance of escape, while Karina remains on her knees, and positions herself in front of your manhood. Yeji snakes her arms around you, toying with your nipples and caressing your chest, and Karina's delicate fingers cup your balls and press against your taint. She gracefully takes your flaccid meat in her mouth, cleaning off the congealed fluids of all three of you with her dainty tongue before sucking more forcefully upon it. You groan as Karina starts to work some life back into your cock with her oral skills, while Yeji teases you relentlessly, "So fucking passive," she sighs, "Karina is busy slurping on your dick, and you can't even hold her hair out of the way? Oh- don't do it now, she's already putting her hair up, how worthless are you? Even virgins have more energy than you do, you're lucky Karina is here, otherwise I would just rape you until your dick breaks for being such a terrible lover." Yeji laughs as you shiver in her grasp, "I'm gonna enjoy this, a lot," and you were too, judging by the way your cock was bulging in anticipation inside of Karina's warm mouth. Who smiles in satisfaction, before bringing her massive breasts to bear, squishing her pillows around your cock and telling you,
"Thrust. Show me you know how to pleasure a woman," Karina quirks her eyebrow, "Well? Are you a man, or a dildo?"
Karina's soft cleavage devours your member while you frantically hump her chest, fucking her meshed tits as if they were a woman's pussy, causing her to sigh. She stares up at you with evident disappointment, "Well, this is truly pathetic, if your penis was inside of me I would be yawning," Karina grimaces as you up your pace, desperate to prove your worth, but you both know what the outcome will be. She rolls her eyes, "I see we're going to have to go back to the basics then, and releases her breasts, allowing them to flop back down onto her chest while your dick wobbles in the air before her. Karina turns around and leans over, arching her back so that her swollen pussy pushes out from between her thighs, "Now then, mount me, and don't even think about putting it into the wrong hole," she looks back at you, her pale cheeks gleaming in the overhead lights, "Well? You do know how to find my entrance, correct?" Yeji gives you a shove, and under Karina's irritated glare, you hurry forwards to shove your cock between her limber legs. Your tip presses into her delicate folds, before sliding up and into her warm insides, and you groan as your dick gets reacquainted with Karina's steamy confines.
With your manhood buried inside of Karina once more, your grasp her narrow waist, and start thrusting, taking the initiative out of fear of the lash of Karina's tongue. But after less than a minute, the idol puts her hand on your chest, "Oh, stop. Just. Stop," she looks at you stonily, "Let's try that again. Maintain a steady rhythm, aim your thrusts forward, I am positioning myself so all you have to do is push straight ahead and you will hit my g-spot, understood?" Your head bobs, your face flushed with embarrassment, and she nods in response, "Excellent, now continue," You start moving once more, doing your best to follow Karina's advice, but the addicting heat of her pussy leaves you unable to stop forcing yourself as deep and as hard as possible into her wet hole. Karina endures your slovenly technique until Yeji takes the hint, and she squats down by your side, one hand pressing into the small of your back, the other gripping your swaying sack,
"You really do suck at this," Yeji notes blandly, before showing you how its done. Now your movements are to Karina's satisfaction, with Yeji fingers locked tightly around your balls, you have no choice but to give her exactly the sex she desires.
So you get used like a meat dildo, whether you like it or not, and Karina continues to idly lecture you while Yeji fucks her with your cock, "You demean yourself with your lack of ability, but now that Yeji is doing all the hard work for you, lets see how well you hold on, hmm?" She glances back at you, "Normally I would be encouraging my partner to be exploring my body with their hands, but I think it best you continue holding onto my waist for support, so just enjoy the show I suppose," Karina pats Yeji's shoulder, "Do let me know when he is about to finish so you can take your turn, Kiry dear, I would rather avoid having my insides dirtied with his worthless seed..." and Yeji giggles in acknowledgement. The rhythmic pace that Karina so insisted on was evidently pleasing to her, considering how wet she was becoming, your shaft was soon dripping with her fluids, and her breasts clapped together loudly from Yeji's efforts. But it was also rather stimulating for you as well, just because your dick was being used well did not mean it was any less able to handle being inside of an idol. You are unable to stifle your moans as Karina's tender folds threaten to finish you off, yet Yeji shows no sign of stopping your movement. Instead her fingers dig into your taint, pressing and pushing at your prostate while she grins evilly up at you, her intent clear.
Karina glances back at Yeji, "Um, why am I being creampied?" she asks archly, evidently noticing the sticky warmth currently being sprayed inside of her pussy. She completely ignores you, standing straighter, not even bothering to brush your hands off her toned waist where they held her tightly against your bucking crotch.
Yeji beams, "Because you are, obviously," before blowing Karina a kiss, who sighs in exasperation,
"Are you finished yet?" Karina inquires politely, even as you continue to grunt and thrust into her, "Fuck, that's a lot," she sighs under her breath, "You were messing with his prostate, weren't you?" she accuses Yeji, who stands and shrugs, her work finished,
"It gets him hard again faster, and don't act like you don't love creampies, you're as bad as Jihyo sometimes!" Karina grumbles and pouts, but politely waits until the last drop of cum has leaked out of your dick before pulling away, your load dripping down her supple thighs. She bows demurely towards Yeji, gesturing grandly towards your shrinking meat, coated in your conjoined juices,
"Your turn dear, I know you love them soft and worthless," Karina smirks
"Could you please not leak cum all over me?" a voice interjects from your right, and all three of you glance over at the speaker in surprise.
Yujin reclines in a padded folding chair, its original owner currently busy slobbering all over the idol's pussy, with a glistening splotch of semen spreading down the side of her face and dripping down onto her modest chest. She sulks ostentatiously, until Yeji steps forwards, grabs her hair and then licks her face, lapping up the majority of the mess in one go.
"Better?" Yeji asks, licking her lips, and Yujin nods, waving away her fellow idols apologies,
"Don't worry about it, I was just a bit surprised when Karina shoved her butt in my face and squirted jizz at me. Force of habit," Yujin shrugs, "gotta act the princess you know,"
Karina turns fully around, joining the conversation, "Actually, what are you doing out here? Usually you and your girls don't join in the festivities, I'm surprised to see you,"
"Well we were doing our normal routine of sitting there looking prissy," Yujin explains "but then Wony noticed that all of Kiss of Life had stormed the media pit, so we wouldn't have to worry about the paparazzi snapping pics. And so I told the girls to go have fun,"
"What about the fancams?" Yeji cocks her head, pointing towards the ceiling, where a plethora of cameras were bolted, "You know they love getting fancams of us getting fucked..."
Yujin laughs, "Well apparently, someone was fucking the technicians in the recording studio and squirted all over the equipment, and everything shorted out! So, we're clear to have fun for once," she licks her lips, "Feel free to continue, I wanna watch,"
Karina and Yeji nod amiably at Yujin, before Karina pauses and continues, "You said Wonyoung was around, but I haven't noticed her yet, usually she pulls in a fair amount of people,"
Yujin looks somewhat embarrassed, "Well... UAU, you know, Jiu, Sua, and Yoohyeon, were here, and I guess Gahyun tagged along to show her support so..." she bites her lip, "They're all busy having fun, Gahyun brought a friend again so that's occupying them all..."
Yeji jumps a little and giggles, excitedly clapping her hands, "Tentacles! Dreamcatcher always has great fucking orgies!" she beams, and Yujin grimaces weakly,
"Don't remind me, I think I'm good on tentacles for another few months, at least!"
Karina looks in horror at her best friend, "Yeji! Tentacles too! Without me?"
Yeji looks bashful for the first time that night, "It was by accident! Something was assaulting staff in the basements, so me and the girls went down there to deal with it and uh," she taps her lips, "we fucked it until it ran away..."
Yujin stares at Yeji, appalled, "I had no idea reverse tentacle rape was a thing..."
Yeji grunts, "Anyways!" She grabs Karina and kisses her full on the lips, "Where were we again?"
Back to using you for their own pleasure evidently, as Yeji pushes you out of the way so that she can lay down upon the collapsed folding chair, opening her legs and beckoning you closer. She spreads her pussy for you, her inner lips a flushed pink that starkly stands out from her tanned outer ones, smirking as she notes your interest, "Dinner time, fuck meat," she purrs, "your dick might be mediocre, but let's see how good your tongue is," Yeji indicates your meal more forcefully, "Come. Now," she orders, and you hurry to obey. She smirks impatiently at the sight of you on your knees, gazing in wonder at her sopping sex, her groin thick with milky cream. Grabbing you by the hair, she pulls your head into her crotch, "Eat it," Yeji demands, and you tentatively stick your tongue into her gooey folds, the tang of her honey making it tingle. Her labia was soft and spongy, clinging to your tongue as you run it up and down her slit, toying with her entrance and lapping at her clit. Yeji leans her head back, her modest breasts heaving as she breathes deeply, and you increase your efforts to pleasure her; but then she sighs and gives you a critical glance, "Average," she says, patting your cheek, "Do better, or I'll have to encourage you, got it?" Yeji looks up past you, "Mind getting him hard again, kitty?" and Karina grumbles from directly behind you,
"For someone who loves doing things the natural way, you never do seem to end up doing it," she exhales, "This would be so much easier with a strapon... Soyeon dear!" Karina calls out, "Do you still have your strap on you?"
More than a little concerned by this, you look to where your other neighbor was currently on her back, her partner atop her and rutting as if his life depended on it. Soyeon glances over and replies, "No, Minnie has it, she was wearing her leotard outfit again, and you know how that usually ends up."
Karina sighs, "Oh well, it was worth asking I suppose," then you hear her laugh, "You know Soyeon, for a 'Top Super Lady', you sure do end up on the bottom a lot..." Both her and Yeji chuckle at this, and Soyeon rolls her eyes at the pair,
"It's not my fault I can actually train my partners to do all the work for me, unlike some idols," and the two grumble amiably at this, before Yeji realizes your distracted state and lightly slaps you to focus your attention on its proper place,
"Did I say you could stop?" Yeji demands, "Up, up! Stop tonguing my pussy and focus on my clit!" Duly chastened, you start toying exclusively with her hooded bean, circling it with your tongue and pressing upwards upon, "Oh, there you go," Yeji sighs, "Not bad," and you eagerly continue.
Then Karina slaps your butt, causing you to start in surprise, "Ass up, please," she calls, "and open those legs- there you go," and then to Yeji, "I know you love watching me do this," to which Yeji laughs, and you feel her moisten against your chin. You twitch when Karina's hand grasps your member and pulls it backwards, and shudder when she runs her tongue up its ventral length before her mouth finds your balls. You groan into Yeji's pussy as the elegant and dignified Karina pops your greasy sack into her mouth and slobbers on it, her tongue roiling your orbs skillfully. You feel yourself begin to harden, but the idol is not done with you yet, letting your freshly cleaned balls spill out of her mouth, she laps her way up your taint, before spreading your cheeks and digging into your ass. You shudder as Karina expertly eats you out, one hand pumping your cock while the other soothingly massages your thigh, and all the while Yeji hungrily humps your face. By the time the two are finished with their foreplay, your mind is flush with hormones and your dick bulges eagerly. With a grunt Yeji hauls upwards atop her,
"In me, now," she growls voraciously, and you hurry to comply.
Yeji's cunt welcomes you with a gush of buttery fluids as you shove yourself inside of it, its burning folds drooling all over your shaft as you push into it. After only a few thrust, your balls were as slathered with pussy juices as they had been before Karina had cleaned them off, and Yeji's legs were locked tightly around your waist. She grips your neck, squeezing to hold you in place while she slaps you, "Fuck me harder," she hisses between slaps, "fuck me like you hate me, show me just how fucking worthless you really are!" and with a groan you do just that, thrusting wildly between her thighs, pounding away at her pussy as hard as you can until it feels as if you were fucking the idol into the floor. Yeji snarls with pleasure, her dragon eyes narrowed with lust, her cunt broiling your cock while you use it like a disposable fleshlight, doing your utmost to bruise her guts. Her fluids splatter all over both of you with each meaty slap of your body against hers, her pussy showing its approval in the most honest way possible. Then Karina shoves herself between you, parking herself atop Yeji's face and giving her something new to abuse with her tongue,
"Your turn to eat up, Kiry dear," she purrs, before turning her attention to you, "Taste yourself," and kisses you passionately, her tongue squirming inside of your mouth, distracting you enough to stop moving, until Karina slaps you in admonishment, "Did I say you should stop fucking her?" she asks incredulously, "You never fail to disappoint..."
With Yeji's attentions now mostly focused upon eating out Karina's pussy, as well as her ass, judging by the idol's undignified groans, you hoist Yeji's lower half up onto your lap so you can continue to plow her. Grasping her hips for leverage, you ravage her cunt, her toned tummy bulging noticeably whenever your balls smack against her taint. Karina shoots you a rare encouraging glance, rubbing at the spot where your cock presses up out of Yeji, her weighty cleavage wobbling as Yeji makes her quiver. You find you cannot tear your gaze away from Karina's quaking mounds, and before you can stop yourself you have taken both of her tits in either hand. Karina looks at you in surprise, "Now you show some initiative? Well better late than never I suppose..." Her expression remains neutral while you maul her massive breasts, each so large they were practically spilling out of your hands, chiding you occasionally to keep thrusting and not get too distracted by playing with her chest, "You know," Karina says absently, "You can be as rough as you'd like with Yeji, work out some of that, ah, frustration on her?" You stare blankly at the idol in confusion, and she rolls her eyes, "It is embarrassing I even let an imbecile like you inside of me, let alone spill your seed in me," she sighs and waves her hand, "No matter, if Yeji isn't satisfied, she'll just take it out on you, feel free to finish whenever, I suppose,"
Speaking of your stamina, you were honestly shocked you hadn't creampied Yeji yet, especially considering the way you were jackhammering her addicting pussy; it must be due to the fact that you were on your third round. Just as that thought crosses your mind, you pull back too far and your cock springs out of her pussy, flinging Yeji's cunt honey all over the place and leaving a slick of cream down her taint. When you go to press yourself back into her cunt though, you pause as a thought crosses your mind, and you move a little lower and... Yeji's entire body jolts as you force you dick into her ass, her pussy gaping and gushing jealously while your manhood defiles her other hole. Karina nods with approval, her delicate hand gripping your chin, "Now why could you not have been such a fast learner with me, hmm?" She casually slaps you, less for punishment and more in admonishment, before her off-hand glides down to Yeji's unoccupied hole. Karina shoves two fingers inside of Yeji's cunt, before pulling upwards, all while her thumb stirred Yeji's clit with easy familiarity. Now, Yeji's pussy was truly creating a mess, slopping fluids down onto your thrusting cock and creating a puddle beneath your joined bodies.
Compared to the swampy folds of Yeji's cunt, her asshole was practically a desert; still blisteringly warm, yet far drier, causing her tight coils to drag pleasurably against your length. Her walls clamp down around you like a vice, crushing your cock and making your balls throb as you struggle to not unload immediately. You realize now that Yeji had been relaxing her pussy the entire time, allowing you to slam yourself into her without undue stimulation, maximizing the amount of time you could spend fucking her. But now that you were in the cramped confines of her ass, you were gasping as your orbs throb insistently, eager to mindlessly fill the warm hole you were inside and be done with it. Karina laughs when you stop fondling her to grasp Yeji's waist, hauling you close so that she might kiss you once more, her tongue skillfully writhing and giving you enough stimulation to send you over the edge. You groan into Karina's mouth while you thrust forcefully into Yeji's guts, each movement heralding a deluge of semen that spews into her innards, her coils milking you dry with agonizing pleasure. When you are finished shuddering, Karina breaks off the kiss and shoves you backwards with a smug smirk, unmounting Yeji's face and allowing her to sputter up in outrage, "You bitch! You just had to make him use my ass!"
And Karina laughs in delight, blowing her friend kisses.
But before Yeji can vent her lustful vengeance upon Karina, she still has some cleanup to do, and soon enough she is slobbering on your cock. Yeji's head bobs aggressively atop your cock, her hands plying your balls and taint, pressing insistently while you writhe in her grasp, your manhood once more stuck in one of her holes. You realize that it was probably a good thing that Karina had been the one to previously nurse your erection back to life, as Yeji's voracious oral skills are soon taking your over-stimulated cock far past the goal of firmness. You grasp the idol's head for support as you climax once more, your not even fully hard cock spurting thin ropes of watery cum down her throat while you nearly double over as pleasure wracks your body once more. Yeji allows you to collapse backwards with a wicked smile, before turning and kissing Karina full on the lips, the pairs' hands hungrily roaming each others' bodies. When they are satiated, they turn to you, arms around one another's waists, glaring down at you as if you were an unfinished meal. They descend upon you, Karina's breasts dragging along your leg as they lean over your crotch, while Yeji's hard nipples brush along the other,
"Try not to make him finish again, this time," Karina sighs, her hand cupping your sagging balls, "We could have fucked that load out of him instead,"
Yeji shrugs, "It's not my fault he was so fast, and it's not like we'll have any trouble getting him up again," she licks her lips, staring hungrily at your exhausted form, "I told you we could keep you up," Yeji giggles to you, taking your meat once more in her mouth and sucking vigorously upon it. Karina smiles loving as she watches her best friend slurping on your abused manhood, before turning her attention to you and turning about,
"Let's see how much you learned, hmm?" you hear Karina laugh as her ass descends upon your face, "I do so love playing with toys with you Kiry dear, but after this, want to stop by my place, I have some cleanup of my own to do..." You hear Yeji laugh as your sight is obscured by Karina's cheeks, and the taste of her pussy fills your mouth,
"Sounds like an oasis for this kitty..." Yeji purrs, before resuming sucking your soul out so that she might wring what few drops of pleasure remain in you...
...Sirens blare as you sprawl exhaustedly in a folding chair, one far less comfortable than the last, while a paramedic idly consults his diagnostics tablet, "You say you climaxed nine times?" he asks, somewhat incredulously, poking at the massive bag of ice smothering your crotch, "Well, your hips are bruised to the point of near fracture, your testicles are swollen twice their usual size, and your penis looks like its been in an industrial press," the paramedic nods thoughtfully, tapping and signing his device, "All fairly standard then, I would advise waiting one month before attending your next awards show, son," he says, before slapping your shoulder and moving onto the next victim, some more poor girl with a distended belly who was shitting out a deluge of semen into a plastic bucket. It takes some time, but you manage to stagger to your feet and join the general horde of overused people shambling away from the awards theatre. As you do, you spot a limo puttering by, windows down so the idols inside might wave goodbye to their adoring fans; or at least, that's what the vehicle usually reveals. Instead you catch sight of Karina half out the wide window, her breasts flopping wildly as Yeji digs into her friend's pussy voraciously from behind, moaning loudly for all to see as the pair's limo passes by.
It was heartwarming to see such a close friendship between idols, but perhaps next time you would want to observe their relationship from afar...
It starts with silence. The announcement drops quietly, no buildup, no warning beyond what could be mistaken for routine corporate scheduling. But in reality, nothing about it was routine at all. It was almost too detached, too clinical. The announcement that hit harder than it should:
“We would like to inform you about the status of ITZY member Lia’s health and her future activities…”
“…we decided that Lia will not participate in scheduled activities starting from today and will take a break for the time being to focus on her treatment.”
It was a simple statement of facts “Lia is going on Hiatus until further notice” there was no drama in the wording. That made it worse. Because for everyone outside the group, it was news. But for ITZY, it was a rupture, for Yeji, Ryujin, Chaeryeong, and Yuna— they were as clueless as to Lia’s condition as MIDZY was.
Yeji reads it a second time, and then a third time. It wasn’t that she didn’t understand, but because she did. She is the leader, but the title suddenly feels meaningless when she realizes she had been kept in the dark too. Yet despite the feeling of betrayal running in her blood at that moment, there was only one question that kept running on repeat within the confines of her mind: “How long was Lia carrying this alone?”
It wasn’t even hours after the announcement and inside the dorm— the dynamic shifts immediately. No one said anything related to the topic out loud, the members were already affected by the sudden news, and everyone was already walking on eggshells.
Ryujin wasn’t loud or subtle about it. She started to withdraw emotionally, distant in ways that feel intentional.
Chaeryeong became more careful with her words, she was already fragile from her own internal conflicts and with becoming informed of Lia’s hiatus— as if the slightest mistake might shatter whatever fragile balance remained.
Yuna kept a façade. She talked more than usual, as if believing that overcompensating would make up for Lia’s absence or would bring her back sooner, but that only felt like a noise filling in empty space. Words that believe they were hiding a pain with loudness instead.
Yeji just stops sleeping, questioning herself as the leader her group deserves to have. Running back anything in her mind to what she could’ve missed that would have hinted to the pain Lia hid from everyone else.
The comeback cycle does not stop. The industry demands continuation even as if nothing has changed. The managers were hesitant on the day to announce to them about the upcoming comeback, and its name was bitterly ironic— BORN TO BE. As if the company was hinting that the group was about to be reborn as four. Every schedule felt heavier the passing day. Every rehearsal slightly longer. Evert crack within the members slightly more noticeable.
Every crack within the members became slightly more noticeable. Not all at once— that would have been easier to confront. It happened in smaller ways. A missed laugh here, a delayed response there. A water bottle left untouched after rehearsal because no one remembered who it belonged to anymore. The practice room became the first place where Lia’s absence stopped being an announcement and started becoming a shape. One empty space in the formation, adjusted by the choreographer with professional efficiency, as if rearranging bodies could make the loss feel smaller.
“Again, from the second verse,” the choreographer called.
No one complained. Ryujin wiped the sweat from her neck and returned to position without a word. Chaeryeong nodded too quickly, already apologizing under her breath before she had even made a mistake. Yuna smiled at the mirror, bright and practiced, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Yeji stood at the center.
“Music.” The track started again.
They moved like professionals because that was what they were— Sharp. Clean. Controlled. Four bodies forcing themselves to fill a space that used to belong to five. For the first few counts, it almost worked. Then Chaeryeong’s foot landed half a beat late. She caught herself immediately. “Sorry.” No one blamed her. That made her look even more ashamed. “It’s fine,” Yeji said quickly. Too quickly. “Again.” The choreographer glanced at the clock. “You’ve been at this for hours. Take five first.”
“I’m okay,” Yeji answered, she didn’t ask the others.
Ryujin looked at her through the mirror, expression unreadable. For a second, it looked like she wanted to say something. Instead, she turned away and reached for her towel. Yuna clapped once, too loudly. “We’re almost there! It’s fine, right? We just need to clean it a little more.”
Her voice bounced against the walls and came back thinner. Chaeryeong only nodded.
The music played again. And again. And again. By the time the staff finally called the rehearsal over, the room smelled of sweat, floor cleaner, and exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix because sleep was no longer the problem. One by one, they packed their things. Yuna was still talking as she zipped her bag, asking if anyone wanted convenience store snacks, if they should order food, if they should maybe watch something funny back at the dorm. She kept offering pieces of normal life like she was handing out bandages.
No one really answered. Chaeryeong smiled anyway, small and tired “Maybe later.” Ryujin slung her bag over one shoulder “I’m going ahead”. She didn’t wait for anyone to respond. The door closed behind her. For a moment, the room was quiet. Then Yeji walked back to the center of the floor. Chaeryeong noticed first “Unnie?” Yeji didn’t even look back to Chaeryeong “I’ll just run it once more". Yuna’s smile faltered. “But we’re done". Yeji faced the mirror “I know, just one more.” No one believed her. But no one stopped her either. That became the pattern, not because they didn’t care. Because everyone was too tired to know what caring was supposed to look like anymore.
The dorm was quieter now than it had ever been before, it wasn’t a peaceful silence either. The television stayed on most nights without anyone truly watching it. Variety shows played into empty space while half-finished drinks gathered on the table beside unopened delivery containers that had long gone cold. The members moved around each other carefully, like people afraid of making too much noise in a room already filled with tension. It became normal to hear footsteps at three in the morning. Sometimes it was Chaeryeong walking into the kitchen for water she barely drank before returning to her room. Sometimes it was Ryujin sitting alone on the couch in the dark with her phone face-down beside her, not scrolling, not sleeping either. Yuna filled silence whenever she could, but even she slowly started running out of things to say. And Yeji— she stopped pretending she slept at all.
At first, it was subtle enough to hide behind makeup and schedules. Dark circles covered by stylists who were paid to make exhaustion invisible. Energy drinks appearing more frequently beside practice notes. Longer moments staring blankly at mirrors before someone called her name and she snapped back into herself. But exhaustion always collects interest eventually.
One night after rehearsal, Yuna fell asleep sitting upright against the side of the couch, head tilted awkwardly with her phone still in her hand. The television cast pale blue light across the dorm while rain tapped quietly against the windows outside. Chaeryeong had already gone to bed. Ryujin emerged from the hallway with damp hair and an oversized shirt hanging loosely over her frame. She slowed when she saw Yuna asleep. Then she noticed Yeji who was still awake. Still sitting at the dining table, papers spread out in front of her. Schedule sheets, notes, performance breakdowns, handwritten reminders layered over company printouts until it all blurred together into meaningless clutter.
Ryujin leaned against the wall. “You’re still doing that?”
Yeji didn’t look up immediately. “Mm.”
RY: It’s two in the morning.
YJ: We have recording tomorrow.
RY: We always have something tomorrow.
Yeji finally glanced up, tired eyes meeting Ryujin’s for only a second before dropping back to the papers. “I know.” Ryujin observed her leader— that was becoming normal too. Not arguments. Not concern spoken aloud. Just observation. The kind people did when they noticed something getting worse but didn’t know where to place their hands without accidentally breaking it further.
“You missed dinner again,” Ryujin said eventually.
“I ate earlier" Yeji said unconvincingly. Ryujin socffed at her “You’re a terrible liar.” That almost earned a smile. Almost. Yeji rubbed her eyes instead. “Why are you awake?” Ryujin shrugged lightly. “Couldn’t sleep.” Neither of them acknowledged how often that answer had started appearing lately. Rain continued tapping softly against the glass. For a while, neither spoke. Then Ryujin walked closer to the table, gaze drifting across the papers scattered there.
“You reorganized the rehearsal schedule?”
“The spacing was off,” Yeji muttered.
Ryujin frowned slightly. “You know that’s the staff’s job, right?”
“If I can make things easier for everyone, then why not?”
The answer came too fast. Too automatic.
Ryujin’s eyes lingered on her longer this time. There it is, she thought. That isn't leadership anymore, it was compensation. Yeji was trying to carry everything now. The performances. The atmosphere. The morale. The silence. Lia’s absence. The pressure of making sure four people still looked complete under stage lights designed for five. And the frightening part was how naturally she was accepting it. Ryujin pulled out the chair beside her and sat down without asking. Yeji blinked. “What are you doing?” Ryujin just sat there looking at her phone.
“Keeping you company.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” Another silence settled between them.
A silience that showed tiredness no one wanted to say outloud. The kind built between people too exhausted to perform normality anymore.
Ryujin leaned back slightly, arms folded loosely across her chest. “You know none of us blame you, right?” Yeji’s hand stopped moving.
Only for a second— then she continued reorganizing papers that no longer needed reorganizing. “I know,” she said softly. But Ryujin could tell from the way her shoulders tightened that she didn’t believe it at all.
After that, the days started losing their shape. Morning schedules bled into evening rehearsals. Airport terminals became more familiar than the dorm itself. Staff voices, countdowns, makeup touch-ups, stage cues— everything eventually merged together into one endless routine of movement and noise. The comeback preparations consumed them completely. At some point, meals stopped becoming something shared. Food turned into half-finished containers left around the dorm table for whoever remembered they were hungry first. Energy drinks appeared more frequently than water bottles. Sleep became something negotiated between schedules instead of something naturally expected at the end of the day. And somehow, despite everything— BORN TO BE was successful.
That was the strange part. The stages trended online. The performances were praised. Fans admired how stable they looked despite continuing as four. Articles called them resilient. Strong. Professional. Yeji started quietly hating those words. Because strong people were expected to continue. Strong people didn’t get to stop. The practice room mirrors reflected the proof of that every night.
Sometimes Yuna still tried to hold the atmosphere together. Small jokes thrown into rehearsals. Dramatic reactions exaggerated just enough to make the others laugh for a few seconds. Sometimes she would intentionally mess up choreography near Chaeryeong just to hear her complain and smile at the same time. But even Yuna’s energy started fading around the edges eventually. The louder she became, the easier it was to notice how exhausted she really looked afterward.
Ryujin changed more subtly.She stopped joking during rehearsals as much. Stopped teasing staff members between takes. Stopped reaching for conversation unless someone else started it first. Instead, she observed.
Yeji staying behind after rehearsals. She even rereads schedules during van rides. Yeji would answer questions before managers could. She started apologizing for things that weren’t her fault. The frightening part was how natural it all started looking.
Even Chaeryeong adapted to it eventually. Her apologies became automatic. “Sorry" would slip out of her constantly now. Sorry for mistakes. Sorry for delays. Sorry for being tired. Sorry for forgetting things. One night Ryujin counted seven apologies in less than ten minutes before silently giving up halfway through. No one pointed it out anymore.
The schedules only became worse after promotions began. Interviews blurred together into identical rooms and repeated questions. Hotel hallways all started looking the same. Some nights the members fell asleep still wearing partial stage makeup because nobody had enough energy left to finish removing it properly. And through all of it, Yeji continued moving forward like someone terrified of what would happen if she slowed down even once.
The world tour started not long after— despite all four of them not wanting to tour without Lia, but it was the company's choice. That was when the isolation truly settled in. Airports, security escorts, fans screaming loud enough to shake the walls outside terminals. Then silence again the moment hotel doors closed behind them. Different country, a different room. But the same exhaustion. The members spent more time together than almost anyone else in their lives yet somehow began feeling further apart emotionally with each passing month.
Conversations became shorter. Everyone started saying “I’m okay” too quickly. There were nights where the only sounds inside hotel rooms were television noise and the humming of air conditioning units running too cold. One evening somewhere halfway through the tour, Yuna fell asleep during hair and makeup while staff members quietly continued working around her. Nobody laughed. Not because it wasn’t endearing. Because everyone else looked one bad day away from doing the same thing.
Another time, Chaeryeong burst into tears in the middle of rehearsal after forgetting choreography she had already practiced dozens of times. The crying itself seemed to scare her more than the mistake did. “I’m sorry,” she kept repeating through uneven breaths. “I know it already, I don’t know why I can’t—”
Yeji hugged her immediately. Too immediately. Like it was instinctually her responsibility as the leader instead of as a friend. Like if she held everyone together tightly enough, maybe nothing else would fall apart.
Ryujin watched from the side of the room, jaw tightening slightly. Because even then— even exhausted, even emotionally drowning herself Yeji still only knew how to become stronger for everyone else first.
