#ive fanfic

[usedpidemo]

you make me

ive x m!reader

23.2k words (read it on fanprose)

—————

Tonight should have been one of the best nights of your life. Instead, it feels like the end of the world.

See, you had the whole thing planned out months in advance. How the proceedings would go from start to finish. It was gonna be special; people would go crazy. They'd cheer, celebrate, and scream your name so loud you'd feel like you're on top of the world.

None of that happened. What you were left with is a broken dream and absolute heartbreak.

Time flies when you're having fun. At least that's what was supposed to happen. Tonight should have been the triumphant climax of all your hard work and patience. The culmination of five long years of diehard, borderline obsessive fandom. Years of saving little by little, counting the days, making countless prayers to a God that's mostly indifferent, until, finally—your pleas had been heard by the powers above. One simple announcement on a Wednesday morning:

IVE is coming for their world tour.

You've been a fan since debut. Anticipated the months after Yujin and Wonyoung finished their time in IZ*ONE. Almost five years since you knew they'd be the one, you'd only seen them from behind screens, in other people's cameras, and curated content. Years pass; they take over Korea, eventually the world. You have no place in it. But you're still waiting. For lack of a better word, you're obsessed.

Not in a stalkerish, 'I'll follow them to their place and bother them' way. Fucking no. You know your boundaries as a fan. Rather, the kind that teeters along the line of parasocial and absolute dedication. Their influence is all over your bedroom: posters that plaster the walls, shelves of magazines with them on the cover that you carefully maintain from dust, binders upon binders of photocards both common and rare, but most importantly, albums of every version that you consider sacred. The crown jewel of your hypercapitalist consumption. The family says you're wasting your time and money. Your friends laugh it off and call you quirky, steering conversations away from K-pop whenever possible, because they know you'll go into 30 minute tangents that somehow lead into IVE. At least they're understanding. Or highly tolerant.

They don't really know just how deep it goes. How much these six women mean to you, beyond the music and the fact they're so unbelievably pretty. That's a given.

But back to the matter at hand:

You've had the dates marked on the calendar the moment the official announcement hit. After five years and two world tours, they were stepping foot on home soil for the first time. Your territory. Not a festival with only 30-45 minutes per performer, not even as a one hour headliner. A full blown concert. They'd missed you the first go around, and for many days and nights, you'd cursed everything. Lamented that the only way you could ever remotely get close to these girls was to take a flight elsewhere, and the process was already a battle of its own. 

Not anymore. That risk was gone; the only thing you needed to secure was the ticket. You'll worry about what happens after.

And you'd been preparing. Waiting for the day when you could finally take from an account that had been storing bits of leftover money from your salary or allowance, four years of slow-burning patience and hope. It was enough. More than. Except it wasn't. 

You were not taking any chances. You used every dirty trick in the book; bots, third-parties, people who only accepted a small fee in exchange for direct links to skip the impossibly long queue, to get an unassailable advantage even during presale. The people were yearning for more K-pop concerts, and at last, they were blessed. In a place where live music is few and far between, you weren't the only one starved. Anyone, regardless of their public recognition, could come and sell out if they went; that's how dry it's been. 

All those efforts weren't for naught. You're right where you want to be: front row. Exactly where they'd be passing by every now and then.

The rest could take care of itself.

 Even through your earplugs, you can feel the ground moving beneath and the collective noise of thousands piercing your eardrums. The way the roar of the crowd reverberates everywhere, the bass of the speakers thrumming throughout the arena. 

You're ready. Everyone is ready.

Anticipation pulses through your veins. You're counting the minutes till they take the stage. Lightstick on one hand—the latest version—your phone in the other. Your bag feels heavy, but the adrenaline makes you soar. Not even the stash of freebies from other fans, tour merch you'd bought at a rinkydink tent after waiting in line for hours, and an album and some photocards you hope they'll sign keeps you down.

This is your second concert, actually. You promised they would be your first, but circumstances got in the way. So you wound up flying off elsewhere to see another group instead. But finally, after four years of watching behind screens, of saving what little money you can, of building a shrine to the girl group of your dreams—it's all led to this.

The lights go dark. The crowd lets out a thunderous roar. Nothing else matters anymore; only you and the stars on that stage.

They emerge like angels descending from heaven to bless the ground you're stepping on. In all black leather looking lethal. It's a tired saying, but screens do little justice to how godly they are in real life.

And for the most part, it's everything you wanted and more. They move at a breakneck pace, performing one song to the next, even completing their solos with hardly any opportunities for them to speak until past the first hour (when they formally introduce themselves). Then they do their trademark hits. At one point, the crowd barks; you cringe, but they revel in it, so it's now tolerable. Your ears may be hurting, your arms are sore holding up their lightstick, and your body is being put through hell and back crammed inside a crowded pit, but you're having the time of your life.

You don't think in the moment; the music is still booming, and your fervor is still at a fever-pitch. They come out for the encore and spread everywhere. A member or two comes around your area every now and then. You hold up a sign. One handcrafted from love and patience. They glance, but their attention ends up with someone else. Even when you wave harder, they give hearts, blow kisses, but not of them land on you. 