The tour continued anyway. That became the answer to everything eventually. Fatigue, homesickness, and silence. The answer was always the same: Keep moving.
Country after country blurred together until the members stopped remembering where certain memories came from. Hotel ceilings changed shapes but never atmosphere. Waiting rooms stayed cold no matter what city they were in. Staff members rotated in shifts while ITZY continued existing in the strange in-between state of constantly being seen and never truly perceived.
The performances remained good. That was the unsettling part of it— maybe even better than before. There was a desperation hidden inside them now that audiences mistook for passion. Every movement sharper. Every stage heavier. Every expression carrying an intensity that translated beautifully under lights and cameras while slowly hollowing them out behind the scenes. People praised their professionalism constantly.
Yeji learned to smile every time she heard it. Somewhere during the middle stretch of the tour, Ryujin stopped trying to convince Yeji to rest. Not because she stopped caring. Because she realized Yeji no longer knew how. Instead, she started staying nearby. Sometimes beside her during flights while Yeji reorganized schedules she had no responsibility handling herself. Sometimes sitting silently in rehearsal rooms long after staff members left. Sometimes awake at four in the morning in hotel kitchens where neither of them touched the food sitting between them. No dramatic conversations ever happened. That somehow made it sadder.
Chaeryeong became more emotionally careful over time. She watched everyone closely now before speaking, as if constantly measuring the emotional temperature of every room she entered. The more exhausted everyone became, the more she shrank herself instinctively trying not to become another problem someone else needed to carry.
Yuna noticed it too. So, she compensated harder. Louder reactions. Brighter smiles. More touching. More attempts at pulling everyone together during meals and backstage downtime. Sometimes she would drag the members into group selfies nobody really had energy for anymore just because she missed how things used to feel. Most of those pictures still ended up online. Fans called them cute. None of the members had the heart to say those moments usually ended in silence seconds later.
Then eventually— Lia came back. There was no dramatic reunion. No tears the moment the door opened. No emotional release powerful enough to undo over a year of accumulated exhaustion. Just hesitation and carefulness. The strange awkwardness of people trying desperately to return to a version of themselves that no longer existed in quite the same way anymore.
The first rehearsal as five again felt unfamiliar. Not wrong. Just unfamiliar. Everyone kept looking at Lia like they were trying to reassure themselves she was actually there. Lia noticed the changes immediately. Yeji smiling too quickly whenever someone asked if she was okay. Chaeryeong apologizing before speaking. Yuna filling every silence before it could fully settle. Ryujin watching everyone constantly while pretending she wasn’t. And beneath all of it— exhaustion. Not temporary exhaustion. The kind that settled deep enough into people that they started mistaking survival for normalcy.
Lia carried guilt for it almost instantly. Not because anyone blamed her. That was the problem— nobody blamed her at all. Which somehow made her feel worse. The group slowly adjusted again after her return. Interviews became easier as five. Formations looked complete again. Fans celebrated the feeling of wholeness returning to ITZY after months of uncertainty.
Then GOLD happened, the first comeback as five— and publicly, everything finally looked fixed. The performances were stable again. The group chemistry looked natural during promotions. Variety appearances felt lighter. Smiles came easier on camera now that Lia was back beside them. To everyone outside the group, ITZY looked recovered. That illusion became dangerously convincing. Because even the members themselves slowly started believing it sometimes.
Until the cameras turned off and schedules ended. Until the dorm lights dimmed and exhaustion settled back into their bodies like something permanent waiting patiently for morning to come again.
Yeji got worse quietly. Not visibly enough for headlines. Not dramatically enough for intervention. Just small things. Skipping meals more often. Falling asleep sitting upright. Longer silences. Forgetting conversations midway through them. One night Lia found her asleep at the dining table with schedule papers still clutched loosely in her hand. Another time Yuna realized Yeji had been wearing the same ring on the wrong finger for nearly three days without noticing. Ryujin started looking at her with poorly hidden concern now. Even Chaeryeong noticed. But inside ITZY, concern had long since evolved into adaptation. Everyone saw the damage and nobody knew what to do with it anymore.
With the volatility that had long been noticed but never truly addressed beginning to surface more openly between the five of them, someone else eventually started noticing too. Not management. Not staff members. Someone who understood the difference between temporary exhaustion and the kind that settled into people slowly enough for them to stop recognizing it themselves.
(Jihyo's POV):
I had seen this before, not in the exact same shape. But close enough, it was the close enough to the time where my own group imploded within itself to threaten the very existence of TWICE, my TWICE. The first time I truly noticed it was during a music show waiting room sometime during GOLD promotions. ITZY was laughing about something Yuna said when she passed by the open door with one of the managers beside her.
At first glance, everything looked normal. That was the problem. Years in the industry had taught me how to recognize when idols became too good at pretending. Yeji smiled through conversations half a second too late now. Ryujin kept scanning the room whenever silence settled for too long. Chaeryeong looked like she apologized with her eyes before words even reached her mouth. Lia had the careful attentiveness of someone trying to make up for an absence nobody blamed her for. And Yuna— Yuna looked exhausted in the way only people trying the hardest to appear energetic usually did.
I didn’t say anything that day, I couldn’t but after that, I started paying attention. Small things became difficult to ignore once she noticed them.
Yeji falling asleep during downtime between recordings.
Ryujin lingering nearby afterward instead of waking her immediately.
Chaeryeong quietly checking everyone else’s mood before speaking during group interviews.
The way the members looked relieved whenever schedules ended early, not because they were lazy, but because they genuinely seemed unable to process another hour being added onto the day.
It reminded me too much of something I recognized. The dangerous stage of exhaustion where functioning became so normal that nobody realized how badly things had deteriorated anymore. And once I recognized it— I couldn’t stop seeing it. At first, I was going to tackle it alone. But there was only little I could do by myself. But I remembered I had someone with me. Perhaps I could talk to John with my concerns, technically this is part of the job description of our managerial boyfriend.
(John's POV):
It was the night before MISAMO left for Japan again. HAUTE COUTURE promotions overseas always shifted the atmosphere slightly within the dorms. Different schedules. Different pacing. Different forms of chaos. For once, it also meant the rest of us would finally have room to breathe again after months of nonstop movement. At least, that had been my plan before Sana decided otherwise.
“You’re thinking too much again” her voice came muffled against my neck while she remained comfortably tangled against me beneath the sheets, both of our bodies completely free from any form of clothing and she unconcerned with the fact that I was still trying to organize schedules on my phone moments earlier.
J: I’m literally doing my job.
SN: You stopped looking at your phone ten minutes ago.
J: …That’s not the point.
SN: It kind of is.
I felt her smile against my skin before she shifted closer purely to annoy me further. Typical. The room itself was dim outside the soft lamp near the bedside table. Comfortable silence settled naturally between us in the way it only could after years of familiarity. Sana always had a strange ability to pull people out of their own heads whether they wanted her to or not. Usually against their will.
J: You’re going to Japan tomorrow
SN: Mhm.
J: And instead of sleeping—
SN: I wanted attention.
J: That sounds like a “you” problem.
SN: It became your problem when you started dating me.
J: Fair point.
“Now be a good boy for me” Sana’s mood changed like clockwork, it was as simple as flipping a switch. She gave me a quick peck on the lips before going down to my neck, then giving my chest a few bite marks “Something to remember me by when I’m in Japan” her giggled showed more of a territorial side than clingy. I decided to meet her halfway— directly flipping her over to have me be the one on top this time. “Let’s make every second count then” I whispered in her ear as the tip of my already erect cock was rubbing the around the folds of her already wet entrance, to which Sana stared at me showing that she didn’t need to say anything to let me know what she wanted.
She cooed in pleasure the moment she felt me enter her. I took my time to make sure she felt me inch by inch. Though I didn’t give her time to settle into anything. The moment I was full length inside her I pulled out leaving only the tip left inside, and before Sana could say anything in protest— I slammed my entire length going back inside in an instant. This gave Sana a jolt of extreme pleasure enough that for a very split moment it cause her to black out before instantly regaining consciousness. She was very used to me making love to her gently and her very sexual nature wasn’t opposed to it, but she loved it more when I was extra rough with her and since she was going to leave for a while I wanted to make sure to give a little extra treatment the way she likes it.
The change of pace was enough to make Sana reach her the near of her climax faster than normal, and I was still sensitive from earlier which worked in my favor— almost. The feeling of Sana’s walls hugging around my shaft as the tip kissed the entranced to her cervix was stimulation to much for me, it led me to finish first the feeling of pleasure overwhelming me to a point where I stopped moving as globs of my cum flooded Sana’s insides. The feeling of her insides being filled to the brim with my seed was enough to push her to orgasm as well, her insides contracted simultaneously around my already sensitive cock prolonging the rush of pleasure both of us felt.
I slowly pulled out of her and the cum started to escape out of her pussy “Oh wow, if we keep this up I might actually get knocked up, oppa” she looked at me with awe while rubbing her abs. “Dear God, Sana. It’s not like I’m against it, but we all know what’s going to happen to me if that does.” I laughed while falling on the bed with her right next to me “Either PD-nim is going to personally murder you, the rest of the members, or the wave of angry fans” Sana giggled as she slowly led her mouth to my already soft member as she tried to spring it back to life.
Then there was a knock on the door, and before I could tell whoever was on the other side to wait, they already opened the it "Aishh— I feel like we already did this before" as Jihyo looked at the sight of me in the bed. Sana was covered underneath the sheets not stopping despite being caught, her head kept bobbing without the slightest care of being caught. She was about to leave for a while— being seen by someone from the other eight whom she shared me was not Sana's concern.
"I'm borrowing John for a bit after you, there's something I need to talk to him about" Jihyo said in a serious tone as she told Sana who still didn't stop, her only confirmation was her hand leaving the sheets forming the okay hand sign.
Jihyo only stared at the two of us for a moment longer before rubbing tiredly at her forehead. “You know, normal couples would at least pretend to be embarrassed.” Sana finally resurfaced just enough to grin lazily at her. “That sounds judgmental.”
JH: That’s because it is.
SN: It’s not my fault he’s cute.
JH: You literally say that about all nine of us.
SN: And I mean it every single time.
Jihyo sighed deeply, though the corner of her mouth still twitched upward slightly despite herself. The atmosphere inside the room remained warm in the familiar way it always became whenever the members naturally drifted around each other. Comfortable. Chaotic. Intimate without effort. It reminded me how different things felt now compared to years ago. Which was why the expression lingering behind Jihyo’s eyes stood out almost immediately. Sana noticed it too. Her teasing softened first. “…Something happened?” Jihyo hesitated. And that alone was enough to tell me this wasn’t casual concern. The room grew quieter afterward.
Sana slowly sat up properly beneath the sheets this time, finally giving Jihyo her full attention while I reached over to mute the television still playing softly in the background. For a few seconds, only silence remained. Then Jihyo finally spoke. “It’s ITZY.” That got my attention immediately. Not because the topic itself was surprising. Because of the way she said it. Carefully. Like she had already spent weeks trying to convince herself she was overthinking it before finally deciding she wasn’t. Jihyo moved further into the room before sitting near the edge of the bed, arms folding loosely across herself. “I think something’s wrong with them.” Sana frowned slightly. “Wrong how?” Jihyo exhaled quietly. “I don’t know if I can explain it properly. They’re functioning too well.” Neither of us interrupted her. Because we understood exactly what she meant. “They remind me too much of us back then,” she admitted softly. “Not publicly. Privately.”
The warmth inside the room dimmed slightly after that. I leaned back against the headboard slowly while listening as Jihyo explained everything she had been noticing for months now. Yeji pushing herself too hard. Ryujin watching everyone constantly. Chaeryeong growing smaller emotionally. Yuna overcompensating. Lia carrying guilt nobody blamed her for. And beneath all of it— exhaustion that had stopped looking temporary a long time ago. By the time Jihyo finished talking, Sana’s expression had completely lost its earlier playfulness.
“…That bad?” she asked quietly. Jihyo nodded once. I stayed silent longer than either of them liked. Because the truth was— I had noticed pieces of it too. Not enough to fully understand the situation from a distance, but enough to recognize the pattern forming underneath everything Jihyo described. And patterns like that rarely resolved cleanly on their own. “That kind of exhaustion changes people,” I said eventually. Jihyo looked at me carefully. “I know.” I added “And if nobody steps in early enough, they normalize it” which Jihyo shared my concern “That’s what I’m scared of.” The room fell quiet again.
Sana shifted closer beside me instinctively, her hand resting lightly against my arm while she listened. I already knew where the conversation was heading before Jihyo asked the question. “Can we help them?” I exhaled slowly through my nose. Not because I didn’t want to. Because I understood exactly how complicated the answer was. Emotional dependency inside this industry was dangerous. Lines blurred too easily when people spent too long isolated from normality. Support became attachment before anyone realized it was happening. And once that happened— things stopped being simple. Jihyo knew that too. Which was why she looked nervous asking me in the first place. For a long while, none of us spoke.
Then eventually, I ran a hand down my face before reaching toward the bedside table for my phone. “I know the right guy,” I muttered quietly. Jihyo’s posture straightened slightly. “He’s good at reading people. Better than anyone I know, honestly.” I glanced down at the dark screen in my hand for a moment before continuing. “But whether he agrees to this or not is completely up to him.” Sana tilted her head slightly. “That friend of yours?” I only nodded while reaching for my phone. “The psychology major who psychoanalyzed you in ten minutes?” Sana tilted her head in curiosity, “He was right about me, unfortunately.” That almost earned a small laugh from Jihyo. Almost.
I unlocked my phone slowly. “Even if he says yes,” I said carefully, “this doesn’t magically fix anything. And if this goes wrong—”
“I know,” Jihyo interrupted softly. No optimism. No naïve expectations.
That made this harder somehow. I stared at the contact for another second before finally pressing call. The line rang once. Twice. Then:
“John?” a calm voice answered from the other side. I closed my eyes briefly “…Hey, Ben.”
(Ben's POV):
I frowned slightly at my phone before leaning back deeper into the couch. “You usually only call this late when somebody’s either dying or pregnant” A muffled snort immediately echoed somewhere on his side of the call. Female. Sounded like Sana— Interesting. “Good evening to you too, jackass” John muttered dryly. “You didn’t deny either possibility” I commented only for John to annoyingly reply with “Because neither possibility should’ve been your first assumption.”
B: That sounds like denial.
J: You sound unemployed.
B: I technically am unemployed.
J: You own SEVEN businesses.
B: Own. Having passive income is not employment— I refuse to disrespect actual workers like that.
That earned another laugh somewhere near him, that voice definitely belongs to Sana. I rubbed tiredly at my face while sitting up properly this time, abandoning my PC on the table. The clock on the wall already pushed dangerously close to midnight which usually meant one of two things whenever John called. Either something genuinely serious happened, or one of the girls did something catastrophically stupid. Both were equally possible.
B: So, who’s dying?
J: No one.
B: Did you get one the members pregnant?
J: What the hell? Again. No.
B: Financial crime? Extortion?
J: Can you be serious for five minutes?
I had my fun with John, I dropped my playful tone “Depends. Are you asking as my best friend or as whatever the hell your job title actually is nowadays?” Silence. That was enough for my expression to slowly flatten. Ah. So this actually WAS serious. I stood from the couch afterward and walked toward the kitchen automatically, phone tucked between my shoulder and ear while grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “What happened?” The joking disappeared from my voice completely. John noticed immediately too. “It’s not about TWICE.” That narrowed possibilities slightly. “But?”
A quieter exhale answered first. Then— “It’s ITZY.” I stayed silent. Not because I didn’t know who they were. Because I knew exactly enough about them for those two words to already sound exhausting. A young group. Heavy schedules. Leadership pressure. Public resilience. And JYPE announced recently that one of their members went on hiatus. That was an emotionally dangerous combination. I twisted the bottle cap open slowly. “What about them?” Another pause. Careful this time. John choosing words. That interested me more than the situation itself initially. Because John wasn’t someone easily intimidated by emotional complexity anymore. Which meant whatever this was— he considered it delicate.
“I think they’ve been surviving too long without realizing how bad things got.” And there it was. Not scandal. Not behavioral collapse. It was a burnout, the ugly kind too. I leaned silently against the kitchen counter afterward while processing that answer. Then eventually “…And you’re calling me because?” Another silence. “Jihyo noticed first.” Very interesting. Because if Jihyo was concerned enough to involve John— then this wasn’t ordinary exhaustion anymore. “When are you free?” John finally asked. I glanced toward the clock hanging above the kitchen entrance. 12:47 AM.
B: You do realize normal people discuss emotional crises before midnight, right?
J: You were awake anyway.
B: That’s not the point.
J: You answered on the second ring.
B: You know that if you called me even if I was in the middle of a car race I would still pick up. But… that’s also not the point.
A quieter laugh echoed somewhere near him again. “Fine. When do you want to meet?” John asked for tomorrow afternoon. “That sounds less like a request and more like kidnapping.” I told him “You’ll survive.” John ignored that completely. Typical. “The NDA’s already prepared.” That earned a short laugh out of me immediately. “Jesus Christ. You people are serious.” John still was serious, “We have to be.” There it was again. That carefulness. I rolled the cold water bottle lightly against my forehead while thinking. Young group. Hiatus instability. Solo pressure. Emotional suppression. Yeah. I could already see where this probably went wrong psychologically. “Alright, send me the location.” I muttered eventually. “Get some sleep first” I frowned slightly. “You can’t even see me.” John’s voice softened slightly afterward though “But I know you,” the atmosphere settled again naturally. “Tomorrow. Two in the afternoon.” The line disconnected not long after that.
I stayed leaning silently against the kitchen counter for a while afterward, phone still loosely in my hand while the apartment settled back into silence around me. Then eventually I glanced toward the laptop abandoned on the couch. Defeat screen still open. Unbelievable. I made a mental note to never play ranked past midnight again.
The café John picked the following afternoon looked exactly like the kind of place wealthy people pretended wasn’t expensive. Minimalist interior. Quiet lighting. Private enough to discourage attention without looking intentionally exclusive. The type of place celebrities used when they wanted to convince themselves they were still having normal conversations. John and Jihyo were already seated when I arrived. And immediately— John frowned.
J: You look like shit.
B: Good afternoon to you too.
J: No, seriously. You look exhausted.
I slid into the chair across from them before pulling my cap off loosely. “I stayed up too late.” John was looking at me again, that frown in face growing “Doing?” I stared at him flatly “…Making terrible life choices.” he narrowed his eyes at me “That narrows it down to everything.” I ignored him completely and reached for the glass of water already sitting nearby instead. “Some psychopath kept queueing into my ranked matches all night.” John looked mildly interested “And I lost. Repeatedly.” He finally broke into a smile “Huh, sounds like a skill issue.” That pinched a nerve in my pride.
Jihyo quietly laughed into her drink while I rubbed tiredly at my forehead. “The worst part is the IGN sounded pretentious too.” John raised an eyebrow. “What was it?” I tried recalling it properly. “Something elegant sounding.” I frowned slightly. “PenguinNoona? SilverPenguin? Something rich-person coded.” The silence afterward lasted exactly one second too long. Then suddenly John started laughing. Not normal laughing either. The genuinely disrespectful kind. Jihyo blinked between both of us immediately. “What?” I narrowed my eyes “…Why are you laughing?” John leaned back in his chair, still grinning. “Because that was Mina.” I blinked once “No it wasn’t.” Then again until John affirmed what I denied “It absolutely was.” Jihyo’s expression immediately shifted from confusion to visible amusement. “Wait,” she said while trying not to laugh herself now, “you spent all night getting destroyed by Mina?”
“She was reading my rotations before I even committed to them”. John muttered “That’s somehow worse since you challenged her first apparently.” I had no other play except to keep on making more excuses “I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS HER.” That only made John laugh harder, that jackass. I rubbed tiredly at my face while Jihyo laughed softly into her drink now too “…Tell her I want a rematch.” He held up his phone “You already said that six times last night apparently”. I stared at him blankly, that definitely was my IGN, and she even sent him screenshots? Unbelievable.
The atmosphere loosened naturally after that more familiar. Which honestly made what came next feel slightly stranger by comparison once the conversation gradually settled again. Jihyo’s eyes drifted briefly toward my wrist while I reached for the water again. Small movement that was easy to miss. But observant people always noticed expensive things eventually. Especially people surrounded by luxury branding professionally. The glance lingered only half a second longer before she looked away thoughtfully. John noticed too. “You’re still wearing that?” he asked casually. I glanced down at the watch. “It tells time”. He was visibly stressed “That’s not what I asked”. I raised my arms “Hey, it was free.” Jihyo looked up in the middle of sipping her drink “…Free?” I pointed to my watch “It was a gift.” John looked genuinely offended now. “You cannot call a limited allocation Patek Philippe ‘free.’ That’s not how reality works.”
“I didn’t pay for it” which was the basis of something being considered a gift. “That’s somehow worse.” Jihyo stared at the watch once more quietly before finally looking toward John “You did mention he was rich but… How rich is he exactly?” I immediately pointed at him. “Don’t answer that”. John ignored me completely. “Last I checked was a few years ago?” he muttered casually, “and by that time he was already wealthier than any of us.” then after a beat— “Barring Mina. That woman’s terrifyingly wealthy that it’s now even funny at this point.” Jihyo admitted immediately, “That’s fair.” I sighed deeply into my water. John continued anyway because apparently betrayal built character “After I lost the NewJeans job, he actually offered me one of his businesses so I could get back on my feet.” Jihyo blinked. “…One of?” John was waving his hand as he continued “I said no.” I muttered back “Because you’re dramatic”. He look back at me as if I was a crazy person “Because you were talking about handing me an entire company for FREE. Besides, I don’t like feeling like a charity case.” I shrugged lightly. “And I respected that.”
The conversation settled quietly for a moment afterward. Not awkward. Just thoughtful. Jihyo’s expression changed slightly then. Not impressed. Understanding. The puzzle pieces clicking together for her. To why I didn’t seem particularly concerned about industry politics. Why I moved carefully around obligation. Why agreeing to this meeting despite not needing anything professionally mattered more than it normally would. She’s an interesting woman. Finally, John leaned back slightly before gesturing toward the folder sitting on the table.
“So,” he said, “we should probably explain why we’re actually here before Ben decides this entire conversation was a mistake.” I glanced toward the folder sitting on the table. It was clean, organized and it had that expensive paper too “Please tell me that’s not the—” both of them answered at the same time “— it’s the NDA”. I leaned back slowly afterward. “…You know, most normal people buy someone dinner before legally binding them into psychological warfare.”
“That’s HR’s job,” John muttered “I hate that you said that with confidence.” Jihyo laughed softly under her breath while sliding the folder closer toward me. The atmosphere loosened slightly again after that. Not fully relaxed, but enough. That was good. People usually spoke more honestly once rooms stopped feeling interrogative. I opened the folder afterward, flipping through the pages casually while half-listening to the quiet jazz drifting somewhere deeper inside the café. Standard confidentiality clauses first. Entertainment privacy. Internal operational discretion. Then— there it was “This is broader than entertainment confidentiality.” Neither answered immediately. Which honestly answered enough already. I glanced up from the papers quietly. Not scandal. Not criminality. Emotional complexity. “You two are acting like you’re hiring me to negotiate a hostage situation.”
“Some days that industry feels close enough,” Jihyo muttered dryly. Fair. I skimmed through the rest carefully. Nothing unreasonable. Strict. But understandable. Honestly, if anything, the wording felt protective more than threatening. That interested me. I signed the final page anyway. Not impulsively. Consciously. That mattered. Once the folder slid back across the table toward them, the atmosphere shifted almost immediately afterward. Less guarded now. “So,” I finally said while folding my arms loosely, “what exactly am I walking into?” Jihyo looked toward John briefly before answering. “Burnout.”
Simple answer. Honest and incomplete, I stayed quiet. People usually filled silence when they wanted understanding badly enough. Sure enough, John continued. “Yeji adapted by over-functioning after Lia’s hiatus,” he said calmly. “The others adapted around her. And after enough time passed, everyone stopped recognizing how unhealthy it became.” Yeah. I’d seen versions of that before. Not identical. But familiar enough to leave a bad taste in my mouth anyway. “She’s preparing for a solo debut now,” Jihyo added quietly. “Which means the pressure’s only getting worse.” I nodded once slowly. That tracked psychologically. Group exhaustion could still distribute emotional burden. Solo work couldn’t. Especially not for leaders— especially not for someone already carrying too much by default.
I leaned back slightly deeper into the chair afterward while processing everything carefully. Then finally— “And the company agreed to let an outsider manage this?” That earned the faintest humorless smile from John “Jihyo asked.” So there it is, that explained the authority issue immediately. Not unlimited power. But enough institutional trust to override resistance. Dangerous amount of responsibility to hand somebody. Especially someone like me. “I’m assuming there’s a reason you’re not just assigning another internal manager.” Jihyo answered immediately “There is. He needs to understand emotional pressure without treating them like liabilities,” she continued quietly. “And he needs to care more about Yeji’s wellbeing than maintaining schedules perfectly.” That narrowed things down significantly. Most companies protect the schedule and very few said “protect the person”. I was interested in the scenario “And you think I fit that?” as I took a sip of my coffee. “I think John trusts you enough to call you.” That answer landed heavier than she probably intended.
I glanced briefly toward John afterward. He looked annoyingly calm about the entire thing.
Typical. “You’re making this sound more serious every five minutes,” I muttered. “That’s because it is serious,” John answered this time. No humor, just honesty. The atmosphere quieted slightly again afterward. Outside the café windows, the city kept moving normally, meanwhile inside this conversation, two people were essentially telling me an idol group had been quietly falling apart in slow motion long enough for veterans to finally notice. Emotionally dangerous. I rested my fingers lightly against the untouched coffee cup in front of me.
“What does Yeji know?” I asked them bluntly. “Not much yet,” Jihyo admitted. “Only that we’re trying to arrange additional support for the solo.” I was intrigued with the lack of protest “She agreed to that?” John answered quietly “Well she didn’t really argue,” that bothered me immediately. Not because agreement was bad. Because exhausted people stopped resisting help once they got too tired to fight properly. And something about the way both of them described her made me increasingly certain Yeji had already crossed into that territory a while ago. Interesting and concerning, I exhaled quietly afterward before finally asking the question both of them were obviously waiting for. “And what exactly do you want from me?” Another brief silence settled over the table. Then Jihyo answered carefully. “Help her breathe again.”
…Ahhh. That was worse somehow. The words settled strangely in my chest afterward. There was no desperation in Jihyo’s voice. No exaggerated pleading or emotional manipulation, just exhaustion. The kind that only came from watching people deteriorate slowly enough for everyone around them to normalize it. I leaned back deeper into the chair afterward while thinking quietly. Outside the café windows, the world kept on moving— but inside this table, meanwhile, two people were essentially asking me to emotionally stabilize a group leader before her first solo debut pushed her into complete collapse.
Dangerous responsibility. Especially considering the amount of authority they were apparently prepared to hand me. “And the company’s genuinely allowing this?” I asked eventually. Jihyo nodded once. “Officially, you’re being brought in as temporary personal management support for Yeji’s solo activities.” I repeated that word she said that piqued my interest, “Temporary” I repeated “For now.” Interesting wording. “And unofficially?” I asked calmly. John immediately rubbed tiredly at his forehead beside her. “There it is,” he muttered. “There WHAT is?” that man really knew how to press my buttons “The part where your psychology degree becomes annoying.”
“That sounds like projection” I said
“It is projection” he admitted. Fair enough.
I rested my elbow lightly against the table afterward while studying both of them carefully “You two keep talking around something.” Neither denied it. So not scandal then. Intentional secrecy. Finally, John sighed quietly beside me “There are… emotional dynamics within our situation that aren’t exactly conventional.” That was the first genuinely direct thing either of them had said all afternoon. I stayed quiet and let him continue. “Nothing illegal,” he added immediately. “That’s really comforting, best buddy. I’m listening.” John glanced briefly toward Jihyo first, an unspoken request for permission “The girls rely on me emotionally more than most people would probably consider professionally appropriate.”
That was not a full answer. But enough of one. I leaned back slightly afterward while processing the implication quietly. Not because it surprised me. Honestly? I’d already suspected something adjacent to it the moment confidentiality expanded beyond standard entertainment protection. “And you’re telling me this because?” Jihyo answered in John’s behalf “Because if you agree to this,” Jihyo answered carefully, “there’s a chance Yeji might eventually rely on you similarly. Romantically, sexually, and emotionally.” That distinction mattered. Even if all three of us understood those lines rarely stayed clean forever inside emotionally isolated environments like theirs. I glanced briefly toward John again afterward “…How bad are your boundaries exactly?” “Better than they sound.” John was no longer planning on hiding it. “That is not a reassuring answer, best buddy.” I grinned at him. “It’s the truthful one, and will you stop calling me that?”
I stayed quiet for a few more seconds afterward while turning the situation over mentally. Emotionally exhausted idols. High-pressure environment. Isolation. Dependency. Trust structures forming around the few people allowed close enough to consistently see them as human beings. Psychologically speaking, none of this was actually shocking. Dangerous?
Absolutely. Unusual? Not really. Which honestly might’ve been the worst part.
Finally, I exhaled quietly through my nose “For the record,” I muttered while reaching for my coffee again, “sleeping with Yeji is not secretly part of my career development plan.” Jihyo nearly choked on her drink immediately. Meanwhile John just closed his eyes slowly like he regretted inviting me already. “What?” I asked flatly. “You cannot say things like that with a straight face.”
“I’m clarifying expectations professionally.”
“That is NOT professional phrasing.”
“Would you prefer a PowerPoint presentation?”
Jihyo was openly laughing into her hand now while John looked spiritually exhausted beside her. Good. That probably meant the atmosphere needed it. Eventually, though, the humor settled naturally again. And once it did, I noticed something important almost immediately. Neither of them actually looked worried about me crossing lines intentionally. Interesting. That meant this conversation wasn’t about predatory concern. It was about emotional gravity. Much more complicated. I rested my gaze briefly against the city skyline outside before eventually speaking again. “I’ll do the job,” I said calmly. “And I’ll do it properly.” The atmosphere shifted subtly afterward. Not relief exactly. Then I added “But if I think this situation is genuinely becoming psychologically dangerous for her, I’m pulling her back regardless of schedules.” John nodded immediately “Fair.” That told me more about him than the entire partial confession earlier honestly did. Because people abusing emotional dependency usually became defensive once limitations entered the conversation. John didn’t. Which meant despite however messy the situation actually was— he genuinely believed he was helping them survive.
Complicated. But genuine. The conversation settled quietly after that. Schedules. Logistics. Formalities. Nothing emotionally explosive, which honestly made me trust them slightly more. No manipulation. No emotional recruitment. No savior complex. Just concern. By the time the meeting finally started winding down, the late afternoon sunlight outside had already begun fading gold against the café windows. I stood first. Jihyo followed shortly after while John stayed seated another moment finishing the last of his coffee. As I rolled the sleeve of my hoodie back down loosely, I noticed Jihyo’s eyes briefly catch against the tattoo wrapping partially beneath my wrist near the watch, a curious gaze. Most people expected wealthy men to look cleaner than me. Less ink, lack of carelessness, less visibly damaged. Interesting thing about appearances, people trusted polished images too easily. Unfortunately for everyone involved, I stopped looking polished years ago.
The watch probably didn’t help either. And neither did the ring resting against my finger. Minimalist. Dark emerald stone. Understated enough that most people missed it completely. But people surrounded by luxury long enough eventually learned how to identify quiet money instinctively. I noticed the exact second Jihyo recognized it too. A tiny pause “…Wait,” she said slowly. Her attention lowered briefly toward the ring again “That’s Graff.” I glanced down absentmindedly “Unfortunately so”. John immediately sighed beside her “You wore THAT here? ARE YOU INSANE?!” I looked at the ring “It’s jewelry, not a nuclear weapon.”
“That ring literally requires financial screening before purchase, it’s probably worth more than this entire café” Jihyo blinked once. “…Wait seriously?” John pointed it out “Made-to-order line,” John’s voice tired “You can’t even request one unless they already know you can easily afford it.”
“That sounds discriminatory,” I answered calmly.
“That’s because rich people are terrifying, and specifically you are insane.” That was a fair observation. Jihyo stared at the ring another second longer before finally looking back toward me again. Not impressed or intimidated, the puzzle pieces clicking together.
Why industry politics didn’t particularly impress me. Why leverage didn’t seem to matter much to me. Why agreeing to something this emotionally complicated despite not needing anything professionally mattered more than it normally would. Eventually John stood too before glancing toward me once more. “So?” I slid both hands casually into my pockets afterward.
Jihyo laughed softly under her breath while shaking her head “Thank you, Ben.” That one sounded genuine enough to make refusing later significantly more difficult. Park Jihyo is a dangerous woman too, apparently.
The drive back toward the company building was quieter than expected. The late afternoon traffic crawled slowly through Seoul while soft music played somewhere low through the speakers of the car. Beside him, Jihyo rested her chin lightly against her hand while staring out the window. “You know,” he muttered eventually while stopping at another red light, “you could’ve warned me before telling Ben you thought I was sleeping with somebody.” Jihyo laughed softly beside him. “I didn’t say that.”
“You absolutely implied it.”
“I implied emotional dependency.”
“That sounds worse somehow.” Jihyo’s amusement faded slightly afterward though, something quieter settling into her expression instead. “…Do you think he’ll actually help?” John’s fingers tapped lightly once against the steering wheel before answering. “Yes.” No hesitation. “You trust him that much?”
“I trust him to leave if he thinks the situation’s unhealthy.” John glanced briefly toward her afterward. “Which is exactly why I trust him around them.” That answer quieted the car again. Outside the windows, the city kept moving normally. Inside it, meanwhile, the atmosphere shifted back toward concern naturally once Ben’s presence disappeared from the conversation. Eventually Jihyo exhaled softly. “We should talk to Yeji tomorrow.” John nodded once immediately “She’ll try to downplay it.” Jihyo agreed “I know. She’ll also think this is her fault somehow.” That earned the faintest tired smile out of him. Leader instincts, unfortunately predictable.
It happened on Dahyun’s day— which unfortunately meant Jihyo technically had to negotiate for John first. Dahyun had been comfortably laying across the dorm couch earlier that evening with John half-trapped beneath her while some movie played in the background neither of them were actually paying attention to. The moment Jihyo explained she needed to borrow him tomorrow for something related to ITZY, “So let me get this straight, you’re taking my boyfriend during my rotation” Dahyun immediately narrowed her eyes in suspicion “… to have him meet with some other woman?” Dahyun said feigning a reaction as if what Jihyo was asking was absolutely monstrous. “It’s work related. And this is Yeji we’re talking about— not some random woman” she pointed out. “That somehow sounds more criminal.” Dahyun told her while tightening her grip on John’s chest, John already looked exhausted before the conversation even properly started “Dahyun.” he was also trying to convince her by patting her head. “No, no.” Dahyun waved him off dramatically before looking back toward Jihyo instead. “You may borrow him temporarily under one condition.” Jihyo already knew that tone, more importantly— Dahyun knew the cards were in her favor “…What condition?” Jihyo asked carefully. Dangerous, more importantly— Dahyun knew the cards were in her favor “…What condition?” Jihyo asked carefully. Dahyun hummed thoughtfully while still laying comfortably across John like she physically intended to prevent him from leaving the couch—then slowly “The next time he’s on my rotation, nobody interrupts us.” John muttered tiredly beneath her “That’s already the rule.” Dahyun tightened her arms around him slightly afterward “No. I mean NOBODY interrupts us.” A dangerous emphasis. Jihyo immediately narrowed her eyes in suspicion “…What exactly are you planning?” Dahyun gasped dramatically “You think so lowly of me.”
“It means,” Dahyun continued proudly, “I want twenty-four uninterrupted hours where nobody steals him because they suddenly ‘miss him emotionally’ or because Sana decides she wants attention or because Jeongyeon unnie gets jealous halfway through the day.” From somewhere deeper inside the dorm, Jeongyeon yelled immediately “I HEARD THAT.” Dahyun yelled back “GOOD.” John looked exhausted instantly “…Why are you all like this?” Jeongyeon answered from the other room “Because you enabled it!” That was valid, I spoil all of them in their own way. Jihyo was already laughing softly into her hand now while Dahyun continued like a lawyer finalizing contract terms “I want breakfast together” she raised one finger, “Lunch together,” another finger “Dinner together,” another “And if anyone tries emotionally manipulating their way into my day, I reserve the right to become annoying about it for an entire next month.”
“That sounds threatening,” John muttered.
“It IS threatening.” Jihyo shook her head while still laughing quietly “Fair enough. You treat your relationship like custody negotiations.” Dahyun looked back at John, “That’s because sharing requires organization.” Dahyun looked genuinely proud afterward though. Then finally she loosened her grip around John slightly before giving him a kiss and pointing toward Jihyo. “Approved. But you owe me too” Dahyun was looking at John’s concerned face “…What kind of owe?” Dahyun smiled immediately. “I want you to be rough, make me scream so hard no one gets to sleep that night” John closed his eyes slowly “That’s somehow worse”. And just like that, the negotiation ended.
The following afternoon, Jihyo and John found Yeji between rehearsal breaks. The practice room was quieter than usual, though the silence felt more like exhaustion than peace. Backup dancers rested near the mirrored walls while staff members quietly reorganized equipment nearby. Yeji herself sat off toward the corner with a tablet resting against her lap, eyes fixed on schedules even during downtime. Jihyo noticed immediately that Yeji still hadn’t really learned how to stop working even while technically resting.
Yeji looked up once they approached before immediately straightening slightly. “Oh— hello Jihyo unnie, and John Manager-nim.” There it was again. Automatic composure. “You busy?” Jihyo asked gently. Yeji glanced briefly toward the tablet before shaking her head. “Not really.” John and Jihyo exchanged the briefest glance. That was a lie, a small one though “Can we steal you to talk for a bit?” Jihyo asked. Yeji hesitated only briefly before nodding.
The conversation itself happened inside one of the smaller meeting rooms deeper inside the building. Quiet. Private. Neutral enough not to immediately feel intimidating. Yeji sat across from them while loosely holding onto an unopened bottled drink the entire time. Not nervous exactly, but she was guarded. Jihyo spoke first “We’re arranging additional personal management support for your solo preparations.” Yeji blinked once “…Additional management?” John clarified calmly “Temporary though. Mostly for workload management, schedule restructuring, and helping you navigate solo activities.” Yeji nodded slowly at first, though the hesitation still lingered afterward.
“Is it… because I’m struggling?” Straight to the point “No,” Jihyo answered gently. “Because solo promotions are different from group activities.” John nodded once beside her. “In a group, pressure gets distributed naturally. Solo schedules don’t work like that.” Yeji lowered her eyes briefly toward the bottle in her hands afterward. “I can handle it.” There it is again.
Not “I’m okay.”
Just “I can endure it.”
Jihyo leaned slightly forward afterward. “We know you can,” she said softly. “And that’s not the issue.” Silence settled briefly across the room. Yeji didn’t argue again after that. Eventually she glanced back toward John instead “…Who is it?”
“A friend of mine, his name is Sung Benjamin” that immediately earned the faintest uncertainty across her expression. Reasonable reaction, John noticed it too “He’s qualified,” he added calmly. Yeji looked mildly embarrassed immediately afterward “I didn’t say he wasn’t.”
“You were thinking it.”
“…Maybe a little.”
That was a good reaction, a tiny bit of personality surfacing beneath the exhaustion. A human response. Not leader one. Jihyo smiled faintly while John continued “A few years ago there was an idol whose career was basically collapsing after a severe mental breakdown.” He paused briefly afterward. “Ben was one of the people responsible for helping them recover.” Yeji’s expression shifted slightly. Everyone in the industry knew stories like that. Some idols disappeared quietly and never fully came back afterward.
“He never took public credit for it,” Jihyo added softly. “Most people don’t even know he was involved.” That seemed to catch Yeji’s attention more than the actual achievement itself. “He’s not there to control you,” Jihyo continued carefully. “His job is to prioritize your well-being and make sure this doesn’t destroy you.” The room quieted briefly again afterward “…Okay.” No enthusiasm, not resistant either. Just tired honesty. Honestly, that probably worried Jihyo more than if Yeji had argued.
The company building felt quieter than expected when I arrived the next afternoon. A disciplined environment. People moved quickly, conversations stayed low, schedules existed five minutes ahead of wherever everybody currently stood. Entertainment companies always felt like that to me— entire buildings functioning on controlled exhaustion while pretending it was passion instead. One of the staff members assigned to guide me through the building glanced toward me every few seconds while walking. I don’t think it was recognition. Not familiarity either. My guess is probably trying to figure out whether I was important, connected, or somebody dangerous to accidentally disrespect. The tattoos usually complicated that process for people. Good— I preferred it that way.
“You’ll be meeting with Yeji-ssi inside,” the staff member explained carefully once we reached one of the upper floors. “The rehearsal break should still have around twenty minutes left.” Twenty minutes. Not enough rest for a day of rehearsals. The practice room doors were partially open when we arrived. Music echoed faintly inside while dancers stretched near the mirrored walls and staff members reorganized equipment nearby. And immediately— there she is.
Yeji sat near the corner of the room with a tablet balanced against one knee while speaking quietly with one of the choreographers. Even from a distance, I noticed the exhaustion almost instantly. Not because she looked weak. Because she looked functional. That distinction mattered. People expected burnout to look dramatic. It rarely did. Most of the time it just looked like someone becoming increasingly efficient at surviving themselves. It was interesting… and concerning too.
The staff member quietly excused himself afterward, leaving me standing near the entrance while Yeji finally noticed the movement near the doorway. Her eyes landed on me briefly. Then narrowed slightly in recognition. Not recognition of me specifically it was a recognition of “Oh. That’s probably him.” That was professional instinct.
I raised one hand casually in greeting “Hi.” The response came a second later than normal. Not rude. Tired “…Hi.” her voice calmer than I expected. Yeji stood shortly afterward while the choreographer beside her quietly excused himself, leaving the two of us awkwardly existing near the edge of the practice room for a few seconds.
“You’re Benjamin-ssi?”
“There’s a horrifying possibility John forgot to warn you about me, but yes.” That earned the faintest blink out of her “Just call me Ben, formalities aren’t really my thing. At least she still reacted to humor.
“I’m Yeji.”
“I don’t think there’s anyone in this building that doesn’t know you, Yeji. But it’s a pleasure to official meet you.” That finally earned the smallest hint of amusement at the corner of her mouth before it disappeared almost immediately afterward. There were still tiny flashes of personality beneath exhaustion— those mattered more than people realized.
I glanced briefly around the practice room afterward. Empty water bottles. Schedules. Music paused mid-track. Dancers resting against mirrored walls. Nobody in this room looked fully rested. But Yeji somehow still looked the most tired. “You just finished rehearsal?” I asked casually “We’re still in the middle of it.” Well… even worse than what I had in mind. I nodded slowly afterward while mentally recalculating the schedule standards they were probably operating under. Unpleasant numbers already forming. Yeji stayed quiet for a moment before eventually speaking again. “John said you’d be helping with the solo.”
“Allegedly.” That earned another small reaction from her.
“You don’t sound very confident.”
“I’m confident,” I answered calmly. “I just think the word ‘helping’ creates unrealistic expectations.” That actually made her pause. Not offended but thinking. It was good sign. I leaned lightly against the wall afterward while studying her expression carefully. Guarded. Polite. Holding herself together very intentionally. And underneath all of that— tired enough that even standing still looked like effort. Jihyo wasn’t overreacting. Not even slightly.
Eventually Yeji glanced toward the practice room floor again before speaking more quietly. “Did… they tell you about me?” Interesting wording. Not “the situation”, but “Me”.
I answered carefully “They told me enough.” Yeji nodded once slowly afterward. Then after a brief pause “…And you still agreed?” There it is. That one mattered. Not professionally, but emotionally. She is an interesting girl. I stayed quiet for a second before eventually answering honestly. “Curiosity mostly.” That seemed to surprise her slightly “Curiosity?”
“I wanted to see if John was exaggerating.”
“…Was he?”
I glanced around the practice room once more. The schedules. The atmosphere. Her exhaustion. Then eventually back toward her again “No,” I answered calmly. “If anything, he undersold it.” The room quieted briefly after that. Not awkward. Just honest. And for the first time since I arrived, Yeji stopped looking like she was trying to perform normalcy perfectly.
The first thing I learned about idol rehearsal schedules was that everybody lied about breaks. A “ten minute break” somehow became reviewing choreography, checking recordings, answering staff questions, adjusting wardrobe fittings, discussing camera positioning, or practicing transitions. Which meant nobody was actually resting. An intriguing and horrible system. I stayed mostly quiet during the first few days. I observed, listened, and watched patterns. That part mattered more than people realized because burnout didn’t usually expose itself through dramatic collapse first. It exposed itself through normalization— and unfortunately, Yeji had normalized an alarming amount already.
“You skipped lunch” the words left my mouth casually while she remained crouched near the practice room monitor reviewing another playback recording. Without even looking up “I’ll eat later.” It wasn’t denial but more of delaying which was functionally worse. I leaned lightly against the mirrored wall afterward while glancing toward the untouched food container sitting beside her “Define later” I asked invasively. “After rehearsal.”
“You’ve said that twice already” that finally earned a small pause out of her before she looked up toward me properly. She knew that she caught “I’m busy” I still pointed to the food container with her name “Unfortunately true”. Yeji looked back down toward the monitor afterward like that settled the conversation. “You’re running on caffeine and muscle memory right now”. That earned the faintest crease between her brows immediately “…I’m fine.” I stayed quiet for a second afterward before speaking again. “You know people usually become defensive when they already know something’s unhealthy, right?” That finally made her fully look up at me “I’m not being defensive” with a tone that was ironically more defensive than angry. “Uh huh” I let her hear that while looking unconvinced “…I’m not” she tries to assure me. “Still counts if you say it twice”.
That clearly irritated her slightly. Good. Not because upsetting her mattered. But because frustration meant she was reacting honestly instead of professionally. Much more useful. Yeji finally set the tablet down beside her afterward. “You’ve been here three days.” I pointed back at her “Correct”. And with furrowed brows “And somehow you already think you understand how this works?” There it was— a comment not out of ego, but a sense of responsibility and it was an important difference. I straightened slightly from the wall afterward. “No,” I answered calmly. “I think you’ve been functioning like this long enough that everybody around you stopped questioning it.” The room quieted immediately after that. Not dramatic silence. Just uncomfortable honesty. Yeji folded her arms loosely afterward. “This is normal during comeback preparation.” I pointed out that “Normal and healthy aren’t interchangeable concepts.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” There was no hostility in her voice, just exhaustion. And underneath it— something dangerously close to guilt. I studied her quietly for another second before eventually asking “When’s the last time you slept properly?” Yeji answered too quickly “I sleep”. Not what I asked “There’s a difference between unconsciousness and rest”. That visibly frustrated her now. A tiny reaction, but a real one nonetheless. That was good. “People are depending on me right now,” she answered quietly afterward “I don’t really have the luxury of slowing down.” The real problem was starting to show itself, it was not perfectionism— but obligation. I nodded slowly afterward “That explains the behavior”. Yeji blinked once “…Behavior?”
“Overworking. Skipping meals. Monitoring everybody else before yourself.” I gestured lightly toward the practice room around us. “You’re treating self-destruction like responsibility”. That one landed. Immediately. Her expression shifted before she could fully stop it. For a second I genuinely thought she might argue again. “…You talk like a psychologist” she said looking away instead. “I paid an irresponsible amount of money to become one.” That finally pulled the faintest unwilling reaction out of her again. Small. But there.
I pushed off the wall afterward before casually picking up the untouched food container beside her and holding it out “Eat”. Yeji stared at me for a second “Are you always this pushy?” before taking the container from my hands. “No,” I answered honestly. “Usually people rest before I need to become annoying” I pointed out. “That sounds threatening” she told me. “It’s a promise.” That earned an actual visible exhale out of her this time. Not quite laughter. Closer to disbelief. But honestly? It was probably the first emotionally genuine reaction she’d had all afternoon. I would consider that progress.
The strange thing about exhaustion was how quickly people built personalities around it. By the second week, I started noticing patterns that had nothing to do with choreography anymore. Yeji automatically checked everybody else’s condition before acknowledging her own. She apologized whenever staff members adjusted schedules around her. She thanked people for things that should’ve been expected. And somehow— she still looked mildly uncomfortable anytime I forced her to sit down for longer than five consecutive minutes. It’s starting to be concerning. “You’re staring again” her voice pulled me out of thought while we sat near one of the side rehearsal rooms waiting for a delayed recording setup to finish “I’m observing” she squinted her eyes at me “That sounds creepier somehow”
“That’s because psychology as a profession is fundamentally invasive.” Yeji looked down briefly afterward, unsuccessfully hiding the faint reaction at the corner of her mouth. It is much easier to make her smile when she forgot she was supposed to act composed. The room settled quietly afterward. Staff members moved back and forth through the hallway outside while somebody farther down the corridor tested audio loud enough to echo faintly through the walls. It was just me and Yeji at the edge of the practice room then she suddenly broke the silence “…You really think I’m that bad?” The question didn’t defensive this time. I leaned back slightly in the chair afterward before answering carefully. “I think you got used to functioning exhausted.” Yeji lowered her eyes toward the bottled drink resting between her hands “That’s normal here”.
“See, that sentence specifically is the problem.” That earned the faintest crease between her brows again. “You keep talking like I’m doing something wrong.” A hint of guilt in her voice. I stayed quiet for a second before eventually shaking my head. “I don’t think you’re doing anything wrong,” I glanced briefly toward the hallway outside afterward, “Honest opinion? I believe you adapted to survive an environment that rewards self-destruction”. The room quieted again afterward. Yeji didn’t respond immediately this time. Instead she sat there silently turning the unopened drink slowly between her hands while thinking. People became quieter once conversations started reaching places they usually avoided, so this was another good sign. Eventually she exhaled softly “…You sound like you hate this industry, do you?” Interesting question. “I think this industry confuses endurance with worth.” That made her look at me properly again. Not because the statement shocked her. Because it sounded familiar.
I continued before she could disappear back into her own head again “That doesn’t mean I think idols are weak for enduring it,” I added calmly “I just think people stop questioning unhealthy things once enough talented people survive them”. Yeji stayed quiet afterward. Thinking again “…John talks similarly sometimes”. That was the first time I’ve been compared with John and that answer honestly explained more than she probably realized “TWICE sunbaenim”. The words left her mouth casually. Then immediately afterward, Yeji looked mildly caught off guard that she said it aloud at all. I leaned back slightly deeper into the chair afterward. “He was around during a pretty ugly part of my life”. Yeji didn’t pry— another interesting thing about her. Most people became more curious once they sensed damage in somebody else. Yeji instead looked almost careful around it. Like she understood boundaries too well. “…And you trust him too?” she asked quietly.
I laughed softly once under my breath “Unfortunately for me— I trust him with my life.” That finally earned another small reaction out of her. Tiny moments of ease were becoming more frequent now. Not comfort yet just a rhythm and that mattered. Outside the hallway, somebody called for Yeji a few moments later to prepare for the next recording setup. The moment her name was called, her posture immediately shifted again. Straightened. Focused. Ready. And that happened too fast, it was more dangerous behavior I got to see.
Yeji stood quickly afterward before instinctively reaching for the tablet and schedule folder beside her at the same time. Then paused. Because I was already holding one of them “…You don’t need to carry that”. I looked at her before calmly answering “You also don’t need to carry everything yourself”. That immediately earned a look from her. Not irritation or gratitude, it was something more complicated. Like she didn’t fully know what to do with somebody noticing things she normally handled automatically.
The next week became progressively worse in ways most people probably wouldn’t have noticed. Unfortunately for everyone involved, noticing things was apparently my job now. Schedules tightened. Rehearsals ran longer. Sleep became negotiable. And somewhere in the middle of all that, Yeji slowly started looking less like somebody preparing for a solo debut and more like somebody trying to outrun exhaustion through sheer momentum alone. It was a very common strategy, and an extremely risky one at that. The problem with highly functional people was that they usually collapsed privately first. Which meant by the time everyone else noticed— things were already bad.
I started restructuring what I could quietly. Longer transition gaps between rehearsals. Mandatory meal windows disguised as schedule adjustments. Reducing unnecessary media overlap. Pushing less urgent recordings later whenever possible. Small changes. But Yeji noticed every single one immediately. Of course she did. “You moved the dance review again” the accusation came the moment she stepped into the hallway outside one of the rehearsal rooms late that evening. I glanced up from the schedule tablet in my hands “I optimized it”. She pointed out my decision “You delayed it” it took a second for me to correct her “Those are emotionally different statements”. She looked serious this time “That doesn’t answer my question. Why?” she sounded more awake when frustrated.
I looked at Yeji in her eyes, I wasn’t going to back down on this “You slept four hours.” She didn’t see what was wrong with that, “It’s plenty enough” she said. “The hell it is,” I answered neutrally “That’s barely survival”. Yeji folded her arms loosely afterward “We don’t have enough time right now to prioritize comfort”. Interesting wording, comfort— not health. “You think sleep is a luxury,” I observed quietly “I think this debut matters.” I could tell from that response that she wasn’t afraid of failure, It was the fear of disappointing people.
The hallway quieted briefly afterward while staff members moved around farther down the corridor preparing equipment for the next setup. Yeji looked exhausted. But more than that—
she looked frustrated that exhaustion was becoming visible at all. “You’re treating yourself like a deadline instead of a person again,” I said eventually. That immediately made her expression tighten slightly. Not because the statement offended her, my words landed too accurately. “You make it sound simple” she told me. “It’s not simple” I disagreed with that observation. “Then stop talking like it is.” There it is. First genuine emotional pushback. Honestly, it was overdue too. I stayed quiet for a second afterward before answering more carefully. “I don’t think taking care of yourself is simple,” I said calmly. “I think you’ve spent so long believing your value comes from enduring things that resting now feels irresponsible.”
The silence afterward felt heavier. Not dramatic. Just honest enough to become uncomfortable. Yeji looked away first “…People are counting on me,” she muttered quietly. “And you think collapsing helps them?” I pointed that out. “That’s not what I said” she tried to argue. “No,” I agreed softly. “But it’s where this ends if you keep going like this.” That one landed harder. Immediately because for the first time since I met her, Yeji didn’t have a response ready. Just tired silence. Then eventually somebody farther down the hallway called her name again Schedule continuing. Yeji exhaled softly afterward before pushing herself away from the wall “…I have to go.”
“I know” she took maybe two steps before stopping unexpectedly. Then without fully turning back “…You’re really annoying, you know that?” she wasn’t mad or dismissive. And honesty I smiled faintly afterward “I’ve been told worse”. That finally earned the smallest breath of laughter out of her before she disappeared farther down the hallway again and that worried me more than the arguments did. Because people didn’t start letting somebody disrupt their coping mechanisms unless exhaustion was finally beginning to outweigh resistance.
After that, something subtle changed between them. Not closeness or comfort. Just familiarity settling into places where resistance used to exist. Yeji still argued occasionally whenever Ben rearranged parts of her schedule, but the arguments started sounding less like rejection and more like somebody frustrated that another person kept noticing things she was trying very hard to ignore. Unfortunately for her, Ben was professionally difficult to discourage “You moved the recording review again.” I didn’t even look at her since that was a sentence I’ve heard too many times, “You say that like I committed tax fraud.”
She sounded serious this time, “You’re delaying it.”
“No, I optimized it.”
“That’s still delaying it.”
“Emotionally different.”
Yeji sighed tiredly afterward while pinching lightly at the bridge of her nose. I noticed another thing too during those days. Yeji’s exhaustion no longer looked sharp. Earlier on, she burned brightly— tense, overfocused, constantly moving like momentum alone kept her upright. Now? Everything about her started looking quieter. And somehow that worried him more. People expected burnout to look explosive. Most of the time it actually looked like somebody slowly disappearing inside their own routines. The first moment that genuinely unsettled him happened during choreography rehearsals late one evening.
One of the dancers missed a formation transition badly enough for the music to stop mid-run. Normally, Yeji would’ve immediately stepped in to help correct positioning before staff members even asked. This time she just stood there silently for a second too long while staring toward the mirrored wall. Barely noticeable for people, but enough for me. The choreographer repeated the correction afterward and Yeji apologized immediately despite the mistake not even being hers. Still carrying responsibility for things beyond her control. But slower now. Like even guilt was becoming exhausting. I didn’t say anything about it immediately, I just started to observe her more carefully afterward.
And the more I watched, the more something about her behavior started feeling wrong in a way exhaustion alone couldn’t fully explain anymore. Because Yeji wasn’t just tired now. She was starting to detach from things she normally cared about instinctively. That part worried me the most. I didn’t mention it immediately. Mostly because I was still trying to figure out whether I was overanalyzing things or not. Occupational hazard. Psychology teaches you very quickly that there’s a dangerous difference between observing patterns and projecting fears onto them. And I’d made enough mistakes in my life already to know I wasn’t immune to the latter.
But the feeling stayed. Something about Yeji had changed. Not externally enough for most people to notice. She still rehearsed. Still smiled when cameras appeared. Still thanked staff members politely. Still carried herself like a dependable leader. But now it all felt… quieter. Like she was performing responsibility from memory instead of conviction. That thought sat badly with me for the rest of the week. The final rehearsal stretch before the solo debut became brutal even by industry standards. Everybody looked exhausted. Yeji somehow looked both exhausted and emotionally absent at the same time. That combination started to raise alarms in my head. I started catching smaller things afterward. She stopped checking playback monitors as obsessively. Stopped correcting tiny choreography inconsistencies immediately. Stopped rereading schedules during every spare moment. At first glance, somebody probably would’ve called that improvement. I didn’t. Because none of it felt like relief. It felt like withdrawal. And that scared me more than any of her overworking ever did. One night after rehearsals ended, I found myself walking through one of the quieter hallways near the upper practice rooms while answering emails on my phone. The building had mostly emptied out already. Only a few staff members still moved between floors. Then I noticed one of the rehearsal room doors partially open. Music wasn’t playing inside. I glanced up briefly while passing by— and stopped walking immediately afterward.
Yeji sat alone near the mirrored wall with her knees loosely pulled closer toward herself while staring blankly at the dark practice room floor. No tablet. No schedules. No reviewing choreography… Just silence. Something unpleasant settled heavily in my chest immediately afterward. Because suddenly every small behavioral shift from the past week connected all at once in my head. Shit, how did I miss that?
I stayed near the doorway for a second longer than normal before finally speaking “You know sitting alone in dark rehearsal rooms is usually how horror movies start, right?” The response came slowly. Not startled. Just delayed “…You’d survive the movie.” that was her reaction? Not a “Hi” or “You scared me”. Just quiet acknowledgment that I existed there beside her. I stepped inside carefully afterward before closing the door behind me halfway. Not trapped. Just quieter. Yeji still hadn’t moved much. Didn’t look embarrassed either. That worried me immediately. I lowered myself down beside the mirrored wall a short distance away afterward, giving her space.
For a while neither of us spoke. The silence didn’t feel awkward. Just heavy. Then eventually “…Do you ever wonder if people can just run out of wanting things?” She sounded like she was drowning in hopelessness. For the first time since taking this job, I genuinely felt uncertain about whether I was equipped to handle what came next.
I stayed quiet for a second too long afterward. Not because I didn’t hear her. Because I was trying very carefully not to answer that question carelessly. People said dangerous things quietly long before they ever acted on them loudly. And something about the way Yeji asked that didn’t feel hypothetical at all. Eventually I leaned my head lightly back against the mirrored wall behind me before answering honestly “Yeah, I do. All the time actually”. Yeji didn’t look surprised by the answer “I think people get exhausted enough that eventually wanting things starts feeling heavier than giving them up” I continued. The room stayed silent afterward. The faint hum of the building’s ventilation somewhere above us. Yeji lowered her eyes toward the floor again “…That sounds depressing.”
“It’s psychology.” I shrugged lightly. “We market depression professionally”. That finally earned the faintest breath of amusement out of her. Small and weak, but real enough that I kept talking afterward “The important part is that exhaustion lies to people”. Yeji stayed quiet while listening. “It starts convincing you that permanent decisions are rational solutions to temporary emotional states.” that one landed immediately. I could tell. Not because she reacted dramatically. Because she went still— dangerously still. I kept my voice calm afterward despite the unpleasant realization slowly settling heavier in my chest “You’ve been thinking about leaving, haven’t you.” Not a question, I have fears that she was this far and this had just confirmed my fears.
Silence stretched between us immediately afterward. Long enough that a part of me almost wished I was horrendously wrong this time. Yeji eventually broke the silence “…I don’t know if I can keep doing this.” That was conventionally worse than just wanting to quit. Because she sounded guilty about reaching the thought. I exhaled slowly through my nose afterward while trying very carefully not to mishandle what this conversation was actually becoming. This wasn’t burnout anymore. This was somebody emotionally detaching from their own future. Very dangerous territory, dangerous enough that the wrong sequence of words would fuck everything up.
“You don’t need to decide your entire life tonight” Yeji laughed softly once under her breath afterward. No amusement in it “That’s easy for you to say”. There was no hostility in those words— just tired enough that hope itself probably sounded unrealistic right now. “I’m serious.” I looked toward her properly afterward. “You’re exhausted, overworked, emotionally isolated, and carrying enough pressure to distort your judgment.”