Something shifts. Your zeal flickers. They're now giving their farewell speeches, and fans are shouting mid-speech: they laugh, giggle, get them to answer back. You're still holding up the sign in the hopes one of them will acknowledge it, but their gaze fixes up ahead. They do their final two songs, and the cycle repeats: a member passes your way, you hold up a sign, they look everywhere except you. Each pass, each distant gaze chips away at your heart.

And after two hours, it ends.

Confetti springs everywhere, they're waving goodbye, headed in your direction as a collective. Fuck concert etiquette now; you have your sign held up to the sky. Just a flicker, a single point of recognition is all you want. Their gazes move from left to right, mostly at the seated lower box—but they look past you again. To the people beside you. Everywhere but you. Then they turn away. They've given you the cold shoulder.

They take their final bows and walk to the back of the stage, still waving as the panel closes in front of them, and then they're gone for good. 

The stage lights come back on. Staff usher out the crowds, telling them to leave as the cleanup crew steps in. VIPs are told over the speaker to stay put. You are staying put, but your excitement has completely died. Your body leans on the barricade, folding in utter disbelief, giving out after enduring so much: the frenzied movement of the crowd, the energy you exerted waving your lightstick and sign, a general lack of sleep, and the fact that none of the girls looked at you even once.

But the night isn't quite over yet. There's still a send-off. And one way or another, you will leave with something.

—————

Waiting is its own torture.

You're scrolling through your camera roll in the meantime, scanning, assessing all the photos and videos you've taken. None of them do justice to how they truly shine with your own two eyes, even with the occasional blur and shake. Being a hair's width from them, breathing the same air as them—it should have been enough. It isn't.

There's no point of contact. Not a single photo, not a single second, not even a single frame in any of the footage you've checked where at least one of the girls meet you or your lens, even when they're right in front of you. Nothing at all. 

You were too caught up in the heat of the moment to truly notice. How they'd get the ones beside you or behind you, but never exactly you. The way they'd skip past in favor of someone else. Maybe it's only coincidence; so far, you haven't analyzed every video frame by frame.

Doesn't matter right now. The staff are making the announcement, ushering in clusters of VIPs into the backstage pen where send-off happens. Perhaps this is how the universe corrects; that this is the twist that tonight will bring to give you the happy ending you dreamed of.

When they lead your section in, you follow along. Carefully monitoring the environment, the groups that have already flanked the front rows ahead. There's hardly any space left to fit in, nor is there enough room around the corners. At this point, you'd be three or four people behind, some behemoths, others carrying obstructive signs. If they couldn't see you up front, they definitely won't see you now. But your eagle-eyed gaze catches on the far right edge of the room: a tiny, intimate zone beside a concrete pillar that is an island in and of itself. 

So while no one's watching or paying attention, you stake your claim: a prime spot before anyone else even considers it. Given the circumference of the lounge, they're bound to walk past you again. This time, you'll correct those mistakes.

The others pick up rather late, take their spots beside you. No matter. You're still in a prime spot, right as they're about to exit—or where they'll start first. Either way, that interaction you've been chasing is all but guaranteed. Surely.

For a few minutes, everyone waits. Across your vantage point, some push and assert their presence, but for the most part, it's all calm, tense excitement. One last chance to see their favorites up close. But for you, one last chance to prove you meant something.

From a distance, a door can be heard swinging open. The ripple comes quietly at first, like the calm before an incoming tsunami. And then, a thunderous roar echoes around the intimate room.

They're here. Again. Still wearing their encore fits. Still unbelievably ethereal. 

Etched on their features are tired but steady little smiles. But they're not complaining, nor does the idol veneer crack. It's only been 40 minutes since the concert ended, and they were performing for almost two and a half hours straight. Yet here they are, waving at everyone like they can go another round. They're professional as ever, even when signs and albums and phones are being harshly thrust upon their faces.

Your items are ready: a pen, their latest album, the same A4 sized sign you've been raising on and off throughout the show, now ragged and worn, and a set of photocards, one for each member to sign. There's also a handwritten letter in your bag that you plan to bring out when they get close. And somehow, even after two hours of shouting and yelling, you still have a voice. You'll expend the last your lungs can produce if it means they finally see you.

They're starting from the other side of the room, and you watch them deliver their best. From left to right, they settle into fanservice like it's muscle memory.

Gaeul calmly waves at anyone she sees. She looks at a girl's banner with her photos on it and a message printed in big Hangul font. Points at it like it's the most precious thing in the world. Then she leans forward to pose for another fan's phone, and it's like the spotlight is shining just for her. She asks them to show the photo, and after a brief inspection, nods in approval before moving on.

Leeseo's moving like a ball of charisma. Her smile is sunshine incarnate. She's energetically active on her feet, but grounded at the same time. She meets a half-heart from a girl and completes it. Then another. And another. Someone presents their Erang-e plush in front of her, and she tickles the fabric like it were her own. Someone's trying to reach out for a heart from behind a trash bin, and she meets them halfway. Doesn't matter that her hair's touching the chute; she's gonna meet them all.