“You make me sound unstable” those words were wrong, she isn’t unstable— she was just pushed near her breaking point, and that was a far breaking point. “I think you’ve been strong for too long without resting properly” I paused briefly “Those aren’t the same thing.” That quieted her immediately again. This was an important distinction. Because the last thing she needed right now was to feel broken on top of exhausted. Yeji pulled her knees slightly closer afterward while staring down toward the floor “…Everybody keeps depending on me.” That was the obligation shackled to her. Always obligation. “And somewhere along the way,” she continued quietly, “I think I stopped knowing if I still wanted any of this for myself.”
That one hurt to hear. Not because it sounded dramatic. Because it sounded honest. It was that moment I suddenly understood why Jihyo sounded so worried back at the café. Because this wasn’t somebody collapsing loudly. This was somebody quietly preparing themselves to disappear from a life they no longer believed they were surviving correctly. I rubbed lightly at my forehead afterward before speaking again “Can I say something potentially annoying?” That earned the faintest glance toward me “…You usually do anyway, why ask permission now?”. Good a tiny reaction like that meant that she’s still there, Yeji wasn’t far gone.
“I think you’ve spent so long treating yourself like a responsibility that you forgot you’re also a person” the silence afterward felt heavier than anything else we’d said all night. Yeji looked away first. And for the first time since I met her, she genuinely looked close to crying.
That scared me more than if she actually cried immediately. Because people like Yeji didn’t usually break all at once. They held everything together for so long that by the time emotion finally surfaced, it usually meant they were already dangerously close to their limit. She kept looking away from me like maintaining eye contact would make the conversation too real somehow “…I don’t know how to stop”. That sounded like an exhaustion so deeply integrated into her identity that she genuinely no longer understood what existing outside of it looked like.
I answered carefully “You don’t have to figure that out tonight.” Yeji laughed softly again beneath her breath. Still tired. Still hollow. “But tomorrow still happens.” That one landed harder than she probably intended— because she was right. Schedules still existed. The debut is still happening. Expectations still existed. That was the ugly truth, part of what made this industry so psychologically dangerous was how little space it gave people to fall apart safely. I stayed quiet for a second afterward before speaking again.
“Okay.” I nodded once slowly. “Then don’t think about next month. Or next year. Or whether you stay in the industry forever.” Yeji finally looked toward me properly again “Then what am I supposed to think about?” I pointed at the clock “Tonight, for starters.” That quieted her immediately. I continued before she could spiral back into her own head again “You don’t need to decide your entire future while emotionally exhausted.”
“That sounds irresponsible” her instinctive belief that suffering somehow produced better decisions. “No,” I answered calmly “What’s irresponsible is making permanent decisions while psychologically cornered”. The room went silent again afterward. But this time the silence felt different. Less detached and more fragile. Yeji lowered her eyes slowly afterward before finally admitting something quieter than everything else she’d said so far “I’m scared that if I stop even for a second, everything will fall apart.”
That was her real fear. Not failure. Not criticism. Collapse. And she was dangerously near the edge of collapsing too. I leaned my head lightly back against the mirrored wall again afterward before answering honestly “You know what the worst part is?”. Yeji blinked once tiredly “What?” I looked towards Yeji “You actually believe the people around you only deserve the version of you that’s suffering correctly”. That one hit immediately. I saw it happen in real time. Her expression tightened slightly before she looked away again too quickly and suddenly, I understood something else too. Yeji didn’t just feel responsible for people. She felt that she was easily replaceable. Like the moment she stopped functioning perfectly, somebody better deserved her place instead.
That kind of thinking destroyed people slowly. I rubbed lightly at my jaw afterward while trying very carefully to choose my next words correctly. Because honestly? I still wasn’t fully confident I had the right words, I just knew the wrong words and that I should avoid those. “I’m going to tell you something professionally irresponsible now”. That finally earned the faintest confused reaction out of her “…That sounds concerning.” I laughed a bit “It probably is.” I looked toward her properly afterward. “I don’t think you actually want to leave”. The room quieted instantly. Not because she disagreed. Because she needed to hear the rest.
“I think you want the pain to stop,” I continued softly “And right now your brain is trying to convince you those are the same thing.” Yeji stared at the floor silently afterward. Then very quietly “What if it never stops?” That was the moment I realized this had already gone far beyond anything I could safely handle through professionalism alone. The room stayed silent for a while after Yeji asked that question and I didn’t answer immediately, because honestly— I didn’t have an immediate answer. People liked imagining psychology experts as individuals who always knew the right thing to say during emotional collapse. In reality, most of the job was quietly hoping your words reached someone before their hopelessness did. Because false reassurance would’ve insulted her intelligence. Eventually I exhaled quietly through my nose before answering honestly “Then we adapt”. Yeji blinked slightly. Not the answer she expected “You say that like it’s simple.”
“It’s not simple.” I shook my head lightly afterward. “But neither is convincing yourself you need to disappear just because you’re exhausted.” that quieted her again. I leaned my arms loosely over my knees afterward while looking toward the dark practice room floor ahead of us. “You know the biggest lie high-functioning people tell themselves?” Yeji looked toward me quietly. “That needing rest means they failed” her expression shifted immediately. “I don’t think you actually want to quit” I carried on talking, “I think you’re emotionally cornered enough that you started treating self-removal like responsibility.” The room stayed completely still afterward, the exhaustion finally being spoken out loud instead of performed through professionalism.
Yeji lowered her eyes slowly “…I hate how accurately you read people”. I sighed lightly. “Trust me, it’s significantly less fun from this side.” That finally earned another small breath of laughter out of her. It was a fragile laugh, but better. Then eventually she spoke again “What if I disappoint everyone?”
There it was again— the fear of failing others. Always others. I answered carefully. “You’ve attached your worth to how much suffering you can endure for people.” I glanced toward her briefly afterward. “That’s not leadership. That’s self-destruction with a good marketing team”. That one made her laugh properly. Real enough that it echoed faintly through the otherwise empty practice room. That sound alone relieved something in my chest I didn’t realize had been tightening for the past hour. Yeji rubbed lightly at her eyes afterward before exhaling slowly “You really are annoying.”
“There it is,” I smiled in relief “That’s the version of you I’ve been waiting to hear again.” That immediately made her pause. The room quieted again afterward, it was softer this time— less hopeless. Yeji stared toward the floor silently for a few seconds longer before eventually asking “You really think I can still do this?” A careful question yet still a dangerous one too. Because this wasn’t asking if the debut would succeed but asking if she was still capable of her role without self-imploding. I answered honestly “I think you’re exhausted enough that you stopped recognizing yourself properly.” Yeji listened quietly. “And I think making permanent decisions from that emotional state would be unfair to yourself”. Another silence settled afterward then finally she added “I don’t want to disappear.”
That was when I saw the real Yeji. Not Yeji the leader or Yeji the idol— Just Yeji. And that was probably the first moment since taking this job that I genuinely believed she was going to survive this properly. The relief that followed that realization hit harder than expected. Because suddenly I became a little too aware that this situation had already stopped feeling professionally distant to me a while ago. Yeji turned toward me slightly afterward. Still tired and fragile, but present again. And for a few seconds neither of us spoke. We just sat there quietly in the dim practice room while the city outside the building kept moving completely unaware that somebody inside had just barely talked themselves back from disappearing emotionally.
“Thank you” it were simple words. Honest ones too. I nodded once lightly afterward “You don’t need to thank me for staying”. The moment the sentence left my mouth, I saw the shift happen. It was tiny, barely visible. Because suddenly Yeji looked at me differently. Not as a manager or a nosy-pain-in-the-ass psychology major or just somebody temporarily hired to help her survive the recent schedules— just someone she emotionally found herself reaching toward instinctively. The timing was dangerous too. Honestly? I probably should’ve looked away first.
Instead, Yeji moved before I fully processed the expression on her face. Small movement.
Careful movement. Like she was still uncertain even while choosing it. Then suddenly—
warmth against my lips. Brief and soft. Hesitant enough that it almost felt like a question instead of a kiss, and somehow that made it hit infinitely harder. For a second neither of us moved afterward. Not because the kiss shocked me. Because my brain was trying very hard to decide whether responding to it would immediately make me a terrible person professionally. Occupationally inconvenient timing.
Yeji pulled back first. Not far. Just enough that I could finally properly see the expression on her face. And honestly? That destroyed any possibility of misunderstanding what just happened. She didn’t look impulsive. She didn’t look emotionally unstable. There wasn’t even a look of embarrassment. Just terrified of being rejected for choosing something selfish for once. Shit… a dangerous realization. A VERY DANGEROUS realization hit me “You probably shouldn’t have done that,” I said quietly, not harsh— just honest. Yeji lowered her eyes immediately afterward “…I know”. No defensiveness, no regret either. That was an important difference.
The silence stretched between us again for a few seconds before I finally rubbed lightly at my forehead and exhaled quietly through my nose. Because unfortunately, professionalism became significantly harder to maintain once somebody looked at you like you were the first place they emotionally felt safe landing in months. Terrible design flaw in humanity honestly, and one that I wasn’t immune to either. “You’re emotionally exhausted,” I continued carefully. “And I need you to understand that I’m taking that seriously.” Yeji nodded once slowly “I know.”
“That kiss can’t become something you use because you’re falling apart.” that one hurt her slightly. I saw it immediately. Not because she thought I was rejecting her. Because she thought I misunderstood her. Yeji looked toward the floor quietly for a second before finally answering “I didn’t do it because I’m breaking.” her voice stayed soft the entire time. “But?” she hesitated briefly afterward “…I did it because you stayed.” That one nearly destroyed my remaining professionalism on impact. Because suddenly every moment from the past few weeks rearranged itself differently in my head.
The arguments. The resistance. The exhaustion. The trust. The gradual honesty. None of it had been impulsive. This girl had been consciously choosing emotional proximity little by little the entire time. I looked away briefly afterward while trying unsuccessfully to reorganize my thoughts into something psychologically responsible. That didn’t work. Unfortunate. “You’re making this difficult for me.” That finally earned the faintest tired breath of amusement out of her “…Sorry.”
“There’s the apologizing again” that actually made her smile slightly. And somehow the sight of it after the past few days hit significantly harder than it should have. Concerning to me more than to Yeji. I stayed quiet for another second afterward before finally speaking more honestly than I probably should’ve “I’m trying very hard not to become somebody who takes advantage of emotionally vulnerable people”. Yeji’s expression softened immediately afterward. Not offended. It was understanding “You’re not”. Another dangerous answer. Especially because part of me wanted very badly to believe her immediately. I leaned my head lightly back against the mirrored wall afterward while staring toward the ceiling for a second “This is usually the part where I make terrible life decisions.”
“That sounds oddly specific” a giggle escaped her. “You’d be horrified how common emotionally compromised attachment is in this field, even for people like me who don’t professionally practice.” That earned another quiet laugh out of her. Much better sound now. She sounded more alive again. That realization alone probably should’ve warned me how emotionally involved I already was becoming. Yeji shifted slightly closer afterward. Not enough to touch. Just enough that the distance between us no longer felt accidental “…Do you regret it?” Carefully questioned. It wasn’t her asking me if I like her or if what she did was wrong— it was her subtly asking if I liked that it happened.
I answered honestly “…No” despite the professional choice was to lie— the word left my mouth much easier than professionalism probably would’ve preferred. And judging from the way Yeji’s shoulders relaxed slightly afterward— it mattered more to her than she intended to show.
The strange thing afterward was that nothing became dramatically different overnight. That probably reassured me more than anything else could’ve. Because if Yeji suddenly became emotionally impulsive after that conversation, I would’ve immediately known the kiss came from emotional instability instead of clarity. But she didn’t. The next few days still looked exhausting. Still chaotic. Still overloaded with rehearsals, fittings, recording reviews, and endless adjustments leading into the debut. The difference was subtler than that. Yeji started feeling present again. Not constantly. Not perfectly. But enough. Enough that I started catching small moments I hadn’t seen before. Like actual irritation instead of exhausted compliance “You moved the rehearsal review again”. I glanced up from the schedule tablet calmly. “Correct.”
“You’re abusing authority.”
“No, I’m exercising competence.”
“That sounds narcissistic.”
“That sounds like somebody who slept five hours instead of three.”
“You’re impossible.”
Yeji narrowed her eyes immediately afterward while I continued walking down the hallway beside her completely unbothered “And yet your blood pressure’s improving. Curious.”. Yeji walked up close to my face “That’s not funny.” I just looked at her without a sense of shame “It’s a little funny, you have to admit that”. The fact she rolled her eyes instead of shutting down emotionally afterward mattered significantly more than she realized. Small behavioral recovery, but real. That became enough for me to start breathing easier too.
Despite the positive changes it felt dangerous on my end. Because somewhere along the way, I stopped measuring her condition professionally and started measuring it personally instead. I noticed when she smiled more naturally. When she ate without being reminded.
When she stopped rereading schedules obsessively during downtime. When she started talking to staff members casually again instead of mechanically. And the worst part? She noticed me noticing. That became a problem almost immediately.
“You’re staring again.”
“I’m observing.”
“You say that like it’s legally distinct.”
“It IS legally distinct.”
Yeji laughed quietly beneath her breath afterward while adjusting the oversized hoodie hanging loosely over her rehearsal clothes. That sound still affected me more than it should’ve. Occupationally inconvenient. Very inconvenient.
The solo preparations became more intense the closer debut approached. But strangely enough— the atmosphere around Yeji stopped feeling like slow emotional collapse and started feeling like pressure again. Still difficult and unhealthy pressure. But no longer hopeless. That distinction mattered a lot. One evening after rehearsal review, I found her sitting cross-legged near the edge of the practice room floor while reviewing camera positioning notes. Normal enough. Except this time, she actually looked focused instead of emotionally detached. Progress.
I lowered myself beside her afterward while handing over the protein drink she forgot sitting near the mirrors twenty minutes earlier “You keep leaving these everywhere”. Yeji accepted it quietly before glancing sideways toward me “…You remember small things annoyingly well.”
“Psychological profiling.”
“That’s not how profiling works.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I literally Googled it after meeting you.”
That genuinely caught me off guard enough to laugh once “You researched me?” Yeji looked mildly embarrassed immediately afterward “…That sounded worse out loud.” I couldn’t hold back my grin to the admission of guilt “Ohh it’s significantly worse”. Yeji was flustered “I was curious.”
The room settled quieter afterward. Not awkward. Just softer now. That softness between us was becoming harder to ignore every day. Because nothing dramatic kept happening between us after the kiss. No stolen make-out sessions. No reckless emotional escalation. No relationship-defining conversations. Just consistency. Me staying. Her letting me. And somehow that became infinitely more intimate than impulsiveness ever would’ve been. One night closer to the debut showcase, the company finally cleared rehearsals earlier than expected after one of the production teams ran behind schedule. Miracle-level event honestly. The dancers left first. Then staff members. Then eventually the practice rooms emptied one by one until only scattered voices remained farther down the hallway.
Yeji sat near the edge of the stage platform afterward while loosely stretching one leg absentmindedly. Tired. But not hollow anymore. I leaned lightly against the mirrored wall nearby while reviewing tomorrow’s schedule from my phone.
“Your first live showcase interview starts at ten.”
“That’s cruel of them.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Debatable.”
I glanced up briefly afterward “You nervous?” That made her pause. Not because she didn’t know the answer. Because she was actually thinking about it honestly now “…A little.” That was a healthy answer. Before she would’ve said that she was fine, now it was different. “You know,” I muttered while locking my phone afterward, “normal people usually celebrate before major life events”. Yeji looked toward me curiously “Celebrate how?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged lightly. “Food. Alcohol. Property damage. Irreversible consequences and whatnot.”
“Wow… that escalated quickly.”
“I believe in emotional range.”
That finally earned another real laugh out of her. God. There it is again. That feeling in my chest was becoming a genuine issue now. The fact that I could even recognize the difference between her real laughter and the polite versions she used around cameras now probably said enough about how emotionally involved I was becoming. Occupationally? It was catastrophic. Yeji eventually shook her head softly afterward while standing from the floor and stretching lightly.
“You sound like somebody banned from multiple establishments.”
“Allegedly.”
“That’s not denial.”
“It’s legally safer than honesty.”
“Here I thought you’d just buy the establishment to unban yourself.”
“I thought I told John to keep that a secret.”
Another laugh. Smaller this time. The practice room slowly settled quiet around us afterward while both of us began gathering scattered notes and water bottles left behind from rehearsals. That normalcy almost affected me more than the emotionally intense moments did. Because two weeks ago, this room felt like the emotional equivalent of a sinking ship. Now? Yeji looked tired, overwhelmed occasionally— but alive again. That mattered a lot.
She eventually slung her bag over one shoulder afterward before glancing toward me again “…You’ll be there tomorrow, right?” Interesting question. She wasn’t asking if I’ll be managing tomorrow, which I would still be doing. It was just asking if I would be there— if I wanted to be there. This girl started to ask the dangerous questions. I answered anyway.
“Unfortunately you’re professionally stuck with me for the foreseeable future.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It’s meant to be reassuring.”
Yeji smiled faintly beneath her breath afterward while walking beside me toward the hallway outside the practice room. The company building had mostly quieted down now. Only scattered staff members still moved through the upper floors preparing final showcase logistics. Tomorrow suddenly felt very close. That realization probably should’ve made me more nervous professionally than it did emotionally. Because now the debut no longer felt like another project or management assignment. Now it felt personal.
The elevator ride downward afterward stayed mostly quiet. At one point Yeji leaned lightly back against the wall beside the elevator buttons while staring ahead absentmindedly. Then quietly “…I’m still nervous” a healthier reaction. Before? She would’ve swallowed the feeling entirely. I glanced sideways toward her “That’s good”. That earned an immediate confused look. “You WANT me nervous?” I shook my head lightly. “I want you honest.” That quieted her again “…What if I mess up tomorrow?” I answered without hesitation this time “Then you’ll survive messing up tomorrow.” Yeji blinked once. Not because the answer comforted her. Because it reframed the fear entirely. “I think people around you accidentally made perfection sound fatal,” I continued calmly. “It isn’t.”
The elevator doors opened a second later toward the lower parking levels. Neither of us moved immediately. Then finally Yeji exhaled softly through her nose before stepping forward first “You really are annoyingly good at this”. If only she knew how uncertain I actually felt most of the time.
The next day disappeared into controlled chaos almost immediately. Hair styling. Wardrobe adjustments. Stage blocking. Last-minute technical corrections. Staff members moving through hallways at speeds that probably violated workplace safety regulations. Standard debut atmosphere honestly. But somewhere in the middle of all that noise, Yeji stayed surprisingly steady. Still nervous. Still overthinking occasionally. But no longer drowning in it.
That difference mattered more than flawless execution ever could. I caught smaller signs throughout the day too. She actually ate during breaks instead of pretending coffee counted as nutrition. Stopped apologizing every five minutes whenever minor delays happened. Even argued with one of the stylists over an accessory choice at one point. Excellent psychological recovery indicator honestly. Nothing says emotional stabilization quite like reclaiming the ability to become mildly difficult again. The showcase itself passed almost too quickly afterward.
One second we were still backstage reviewing final timings. Then suddenly lights, music, the deafening screams of the crowd. Performance mode. Truthfully watching Yeji walk onto that stage felt strangely different from every rehearsal leading up to it. Because this time she didn’t look like somebody desperately trying to survive expectations anymore. She looked like herself again. Confident. Sharp. Alive. The performance ended to overwhelming noise shortly afterward, I wouldn’t except less from the crowd’s reaction— I actually liked the title track, myself. But I wasn’t going to tell that to Yeji anytime soon. Then the staff members started rushing again. Applause. Adrenaline. Everybody speaking too loudly because emotional regulation apparently disappeared backstage after successful events. More standard industry behavior honestly. The moment Yeji fully stepped backstage again, the rest of ITZY immediately swarmed her.
Ryujin almost tackled her into a hug.
Yuna looked one emotional sentence away from crying.
Chaeryeong kept repeating “You were insane” like she still hadn’t fully processed the stage properly.
And Lia— mostly just looked relieved.
That one probably hit Yeji hardest. I stayed farther back near the hallway entrance afterward while giving them space naturally. Professional distance. Mostly.
Then eventually Yuna suddenly pointed toward me mid-conversation. “WAIT— you’re the psychology guy”. Great, just great, that title somehow sounded significantly more suspicious than my actual job. Ryujin looked between me and Yeji immediately afterward “…You hired him secretly?”
“That sounds illegal when you phrase it like that,” Yeji muttered tiredly.
“I mean technically Jihyo unnie introduced us,” I added calmly.
“That somehow sounds MORE suspicious,” Ryujin answered immediately.
Ryujin was an interesting one, sharper than she lets off too. Chaeryeong looked toward Yeji afterward before quietly asking “You’ve been with him this whole preparation?” Yeji hesitated briefly. Then nodded once. The atmosphere shifted slightly after that— subtle but noticeable. Because suddenly the members weren’t just looking at some temporary manager the company recommended, now they were looking at somebody who had been beside Yeji through the worst parts of the solo preparation they themselves only partially witnessed from the outside.
Lia understood first. I saw it happen almost immediately in her expression. Recognition, not in how Yeji looked at me or the way I secretly struggled to stay professional about Yeji, but the recognition of Yeji’s burnout. Honestly a dangerous thing to recognize in another person. “Thank you” Lia said quietly afterward. Simple yet heavy words. And somehow that affected me more than the louder reactions did. Because unlike the others— Lia understood exactly how ugly emotional exhaustion could become once somebody normalized surviving through it too long. I answered carefully “She did most of the work herself”. Yeji looked away immediately afterward in embarrassment— that didn’t help me look innocent at all despite me being actually innocent in all of this.
“Okay but professionally speaking, the vibe here feels suspiciously emotionally healthy” Yuna suddenly pointed dramatically between the two of us. “That’s because you’re used to dysfunction,” Ryujin answered instantly. “THAT SOUNDED TARGETED” Yuna yelled “Because it is” Ryujin retorted in amusement.
The backstage room immediately dissolved into overlapping noise afterward while Yuna fake-argued and Ryujin looked entirely too pleased with herself. For the first time since this whole situation started— the atmosphere around Yeji no longer felt fragile anymore. It just felt alive.
Later that night, after the official congratulations, staff photos, and endless “you did well” comments finally died down, Yeji found me near the parking entrance. “You said normal people celebrate.” I looked up from my phone. “I also mentioned property damage.” She grabbed me by the arm “Food and alcohol first”. Feeling like I declining her would be a death sentence “Responsible escalation, that’s good.” she smiled, tired but real. “Come with me?” There it was again. Choosing. I should’ve said no. Instead, twenty minutes later, we were tucked inside a quiet private booth at a small restaurant where the owner clearly knew better than to ask questions. Yeji ordered more food than she could realistically finish and one drink she kept pretending affected her more than it did.
“You’re a terrible actress,” I said. “I’m lightheaded” she blinked too innocently.
“You’ve had half a glass.”
“Emotionally, it was strong.”
“That’s not how alcohol works.”
“It is tonight.”
She laughed into her sleeve, and honestly, that sound probably ruined the last usable piece of my professionalism. After dinner, she leaned closer across the table, eyes clearer than she wanted me to believe. “When this is over tomorrow…” she paused, then corrected herself softly, “No. It is over now.” I stayed quiet. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her sleeve. “Can I choose something selfish again?” the room seemed to narrow around the question. Because I understood “Yeji”.
“I’m not falling apart tonight,” she said quietly. “I’m not asking because I need saving.” That mattered more than she knew “I know” I could only mutter acknowledgement “Then don’t treat me like I don’t know what I want”. For a second, I didn’t answer. Then I exhaled, defeated by the one thing I could never argue against properly. A conscious choice “…Okay.” Her smile came slowly. Soft. Relieved. Certain. And when she reached for my hand under the table, I let her.
By the time they left the restaurant, Seoul had already settled into the quieter side of the night. The streets weren’t empty— just calmer now. Yeji walked beside me with her hands tucked halfway into the sleeves of her oversized hoodie while the cold air carried the leftover exhaustion of the day out of both of us little by little. For the first time since this entire situation began, neither of us was talking about anything work related— just about normal and pointless things. She complained about one of the stage outfits. I informed her professionally that fashion was an organized crime syndicate. She laughed hard enough at that to nearly miss a step off the curb afterward. Somewhere during the drive back, the emotional atmosphere between us shifted again. Like both of us understood something irreversible had already happened emotionally and neither person particularly wanted to pretend otherwise anymore.
When we finally reached her residence building, I parked the car but didn’t immediately move to unbuckle my seatbelt. Neither did she. The city lights outside reflected softly across the windshield while silence settled between us again. Just aware. Yeji eventually leaned her head lightly back against the seat before exhaling quietly “…I really did almost quit.” an honest sentence. I looked toward her carefully afterward.
“I know.”
“And somehow that feels unreal now.”
“That’s usually how surviving emotional collapse feels afterward.” she smiled faintly beneath her breath “You make everything sound psychological.”
“That’s because unfortunately I am psychological.”
“That sounded medically concerning.”
“It probably is.”
Another laugh. Smaller this time. Sleepier. Then eventually the silence returned again. But this time neither of us seemed interested in escaping it. Yeji slowly turned toward me afterward. No uncertainty, not emotionally spiraling. Just plain clarity that never yielded. That probably affected me more than alcohol had to. Because this wasn’t exhaustion choosing closeness, not desperation, or emotional dependency clawing for comfort— this was simply her choosing. “…You’re thinking too hard,” she said quietly. “Can’t help it, occupational hazard” I exhaled softly through my nose afterward before finally admitting “I’m trying very hard to be responsible right now.” Yeji’s expression softened immediately “…You’ve been responsible this entire time” This was especially because she sounded so certain about it.
She shifted slightly closer afterward. Slow enough to stop if I wanted her to. I didn’t, the moment I realized that— I already knew professionalism had lost this fight a long time ago. Yeji’s fingers lightly curled against my hand first. Then her shoulder against mine “…Ben” that careful tone again, the one that was going to psychologically destroy me someday “Yeah?” Her eyes met mine quietly in the dim lighting inside the car. A warmth that showed no hesitation or second thoughts. She pressed her pressed her lips softly on mine, and this time I gave up on resisting and hiding behind that professional hurdle because I knew I would just be lying to the both of us. The silence afterward didn’t feel uncertain anymore. It felt inevitable. Yeji slowly pulled back just enough for both of us to breathe properly again, though judging from the way her fingers still lingered lightly against my hand, neither of us was particularly interested in creating real distance anymore “…Come upstairs.”
I should’ve probably still thought harder about it. Instead, I reached for the door handle first. That alone made Yeji laugh quietly beneath her breath while following beside me out of the car. The night air felt colder now or maybe that was just the adrenaline finally catching up. Neither of us spoke much while walking toward the entrance of her residence building. Not because there was tension. Because there was a lack of it along with the lack of uncertainty— just two people very aware of each other now. The elevator ride upward felt significantly smaller than before. Yeji stood beside me quietly with her hands partially hidden inside the sleeves of her hoodie again while the dim lighting reflected softly against the mirrored walls around us.
“You’re thinking again.” I glanced sideways toward her. “You say that like it’s a disease.” she smiled “I’m beginning to think it is.” I mirrored her grin “That’s medically offensive to psychologists everywhere” another smile. God those were becoming genuinely dangerous to my self-control. The elevator doors opened a second later toward her floor. Then suddenly we were walking down the quieter hallway toward her unit while Seoul’s city lights glowed faintly through the larger windows farther behind us. Yeji slowed slightly once she reached the door. Keys in hand then a pause while unlocking it. Something about the normalcy of that moment broke the last surviving piece of restraint I still had left.
Maybe it was the realization that she chose this— she chose me, or maybe I was simply tired of pretending I didn’t want her back just as badly anymore. Probably both. Yeji barely got the door unlocked before I reached for her first. The moment she turned toward me again, I kissed her properly this time. No hesitation. None of that careful emotional distance. Just accumulated restraint finally giving out all at once.
She made the softest surprised sound against my lips before immediately kissing me back just as hard, one hand instinctively catching against my jacket while the other still struggled half-successfully with the door handle behind her. The door finally opened behind her a second later, but neither of us immediately cared enough to separate first as we walked into the hall. My leg slowly kicked the door closed shut and her hand reached around my body to lock it back in place.
Neither of us stopped kissing long enough to breathe properly— I lifted her up against the narrow walls of her home, she proceeded to wrap her legs around me for stability as her both of her hands reached for my face before finally letting go the kiss. She took a moment to watch my face as I met her gaze as in return “Wow, what… happened to… all that… restraint?” she said in between her panting. I laughed softly beneath my breath afterward while keeping her pinned lightly against the wall, one hand still firm against her waist as if letting go now would somehow be physically impossible.
“Honestly?” I muttered while brushing another slower kiss against the corner of her mouth. “I think you psychologically wore it down over time.” Yeji laughed breathlessly at that, though it immediately dissolved into breathless sounds when I kissed her again before she could properly recover.
“That sounds irresponsible for a psychologist” as she slowly took off her the jacket that hid the frames of her body, leaving her sleeveless top to expose the skin of her neck and collarbone.
“It probably violates every professional guideline to ever exist.” I told her as I drew my face closer to her.
“That should concern me more.”
“It really should.” And yet neither of us sounded particularly interested in stopping anymore. This time my mouth the crevice of her collar, she started cooing when I led my tongue all the way to the side of her neck.
I didn't let her go. I carried her from the wall all the way to her room, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her waist while my tongue traced the sensitive line of her jaw. The air in the small entryway felt thick, charged with a static that made the fine hairs on my arms stand up. Every breath she took was a jagged, uneven thing, echoing the frantic rhythm of my own heart. I shifted my weight, sliding one hand from her waist to the hem of her sleeveless top. I didn't ask. I didn't have to. The way she arched her back, pressing her chest into me, was the only answer I needed. I pulled the fabric over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it blindly into the hall.
She stood there in the dim light, her skin glowing like polished pearl. Her breasts were small, firm, with nipples already peaked and hard, straining against the cool air. I took a moment, just a second, to map her. I let my eyes travel from the delicate slope of her shoulders down to the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. She was lean, a dancer's body, all hidden strength and supple grace. Yeji reached for the buttons of my shirt, her fingers trembling. She fumbled with the second one, a small huff of frustration escaping her lips. "Let me," I whispered.
I stripped out of my clothes with a haste that bordered on desperation, my eyes never leaving hers. When my pants hit the floor, my cock sprang free, fully erect and pulsing with a heavy, aching need.
Yeji stopped. Her gaze dropped, her eyes widening as she stared at me. She didn't move for a long moment, her breath hitching in her throat. Slowly, as if drawn by a magnet, she reached out. Her fingers were cool as they wrapped around the base of my shaft. She didn't know how to grip it—her hold was loose, tentative, her thumb brushing awkwardly against the underside. "Ben," she breathed, her voice a fragile thread. "Yeah?" She slid her hand up, her palm grazing the velvet heat of my glans. She let out a soft, shaky exhale, her eyes flickering back up to mine.
"I didn't expect... this."
"Too much?"
She shook her head quickly, though her brow furrowed with a flicker of genuine concern. She tightened her grip slightly, trying to encompass the girth, but her fingers didn't even come close to meeting on the other side. "It's just... you're so large. I think... this is the largest I've ever seen.” I felt a surge of possessive heat hit my gut. I stepped closer, the tip of my cock brushing against her thigh.
"Does it scare you?"
"No," she whispered, her gaze intensifying. "Not with you. I want it. I want all of it."
I didn't waste another second. I scooped her up, her legs locking around my waist instinctively, and carried her toward the bedroom. I dropped her onto the mattress, the springs creaking under the sudden weight. I hovered over her, my body a heavy shadow against her light. I spent the next twenty minutes mapping every inch of her. I wanted her skin memorized. I kissed the hollow of her throat, the valley between her breasts, and the soft skin of her stomach. I moved lower, my tongue tracing the line of her hip before diving between her thighs.
Yeji gasped, her hips jerking upward as I found her. She was already drenched, her pussy dripping a thick, sweet musk that filled my senses. I used my tongue to part her lips, tasting the salt and the heat. I focused on her clit, circling it with a precision that had her clawing at the sheets, her head tossing from side to side.
"Ben, please," she whimpered, her voice breaking. "I can't... I don't know what's happening."
"Just feel it, Yeji. Don't think. Just feel."
I moved back up, positioning myself between her legs. I reached down, guiding the head of my cock to her entrance. She was tight—terrifyingly tight—and as I pushed in, I felt her muscles stretch and protest. I stopped, letting her adjust, my breath hot against her ear.
"You okay?"
"Yes," she gasped, her eyes squeezed shut. "Just... keep going. Please."
I pushed deeper, my cock started to feel like a slow invasion within Yeji. I felt the friction of her walls hugging me, the heat of her internal muscles clamping down on my shaft. A wet, squelching sound filled the quiet of the room as I slid fully home, my pelvis slamming against her with a heavy thud.
Yeji let out a strangled cry, her eyes snapping open. She looked shocked, her chest heaving.
"You're... you're actually all the way in," she whispered, her voice sounding distant.
"Every inch," I reached in to give her a kiss.
I started to move. I kept it slow at first, pulling back until only the tip remained before slamming back in. The sound of our bodies colliding—a rhythmic, fleshy slapping—became the only thing in the world. I watched her face, the way her eyebrows knit together, the way her lips parted in a silent plea. I increased the pace, the friction building into a searing heat. I could feel her getting wetter, the lubrication making every thrust a sliding, shlicking mess. I shifted my angle, driving my cock upward to grind against her G-spot.
Yeji's reaction was instantaneous. Her back arched, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her nails were definitely going to leave some marks later.
"Something is... something is happening," she cried out, her voice rising in pitch. "Ben, I feel... it's too much!"
"Ride it, Yeji. Give in to it."
I didn't stop. I hammered into her, my movements becoming primal and uncoordinated. I could feel her insides beginning to quiver. Then, it happened.
Yeji's entire body stiffened. Her internal walls suddenly contracted, squeezing my shaft in a series of violent, rhythmic pulses. A loud, guttural moan tore from her throat, her eyes rolling back as her first-ever orgasm ripped through her.
For me, it was electric. The sensation of her clenching around me was an overwhelming pressure, a vacuum that pulled me deeper into her. The feeling of her climaxing while I was still buried inside her pushed me over the edge. I let out a soft moan, my muscles locking as I surged forward one last time, burying myself as deep as possible.
I felt the hot, thick jets of my cum flooding her, filling her to the brim. I stayed there, pinned to her, our hearts hammering in unison, the only sound the heavy, ragged breathing of two people who had just discovered a new language. Yeji lay limp beneath me, her eyes slowly fluttering open. She looked dazed, a small, bewildered smile on her lips.
"What... was that?" she whispered.
"That," I panted, kissing her forehead, "was an orgasm, Yeji."
She let out a soft, breathless laugh, her hand coming up to rest on my chest. "I didn't know... I didn't know it could feel like that. I feel like I just woke up for the first time in my life."
I rolled off her, pulling her into my arms. We lay there in the aftermath, the smell of sex and sweat clinging to the sheets. But as the minutes passed, the silence didn't feel like an end. It felt like a bridge. I looked down at her, seeing the flush still lingering on her cheeks, the way her eyes looked wider, clearer. The desire returned, not as a frantic need, but as a slow, simmering hunger. I shifted, my cock already stirring again, reacting to the proximity of her warmth. "Round two?" I murmured. Yeji didn't answer with words. She simply flipped over, presenting her backside to me, her hips tilted up in an invitation that made my blood boil.
I didn't waste time with foreplay this time, she was already wet again— I guess the thought of going another round was enough to flip a switch. I knelt behind her, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her toward the edge of the bed. I rubbed dick around the folds of her pussy, lubricating the head of my cock before sliding back into her from behind.
The angle was different, deeper. I felt the tip of my shaft kiss the entrance of her cervix, and Yeji let out a sharp, high-pitched gasp.
"Oh god," she whimpered, her face pressed into the pillow. "That's... that's even deeper."
"You like it?" I asked, my voice a low rasp.
"Yes... please, Ben... more… no one has ever… reached that far." she was trying to speak in between her moans.
I began to move, my thrusts becoming more vigorous, more aggressive. I wasn't being gentle anymore. I wanted her to feel every bit of the size she had been worried about. I drove into her with a rhythmic intensity, the sound of my skin slapping against her skin echoing in the room. The friction was intense, the squelching sounds of our interaction becoming louder as we both became drenched in sweat. I reached around, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing it in sync with every thrust.
Yeji was losing it. She was sobbing now, not from pain, but from a sensory overload that was stripping away every last bit of her composure.
"I'm going again!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the apartment. "I can feel it! Ben, please don't stop!"
I didn't. I pushed her harder, my movements becoming a blur of heat and friction. I felt her build up again, the tension in her legs shaking, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Then, the wave hit her. It wasn't just one orgasm this time. It was a cascade. Her internals clamped down on me in a series of prolonged, rolling contractions. I felt her body shudder beneath me, her voice dissolving into a series of incoherent whimpers as she experienced multiple, overlapping peaks of pleasure.
The sensation was intoxicating. Having her unravel beneath me, feeling her body completely surrender to the pleasure I was providing, sent me spiraling. I felt my own climax building, a pressure in my loins that felt like it was about to explode. I let out a choked sound, my grip tightening on her hips as I delivered a final, powerful thrust. I felt my cock pulse violently inside her, sending another massive load of cum deep into her womb. I groaned, my forehead resting against her back, my entire body vibrating with the force of the release.
We collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and damp skin. I pulled her back against my chest, my arm draped over her waist. The room was silent again, save for the sound of our breathing. Yeji turned her head, looking at me with eyes that were soft, exhausted, and entirely content. "I think," she whispered, her voice sounding raw, "that I might actually be able to sleep tonight." I chuckled, kissing the back of her neck. "Mission accomplished."
She shifted, snuggling closer into my warmth, her hand finding mine and interlocking our fingers. For the first time in years, the weight of the world—the schedules, the expectations, the crushing pressure of leadership—felt light. It felt irrelevant.
"Ben?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't ever leave me alone in a dark rehearsal room again."
I smiled, closing my eyes. "Deal."
Morning arrived significantly softer than either of us expected. There was a lack of emotional panic, regret, or awkward distance. Just quiet. Yeji stood barefoot in her kitchen wearing one of her oversized shirts while scrolling through fan reactions on her phone with visible concentration the same way I was working on my doctoral thesis when I was still getting my master’s degree. That piqued my interest “Okay this one’s lying,” she muttered while reading another comment. I glanced up briefly from the coffee I was making “Which one?”
“‘Yeji looked calm and relaxed on stage.’” She looked toward me suspiciously. “I was fighting for my life internally.” She let out a laugh. God, the domestic normalcy of this morning was affecting me significantly more than the sex itself had. Which honestly felt medically concerning. Yeji eventually walked closer afterward before silently leaning against my side while continuing to scroll through her phone letting the moment soak in before looking back at me “…We should probably talk to them.”
I already knew who she meant immediately. Jihyo. John. God, I wish we could skip John. The atmosphere softened slightly afterward. The both of us understood the same thing now without needing to say it aloud first. Last night changed something permanently— professionally and emotionally and neither of us regretted it. I handed Yeji her coffee afterward before answering honestly. “We crossed a line we can’t really uncross anymore”. Yeji nodded once quietly. “…Yeah” I didn’t sense any fear or second thoughts in her voice “…Are you okay with that?” A careful question, an important one to boot. I looked toward her properly afterward “I think I stopped pretending this was professionally salvageable somewhere around the second time you kissed me.” That immediately made her laugh quietly into the rim of the coffee mug she was holding. Then eventually she lowered the mug slightly again “…Good.”
It was a simple answer full of certainty. But certain enough that something in my chest settled instead of tightening afterward. A dangerous development for me honestly. A little while later, I was sitting beside her on the couch while absentmindedly scrolling through my phone when Yeji suddenly shifted closer again. I glanced toward her briefly before realizing she was staring directly at my shoulder with visible concentration.
“…What?”
“You have a lot of tattoos.” as she was looking around me, observing every detail of my body.
“That sounds judgmental.”
“It’s observational.” Yeji tried to sound like me.
“That’s just judgment with better marketing.”
Yeji laughed softly before setting her phone aside completely now. Her fingers lightly brushed against the ink near my shoulder almost absentmindedly. The contact nearly short-circuited my nervous system significantly more than expected. “This one looks older,” she murmured quietly while tracing one of the darker faded lines near my collarbone. “It is.”
“What’s it supposed to be?”
“You say that like you don’t recognize a snake.”
“It looked philosophical.”
“It’s literally just a snake.”
“That somehow feels disappointing.”
I let out a quieter laugh afterward while Yeji continued studying the tattoos scattered across my arms and shoulders with visible curiosity now. The fact she looked this interested in something as mundane as my tattoos was affecting me more emotionally than it reasonably should’ve. Then suddenly her expression shifted slightly “…Wait”. Her eyes narrowed briefly toward my shoulder “…Are those scratch marks?” I blinked once. Then immediately looked down. Ah. Right. Yeji followed the realization almost instantly before covering her mouth while trying unsuccessfully not to laugh.
“Oh my god.”
“That feels slightly accusatory.”
“You look like you survived a wildlife attack.”
“In my defense, somebody became significantly less emotionally stable after midnight.”
“That sounds like deflection.”
“That sounds like accountability avoidance from YOU.”
Yeji immediately folded into laughter again while I rubbed lightly at my forehead in defeat. Watching her laugh this freely after everything she went through emotionally over the past several months was beginning to affect me in ways I was not psychologically prepared for. Then eventually her eyes shifted downward again. “…You’re surprisingly fit.” I looked toward her slowly afterward.
“That sounded more offended than complimentary.”
“I just didn’t expect it.”
“What exactly did you think psychologists looked like physically?”
“I don’t know.” She tried unsuccessfully not to smile again.
“Slightly weaker.”
“That’s devastating.”
“It’s true.”
“I carried you against a wall yesterday.”
“That sentence sounds significantly more threatening in daylight.”
“Fair.”
Yeji laughed softly again before eventually leaning more comfortably against my side afterward. Then quietly
“…I still can’t believe you have this many tattoos.”
I glanced down briefly toward the ink across my arms before shrugging lightly again “Grad school was psychologically difficult.”
“That explains absolutely nothing.”
“It explains enough.”
Another smaller silence settled comfortably afterward. Then eventually I looked toward her again before speaking casually. “If you want, I can always add a portrait tattoo of you somewhere.” Yeji stared at me for exactly two seconds “…What?”
“I’m committed to emotionally terrible decision-making now.”
“That is NOT a normal thing to say after sleeping with someone.”
“I think it would add professionalism to the workplace.”
“You’re insane.”
“Clinically functional.”
“That’s debatable.”
I laughed softly afterward while Yeji shook her head in disbelief beside me, though the faint redness lingering across her face betrayed her significantly. Then eventually she leaned lightly against my shoulder again afterward while still smiling quietly to herself. A little while later, Yeji sat beside me on the couch while the phone rang through speaker mode. John answered first “…Hello children.” I immediately narrowed my eyes “You’re trying to sound emotionally intelligent again” it was too early for John to give me a headache “I’ve evolved psychologically” I could feel the smug from the phone “The hell you have”.
Yeji immediately folded into laughter beside me. Terrible start already. Then somewhere farther away from the call “John stop making things weird,” Jihyo’s voice cut in immediately “I’m helping”. I rubbed lightly at my forehead afterward “…How do nine people emotionally survive you?” That quickly blew a hole in his whole act “That sounded targeted,” John muttered. Yeji was still laughing quietly beside me by the time Jihyo finally spoke again “…Do you two want to meet later?” There it was, a calm tone— too calm. Yeah,” Yeji answered first this time, her voice quieter afterward. “We should probably talk properly”. A brief silence followed “…Okay,” Jihyo answered simply. “Come by later this afternoon”. That somehow made the entire thing feel significantly more serious.
The drive later that afternoon felt strangely calmer than it probably should’ve. Maybe because the difficult part had already happened last night or maybe because neither of us was particularly interested in pretending this was some catastrophic mistake that needed undoing. Yeji sat beside me scrolling idly through her phone while soft music played quietly through the speakers. At one point she looked over briefly “You’re thinking again” I gave her a look at her as the stoplight was still red “That accusation has become emotionally abusive” she instantly retorted “Well you’re making it easy” that was fair. I kept my glance toward her “Nervous?” Yeji considered the question honestly “…A little”. By the time we arrived, John was already waiting near the café entrance wearing sunglasses despite being indoors like somebody trying very hard to look mysterious and failing catastrophically.
“Oh good, the emotional support golden retriever is here” I muttered while stepping out of the car “That’s hurtful”. I waved him off “It wasn’t inaccurate, that’s what matters”. John looked deeply offended for almost three seconds before immediately shaking Yeji’s hand “Congratulations by the way. You killed it yesterday” Yeji smiled softly afterward “…Thanks”. Then John turned toward me dramatically afterward “And you, you look suspiciously emotionally fulfilled.” I immediately pointed toward him “See? THIS is why you can’t pretend to sound like me. You overcommit to the bit emotionally”. Yeji laughed quietly beside me while John looked personally attacked. Before he could retaliate, the café door opened behind him, and there she was. Jihyo stepped outside holding a folder beneath one arm while looking significantly calmer than everybody else present. Which honestly felt threatening somehow.
“Why are you holding paperwork?” I asked immediately. Jihyo glanced down briefly toward the folder “…Preparation.” that answer garnered a horrified expression from me “That answer psychologically upset me, the one with a Master’s Degree in Psychology— that should account for something”. John immediately pointed toward her. “SEE? I TOLD YOU.” Jihyo showed visible confusion for a while “Told me WHAT exactly?” Neither of them answered.
We eventually settled into one of the quieter private rooms farther inside the café afterward. The atmosphere wasn’t hostile. Serious, yes. But not condemning. Yeji sat beside me while Jihyo calmly placed the folder onto the table between us. Then finally “I’m going to ask one question first,” Jihyo said quietly “Was last night emotionally impulsive?” a direct question. I answered first “No”. Yeji nodded immediately afterward beside me “No regrets either”. Jihyo watched both of us silently for a second longer afterward. Assessing. Leader mode, then finally— she exhaled softly through her nose before leaning back slightly in her chair “Okay”.
That was it. no explosion. No dramatic lecture. No accusation… Just okay. Yet that somehow felt heavier than anger would’ve. John, meanwhile, looked between all three of us like somebody trying very hard not to interrupt emotionally important adult conversation with stupidity. Predictably unsuccessful. “So,” he muttered carefully, “are we all pretending this isn’t horrifyingly predictable in hindsight?”
“John,” Jihyo warned immediately without even looking at him. “I’m contributing emotionally.” I didn’t even look at him “You’re making it worse emotionally, for me at least.”
“That’s subjective.”
“It’s really not.” Yeji nearly laughed beside me while I rubbed lightly at my forehead. Strangely enough the fact that this somehow already felt less like damage control and more like some sort of relationship ecosystem maintenance, and it was deeply concerning. Jihyo eventually opened the folder afterward before sliding two documents calmly across the table toward Yeji and me.
NDAs. Of course they were. I stared at them for a few seconds before slowly looking back up at her “You had these prepared already?” Jihyo took a sip from her drink first. Calm. Composed. Terrifying “I prepared them after realizing emotional attachment between managers and idols was probably inevitable eventually.” then simultaneously “That should not be a normal sentence,” I said. “SEE?” John pointed aggressively toward me. “I SAID THAT TOO.” Jihyo ignored both of us professionally. Psychologically she was a horrifying woman honestly. Yeji picked up the NDA quietly beside me afterward while scanning through it briefly. Then paused “…Wait.” even I felt the danger in that word. Jihyo blinked once “What?”
Yeji looked between Jihyo, John, and then back toward the paperwork and I physically watched the realization happen in real time “…Hold on” Yeji narrowed her eyes slightly afterward. “John isn’t just sleeping with one of the TWICE members, is he?” That made Jihyo choked violently on her drink. I folded forward laughing almost instantly while John looked like his soul briefly exited his body. “Oh my GOD,” I wheezed while trying unsuccessfully to recover. “SHE FIGURED IT OUT IMMEDIATELY.” John muttered in genuine horror “That was FAST”. Yeji blinked once slowly afterward while looking increasingly alarmed “Wait seriously?” Jihyo was still coughing and John looked ready to fake his own death. And genuinely I hadn’t laughed this hard in years.
“You people are INSANE,” I finally managed through laughter while wiping briefly at my eyes. “I thought this was like… one emotionally complicated relationship.” John pointed toward me immediately. “In my defense—” I didn’t even let him finish that statement “You have NO defense.” John continued regardless “Actually I have several.” that somehow made it worse. Yeji looked between everyone again like she’d accidentally walked into the middle of an emotionally unstable cult and her reaction was completely valid. Eventually Jihyo recovered enough to speak again “…To be fair,” she muttered weakly afterward, “it didn’t exactly happen the way you think it did.”
“That sentence also should not be normal,” I answered immediately. John leaned back dramatically in his chair afterward. “You adjust eventually.” hearing that is the opposite of reassuring. Yeji was still visibly trying to process the scale of what she apparently just uncovered. Then quietly “…Wait. ALL of them?” John closed his eyes in defeat. Jihyo covered her face. And I completely lost composure again. “I cannot BELIEVE this is a real conversation I’m having right now,” I managed through laughter while John looked spiritually exhausted across the table. “In my defense—”
“You need to stop starting sentences like that,” Jihyo interrupted immediately. “It implies there’s a defense,” I added “You’re dating an entire nationally beloved girl group.” trying to compose myself “That sounds worse when YOU say it.”
“Because I’m emotionally framing it correctly.” Yeji looked genuinely stunned beside me. Not judgmental. Just deeply, profoundly confused “…How does that even work?” John immediately pointed toward Jihyo. “Leadership?” Jihyo answered while covering her eyes briefly “That is NOT the answer, JOHN.”
“It’s a little the answer,” he muttered. Interesting ecosystem honestly also very concerning too. Yeji slowly leaned back in her chair afterward while still processing everything. Then suddenly, another realization. Her eyes shifted slowly toward Jihyo “…You already knew this was probably going to happen with me and Ben?” Silence— even that question caught me off guard. Jihyo stayed calm for exactly three seconds too long “…I suspected emotional overlap was possible.” I answered immediately “That sounded PREPARED”. Jihyo finally sighed softly afterward before resting her chin against one hand “You both spent months emotionally depending on each other during an extremely vulnerable period”.
“Okay but hearing it phrased clinically somehow made it worse,” John muttered. Jihyo ignored him professionally, what a terrifying woman. Then she looked toward me properly afterward “You stabilized her emotionally without isolating her from herself”. The room quieted slightly after that, less comedic now. More honest. “She didn’t become dependent on you,” Jihyo continued calmly “She became herself again around you”. That sentence hit harder than expected. Because somewhere deep down, I think part of me was still worried about that exact thing. Yeji looked toward me quietly afterward too. Warmly. Then Jihyo continued like she hadn’t just emotionally sniped me across the table.
“So no,” she finished calmly. “I wasn’t surprised this crossed into something personal eventually”. I leaned back slowly afterward while staring at the ceiling briefly “…That should not be an emotionally healthy intuition.” John pointed immediately. “SEE?”
“Stop validating each other,” Jihyo muttered tiredly. “No,” me and John answered instantly. Yeji laughed quietly beside me before eventually setting the NDA back onto the table again. Then softly “…I want Ben to officially manage ITZY.” The room stilled again afterward.
Yeji continued carefully. “I know what happened between us changes things.” She glanced briefly toward me first before continuing. “But I also know the others are struggling too.” that was Yeji’s leader instinct, and she was right on the bat. Even now. “I don’t want to go back to pretending everybody’s fine when they’re clearly not.” That quieted the table completely afterward. “You realize what that probably means long term, right?” Jihyo asked gently. Yeji nodded once slowly “…Yeah.” No hesitation. Then finally she glanced sideways toward me again before adding “And honestly? I already accepted that this might happen naturally with the others too eventually.”
I blinked once slowly “…I’m sorry WHAT?” Yeji blinked once afterward like she didn’t fully understand why that answer shocked me so much. “What?”
“You accepted that possibility WAY too calmly.”
“Because I already thought about it.”
“That sentence emotionally terrified me.” John immediately pointed toward Yeji across the table “See? That’s exactly how this starts.”
“You are the LAST person qualified to say that,” I answered instantly.
“Fair.”
A disturbingly self-aware ecosystem. Yeji looked toward me quietly afterward before speaking again “I’m not saying it has to happen.” She paused briefly. “I’m saying… I know how you are.” Dangerous statement especially because she sounded completely sincere. “You care deeply,” she continued softly. “And they’re important to me too.” Even now, she wasn’t viewing this possessively, true mark of a real leader. She was thinking about everybody else first too. I leaned back slowly afterward while rubbing lightly at my jaw “…You’re all emotionally abnormal.”
“That’s rich coming from you,” John muttered.
“I’m at least aware I’m psychologically concerning.”
“That somehow doesn’t help.”
Jihyo finally sighed softly before reaching for another document inside the folder. The fact she had MORE paperwork ready nearly made me leave on principle alone. “There’s also the updated management transfer proposal,” she said calmly. I stared at her “…You already prepared THAT too?” Jihyo blinked once. “You think slowly for someone with a Master’s Degree in Psychology.” I was beat from all angles, “I take it back. You’re the scariest person here.”
“Correct,” John answered immediately.
Yeji looked visibly relieved afterward though as Jihyo slid the paperwork toward us. “The company already trusts your judgment after the solo debut,” Jihyo continued calmly. “Officially, the recommendation is expanded emotional and schedule management support for ITZY as a whole.” Emotionally dangerous wording. Professionally brilliant wording too. I skimmed briefly through the proposal afterward before immediately stopping at one section “This compensation package is ridiculous.” John snorted instantly “THAT’S the part bothering you?”
Yeji leaned slightly closer beside me afterward while trying to peek at the paperwork. “Wait, how much is—”
“It’s not important.”
“That means it’s horrifying,” John answered immediately. I set the paperwork back onto the table afterward. “Honestly, I don’t need the money.” The room quieted slightly. “That is NOT a normal sentence,” Jihyo said. “See?” John pointed aggressively toward me. “THIS is what I’ve been trying to explain.” I ignored him “What I DO need,” I continued calmly, “is a company-issued vehicle.” That finally shifted the atmosphere slightly back toward seriousness. “Security concerns?” Jihyo asked immediately. “Exactly.” I nodded once. “Using my personal car long-term around idol schedules is risky. You of all people know how some of those nutjob fans eventually identify patterns.” The room quieted again afterward. Because unfortunately? That concern was realistic.
“I’d rather not have somebody tracing ITZY’s movements through my license plate eventually.” Yeji looked toward me quietly after that. Warmly. Jihyo nodded slowly afterward. “That’s fair. We can arrange that.” Then Yeji tilted her head slightly. “Hold on, Ben.” she looked toward me carefully afterward. “Looking back your car actually IS expensive if you think it would be that easy to trace back, isn’t it?” I immediately narrowed my eyes toward John before he even opened his mouth. “You stay out of this.”
“I didn’t even SAY anything yet.”
“You looked financially enthusiastic.”
“That’s profiling.”
Yeji laughed quietly beside me afterward. “But seriously,” she continued, “the brand wasn’t Korean. I didn’t recognize it.” John immediately folded his arms. “Oh it’s expensive-expensive.” This bloody traitor. “It’s custom-built too,” he added helpfully. “John” that didn’t make him stop. “What?” John looked immediately defensive. “What? I’m contributing context.”
“You’re contributing financial slander.”
“That thing probably costs more than my apartment.”
“That’s statistically possible.”
Silence. Then immediately “What?” Yeji stared at me now. Jihyo slowly lowered her drink afterward. And honestly? I could physically feel this conversation becoming more psychologically irritating by the second. “It’s just a car.”
“That is ABSOLUTELY not how rich people say ‘just a car,’” John answered immediately. Yeji narrowed her eyes slightly afterward. “Are you actually rich-rich?” I immediately leaned back in my chair. “We are not doing this conversation.”
“That means yes,” Yeji answered immediately. “Psychologically invasive behavior.” John added helpfully “Deflection”. I turned back at him “You traitorous asshole.” Jihyo looked mildly entertained now too. Concerning development. Then eventually Yeji glanced between me and John again “…Okay but how rich are we talking exactly?” I pointed toward John immediately “If he answers this incorrectly, I’m revoking his friendship privileges.”
“You can’t revoke those.”
“Watch me.”
John looked entirely too entertained now. “Well…” He leaned back slightly afterward. “You know how Mina is terrifyingly wealthy, right?” Yeji blinked once slowly. “How wealthy are we talking?” John and Jihyo exchanged a look first. That made the answer significantly worse already. Then eventually John sighed dramatically “Mina could probably buy JYPE herself if she genuinely wanted to.” Silence. Yeji stared. I rubbed lightly at my forehead. And somehow the fact nobody denied it probably answered enough already. “That should not be normal,” I muttered. “You’re not allowed to say that anymore,” John answered immediately.
Then Yeji slowly looked back toward me “Okay then, what about YOU?” Oh no. Absolutely not. I immediately stood up slightly from my chair “I’m leaving.” John answered instantly. “You signed paperwork already, you legally can’t.” Jihyo finally rubbed lightly at her temple afterward. “Sit down, Ben.” This was emotional abuse, but I sat back down anyway. “Theoretically” John began carefully while visibly trying not to laugh already, “if Ben liquidated and pooled most of his CURRENT resources together—”
“John.”
“—he could probably buy enough shares to own majority control of JYPE. Something around 80 to 85% of the shares. I did the math already.” The silence was broken by singular “…What.” from Yeji who looked genuinely horrified now. I immediately pointed toward John again. “This is why rich people don’t tell people things.”
“That wasn’t even the weird part.”
“There’s a WEIRDER PART?”
John looked deeply entertained now. “He gets richer accidentally.”
“That is not a real sentence,” Jihyo muttered.
“It IS,” John continued. “I swear this man wakes up wealthier every six months without trying.”
“That sounds villainous,” Yeji answered immediately.
“I invest intelligently,” I defended calmly.
“You bought a company once because you were annoyed at their customer service.”
“That was strategically justified.”
“That was psychotic.”
Jihyo covered her face briefly afterward while Yeji stared at me like she was reassessing every interaction we’d ever had. Then eventually Yeji looked toward me again. Much quieter this time “…You genuinely didn’t need this job financially, did you?” The room softened slightly afterward. I answered honestly “No.” Yeji watched me carefully afterward “Then why take it?” Honestly, answering that felt easier now than it probably ever had before “Because of the people mattered” a simple answer yet a true one too. The room stayed quiet afterward for a second longer than before.
“That was disgustingly sincere.” John immediately ruined the emotional atmosphere “Oh shut up.”
“No seriously that sounded emotionally cinematic.”
“Coming from the man who practiced confession lines in front of a mirror for three hours.”
Silence. Complete silence “YOU DID WHAT?” Yeji nearly folded forward laughing. John looked like his soul physically left his body. “You PROMISED never to bring that up again.”
“Hey you made fun of my sincerity first, best buddy.”
“That was DIFFERENT.”
“It absolutely was not.” Jihyo was laughing hard enough now that she physically had to lower her head into one hand while Yeji looked seconds away from crying from laughter beside me. Watching John die internally across the table healed something inside me spiritually. “It gets WORSE,” I continued calmly while John looked ready to leap across the table and strangle me.
“BEN.”
“He kept rejecting his own confession lines out loud because he thought he sounded manipulative.”
Yeji actually covered her face laughing now “No way.” John was red all over “I was trying to sound sincere!” I couldn’t hold a straight face anymore, “You sounded like somebody negotiating a hostage release emotionally.” Jihyo was openly crying laughing now while John looked deeply betrayed by everyone present. Then suddenly Yeji glanced sideways toward me again. The from the look of her terrified something in me. “…Benjie.”
Oh hell no. I immediately narrowed my eyes toward her “Nope.” Yeji looked entirely too pleased with herself now “Benjie.” John folded forward instantly laughing. “OH that’s sticking permanently.” My face was buried deep in my hand “I will leave.” John didn’t waste the chance to clap back “Remember, you legally can’t” John answered immediately. This traitorous golden retriever of a man. Yeji looked openly delighted now too— I guess I’ll let this slide for now. “…You look like a Benjie.” never mind, I take that back. “That sentence psychologically harmed me, Yeji.”
Jihyo finally wiped briefly beneath one eye afterward while still recovering from laughter. And somewhere between emotional collapse, NDAs, psychological intervention, accidental relationship ecosystems, billionaire allegations and John’s public humiliation. The atmosphere at the table stopped feeling heavy entirely. It just felt alive. Which might’ve been the healthiest thing about all of this.
By the time the four of us finally left the café, the sun had already started dipping lower across Seoul’s skyline. The conversation somehow never fully recovered afterward. Not professionally at least. John was still emotionally damaged from the mirror-confession incident. Jihyo looked one inconvenience away from revoking everybody’s speaking privileges permanently. And Yeji still looked entirely too pleased with herself every time she quietly muttered “Benjie”. This has got to be a psychological war crime somewhere.
John eventually stopped near his car first before trying say another smug thing I cut him off “Say one more thing and they’ll never find your body” I told him gave him a death glare. But this was cut short from what I could tell was Yeji muttering out her new favorite word “…Benjie.” I closed my eyes slowly “Yeji, I’ll admit I’m more than happy with you calling me that. But not in front of John, please?” this warranted more hysterical laughter from John. Yeji looked genuinely delighted beside me while John nearly collapsed laughing against his car. Jihyo looked exhausted. Reasonable reaction honestly. Then eventually she glanced toward both of us properly afterward. And for the first time since this entire conversation started— her expression softened fully. “…Take care of each other,” Jihyo said quietly. Those were simple words. But heavy enough that neither Yeji nor I joked afterward. “We will,” Yeji answered softly beside me. The certainty in her voice affected me more than expected.
A few minutes later, the city lights blurred quietly outside the windows while I drove us back through the slower evening traffic. This time neither of us spoke much. Not because things were awkward. Because they weren’t anymore. Yeji eventually leaned slightly closer against my shoulder while absentmindedly scrolling through messages on her phone again. Then suddenly “Ryujin wants to meet you properly.” Well, there was the beginning of my downfall “What does ‘properly’ mean in this context?”
“She added a shark emoji.”
“That clarified absolutely nothing.”
“It probably shouldn’t.” I sighed softly afterward while Yeji laughed quietly beside me again. For the first time in a very long time— the future no longer sounded exhausting anymore.
A/N: This story is part of the Underpaid & Overloved series that originally belongs to @electro469. I will be updating this story along with the planned Season 2 of Underpaid & Overloved as well since Electro has given me permission to continue the story
Note on Interludes: The interlude chapters aren't required to follow the main plot, but they contain some of the most important character exposition in the series, serving as one-shots within the larger universe of Jeju Heat. Some of them are more experimental in tone.
➤ Introduction (read this before starting the story!)
An overture to the world, the wounds, the lore.
➤ Series Index (plot recap)
A catalogue of TL;DR summaries for each published chapter.
ACT I: Before The Heat
Day 1
➤ Chapter 0: PRELUDE – First Light - Yeji
Morning tenderness. Five years of history in stolen touch.
➤ Chapter 0.5: INTERLUDE – Shower Thoughts - Yeji
The body speaks what the mind refuses.
➤ Chapter 1: Morning Devotion - Yeji
The shower. The boundary. The beginning of the end.
ACT II: The Siren And The Dragon
➤ Chapter 1.5: INTERLUDE - Me Know Me Love Me - Yuna
A hot girl morning gone wrong.
➤ Chapter 2-6: The Siren - Yuna
A towel drops. Two bodies fall. A morning unravels.
➤ Chapter 7: Reckless Abandon - Ryujin, Karina
A rave. A reckoning. Beauty as curse.
➤ Chapter 8-9: The Trap - Yuna, Ryujin
Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to pull out
➤ Chapter 9.5: INTERLUDE - Skin and Shadows - Yeji
Six months ago, the yacht party. When they realized everyone could see. Fear dressed as fury.
➤ Chapter 10: The Dragon's Claim - Yuna, Ryujin
Desire as contest. Intimacy as collateral damage.
➤ Chapter 11: Double Trouble - Yuna, Ryujin
Three bodies, one betrayal. The camera never blinks.
ACT III: Heart In Heat
➤ Chapter 11.5: INTERLUDE - A Love-All Courtship - Chaeryeong
Tennis whites in the summer heat. When match play becomes foreplay, and every serve ups the ante.
➤ Chapter 12: The Eye of the Storm - ITZY ensemble
Lunch with lies. Smiles stretched over guilt.
➤ Chapter 13: Golden Hourglass - Yeji
Beach at sunset. Trust whispered. Truth hidden. The last perfect moment.
ACT IV: A Star Is Reborn
➤ Chapter 14: Divine Intervention - Yeji, Karina
A goddess opens her door. R&B and silk and something like salvation.
➤ Chapter 15: Supernova - Yeji, Karina
The goddess melts. The star explodes. The warmth that remains.
➤ Chapter 16: Armageddon - Yeji, Karina
Destruction before rebirth. A world unmade. Bodies as apocalypse.
➤ Chapter 17: Mine - Yeji, Karina
A word whispered like oath. What acceptance looks like when you finally stop running.
ACT V: The Breaking Tide
Day 2
➤ Chapter 17.5: INTERLUDE - The Eye in the Sky - Lia
She filmed it all. The replay was even better.
➤ Chapter 18: Drowning in Air - Yeji
Her tears rolled backward. Her screams silent. What becomes when you betray the person you love most.
➤ Chapter 19: Flickering Flames - ITZY Ensemble
A chilly morning. A warm afternoon. A fiery night.
➤ Chapter 19.5: INTERLUDE - A Blaze of Glory - ITZY, TWICE, STRAY KIDS, JYP Nation ensemble (+ aespa cameo)
Three years ago, when they danced together. A stage ablaze, a ghost of glory. The night the gang burned the brightest.
➤ Chapter 20: Moonlight and Memory - Yeji
Moonlight on water, skin on skin. A space reclaimed, a memory rewritten.
➤ Chapter 21: Nobody Like You - Ryujin, Yuna
Softened in memory; emptied in sorrow; redeemed in water.
➤ Chapter 22: Unseen, Untouchable, Unmade - Yeji, Lia
A sin unseen. A bond untouchable. A love unmade.
ACT VI: Ashes And Embers
Day 3
➤ Chapter 23: Ditto - ITZY/aespa ensemble (+ Yunjin)
Chaos in laughter, comfort in closeness. A perfect night warmed by love without names.
➤ Chapter 23.5: INTERLUDE - Merry-Go-Round - Giselle, Winter, Ningning (+ Karina cameo)
The world keeps turning, the music keeps playing, the night keeps burning, and joy keeps winning.
➤ Chapter 24: Last Light - ITZY/aespa ensemble (+ Yunjin)
First light woke with hidden truth; last light set their burdens free.
➤ Chapter 25: Across The Stars - Yeji
A star rewritten, two hearts fated, three days painting a thousand nights across one unbroken sky.
➤ EPILOGUE: The Way I Am - Yuna, Karina, Yeji
For all three: want to be me, me, me.
This is a fictional story written for entertainment purposes only. It does not represent real events, or advice.
18+ MDNI
Jacob stepped into the hotel suite, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft thud. The room was bathed in the warm glow of dimmed lights, casting long shadows that danced on the walls. Yuna was already there, her petite frame silhouetted against the large window that offered a breathtaking view of Seoul's skyline. She turned to face him, her big eyes sparkling with anticipation, a sly smile playing on her lips.
"Took you long enough," Yuna teased, her voice a sultry purr. She was dressed in a simple white tank top and matching panties, her small, perky breasts straining against the thin fabric. Jacob's cock twitched in his pants at the sight of her, already hardening with need.
"Had to make sure the coast was clear," Jacob replied, his deep voice rough with desire. He closed the distance between them, his large hands reaching out to grasp her tiny waist. Yuna gasped as he pulled her flush against him, her small body dwarfed by his muscular frame. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with excitement and lust.
"You're so big," she whispered, her hands trailing down his chest to rest on his belt. "I love how you tower over me, Jacob. It makes me feel so... small."
Jacob growled, his hands sliding down to cup her ass, squeezing the soft flesh. "You are small, Yuna. Small and perfect." He leaned down, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss. She melted against him, her body molding to his as their tongues danced together.
Yuna's hands worked quickly, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants. His thick, veiny cock sprang free, bobbing heavily between them. She gasped, her small hand wrapping around the base, her fingers not quite touching. "God, Jacob, you're so fucking big," she breathed, her eyes wide with awe and desire.
Jacob chuckled, his hands sliding up her body to cup her small breasts. "And you're so fucking tiny, Yuna. I love how small you are. It makes me want to fill you up, stretch you out."
Yuna moaned, her hips bucking against him. "Yes, Jacob. Please. I need you inside me."
Jacob didn't make her wait. He spun her around, pressing her against the wall. She gasped as he hiked up her tank top, exposing her small, perky tits. He leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive flesh. Yuna cried out, her hips grinding against him, her pussy wet and ready.
Jacob's hands slid down her body, hooking his fingers into the waistband of her panties. He pulled them down, exposing her bare ass. He growled, his hands squeezing the soft flesh before sliding down to her pussy. She was soaking wet, her juices coating his fingers as he teased her entrance.
"Fuck, Yuna, you're so wet," Jacob growled, his fingers sliding in and out of her tight pussy. "You're so fucking ready for me."
Yuna moaned, her hips bucking against his hand. "Yes, Jacob. Please. I need you inside me. I need you to fill me up."
Jacob didn't make her wait any longer. He positioned the head of his cock at her entrance, teasing her with slow, shallow thrusts. Yuna whimpered, her hips bucking against him, trying to impale herself on his thick cock. Jacob chuckled, his hands gripping her hips tightly.
"Patience, Yuna," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "I'm going to fuck you so good. I'm going to fill you up, stretch you out. I'm going to make you scream my name."
And he did. With one swift thrust, he buried himself balls deep inside her. Yuna screamed, her pussy clenching around his cock as she adjusted to his size. Jacob groaned, his hips grinding against her ass as he gave her a moment to adjust.
"Fuck, Yuna, you feel so good," he growled, his hips beginning to move. He pulled out slowly, then slammed back into her, his balls slapping against her ass. Yuna cried out, her pussy clenching around him as he set a punishing pace.
Jacob's hands roamed her body, squeezing her small tits, pinching her nipples, sliding down to her clit. He rubbed the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts, driving her wild with pleasure. Yuna's moans filled the room, her hips bucking against him as she chased her orgasm.
"Fuck, Jacob, I'm close," she panted, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I'm so close."
Jacob growled, his hips slamming against her ass as he fucked her harder, faster. "Come for me, Yuna," he commanded, his fingers rubbing her clit in tight, quick circles. "Come all over my cock."
Yuna screamed, her pussy clenching around him as she came, her juices gushing out, coating his cock and balls. Jacob groaned, his hips slamming against her as he chased his own release. With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself inside her, his cock pulsing as he came, filling her up with his hot, sticky cum.
They stayed like that for a moment, their bodies pressed together, their breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Jacob leaned down, capturing Yuna's lips in a soft, gentle kiss. She melted against him, her body limp and sated.
"Fuck, Yuna, that was amazing," Jacob panted, his hips still grinding against her ass, milking the last drops of pleasure from their orgasm.
Yuna giggled, her hips bucking against him. "It was, wasn't it? But we're not done yet, Jacob. I need you again. I need you to fuck me in the shower. I need you to breed me, fill me up with your cum." Jacob growled, his cock hardening inside her....
我 ⸼ ࣪ ✿ ◌ ۪ c̲ontent.. nsfw. masc ryujin x fem! jealous! reader, sloppy lesbian hate-ish sex, semi established relationship, reader trys to dom... s cute, fratparty, strap usage (riding) ⣀⣠🥤⣦
you were convinced ryu had been a frat boy in another life, since only one might actually enjoy this party. it stinked of sweat, the particular breed that reminded of being stuck in a tight classroom with a load of teenage boys who haven't learned about deodarant yet. mixed with an almost hay-like, chemical induced smell, signaling somebody was smoking a load of poor quality crack somewhere in the back.
you truly had nothing of intrest here, god. you wondered why she even dragged you here. when the both of you could've done literally anything else besides waste time in this shit hole. your gaze locked upon the loud dance floor, filled with a multitude of freshmen who had way to much energy, considering the music bouncing from the walls was terrible.
straightening your posture in an attempt to refocus, you attempted to visually locate ryujin with the final goal of getting. out. of. here. until you found her. you clenched the plastic, red cup filled with some cheap beverage extra tight, at the sight.
to say this simply, you were used to pretty girls drapping themselves over your girlfriend. i mean how could they not? you could count the amount of mascs at your uni, utilising only one of your hands. so seeing a sorority (presumably) girl all over her, didn't surprise you. what did surprise you however, was ryu doing zero, nada, to stop the transaction.
your eyes met from across the room, and everything around the both of you significantly slowed down. it felt as though there was only you, and her. flashy shades of blue, and pink colored her face as she looked to your direction. your brows furrowed in irritation, and much to your further frustration,, she gave a small grin ? lazy. controlled. most importantly, not affected.
the second the door to your dorm closes, you're up on her. you mumble something along the lines of "what the fuck," against her lips, as you both stumble through the shared room, nothing but a string of spit (metaphorically) holding you together. your fingers squeezing her cheeks, nails lightly digging into the soft flesh, trying to make her feel just how angry you were.
while her fingers tried holding onto you, touching all over. massaging over your hardened nipples visable through the fabric of your shirt, groping your ass, a poor attempt of re-ownership.
calling her pathetic under your breath, but there's just no use. y'know how much you degrading her, gets her off. so really she wins here. hell, it's not even unlikely she let that girl flirt just to piss you off.
loves putting you to your place right after throwing a hissy fit.
really thinking of her flipping you around when u're not paying attention, having you in a (very) light headlock from the back. feeling thick silicone nudging your clothed entrance, while she grinds against you while standing ... mumbling smth smth about you needing to "turn your pretty head off." ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;)
ending the night, riding her!!! weakly slapping her every once in a while, her fingers holding your hips, bouncing your pretty tits. murmuring muffled apologies against your chest as she kittenlicks, sucking faint marks every once in a while.
Late at night, when ITZY’s Chaeryeong hums her favourite indie track on a Han River bench, the last thing she expects is for the handsome stranger lying on the other side to sing the next line — because it’s his song. Now she’s convinced that this self‑taught producer with a second‑hand studio and a habit of buying hazelnut chocolate “just in case” is exactly what her solo debut needs… but the real missing piece might be her own scaredy‑cat heart.
The Han River at night was a study in quiet contradiction. The distant, glittering spine of Seoul’s skyline pulsed with silent energy, while the water below absorbed it all, reflecting only fragments of light in slow, dark ripples. The breeze carried the faint, damp scent of the river and the distant murmur of a city that never quite slept, but here on the walkway, it was just the soft lap of water against concrete and the occasional sigh of the wind.
On a double-sided bench facing the water, June lay flat on his back, a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. The worn leather of his jacket creaked softly against the wooden slats. In his head, a melody looped, fractured, and stubbornly refused to resolve. Broken Dreams. The track was almost there—the chord progression in the bridge ached perfectly, but the second verse’s lyrics felt like someone else’s memory. He hummed a fragment, the sound barely leaving his lips, a low, frustrated vibration in his chest. ‘The space between what is and what could be…’ No. Wrong. He let the thought dissolve into the night air.
On the opposite side of the high-backed bench, Chaeryeong slowed to a walk, her breath forming little clouds in the cool air. Her earbuds dangled, unused; the playlist in her head was on a relentless, single-song repeat. The oversized hoodie swallowed her frame, and her ponytail was a messy testament to a jog that had started with determination and ended with distraction. She patted the pocket of her jacket, her fingers finding the familiar crinkle of foil. Pulling out a half-eaten bar of milk chocolate, she broke off a piece and let it melt on her tongue, the sweetness a small, grounding comfort. She spotted the empty bench—the river-facing side—and with a quiet groan of relief, flopped down, unaware of the occupied other half.
For a moment, there was just the river and two separate silences.
Chaeryeong scrolled mindlessly through Instagram, the blue light painting her face. The chocolate and the familiar, haunting melody in her head loosened something. Softly, almost unconsciously, she began to hum. It was the chorus of Unrequited Feelings, a little off-key, the notes bending with a wistful emotion her technically perfect vocal training would never allow in a studio. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she hummed, her thoughts drifting to the SoundCloud page she’d bookmarked, to the raw ache in the singer’s voice that spoke directly to her own secret, romantic heart.
On the other side, the melody drifted over the bench back. June, still deep in his creative fog, his eyes closed under the cap, heard it. It wasn’t his own humming—this was lighter, sweeter, inflected with a feeling he’d written but hadn’t quite heard back until now. Without a single conscious thought, still chasing the ghost of the song in his mind, his voice lifted, singing the next line aloud. It was low, melodic, and startlingly close. “Is it a memory, or just a dream I keep…”
The effect was immediate and explosive.
Chaeryeong shrieked—a genuine, piercing yelp of terror. She launched off the bench as if propelled, her phone clattering onto the walkway. The chocolate bar flew from her hand, a dark arc against the night. Both hands flew up in a defensive, instinctive pose. “Aish! What the—!” she gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs. A ghost? A serial killer? Her scaredy-cat brain short-circuited, leaving only pure, adrenaline-fueled panic.
June jolted upright as if electrocuted. His cap tumbled off, revealing tousled dark hair and wide, startled eyes. He saw a woman—beautiful, terrified, staring at him like he’d risen from the river itself. His system flooded with mortification.
“Oh god—” he blurted, scrambling to his feet, hands up in surrender. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—I was just—the song, I heard the song and my brain just… sang along. I swear I’m not a creep. That was so creepy. I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled out in a warm, frantic, deeply apologetic ramble.
Chaeryeong, panting, one hand pressed to her racing heart, slowly registered the rambling. Not a ghost. A person. A flustered person. Her eyes adjusted, taking him in: the leather jacket, the handsome, sharp lines of his face now etched with genuine panic, the cap lying forgotten on the ground. Fear ebbed, replaced by a hot wave of embarrassment, which then cooled into dawning, incredulous curiosity. Her fingers, moving on autopilot, flew to her hair, tucking and untucking the same escaped strand.
“You…” she managed, her voice shaky. “You just sang that song.”
He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’m—it’s my song. I wrote it. I’m June. I make music. In my apartment. Not usually scaring people on benches, I promise.” He gave a helpless, awkward shrug.
His song.
The words connected in her brain with the sound of his voice—the same voice from her headphones, the one that had made her cry into her pillow. Her eyes, already wide, went impossibly larger. All remaining embarrassment was vaporized by sheer, starstruck shock.
“Wait.” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Your song? ‘Unrequited Feelings’? That’s your song?”
He nodded again, confused by the intensity of her reaction. “Yeah…?”
The floodgates burst. Chaeryeong’s hands flew to her cheeks. “No way. No way,” she breathed, her voice pitching higher with unrestrained excitement. “I found your SoundCloud a week ago. I’ve listened to all four songs on repeat. ‘Meridian’ made me cry—like, actually cry into my pillow. I’m obsessed.” She caught herself, realizing how she sounded, and groaned, hiding her face for a second before peeking through her fingers. “Oh my god, I sound like a stalker now. I’m not a stalker. I’m just a fan. A big fan.” She was rambling, her cheeks burning, her hair now thoroughly disheveled from her nervous fingers.
June stared, utterly stunned. The fear, the apology, the entire bizarre situation melted away, leaving only a profound, disbelieving warmth. A shy, lopsided smile broke across his face. “You… you actually listen to my stuff? That’s… that’s crazy.”
Trying to claw back some semblance of dignity, Chaeryeong straightened her posture. She smoothed her hoodie and extended a hand formally, slipping into the polite, public-facing persona that was second nature. “I’m—”
“Chaeryeong,” he said quietly, his voice softening. He took her hand, his grip warm. “From ITZY. I know.”
She froze mid-handshake. Then a low, despairing groan escaped her as she used her free hand to cover her eyes. “So you saw me scream like a banshee and curse. Very idol-like. So professional.”
He laughed then—a genuine, warm, surprised sound that seemed to startle even him. It was a nice laugh. “Honestly, I’d scream too if a voice started singing behind me in the dark. Valid reaction. Ten out of ten.”
The tension snapped. Chaeryeong dropped her hand from her face, revealing a reluctant, then genuine, smile. She finally looked at him—really looked. The rugged handsomeness, the intelligent eyes still holding a trace of bewilderment, the way the leather jacket seemed like a part of him. A tiny, silent beat passed where they both just saw each other.
“So,” she said, gesturing to the bench. A silent truce. They sat back down, this time on the same side, a careful, respectful foot of space between them. The fallen chocolate bar lay a few feet away, a sad, forgotten casualty.
Now seated, a different kind of nervousness took hold of Chaeryeong. This was no longer about fangirling. This was about a dream. She took a steadying breath, tapping into a core of professional determination she rarely showed outside the practice room.
“I’m working on my solo debut album,” she began, her voice more measured. “I’ve been… searching. For a sound. Something emotionally raw, R&B-tinged, something that feels real, not just produced.” She turned to face him, her eyes earnest in the dim light. “It sounds exactly like your music. The feeling in it.” She hesitated, the question feeling huge in the quiet night. “Would you want to work with me? Produce one of the songs maybe?”
June’s reaction was immediate and visceral. He looked as if she’d gently shoved him. Flattery washed over him, followed by a tidal wave of disbelief. He rubbed the back of his neck, once, twice, three times—a quick, nervous tic.
“I’ve never done anything professional,” he said, the words rushing out. “I’m self-taught. My studio is literally second-hand gear I found online, crammed into my apartment. I don’t know the first thing about the industry, about budgets, about… any of it. I’d probably mess it up for you.”
Chaeryeong listened, then leaned forward, her gaze fierce. The hidden savage spark, the one her members knew well, flickered to life. “How do you make your songs, then? The ones that made me cry.”
He blinked. “Alone. In that apartment. With those second-hand things.”
“That,” she said, her voice firm, “is exactly what I want. That raw, honest sound. Not the polished industry machine.” She paused, a new idea forming. “Where do you live?”
A little dazed, he pointed across the river toward a small, modest two-story building nestled among taller complexes. A single warm light glowed in an upper window. “Right there. The one with the flickering balcony light. That’s my apartment. The studio.”
Chaeryeong stood up, brushing invisible lint from her joggers. A grin played on her lips—teasing, mischievous, full of a daring she hadn’t felt in months. “Great,” she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She turned to jog away but stopped short. Her eyes landed on the discarded chocolate bar, now slightly melted and smeared on the concrete edge of the walkway. A pang of genuine loss hit her. Her chocolate.
She walked over, bent down, and picked it up delicately with two fingers, holding it aloft like a forensic investigator. “My chocolate,” she announced mournfully. Then she looked back at June, who was still frozen on the bench, watching her every move with captivated confusion.
Her expression shifted into a playful, faux-serious pout. “You owe me a replacement. And not just any chocolate. The good kind. The one with hazelnut filling.” She wagged the sad, ruined bar at him for emphasis. “Bring it tomorrow. With coffee. As your new producer-client tax.”
June just stared, utterly dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open. The whirlwind of the last ten minutes—the scare, the recognition, the monumental offer, and now a chocolate ransom—left him speechless.
Seemingly satisfied, Chaeryeong tucked the melted chocolate back into her jacket pocket with a resigned sigh. She shot him one last smile—a complex blend of starry-eyed fangirl and confident future collaborator—then turned and began to jog back down the path, her figure gradually dissolving into the shadows.
June remained frozen. The bench felt colder without her presence. He replayed it all: the humming, the scream, her wide, excited eyes, the direct question that still echoed in his ears. A breathless, disbelieving laugh finally escaped him. He ran a hand through his hair again and muttered to the empty night, “What… just happened?”
As he stood to collect his cap, a small, cinematic detail caught the distant light: a single, smeared fingerprint of melted chocolate on the wooden slat where she had sat. He stared at it for a second, then picked up his cap, brushing off a tiny, old chocolate stain of his own near the brim. Slinging his jacket tighter, he began the short walk home, a new, unplanned melody—light, curious, and sweet—already humming softly in his chest, keeping perfect time with his quickening heartbeat.
***
The morning sun filtered through the dusty window of his ground-floor apartment, painting stripes of gold across a floor littered with coiled cables. June had been awake since five, wiping down monitors, rearranging foam panels that didn’t need rearranging, and brewing a pot of coffee so strong it could probably stand up on its own. He’d also made a specific trip to the convenience store. The hazelnut chocolates sat in the center of his small kitchen table, a silent, hopeful testament.
A knock, soft but definite, echoed at exactly ten.
He opened the door, and the breath left his lungs in a quiet, surprised rush.
Chaeryeong stood in the hallway, backlit by the morning light from a distant window. She was a vision of effortless, off-duty chic that felt leagues away from the scared, hoodie-clad jogger of the night before. A black tube top hugged her frame, paired with relaxed, high-waisted plaid trousers that pooled slightly over sleek sneakers. An oversized, cream cardigan was slung off one shoulder, revealing a collarbone and the thin strap beneath. A statement Chanel hobo bag was hooked on her elbow. Her hair was in a low, loose ponytail, but soft, face-framing layers had been carefully styled to escape, and her makeup was minimal, just a hint of gloss and mascara that made her eyes seem even larger. In one hand, she held a sleek acoustic guitar case; in the other, a stylish canvas tote.
For a second, they just stared. Her fingers, free of bags, instinctively went to tuck a strand behind her ear.
“You came,” June finally said, his voice a mix of wonder and relief. A beat passed where he just blinked, as if confirming she was real. “I— part of me really, honestly thought you wouldn’t show up. Like, I half-expected to open the door and just find… a gust of wind and a hallucination I’d conjured from too much coffee and wishful thinking.”
A slow, teasing smile spread across Chaeryeong’s lips. She tilted her head. “I said I’d come. I’m a woman of my word.” She lifted the tote bag meaningfully. “Plus…” Her eyes sparkled with mock severity. “You still owe me chocolate. A whole replacement bar. With hazelnut filling. I specified. Very clearly. In the dark. While holding a melted tragedy. I have a photographic memory for chocolate-related debts.”
June laughed, the sound warm and a little breathless. His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing once, twice, three times before he stepped aside to let her in. “I actually— I bought hazelnut ones this morning. Just in case.” He grimaced, suddenly self-conscious. “Is that pathetic? It feels a little pathetic. Over-eager, at least.”
Chaeryeong stepped past him, her perfume—something subtle and floral, like night-blooming jasmine—washing over him. She glanced around the small, tidy living area before turning that smile back on him. “It’s not pathetic. It’s optimistic. There’s a difference.” She held his gaze, her tone softening just a fraction. “I like optimistic.”
She then reached into her tote and pulled out a small, elegant box of premium Belgian chocolates, the kind with gold foil lining. She held it out to him. “And because I also believe in backup chocolate. Consider it a… studio-warming gift.”
He took the box, his fingers brushing hers. He stared at it, the expensive weight of it in his palm feeling disproportionately significant. “You didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to,” she said simply, cutting off his protest. She looked around again, her curiosity genuine. “So… do I get the tour? Starting with the source of the coffee smell, preferably. My caffeine dependency is waving a white flag.”
He led her to the tiny kitchen nook, barely more than a counter, a sink, and a two-burner stove. The pot was still warm. “How do you take it?” he asked, already reaching for a mug.
“With enough sugar to make a pastry jealous,” she declared, leaning against the counter. “Like… three spoons. Maybe four. Don’t judge me. My members judge me enough for it.”
“I’m a black coffee guy,” he said, pouring the dark brew. “So I’m definitely judging. Silently. In my head.” He found a sugar bowl and began scooping, his movements meticulous. “Three… and a fourth for the pastry’s wounded pride.”
She giggled, the sound bright and spontaneous. He thought it sounded like a melody he’d want to sample—a glockenspiel run, maybe, or a wind chime.
He handed her the mug. As he prepared his own black coffee, she opened the box of chocolates he’d bought, placing two on the counter between them. “New rule,” she announced, her tone faux-official. “Every studio session starts with chocolate. It’s a creative stimulant. Scientifically proven.” She paused for effect. “By me.”
He picked up his piece solemnly. “I accept the rule. Do we… toast?”
She raised her chocolate. He raised his. They clinked the little squares together instead of the coffee cups. She giggled again, and this time he couldn’t help the full, unreserved smile that broke across his face.
“What?” she asked, catching his expression, a faint blush on her cheeks.
“Nothing,” he said, quickly looking into his coffee. “Your sugar-to-coffee ratio is just… impressively committed. I respect it.”
“Good,” she said, taking a bite. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second. “Oh, these are the good ones. You’re forgiven for the bench-scare.”
“Whew,” he fake-wiped his brow. “My eternal soul rests easier.”
After coffee, he led her to a door beside the kitchen. “The upstair is the living space and the bedroom. And, this is where the magic happen.” he said, a rare thread of pride and nervousness in his voice. “Prepare for organized chaos.” He pushed the door open.
The studio was small, perhaps the size of a walk-in closet, but every inch was lived-in. Mismatched squares of acoustic foam in grey and blue covered parts of the walls, with a few peeling at the corners. A slightly battered MIDI keyboard sat on a wobbly stand, next to a pair of second-hand studio monitors that had seen better days. Cables ran in neat, color-coded coils along the floor, pinned in place with gaffer tape. The centerpiece was a vintage-looking condenser mic on a boom stand. The only sources of light were a single desk lamp with a green glass shade and a string of fairy lights haphazardly draped over the one window, which looked out onto a tiny, tangled patch of garden outside. The air smelled faintly of old wood, ozone from electronics, and the ever-present coffee. A worn, but incredibly soft-looking olive-green sofa took up one wall, piled with a faded quilt and a few throw pillows.
Chaeryeong didn’t offer polite praise. She stepped in slowly, as if entering a chapel. Her eyes traveled over every detail. She moved to the keyboard first, pressing a single key. The note rang out, slightly dull on the middle C.
“This place has a soul,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She turned, her expression awed. “JYP’s studios are… technically perfect. State-of-the-art everything. But they feel like a hospital sometimes. Sterile. This…” She gestured around the room, a slow sweep of her hand. “This feels like music already lives here. Like it’s been waiting in the walls.”
June rubbed the back of his neck. “Most of it I got piece by piece since I was fifteen. Saved up lunch money, did odd jobs. Hunted second-hand forums for months for those monitors. They have a buzz in the left speaker if the humidity’s wrong. And the keyboard, well, you heard middle C…”
Chaeryeong turned to him, her gaze intense and serious, cutting off his self-deprecation. “But you built it yourself. From nothing.” She took a step toward him, her voice firm. “That’s not a ‘but.’ That’s the whole point. This is… amazing, June. Truly.”
Her sincerity was a physical thing, disarming him completely. He just nodded, his throat feeling suspiciously tight. To fill the silence, she pointed to the vintage mic. “What’s the story with this? It looks like it has stories.”
The tension broke. A fond smile touched his lips. “Flea market find. About four years ago. The guy selling it thought it was just a broken old prop. Got it for ten bucks. Had to re-solder the wiring, but… it’s my favorite thing in here. It picks up every breath, every little click in the throat.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, and she meant it.
They settled in—her on the sofa, him in the rolling chair by the desk. She sipped her sugary coffee, watching him over the rim. The initial awe settled into a comfortable, curious quiet.
“Can I ask you something?” she said after a moment.
“Sure.”
“If you’ve been doing this since you were a teenager… why only four songs on SoundCloud? I’ve been wondering since I found your page. You have this whole world in here.” She gestured around the room. “There must be hundreds of fragments, ideas. Why only those four?”
June leaned back in his chair, the old leather creaking. He looked at the ceiling, choosing his words. “Music was… always a diary, I guess. A private one. I never thought of it as a career, something to put out there. It was how I survived being a weird, quiet teenager. How I processed things I didn’t have words for.” He brought his gaze back to her. “Those four songs are the first ones I didn’t completely hate the next morning. The first ones that felt… finished, even if they aren’t technically perfect.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist. The kind who writes a whole song and then deletes the project file in a fit of frustration.”
Chaeryeong nodded slowly, her fingers playing with the end of her ponytail. “So you hide behind ‘hobbyist’ so you don’t have to risk failing. You call it perfectionism, but it’s really fear dressed up in really nice, introspective clothing.”
June blinked, then let out a short, surprised laugh. “That’s… an incredibly accurate and slightly terrifying callout. Do you have a degree in psychology or just a really perceptive vibe?”
A grin, sharp and a little savage, flashed across her face. “I know the type. I’m an idol, remember? Half my trainee life was trying to be perfect—the perfect note, the perfect move, the perfect smile. The other half was pretending I wasn’t absolutely terrified that I’d never be enough. I cried in practice rooms more times than I can count, just deleting takes of myself because my ad-lib wasn’t ‘genuine’ enough.” She met his eyes, a shared understanding passing between them. “So I recognize a fellow scared perfectionist. We’re a specific breed.”
Their eyes held. She tucked the same strand of hair behind both ears, a nervous flutter. He looked down at his hands, smiling faintly. “Well. Guess we’re both a bit of a mess, then.”
“A mess with good taste in music,” she countered, her tone lightening.
“Deal.”
The mood shifted from confessional to collaborative. She pulled the sleek hard drive from her bag—black, with a few cute ITZY stickers and a handwritten label in neat hangul that read “Ryeong’s Solo Dream.” He plugged it in, and his screen filled with folders. Voice memos labeled things like Hotel Melody 3am and Shower Idea. GarageBand demos with simple piano chords. Text files full of lyrical fragments.
For the next hour, she walked him through them. Her voice changed with each file—confident when explaining a chord choice, quietly vulnerable when playing a voice memo of her singing a raw, unprocessed melody in what sounded like a stairwell.
“This one,” she said, pointing to a simple piano loop, “I want it to feel like your song ‘Meridian.’ Emotional, honest, like you’re overhearing someone’s diary entry. That’s why I… I jumped on the opportunity yesterday. It wasn’t just fangirling.” She looked at him, her eyes earnest. “I’ve been searching for this sound, this feeling, for months. And then I found you on a random 2 a.m. SoundCloud deep dive. It felt like… I don’t know. A sign. Or a lifeline.”
June listened, his musician’s mind absorbing the textures of her ideas, but his heart was caught by the raw hope in her voice. When the last demo finished, the room was quiet save for the faint hum of the computer.
“These demos are beautiful, Chaeryeong,” he said, his voice low and serious. He turned to face her fully. “You’re not just an idol. You’re an artist. A real one. I mean that.”
Her blush was instantaneous, a deep rose spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She looked away, her fingers frantically twisting a lock of hair. “You don’t have to say that. They’re just scraps.”
“I’m not saying it to be nice. Listen to this melody here—” He clicked a file, and a haunting, wordless vocal run filled the small space. “—that’s not manufactured. That’s not a producer’s trick. That’s you. That’s the thing you’re searching for. It’s already in you.”
She slowly brought her eyes back to his. The vulnerability in them was breathtaking. “Thank you,” she whispered. It was the first time someone from outside her group, outside the industry bubble, had seen that hidden, artistic core and named it real.
“So,” he said, clearing his own tight throat. “Do we polish one of these? Or do we start something new? From scratch. Today.”
A spark of excitement lit her face. “New. Something that belongs to this room.”
She picked up her acoustic guitar, unzipping the case with reverence. “Fair warning,” she said, a little sheepish as she settled it on her lap. “I’m not an expert. I just use it to find melodies. I’ll mess up chords. A lot.”
“Mess-ups are where the best songs come from,” he said, rolling his chair to the keyboard. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She played a tentative, melancholy chord progression—D minor, B-flat major, F major, C major—looping it slowly. It sounded like late nights and unresolved feelings. Without a word, June layered a soft, warm pad sound underneath it, a bed of synth that made the simple chords feel expansive and cinematic.
They began to hum, almost at the same time. Her melody was light, searching, floating above the chords. His was lower, a counter-melody that anchored hers, giving it direction. They’d hum a phrase, stop, try another.
“What about lyrics here?” she asked, pointing to a spot in the structure they were building. “Something about… unspoken words? The weight of things you don’t say?”
June made a face, his nose scrunching. “A little on the nose, don’t you think? ‘Unspoken words’ is in, like, every other ballad.”
She gasped in mock offense. “Excuse you! It’s a classic for a reason!”
“It’s a cliché for a reason,” he fired back, grinning. “What about… ‘the echo in the space between us’?”
She considered it, humming the line with the melody. “Hmm. Less direct. More… atmospheric. I like it.” Then she teased, “See? You’re not just a pretty voice and a scary bench presence.”
He threw a crumpled Post-it note at her. She ducked, laughing.
The song took shape over the next two hours. They named it “Amber Hours,” for that golden, fleeting time between night and dawn when secrets feel safe to whisper. They recorded a rough guide vocal, Chaeryeong standing at the vintage mic, eyes closed, singing the words they’d woven together. Her voice, without any production, was raw, clear, and trembled slightly with emotion on the high notes. He hit record and let the tape roll, capturing every breath.
When the final note faded, he stopped the recording. He played it back, and they listened in the dark room, the fairy lights twinkling like distant stars.
The last chord hung in the air. June, who had closed his eyes, didn’t open them. “That’s the one,” he breathed.
Beside him on the sofa, Chaeryeong let out a slow, shuddering breath. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice thick. “It is.”
A heavy, charged silence settled between them. It was more than just creative satisfaction. It was the intimacy of having built something beautiful together, of having seen into each other’s process. The professional line blurred, vibrated, and for one heartbeat, felt nonexistent. He could feel the warmth of her arm just inches from his on the sofa cushion.
She cleared her throat, the sound loud in the quiet. “We should… probably break. I have a schedule later.”
“Right. Yeah,” he said, snapping back to reality, rolling his chair to the computer to save the project file a little too forcefully.
She packed her guitar with deliberate slowness. She left the hard drive with him. “For inspiration,” she said. At the door to the studio, she turned. “Same time tomorrow evening? I’m free after six.”
June leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, trying to look casual. “I’ll have coffee and extra suger ready. And maybe a backup chocolate for your backup chocolate. A chocolate-ception.”
Chaeryeong smiled, a softer, more private smile than she had given all day. “Good. Don’t think I won’t show up this time, either.” She slipped past him, through the living room, and to the front door. He followed, a step behind.
She opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, then glanced back over her shoulder. That smile again. Then she was gone, the click of her sneakers fading down the hall.
June closed the door. He stood there for a full minute, his forehead resting against the cool wood. Then, a slow smile spread across his face as he walked back to the studio. He didn’t turn on the lights. He just sat at the keyboard in the glow of the fairy lights and the monitor, and began to hum the melody of “Amber Hours,” adding a new, tentative harmony beneath it.
***
The first week blurred into the second in a haze of chord charts, lyric sheets, and an ever-growing pile of empty coffee cups and chocolate wrappers. The professional collaboration remained the anchor, but around it, a new ecosystem began to grow.
---
She arrived one evening looking utterly hollowed out, dark circles under her eyes visible even through her light makeup. “Two-hour photo shoot, then three hours of vocal coaching for the group comeback,” she mumbled, collapsing onto the studio sofa like a marionette with its strings cut. “My brain is soup.”
Wordlessly, June disappeared and returned with a mug of hot chocolate—not coffee—and the soft quilt from the back of the sofa. He draped it over her. “Just rest for ten minutes. The song can wait.”
They were supposed to be working on the second verse. But as she sipped the sweet drink, her eyelids grew heavy. He, thinking she was still listening, started playing soft, aimless piano chords on the keyboard, not “Amber Hours,” just meandering, peaceful progressions.
In that liminal space between waking and sleep, Chaeryeong began to hum. It was a fragile, improvised melody, a wandering thread of sound that wove perfectly through his chords. It was melancholic and sweet, a lullaby for no one. He stopped playing, his breath catching. Moving silently, he reached over and hit record on his interface, capturing the next minute of her sleepy, unconscious composition.
She woke with a jolt an hour later, disoriented. “Did I… fall asleep? Oh, no, I’m so sorry, that’s so unprofessional—”
“Shh,” he said, a finger to his lips. He played back the recording.
Her own voice, soft and dreamy, filled the room. Her eyes widened in horror, then slowly shifted to wonder as the melody unfolded. “Did I really…? That’s so embarrassing. I was basically snoring a tune.”
“You wrote that half-asleep,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Imagine what you can do when you’re fully awake. Chaeryeong… this is our bridge. This is the missing emotional turn for ‘Amber Hours.’ It’s perfect.”
What she didn’t know, what he would never tell her, was that halfway through her humming, a long strand of hair had fallen across her face. In the dim light, without thinking, he had reached over and gently, so gently it was barely a touch, tucked it behind her ear. He’d pulled his hand back as if burned, a strange, tender guilt flooding him. It felt like a violation of her trust, even as it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Now, they listened to the lullaby-bridge together on the monitors, the professional reason for the recording pushing the personal moment aside. “It’s actually… kind of perfect,” she whispered, hugging a pillow to her chest.
He nodded, his eyes still on the waveform on the screen. “You’re kind of perfect.” The words left his mouth before his brain could catch them. He froze, then stammered, “At melodies, I mean. For this song. Specifically.” His ears turned a brilliant shade of pink.
Chaeryeong stared at her hands, her own cheeks flaming. “Right,” she murmured. “For the song.”
---
A few days later, they hit a wall. The second verse of “Amber Hours” refused to coalesce. After an hour of fruitless tinkering, Chaeryeong slammed her notebook shut.
“Nope. Creative block. Chocolate Emergency Level Red.” She stood, decisive. “We’re going on a field trip.”
She dragged him to the nearby convenience store. He watched, amused, as she filled a basket with an absurd variety of chocolates: milk, dark, mint, orange, one with popping candy. He quietly added a bag of shrimp chips to the pile.
Walking back with their haul, she nudged him. “Let’s go to the bench.”
He hesitated. The bench was where this had started, where the lines were undefined. “Yeah. Okay.”
They sat on the same side now, the river a shimmering sheet in the evening light. They tore into the snacks, passing things back and forth.
“Tell me something embarrassing,” she said, mouth full of chocolate. “Worse than singing from the shadows.”
He laughed, thinking. “High school talent show. I tried to sing this big, emotional ballad. Got to the key change, my voice cracked so loud the microphone feedback squealed. The entire auditorium went silent, then this one kid in the front row just started… slow-clapping. It was the most humiliating ten seconds of my life.”
Chaeryeong cackled, almost choking on a shrimp chip. “Oh, no! That’s amazing. My turn. Last year, during a year-end show, my mic pack came undone during the hardest part of the choreography. It flew off, hit the stage, and my voice just cut out while I was mid-spin. I had to finish the routine in complete silence, pretending nothing happened, while Yeji unnie was singing her heart out next to me. I wanted to melt into the floor.”
They laughed until their sides hurt, the sound carrying over the water. When their laughter subsided, she grew quiet.
“This bench is dangerous,” she said softly, looking at the water. “Every time we sit here, I end up sharing things I’ve never told anyone. You’re a bad influence.”
June leaned back, looking at her profile. “Same. I think it’s cursed. Or blessed. I’m not sure.” He took a breath. “I haven’t talked this much… about anything real… to anyone in years.”
The weight of the admission settled between them. This is becoming something. What is this?
Chaeryeong broke the tension by picking up a piece of chocolate and tossing it at his head. He caught it against his chest, grinning. The moment passed, but the echo remained.
---
She was struggling with a difficult F-barre chord transition, her fingers fumbling on the neck of her guitar. “Aish, it just won’t— my hand cramps.”
“Here, your index finger is too flat,” he said, scooting closer on the sofa. Without thinking, he reached over, his calloused fingers gently positioning hers on the fretboard, applying the correct pressure. “You need to roll it slightly, like this.”
His hand was warm and solid over hers. Her breath hitched, a tiny, audible sound in the quiet room. He heard it, felt the jolt that went through her, and immediately pulled his hand back as if shocked.
“Sorry— I shouldn’t have—“
“No, it’s— it helped,” she said quickly, her voice a pitch higher. She stared at the guitar, not seeing it. To cut the electric tension crackling in the air, she blurted, “Okay, new rule! If you teach me guitar, I get to teach you how not to be a recluse. Deal?”
He laughed, a nervous release. “What does that entail?”
“It entails you showing me a secret spot. Right now. Somewhere you’ve never shown anyone.”
He considered her, then sighed in mock defeat. “Fine. But it’s not that impressive.”
He led her up a narrow, unused staircase in his building, to a door that stuck. He shoved it open, revealing a tiny, forgotten rooftop. It was just a concrete square with a low wall, but it had a stunning, unobstructed view of the Han River and the bridges lit up like necklaces in the dusk.
Chaeryeong’s gasp was genuine. “June… this is incredible.”
“I come up here when the studio feels too small,” he admitted, leaning on the wall beside her.
They watched the sunset bleed from orange to deep purple in comfortable silence. She told him about her dream: a solo stage where she didn’t feel like ‘ITZY’s Chaeryeong,’ but just herself, her voice filling the silence. He told her his: to be walking down a street and hear a stranger humming a melody he’d written, unknowingly carrying a piece of him with them.
When it was time to go, she turned too quickly. Her hand brushed his forearm, a fleeting, accidental touch. Neither pulled away immediately. The contact lingered for a half-second too long before she tucked her hand safely into her cardigan pocket. They walked back down in a silence that felt charged, alive with everything they weren’t saying.
---
A sudden, violent downpour trapped her at his apartment. They abandoned the studio and made ramen in his tiny kitchen, sitting on the counter because there was only one chair. While he stirred the pot, she snooped through his open laptop, pulling up his music library.
A gasp of pure, undiluted delight echoed in the small space. “Oh my god. Oh my god. June. You have the entire ‘Boys Over Flowers’ OST? And… is this a playlist titled ‘2008 Emo Feels’? With Dashboard Confessional?”
June spun around, his face draining of color. “I can explain— no, I can’t. It’s a tragedy. A relic of my teenage years. I forgot it was on there—”
She was beaming, pointing at the screen. “This is the greatest discovery of my career. Greater than finding your SoundCloud! This is gold!”
“It’s mortifying is what it is,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Twenty minutes later, they were singing a terribly off-key, passionate duet of “Paradise” by T-Max, shouting the dramatic lyrics over the sound of the rain, laughing so hard they had to hold onto the counter for support.
When the rain slowed to a drizzle, she was shivering in her thin cardigan. He wordlessly fetched a worn, grey hoodie from his room. It swallowed her whole, the sleeves extending past her fingertips. She hugged herself, enveloped in the faint scent of laundry detergent and him.
“I’ll return it next time,” she said, peeking up at him from within the oversized hood.
She never did.
---
Chaeryeong arrived early, a mission in her heart. She’d procured a ridiculous ghost mask from a variety show gag gift basket. Hiding behind the studio door, she waited, her heart pounding with mischievous glee.
The door opened. June walked in, balancing two mugs of coffee. She leaped out with a loud “BOO!”
He yelped, a genuinely undignified sound. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the mugs, splattering his t-shirt. He stared at her, at the grotesque mask, then at the stain spreading on his chest.
Chaeryeong ripped the mask off, her face alight with triumphant, savage joy. She doubled over, laughter shaking her frame. “Your face! Oh, payback is sweet!”
“You—” he sputtered, setting the mugs down with a clatter. He grabbed a nearby sponge from the desk, damp from wiping down the keyboard. “You think that’s funny?”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t you dare—”
He did. A brief, shrieking, giggling chase ensued around the small studio until he cornered her by the sofa. He didn’t use the sponge. Instead, they both collapsed onto the cushions, breathless and laughing.
At some point in the tangled heap of limbs, she realized her head was tucked against his shoulder, his arm was behind her back, and her laughter had died in her throat. The silence was sudden and deep. She could feel the steady thump of his heart through his damp shirt. Neither moved.
She swallowed. “We should… probably work now,” she whispered, the words barely audible.
He nodded, his chin brushing her hair. “Yeah.”
Neither moved for another ten seconds. Then, slowly, as if pulling against a magnetic force, she sat up. He cleared his throat and busied himself with the computer, clicking random files. The air was thick, sweet, and unbearably tense.
---
Chaeryeong’s phone buzzed on the mixing desk, the screen lighting up with a picture of Yuna making a duck face. Without thinking, Chaeryeong hit ‘answer.’
“Unnie!” Yuna’s bright, bubbly voice filled the studio. “Where are you? That’s not the dorm. That’s definitely not a JYP studio.” Yuna’s pixelated face squinted, then her eyes went round. “Are those fairy lights? Oh my god, are you at his place?”
Chaeryeong fumbled, lowering the volume. “Yuna, I’m working. I told you. The solo album. The indie producer I found.”
“Right, right. The mysterious producer,” Yuna said, her tone dripping with playful suspicion. “The one you’ve been spending every free second with for weeks. You know the unnies and I barely see you anymore. Yeji-unnie was asking if you’d moved out.”
“I haven’t moved out!” Chaeryeong hissed, her ears turning red. “I’m just… focused. The album is really coming together—”
At that exact moment, June walked into frame, holding a fresh mug of coffee for her. “Here, I added the fourth sugar— oh.” He froze, realizing she was on a video call. He was now fully visible on Yuna’s screen: messy hair, simple tee, holding a pink mug.
Yuna’s eyes went huge. A beat of dead silence. Then, a slow, mischievous grin spread across her face. “Oh. Oh. Unnie.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper that was still loud enough for the entire room to hear. “I would totally believe this was just professional and you’re super focused on music… if the producer weren’t that hot.”
“YUNA!” Chaeryeong shrieked, her entire face combusting. “He can hear you! Oh my god—” In her flustered panic, she swatted at the phone, knocking it off the desk. Yuna’s cackling laughter echoed from the floor.
June, standing frozen like a statue, slowly turned and pretended to be intensely interested in tuning an already-tuned guitar, the back of his neck a deep, telltale pink.
Chaeryeong scrambled for the phone, grabbing it and hissing into the screen. “I’m hanging up. We’re discussing this never.”
“Bring him to the dorm!” Yuna yelled, her grin taking up the whole screen. “I want to meet Hot Producer Oppa!”
Click. Chaeryeong threw the phone onto the sofa as if it were on fire and buried her face in her hands with a long, despairing groan.
June cleared his throat. The silence was profoundly, utterly awkward. “So…” he managed. “Coffee?”
Her muffled voice came from behind her hands. “Yes. Please. And maybe a memory wipe. Or a hole in the floor to swallow me.”
---
The denial was a dance they both mastered.
She noticed a tiny, old chocolate smear on the edge of his mixing desk and teased him for being a “closet chocolate holic.” The next day, she left a new bar of the expensive stuff with a sticky note: “For emergencies. — Ryeong.”
He saved a sunset photo she’d sent from their rooftop to his phone. It became his wallpaper. He’d quickly flip his phone face-down whenever she reached for hers nearby.
Her hair-playing became an Olympic sport. Any direct gaze from him, any moment that felt too heavy, and her fingers would fly to her ponytail, tucking, twisting, braiding invisible strands.
He opened a new project file and wrote lyrics that were unmistakable: “Eyes that hold every unspoken word / A melody I found but never heard.” He stared at it for a full minute, then deleted the entire file. Five minutes later, he dug through his digital trash bin to recover it, cursing himself under his breath.
After the Yuna call, they couldn’t look at each other for a full hour without one of them blushing. She found his flustered avoidance unnervingly, secretly cute. He found her embarrassed pout utterly devastating.
The final evening of the fourth week. The studio was warm, bathed in the green glow of the desk lamp and the gold of the fairy lights. “Amber Hours” played through the monitors for what felt like the hundredth time. It was 95% complete. The verses glowed with intimate detail, the chorus ached with soaring release, and the bridge—her accidental lullaby—was a moment of heartbreaking, fragile beauty.
But the final crescendo, the last eight bars that should have delivered the song’s emotional payload, fell flat. They’d tried three different instrumental builds. A driving drum loop. A swell of strings. A distorted guitar riff. Each felt wrong, like a lie tacked onto a truth.
They sat side-by-side on the sofa, a single pair of headphones split between them, her left ear, his right. The final attempt faded to silence. Chaeryeong slowly pulled out her earbud, a frown of deep frustration on her face. “It’s almost there. It’s right there. But there’s… a ghost of something. A thing we’re not saying.” She glanced at him. “Musically, I mean.”
June set his earbud down on the desk. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair. “I know. It’s like the song is holding back. It’s built up all this feeling and then… politely excuses itself.” He looked at her, his eyes reflecting the tiny lights. “Like we’re holding back.”
A loaded pause stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the computer fan.
Chaeryeong’s voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe the song needs us to… trust it more. Trust what it’s trying to be.” She swallowed. “Trust each other.” She didn’t clarify the scope of that trust. The music, or the thing humming louder between them with every session.
June held her gaze, the air in the room growing thick and still. “Then we’ll find it,” he said, his voice low and certain. “The missing piece. Together. Next session.”
She nodded, the motion slow, as if moving through water. She stood, suddenly needing space from the proximity, from the unspoken answer that hovered in the silence. She gathered her bag, her movements slightly rushed. “Same time next week. We’ll crack it.”
He walked her to the door, the familiar ritual now laden with new weight. She stepped out into the cool hallway, then turned back. She looked at him—really looked—her lips parted as if to say something else. She bit the thought back, and all that came out was a soft, “Goodnight, June.”
“Goodnight, Chaeryeong.”
The door clicked shut. Inside, June leaned his back against it, eyes closed. He listened to the faint sound of her footsteps disappearing. In the quiet of his apartment, he whispered to the empty room, “What are we missing?”
The answer was a melody he was too afraid to sing, a lyric waiting in the space between every look and every almost-touch.
Outside, Chaeryeong paused under a streetlamp, several paces from his building. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the frantic, hopeful drum of her heart against her palm. She looked back at the window where the fairy lights still glimmered, then turned and walked into the night.
The song—and the unnamed, trembling thing between them—remained an unfinished, aching bridge, waiting for one of them to find the courage to play the final, resolving chord.
***
ITZY Dorm – Saturday
The dorm living room was quiet, a rare pocket of stillness between schedules. Chaeryeong sat curled on the couch, a bowl of expensive assorted chocolates—a gift from a fan—balanced in her lap. Her phone screen glowed in her hands, illuminating her face in the dim afternoon light. On the screen was a file: Amber Hours_Guide Vocal_Ryeong.wav. Her thumb hovered over the play button. She didn’t press it. She just stared.
Her mind wasn’t on the song’s technical issue, the missing piece of the bridge. It was a relentless reel of specific, sensory memories: the shocking warmth of his hand over hers on the guitar fretboard, the calluses on his fingers rough against her skin. The sound of their off-key, rain-drowned duet, his laughter mingling with hers. The low, vulnerable rasp of his voice in the dark studio, saying, “You’re the first person who’s ever really seen me.” The words had settled in her bones, a constant, humming truth.
The click of the door broke her trance. Ryujin padded in, heading for the kitchen. She stopped, backtracked, and peered at Chaeryeong. Her eyes flicked from Chaeryeong’s blank face to the full bowl of chocolates, then back.
“Whoa,” Ryujin said, her voice laced with playful, genuine concern. “Hold on. Time out. Did the Chocolate Holic just… ignore chocolate? An unopened, untouched, gourmet assortment? Should I call a doctor? Do we need a medical team? Because this is unprecedented. This is a code-red, system-failure-level event.”
Chaeryeong startled, the phone nearly slipping from her hands. “What? No, I was just—” she fumbled, grabbing a chocolate at random and popping it into her mouth too quickly. The rich hazelnut cream tasted like dust. “I was just thinking.”
“Thinking,” Ryujin repeated, one eyebrow arching high. She leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms. “Sure. And I’m just casually observing that you’ve been ‘thinking’ in that exact spot, with that exact expression, for forty-five minutes. About the song?” Her tone made it clear she wasn’t buying it.
“The song is… complex,” Chaeryeong mumbled, her eyes dropping back to her phone.
“Mhm.” Ryujin pushed off the doorframe, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Well, don’t think too hard. You’ll short-circuit your cute little brain.” She muttered under her breath as she walked away, “Thinking. Yeah, right.”
Later, Lia found her. The drama was playing on the TV, a flashy historical romance, but Chaeryeong’s eyes were unfocused. Under her breath, almost inaudibly, she was humming the unresolved melody of the missing bridge, a looping, aching phrase that went nowhere. Lia didn’t say a word. She simply picked up the soft fleece blanket from the armchair, unfolded it, and draped it gently over Chaeryeong’s shoulders. She gave her shoulder a soft squeeze, caught Chaeryeong’s briefly startled gaze, and smiled a small, deeply knowing smile before gliding out of the room.
Chaeryeong sank deeper into the couch, the blanket a feeble shield. On screen, the drama’s protagonists, having survived countless battles, finally found a moment alone in a moonlit garden. The music swelled. The hero cupped the heroine’s face, his thumb stroking her cheek. They leaned in—
Chaeryeong’s hand flew to her own lips, her fingers absently tracing them. She wasn’t seeing the actors. She was seeing June’s face, exhausted and open in the studio lamplight. The way he’d look at her sometimes, a question held in the silence between words. What would it feel like if he—
She caught herself with a jolt, a hot flush crawling up her neck. “Ugh, get a grip,” she hissed to the empty room. In a frantic, punitive motion, she grabbed three chocolates from the bowl and shoved them all into her mouth at once, chewing with grim determination as the saccharine sweetness overwhelmed her senses.
Sunday Evening
Chaeryeong was buried in his hoodie. The oversized grey fabric swallowed her, the cuffs stretched past her fingertips. She was on her bed, laptop open to her meticulously organized solo album vision board—mood images, color palettes, lyric snippets. She wasn’t seeing any of it. She was hugging a pillow to her chest, her face half-buried in it, breathing in the faint, lingering scent that clung to the hoodie’s collar: a mix of studio dust, clean laundry, and something uniquely, undeniably him.
The door flew open without a knock.
Yuna barreled in with the force of a tropical storm, followed by Yeji, who closed the door with a calm, definitive click. This was not a casual visit. This was an intervention, and the leaders had arrived.
“Okay. Enough,” Yuna declared, flopping onto the bed so dramatically the mattress bounced. She pointed an accusatory finger. “Unnie, you’ve been walking around this dorm like a ghost who lost her unfinished business. And you’re wearing that hoodie again. It’s Sunday. You wore it Saturday. And I’m pretty sure you slept in it Friday night. The math is mathing, and the math says you’re down bad.”
Chaeryeong clutched the pillow tighter, a defensive barricade. “It’s comfortable. It’s just a hoodie. It’s… it’s soft.”
Yeji sat gracefully on the edge of the bed, her presence a steady counterpoint to Yuna’s whirlwind. Her voice was gentle but unyielding. “Ryeong-ah. You’ve been absent even when you’re here. You missed your turn during Mario Kart yesterday. You never miss Mario Kart. You live for destroying Ryujin on Rainbow Road.”
“You let Ryujin-unnie win,” Yuna interjected, horror-stricken. “Ryujin. The one you’ve been trying to annihilate in that game since debut. She did a victory lap around the dorm. She was singing her own theme song. It was humiliating to witness.”
Chaeryeong’s hand flew to her hair, twisting a nonexistent strand. Her eyes darted anywhere but at them. “I’m just… stuck. The song. ‘Amber Hours.’ The final bridge. We can’t figure out what’s missing and it’s been weeks and I keep hearing it in my head but the piece won’t come—it’s like a word on the tip of my tongue, and it’s driving me crazy—”
Yuna cut in, not unkindly but with blunt finality. “Unnie. Respectfully. It’s not the song that’s stuck. It’s you. You like him. Like, like him like him.”
Chaeryeong froze. The air left her lungs in a soft whoosh. All the practiced denials evaporated. She just stared at Yuna, her eyes wide and guilty.
“He’s my producer,” she whispered, the protest weak even to her own ears. “We work together. That’s… that’s what it is. Professional.”
Yeji reached over and took Chaeryeong’s fidgeting hands, stilling them in her own warm grasp. “That’s what you tell yourself. But I’ve seen you after schedules. You don’t come straight home anymore. You go to that little studio by the river. You come back at 2 a.m. smelling like someone else’s coffee and… and quiet happiness. And you smile. Different from your stage smile. Different from your ‘I just ate good chocolate’ smile. It’s… softer. Like you’ve got a secret you’re treasuring.”
“It’s the ‘I’m falling for someone and I’m terrified’ smile,” Yuna supplied, nodding sagely. “I’m the maknae, not blind. I know things. I watch dramas. This is classic drama behavior.”
The carefully constructed dam inside Chaeryeong began to crack. Her chin trembled. “What if I…” Her voice dropped to a threadbare whisper, confessing her deepest fear to the safe darkness of her own lap. “What if I tell him and it ruins everything? The song isn’t even finished. We’ve been building it for weeks. It’s… it’s the best thing I’ve ever been part of. If I mess this up, I lose the album and I lose him. Both. At once.”
Yeji’s grip on her hands tightened. “And what if you don’t tell him? You stay scared forever. The song stays unfinished, a ghost between you. And you lose him anyway, slowly, because you were too afraid to try for something real. Which one sounds worse?”
“Unnie, you’re literally the group’s scaredy cat,” Yuna said, her voice softening into encouragement. “You scream at spiders. You jumped three feet when the toaster popped yesterday. But you also survived Sixteen. You debuted. You’re a total savage when you need to be—I’ve seen you destroy Yeji-unnie’s ego with one perfectly timed sentence. This is one of those ‘need to be’ moments. This is your Rainbow Road. Don’t let Ryujin win this one, too.”
Chaeryeong looked from Yuna’s earnest face to Yeji’s steady, supportive gaze. A long, shaky exhale escaped her, and with it, the first hot tear spilled over. Then another. “I like him,” she choked out, the admission a relief and a terror. “I really, really like him. It’s not just the music. It’s… him. The way he rubs the back of his neck when he’s nervous—exactly three times, every time. The way he bought hazelnut chocolate ‘just in case’ before I even showed up that first morning. The way he listened to my stupid, messy demos and called me an artist, not an idol, an artist, and he meant it, I could tell he meant it. The way he didn’t laugh when I screamed on the bench, he just… understood. The way he tucks hair behind my—” She stopped, catching herself, wiping her cheeks with the hoodie’s sleeve. “I’ve never felt this. About anyone. And it’s terrifying.”
Yuna scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Then go get him. Finish the song. Finish the feelings. Stop hiding in this hoodie that definitely smells like him, by the way, I can tell from here.”
Chaeryeong took a shuddering breath, the chaos in her mind clearing into a single, sharp point of resolve. She looked at Yeji, her eyes still wet but focused. “Unnie… can you talk to manager-nim? Can I have tomorrow off? Just one day. No lessons, no rehearsals. I need to—I have to go there. Early.”
Yeji was already pulling out her phone, a small, proud smile on her lips. “I’ll handle it. You handle your heart.”
“And bring Hot Producer to the dorm officially sometime,” Yuna added, her playful grin returning. “I want to interrogate him properly. Over dinner. With wine. His wine. He’s paying. Those are my terms.”
Chaeryeong laughed, a wet, hiccupping sound, and nodded. After they left, the room settled into a deep quiet. She sat alone for a long moment, the weight of her confession still humming in the air. She brought the hoodie’s collar to her nose, inhaled his fading scent, and whispered to the silent room, her voice firm, “Tomorrow. No more scaredy cat.”
June’s Studio – Saturday to Sunday Night
Time lost all meaning in the green-gold cave of the studio. Daylight through the high window bled into orange dusk, which faded to black, then grudgingly gave way to grey dawn, and the cycle repeated. June hadn’t left the chair, not really. He’d stumble to the bathroom, to the kitchen for more brutal, black coffee, and return, his body moving on autopilot.
The evidence of his siege was everywhere. Empty coffee mugs formed a precarious tower on the desk. The bag of hazelnut chocolates she’d left behind was now just a crumpled wrapper. And scattered around him like fallen leaves were dozens of notebook pages, each a battlefield of scribbled, crossed-out, and violently circled lyrics.
Fragments, all about her:
* “Eyes that hold every unspoken word / A melody I found but never heard.”
* “Hands that find melodies in the dark / Tracing constellations where you leave your mark.”
* “Hair that falls like a midnight sigh / And I just want to be the one who tucks it back, and tries…”
He’d crumple a page, hurl it at the wall with a grunt of frustration, only to get up moments later, retrieve it, and smooth it out with desperate care, as if destroying the words might destroy the feeling itself.
His own voice, hoarse from disuse and caffeine, was his only conversation. “It’s not a production problem,” he argued aloud to the blinking cursor on the screen. “The frequencies are fine. The arrangement works. The structure is solid. It’s… me. I’m the missing piece. I can’t finish it because I don’t want this to end, and I’m too terrified to say why. Because if I say why, and she doesn’t… then it ends anyway.”
Around 3 a.m., on Sunday night bleeding into Monday morning, his mind finally broke. The overthinking engine ran out of fuel. Exhaustion became a kind of clarity. He sat at the keyboard, closed his eyes, and let his hands fall onto the keys. No plan, no theory, just feeling.
His fingers found a progression—not complex, but profound. A series of lifted, questioning chords that climbed, hesitated, and then resolved not with a triumphant major bang, but with a soft, sustained minor-add-nine, a sound that was both hopeful and aching, a musical question that finally allowed itself a gentle, tentative answer. It sounded like golden light through dusty windows. It sounded like her.
His eyes flew open. He stared at his own hands as if they belonged to a stranger. “That’s it,” he whispered, the sound raw in the silent room. “That’s the bridge. That’s… that’s her.”
A frantic energy seized him. He scrambled, firing up the recording software, laying down the piano track with trembling fingers. He added a soft, warm bassline that held the hope, leaving wide, open spaces for her voice to fill. He wrote the final lyrics in a white-hot rush, the words pouring out unfiltered: “So let the amber hours stretch / Beyond the fading edge of night / I’ll be the one who stays, who catches every light / That falls from you, from you who finally saw me right.”
His hands were shaking so badly he had to stop typing and just breathe for a minute. When he finally clicked ‘Save’ on the file labeled Amber Hours – FINAL MIX v1, the clock on his screen read 7:03 a.m. Monday. He hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. He slumped back in his chair, staring at the screen, feeling not exhaustion but a profound, trembling relief. The song was finished. The truth was in it. Now he just had to wait for her.
Monday Morning
He was still slumped there, head buzzing with caffeine and sleep deprivation, eyes glued to the finished waveform on the screen, when a knock echoed through the quiet apartment. Sharp, clear, insistent.
He blinked. It was too early for the mail. Too early for anyone. A slow, irrational hope sparked in his chest. He stumbled to the door, his movements stiff from hours in the chair.
He opened it.
Chaeryeong stood on the other side, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She was wearing his grey hoodie—the one she’d never returned—paired with simple light grey sweatpants. Her hair was down, the untied, slightly messy look he’d come to recognize as her “off-duty” state. Minimal makeup. She looked simultaneously determined and utterly terrified, like someone standing at the edge of a high dive, toes curled over the brink.
“Chaeryeong?” he said, his voice rough and gravelly from lack of sleep. “It’s—it’s early. Like, 7 a.m. early. You usually come in the evening. Is everything okay? Are you okay?” His brain, still fogged with fatigue, defaulted to concern.
She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, and then forced the words out in a rushed, jumbled stream. “I needed to—I came because I—there’s something I have to tell you. About the song. About—about us. I’ve been thinking all weekend, and my members staged an actual intervention, and I couldn’t sleep, and I just—I need to say it before I lose my nerve—”
But his face, previously lined with exhaustion, suddenly lit up with a manic, excited energy. He wasn’t hearing her confession; he was bursting with his own. Before she could finish, he reached out and grabbed her hand, his grip firm and urgent.
“Wait—wait,” he said, cutting her off. “I finished it. The song. ‘Amber Hours.’ I was up all weekend. I haven’t slept. I think I’ve had seven coffees. But I finally figured out what was missing. You have to hear it. Right now. Before anything else.”
Chaeryeong blinked, completely derailed. Her carefully rehearsed speech evaporated. “You—you finished it? The bridge? The thing we couldn’t—”
“I finished it,” he said, his eyes blazing with a tired, triumphant joy. “Come on.” He tugged her hand, already pulling her toward the studio, and she let him, her confession temporarily swallowed by overwhelming curiosity and the sight of his exhausted, hopeful face.
He pulled her into the warm, familiar chaos of the studio, guided her not to the usual chair but to the worn sofa, and hit play on the main monitor before she could even sit down properly.
The track filled the room. It started with the verses they’d built together—the intimate, detailed snapshots of golden-hour light and quiet yearning. Then her own voice, soft and dreamy, floated in for the lullaby bridge she’d hummed half-asleep, the melody he’d preserved like a sacred artifact. And then… the new part. The final bridge she’d never heard.
His piano, aching and hopeful, played the progression he’d found at 3 a.m. It wasn’t flashy; it was heartfelt, a series of chords that felt like a heart slowly opening. Then his voice, rough but tender, singing the lyrics he’d written in the dark: “So let the amber hours stretch / Beyond the fading edge of night / I’ll be the one who stays, who catches every light / That falls from you, from you who finally saw me right…” The music swelled softly, not with orchestral grandeur, but with a warm bed of synth and a soft, sustained chord that felt like a long, peaceful exhale. Then it gently faded back into the final chorus, now feeling complete, resolved.
They listened in complete silence, side by side on the sofa. Chaeryeong’s hand drifted unconsciously to her chest, as if trying to hold the feeling inside. Her eyes grew wide, then glassy, shimmering with unshed tears. It was perfect. It was them.
The song ended. The studio was quiet again, save for the hum of the computer.
June turned to her slowly. His earlier excitement had melted into a vulnerable, nervous hope. His voice was barely above a whisper. “So… how is it? Is it—does it work? I changed the bridge completely. I wrote it at like 4 a.m. so if it’s terrible, just tell me, I can rework it—”
Chaeryeong didn’t answer with words.
Instead, she reached out, her fingers finding the soft cotton of his t-shirt. She grabbed a fistful of fabric and pulled him toward her, bridging the small space between them on the sofa, and kissed him.
The kiss was impulsive, heated, a dam breaking after weeks of pressure. It wasn’t gentle or exploratory; it was a direct, desperate transfer of all the feeling she’d been carrying. June made a surprised sound against her lips—a soft, muffled “mmph”—then his hands found her waist, anchoring her, and he was kissing her back instinctively, his body responding before his mind could catch up.
But then Chaeryeong’s brain, always a few steps behind her heart, caught up. She broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, but didn’t pull away—their faces remained inches apart, her hands still fisted in his shirt. She started mumbling rapidly, words tumbling over each other in a panic.
“Oh god—I’m sorry—the song was just so beautiful and I was already emotional and I came here to tell you something important and then you played that and the bridge was perfect and I just—I didn’t mean to just grab you like that, that was so unprofessional, we should talk about the song first, I had a whole speech planned, I practiced it in the mirror three times—”
June cupped her face with both hands, his palms warm against her cheeks, stopping her spiral mid-word. “Ryeong. Stop.”
She stopped. Her lips were still parted, her eyes wide and worried. He looked at her—really looked, his tired eyes searching hers, seeing the fear, the hope, the love all tangled together—and then he leaned in and kissed her again.
This time, he was the one initiating. It was slow, deliberate, a deep and tender question and an answer at once. When he pulled back, his voice was rough with emotion. “I’ve been wanting to do that for three weeks. Maybe four. Since the bench. Please don’t apologize for it. Don’t ever apologize for that.”
They kissed again, deeper this time, and the world narrowed to the soft press of lips, the shared breath, the feel of his hands sliding from her waist to her back. He stumbled backward onto the sofa, pulling her with him, and she climbed onto his lap naturally, knees bracketing his hips, settling against him with a sigh that was half-relief, half-desire.
Between kisses, their withheld confessions tumbled out in fragments—not in one long, formal speech, but broken up by breathless pauses and the desperate need to reconnect physically.
Chaeryeong, against his lips: “The song wasn’t the only reason I kept coming back.”
June, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her jaw: “I know. I hoped. Every time you walked through that door I hoped. I was terrified I was wrong.”
Chaeryeong, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, her hands on his shoulders: “My members staged an intervention. Last night. Yuna called you ‘Hot Producer’ and Yeji told me to stop being a scaredy cat. Those were her exact words.”
June laughed, a real, bright sound, and dropped his forehead against hers. “I like your members. Remind me to send them chocolates. The most expensive ones I can find.”
“I came here to confess, to finally stop being a scaredy cat,” Chaeryeong whispered, her nose brushing his. “But this… this is far better.”
She kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him—coffee and sleep and want. Her hips shifted unconsciously against his lap, a small, experimental rock. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her—a tiny moan swallowed by his mouth. He groaned in response, his hands tightening on her back.
They broke for air, both panting, eyes dark and wide with newfound hunger. Her lips were slightly swollen, his hair was a complete wreck from her fingers. Her playful savagery emerged through the haze of nerves and desire.
“So…” Chaeryeong said, her voice unsteady but with a hint of familiar teasing. “You mentioned it once. The first day. ‘Living space and bedroom. Very mysterious.’ Is it… is it finally time for the tour upstairs?”
June laughed, dazed and happy. “You remember that? That was weeks ago. The chocolate and scream day.”
“I remember everything you’ve said to me,” she said softly, her gaze unwavering. “Every single thing.”
He kissed her again, a deep, claiming kiss that left them both breathless. Then he gripped her thighs firmly and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist with a squeak of surprise that melted into laughter. He carried her through the studio door, into the narrow, dim stairwell, and they kept kissing as he navigated the steps—clumsy, giddy, nearly tripping on the top step when she nibbled his earlobe. They stumbled into the hallway wall, both dissolving into breathless, helpless giggles.
Chaeryeong, deadpan against his shoulder: “Romantic. Very smooth. I feel so carried.”
“I’m an indie producer,” June said, grinning as he adjusted his grip on her. “We don’t do smooth. We do heartfelt chaos. It’s in the job description.”
He pushed open his bedroom door with his shoulder—a small, simple room with an unmade bed, a bookshelf overflowing with vinyl records and books, morning light filtering through thin, plain curtains. He laid her down on the mattress gently, as if she were something precious and fragile. He hovered above her, one hand braced beside her head, and just looked at her for a long moment—her hair spread out on his pillow, wearing his hoodie over her own clothes in his bed, her eyes bright with nerves and want and a trust that made his heart ache.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, not as a smooth line, but as a quiet, awed revelation. “I’ve thought it since the bench. Every single time I saw you. I was just too scared to say it out loud.”
She reached up, touched his jaw, her fingers tracing the line of it. He leaned into her palm, his eyes closing briefly, savoring the contact.
He lowered himself, kissing her again—softer now, slower, savoring. His hand found the hem of the hoodie, fingers playing with the fabric, a silent question. She answered by pulling back just enough to grip the hem herself, and in a bold, decisive motion, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. Underneath was a simple, pretty bra—light pink, delicate, entirely her.
His breath caught audibly. He just looked at her—not with hunger alone, but with adoration, wonder, and a deep aching tenderness that made her suddenly self-conscious. Her arms instinctively moved to cover herself, crossing over her chest.
“What?” she asked, her voice suddenly small. “Why are you looking at me like that? You’re staring. Again.”
He shook his head slowly, his expression reverent. “Like… I can’t believe you’re real. Like I’ve been writing songs about someone my whole life and she just… appeared on a bench at midnight and started humming my song and screaming at me. And now she’s here. In my bed. Wearing my hoodie. Looking at me like I matter. I’m staring because I’m terrified I’ll blink and you’ll disappear.”
Her bravado crumbled completely. The nerves rushed back in a wave. Her fingers curled into the sheets beside her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. He noticed the shift immediately. He pulled back, his hands withdrawing to safe, neutral territory on the bed.
“Hey. Ryeong. Look at me.” His voice was gentle but firm. She did, reluctantly. “We can stop. Right now. If you’re not ready, if this is too fast, we stop. No song is worth you feeling pressured. No album. Nothing. You’re worth more than all of it. Okay?”
Chaeryeong shook her head quickly. “No—that’s not—I want this. I really, really want this. I’ve been thinking about it… for weeks. About you. About… this. It’s just…” She took a deep breath, her voice dropping to a whisper barely audible in the quiet room. “I’ve never done this before. With anyone. I’m—it’s my first time. And I’m nervous. And I don’t want to be bad at it. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
A visible wave of relief washed over his face—not because his desire dampened, but because the fear of misunderstanding dissolved. “Oh. Oh, Ryeong.” He took her face in his hands again, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “You could never disappoint me. Never. This isn’t a performance. There’s no score. No stage. No cameras. It’s just… us. Just you and me, figuring it out together. That’s all it has to be.”
“Really?” she asked, her eyes glistening. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Really,” he vowed. “I like you. Not ‘idol Chaeryeong.’ Not ‘client Chaeryeong.’ You. The woman who screams at benches and hoards chocolate and writes melodies in her sleep. The woman who jumped out at me in a ghost mask and laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe. I like that woman. A lot. An embarrassing, wrote-lyrics-and-fished-them-out-of-the-trash, didn’t-sleep-for-two-days amount.”
Chaeryeong laughed, a wet, relieved sound. “That’s a very specific amount.”
“I’m a very specific person.”
She exhaled, a long breath that seemed to release the last of the tension from her shoulders. “Okay. Okay. I… I’m ready. I trust you.”
He looked down at her, his expression solemn, almost a vow. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
He removed his own t-shirt, revealing a torso that was lean, not heavily muscular but defined. She reached up and touched his chest with curious, tentative fingers, tracing the line of his collarbone, the dip between his pectorals. He shivered under her touch.
He lowered himself on top of her, careful not to put his full weight on her, and resumed kissing her—slow, thorough kisses that moved from her lips to her cheek, to the tip of her nose, to her closed eyelids, to her forehead. Each kiss was punctuated by a murmured, fragmented compliment.
“You’re so soft here,” he whispered, kissing the hollow of her throat.
“Your voice does something to me,” he said against her skin as he reached her collarbone.
Her breath hitched. “Good something or bad something?”
He nuzzled the spot, playful. “Dangerous something.” She arched slightly, a silent plea.
When he reached her chest, his hand paused at the clasp of her bra. He looked up, his eyes asking a clear, patient question. She gave a tiny, decisive nod.
He unclasped it with careful fingers, drawing the straps down her shoulders slowly. He cupped her breasts—soft, a perfect fit for his palms—and pressed a reverent kiss to the valley between them. “Beautiful,” he murmured into her skin. “Everything about you.”
When his mouth finally closed over one erect nipple, his tongue circling gently, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers, she released a moan so soft and involuntary it was almost a sigh. He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against her skin. He spent long, devoted minutes there, alternating between her breasts, lavishing attention with his lips and tongue until her breathing was ragged and her hands were fisted in his hair, not pushing him away but holding him close.
He kissed a path down her stomach, over her navel, to the waistband of her sweatpants. He looked up one more time—his eyes always asking silent permission. She lifted her hips in answer, helping him slide the sweatpants and her matching, simple panties off in one smooth, slow motion.
He paused at the sight of her—glistening, pink and perfect, with a small neat patch of hair above. His expression was awed, reverent. “You’re staring again,” she said, shy, her thighs trembling slightly.
“I’m appreciating,” he replied, his voice husky with emotion. “There’s a difference.”
He gently parted her thighs, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of each one before finally lowering his mouth to her center. He started at her clit—gentle, exploratory, reading her every gasp and flinch—then delved deeper, drinking her in like he’d been dying of thirst. Her moans grew in frequency and pitch, soft little cries that spurred him on. He added two fingers, curling them gently inside her, and the combined sensation pushed her over the edge with startling speed. She grabbed his hair, held him there, and came with a silent cry and a full-body shudder that seemed to surprise even her. He didn’t stop—he gentled his movements, working her through the intense waves until she tugged his hair lightly from over-sensitivity.
She guided his face back up to hers, pulled him into a deep, messy kiss, tasting herself on his lips. The intimacy of it made her whimper against his mouth.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she looked directly into his eyes. Her voice was soft, almost innocent—but the words were anything but. “June… I want you inside me. Please.”
His brain visibly short-circuited. He froze, staring at her like she’d just spoken a language he was still learning. Then she said it again, the same gentle, adorable tone: “June. Please fuck me.”
He groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. “You can’t—you can’t say things like that in that voice. It’s not fair. That’s the voice you use when you’re talking about chocolate. Not—that.”
She smiled, clearly enjoying his struggle, some of her playful confidence returning. “What voice?”
“The voice. The one that sounds like a lullaby. While asking for—that. It’s going to kill me.”
“A good death?” she teased, shifting her hips beneath him.
“The best. The absolute best death.”
He quickly shed his remaining clothes. She watched, her eyes curious and wanting. When he instinctively reached for the bedside drawer, she stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist. “You don’t need it. I’m on the pill. And I want—I want to feel you. All of you. For my first time. Please.”
His eyes squeezed shut. He took a long, steadying breath. “You’re going to be the end of me. In the best possible way.”
He positioned himself above her, settling between her legs, and took himself in hand, rubbing the tip through her slick folds, coating himself in her. She squirmed impatiently. “Don’t tease,” she whined.
“Not teasing,” he said, his voice strained with control. “Preparing. You’re—you’re really tight, and I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t hurt you.”
He began to push in, achingly slow. She gasped at the stretch, the unfamiliar fullness, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin. He paused, letting her adjust, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips—soft, reassuring, patient—before inching deeper, millimeter by millimeter. When he was finally fully seated, he stopped completely. They were both panting, foreheads together, connected in every possible way.
Chaeryeong’s voice trembled with wonder. “I feel so… full. You’re everywhere. Is it always like this?”
June’s response was strained but tender. “I don’t know. It’s never been like this for me. Not ever. Not even close.”
He began to move—slow, shallow thrusts that gradually deepened as her body relaxed and welcomed him, finding a rhythm that matched the way her hips started to meet his tentatively. Her second orgasm built differently—deeper, more consuming, a slow burn that tightened her core—and when it broke, she cried his name into the quiet room and he felt a sudden, hot gush around him, a flood of release that startled them both.
“Did you just—?” he asked, amazed, still moving gently within her.
“I don’t know—I don’t know what that was—” she managed, mortified and blissful all at once.
“That was incredible,” he whispered, kissing her shoulder. “You’re incredible.”
When she calmed, still trembling with aftershocks, she pushed lightly at his chest. “I want to—can I be on top? I want to try.”
He rolled them carefully, settling her above him in a cowgirl position. She moved tentatively at first, finding a rhythm, a slow rise and fall, and then her confidence built as she saw the effect on his face—his eyes dark with pleasure, his hands gentle on her hips. She rode him at her own pace, hands braced on his chest, her hair falling around her face like a curtain, utterly unguarded. He watched her like she was the sunrise after a long night.
When her rhythm faltered and she clenched tightly around him—close to another peak—he felt his own control unravel. He gripped her hips and thrust up from below, meeting her movements, fast and deep, chasing the edge with her. “Together—I’m—” he gasped, his voice breaking.
“Yes—yes—June—” she broke, her voice shattering into a wordless cry as the sensation overwhelmed her. They shattered together, a shared, explosive release that tore through them both—his hips driving up into her one last, deep time as her inner muscles clenched and fluttered around him in rhythmic pulses, milking his own climax from him in hot, urgent spurts that filled her, a searing intimacy that had them both crying out into the quiet morning air.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing, the hammering of two hearts against each other's skin. He collapsed back onto the mattress, pulling her down with him so she lay sprawled on top of his chest, a boneless, sweaty, spent weight. His semi-erect cock was still nestled inside her, their combined fluids a warm, damp testament on the sheet beneath them. Neither moved to separate. His arms came around her, one hand mindlessly drawing small, lazy patterns on her sweaty back—circles, then music notes, then what might be the letters of her name.
The silence was comfortable, heavy with everything that had been said and done, glowing with a new, profound quiet.
The morning light grew stronger, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets and their tangled legs. Chaeryeong’s ear was pressed to his chest, listening to the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat gradually slow to a steady, strong thump. His fingers never stopped their gentle tracing on her skin.
She was the one to break the quiet, her voice soft and thoughtful, muffled slightly against his skin. “The final version… it’s perfect. ‘Amber Hours.’ You really fixed it. The bridge—it was like hearing everything I’ve been feeling but couldn’t say.”
His hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its path. “It wasn’t broken,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest beneath her ear. “The song was just… waiting. For me to be honest. I couldn’t finish it because I was holding back. From the music, from you, from myself.”
She lifted her head slightly, just enough to rest her chin on his sternum and look at him. Her eyes were clear, soft. “How did you figure it out? What was the missing piece?”
He was quiet for a long moment, looking past her at the ceiling, gathering the words. Then his gaze dropped back to hers. “I stopped trying to fix the song and started thinking about… you. About us. The bench that first night, how you screamed and dropped your chocolate. The way you made ‘every session starts with chocolate’ a rule. The way you hum in your sleep and it becomes the best melody I’ve ever heard. The way you’re terrified of everything—ghosts, bugs, toasters—but when it comes to your music, you’re fearless.” He paused, his thumb coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “I wrote what I felt. About you. And it fit. Like it was always supposed to be there. Like the song was waiting for me to admit that I’m falling for you.”
The words hung in the air, simple and devastating. Falling for you.
Chaeryeong stayed silent for an even longer moment, settling her head back down on his chest, feeling the solid, real beat of his heart beneath her ear. Then she spoke again, quieter. “We should start working on the next track soon. Track two. We have a whole album to finish.”
A teasing lilt entered his tired voice. “Was this all an elaborate scheme to keep me producing your album? Seduce the indie producer so he can’t say no to track two?”
She lifted her head fully now, propping herself up on her elbows to look directly into his eyes. Her expression was suddenly dead serious—no teasing, no deflection, just raw, unveiled truth. “No. It wasn’t about the album. It was about me thinking about you for weeks—every minute, every spare thought. My feelings growing so fast and so big I couldn’t contain them inside me anymore. It was about me finally giving myself to you. Completely. Not to a producer. To you. June. The person. I’ve never done that before—given myself to anyone. But I wanted it to be you. Only you.”
They looked at each other. Both of their eyes were shining with unshed tears and raw, unguarded feeling. Neither of them spoke for a long, suspended moment. The air was thick but not uncomfortable—full, heavy with a truth finally spoken aloud, a bridge not just in a song, but between them, now irrevocably crossed. He reached up and tucked a strand of her damp hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering on the apple of her cheek, catching a single tear that escaped.
He broke the silence finally, his voice a little hoarse. “We should… get up. Get freshened up. And then start on the next track—I actually have some ideas, if you want to hear them. Maybe we could grab some lunch after. In a nice restaurant. With menus and chairs and other people. Like an official date. A real one. If you want. If that’s not too—”
Chaeryeong laughed—that bright, unguarded, bell-like sound he’d come to love. “That all sounds perfect. All of it. Except—” She shifted slightly, winced, and then grinned up at him, a playful, satisfied spark in her eyes. “—I don’t think I can walk two steps right now without falling over. You might have to carry me to the shower. And maybe to the restaurant. Possibly everywhere, for the rest of the day.”
June grinned, a wide, effortless smile that transformed his tired face. He was already shifting, carefully slipping out of her and gathering her limp, pliant body into his arms in one smooth motion. “I seem to recall carrying you up here. I’m getting good at it. It’s becoming my specialty.”
As he lifted her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his shoulder, her voice sleepy and content. “Next track idea: ‘Stairway Fumbles.’ About a producer who almost dropped his artist on the stairs.”
“That’s a terrible title,” he chuckled, carrying her naked and glorious toward the bathroom.
“You’re right,” she sighed, feigning deep thought. “I’ll workshop it. Over chocolate.”
“I’ll buy hazelnut,” he said, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot.
“It’s a date,” she murmured, her eyes already drifting closed against his skin. “Our second one.”
He carried her into the steamy warmth soon to come, the bathroom door closing softly behind them. A moment later, the sound of water starting to run whispered through the thin walls. And then, faint but unmistakable, came the sound of one of them humming the bridge of “Amber Hours”—the new, perfect, hopeful bridge. A pause, and then the other voice joined in, harmonizing softly, effortlessly, a private duet for two.
The End
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K-pop stories of passion, possession and blurred boundaries 💦 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/electro469 Fanprose: https://fanprose.com/user
synopsis after a long fansign, you and chaeryeong play around with some of the props she was given. and it leads into something further that jokes.
content warnings; roleplaying? face sitting, praising, idk if there's anything else
pairings dom!chaeryeong x 6th member!reader
a/n. we're gonna ignore how it's actually a flight attendant costume and not an officer bcs i already wrote the full thing 😪
the fansign was over and everyone traveled backstage—into their dressing rooms. when you opened the door, you spotted chaeryeong looking at herself in the mirror—still in the police outfit from earlier. "you're still wearing that?" you laughed, tugging at the fabric, revealing more skin underneath the shirt. "what? it's hot, don't you think?" she replied, still posing in the mirror. you watched as her hands trailed down her body in the mirror.
her eyes lifted to meet yours, a smirk tugging at her lips. "they gave me cuffs too. wanna try them on for me?" she teased, grabbing them from her pocket, spinning them on her finger. you stood there for a second, dumbfounded, before nodding and locking the door. you two were just playing around, right? nothing to worry about.
she smiled at you, grabbed your hands, and placed the cuffs over your wrist, tightening them slightly, so you couldn't get loose. her hands lifted to your shoulders, placing you down on the couch in the room, "you look good in cuffs... really good," she said, biting her lip, eyes lingering on your hands.
you could feel the heat between your legs; you were enjoying this a little bit too much. you spread your legs slightly and adjusted in your seat when she lowered herself onto your lap, slowly unbuttoning her shirt, eyes locked on yours. "you want to touch me?" your breath hitched. you nodded eagerly. you wanted to touch her badly. her hand wrapped around your neck, lifting your head up, leaving faint kisses on your neck. "use your words."
“I-I want to touch you, please,” you pleaded, your nails digging into your palms.
her hand pressed on your chest as she pushed you flat against the couch and knelt over you. she slowly unbuttoned her shorts and removed them along with her panties. your heart was pounding at the sight. she was beautiful. she straddled your face. "use that pretty mouth for me," you hesitantly stuck your tongue out before you licked up her slit.
you groaned under her, making a small whimper leave her lips. she tasted perfect. you wanted to taste her for as long as she would allow. her hips started to rock slowly, her hands switching from the couch arm to your head, moaning loudly. "just like that... let me use you."
you hated that you couldn't see her face, but the noises she made... it was you needed. you fastened your pace, sucking at her clit, making a mess, but you didn't care—she was enjoying it.
"fuck you're so good at this," she moaned out, fingers tangled in your hair, hips rolling on your face. you lifted your hands, grabbing her waist, holding her in place as you pushed your tongue further into her.
her legs began to shake, tightening around your head, her hand gripping your hair as she rode your face at a faster pace. you didn't care for air. you were so focused on the taste of her—on her pleasure.
"please... fuck—im so close—" she cried out, bringing you closer.
you focused on her clit, making cirlces with your tongue, sucking slowly so she could cum over you. chaeryeong's back arched, her orgasm ripping through her, riding it out as long as she could.
she leaned down, her head against the couch armrest, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed. "you did such a good job," she said breathlessly, her thumb making small circles on your cheek.
a/n : don't tell my followers i'm here. i've been inactive for quite long now, i'm scared bro 💔
who would have thought the most popular girl at school, would be at the bed of the loser of the school? exactly no one, then there she was.
making out in the lap of ryujin as she roamed her hands over you sides, ryujin layed you down on the bed her lips trailing over your neck leaving bruises as her hands hurriedly were trying to take your pants.
the only sounds coming from the room was your heavy breaths and the rustling of clothes, while ryujin was trying to take off your pants you took of your shirt leaving you only in your underwear.
“you're so pretty,” she muttered leaning to kiss you again desperately her hands clawing at your covered clad breasts.
her hands played with your clit lightly with you heaving for air. you took off her hands and fully took off your underwear leaving you bare. ryujin couldn’t help but gasp at the sight.
her hands pulling you closer and playing lightly with your nipples, her tongue darting off to lick and suck one of them while she put a finger inside of you pumping it fast.
you couldn’t help but moan loudly grinding against her hand. you pulled her in for another kiss both of your tongues fightling for dominance with her winning. she kept pumping her fingers, her other hand groping your breasts and tweaking your nipple.
as you moaned loudly you came all over her fingers, she smirked “who would have thought i'd have the meanest girl here at my bed naked?”