Rei's the chattiest of the bunch. Hand to her ear, playfully making everyone shout louder, listening as everyone calls out her name. And somehow, in the midst of the commotion, she can single out a specific voice to find them. A fan holds up a sign asking her to do that stupidgesture, and she does exactly that with her cheeky trademark grin. The crowd roars its approval as they all collectively shout 'six-seven!', sharing a laugh with them before moving on.

Wonyoung is exactly who she is: an untouchable princess, grace given human form. Her movements are effortless, but deliberate; she keeps herself distant from the barricade, but she's the most attentive and keen-eyed (though they all are).She points at every girl in the crowd, her skin radiant under the pale orange lights, and she floats along the line with her usual style. Someone asks her to do her legendary twirl, and she delivers, leaving that section swooning. Another asks her if she can have her photocard with her face signed; she claps her hands together gently and bows apologetically. To compensate, she playfully waves her fingers around in the shape of her signature and blesses their camera.

Liz quietly scans the crowd. Takes her sweet time to find someone holding a banner clearly breaking venue rules, with a clear message: Kim Jiwon you're unreal! She gently laughs and blows a kiss directly at the lucky fan, who almost immediately fucking loses it. Much like her older member, she keeps a respectable distance from the barricade, but her eyes quickly work through those holding her photocards, banners, and makes sure she points out every single one. Someone asks them to pose with Rei; of course she hesitates, but Rei obliges and the chemistry is undeniable.

And finally, Yujin makes the girls in front berserk. She knows she's got them all hooked. The slight hint of her toned midriff is enough for them to go feral. She keeps the motions simple: wave, then heart. Rinse and repeat. But every now and then, she'll tease her bare shoulder off the cut part of her shirt, or lift the bottom to make her stomach clear, and she relishes in being gawked at.

Slowly but surely, the members make their trip around the line. Trying to find every face possible, trying to acknowledge everyone in the room. Staff and security closely flanking each girl gesture subtly, whispering behind tightly knit hands. A little bit faster please. We have to go. 

And they try. Even with the pressures of time, they try. Most of the love and affection end up falling in the first three rows; anyone below 5'5 and those in the back are hidden behind taller, more demanding heads and a cloud of unruly banners, signs, picket fans, and cellphones. It's bad luck and poor optics at play.

Not you. You're in the right spot. The place perfectly suited for them to find you as they finish their walk around the line.

So you wait. Each step forward they take makes you tenser, more anxious. The thought starts out innocuous: what if they don't see you, what if they stop right before your section, what if—

No. There's no way they wouldn't—

But not right now. They're about to turn the corner, one member after the other. Gaeul first.

Phone in one hand, sign on the other. You've returned the photocards and album back into your bag, knowing they've actively refused to sign anything other than air. Company rules or whatever bullshit, it's not gonna happen tonight. That's what fansigns are for, probably. Any interaction—even a second of clear recognition through your lens—is more than enough to complete your night. 

You're screaming her name now. Still harsh, still as loud as it was two hours ago, even when the cracks occasionally show. She's completing a guy's heart, mere spaces beside you. Waves to someone in the back holding a Dal-e plush. The guy you've been beside with the whole concert shows her a banner with her head photoshopped wearing an orange around her head, and she laughs, pointing at it and asking if she can hold it for a photo. Her gaze shifts quickly, and you can feel her eyes tilting in your direction. This is it—

But she snags right before you make direct eye contact, stops on a dime and turns on her heel, walking away from your section, slowly, waving off to the crowd in the distance. Ouch.

So you try again. Rei bounds in next, smiling from ear to ear. She hi-fives a kid and gently pats her head, then does her trademark aegyo for a fan holding a sign saying he traveled from the Philippines just to see her. Right there, dancing along the barrier, she's just one glance away from finding you—and she doesn't. Much like Gaeul, she turns around and heads the other way, done with your section.

The pain doesn't ache, at least not right away. Your smile quirks just a tad. Hope isn't completely dead yet. Not until they're all saying goodbye. Still four more chances. Surely. 

The worst thing imaginable isn't about to happen, right.

Leeseo steps in, still lively as ever, still infectious. She completes a heart from someone in the third row, pushing through the wall of bodies between her and the fan sandwiched in there. But that's pretty much it; she takes a step back to wave at the surrounding area, which somehow feels intentionally hurtful and personal since her gaze completely erases your presence, and blows a kiss spanning everyone but you. Then like the members before her, she proceeds to look the other away and back to the center.

Still keeping her distance, Wonyoung points and shoots. Blesses every fan she finds with her magic fingers. A girl holds up a paper asking her to make a wish since it happens to be her birthday, and she pauses. Closes her eyes, softly puts her hands together for a brief moment of prayer, and then blows a magic candle in her direction. She spots a fan in the fourth row holding up a peach-shaped sign with a picture of Yujin and her together from one of their fansigns. Yujin spots it and joins her in winking at that lucky son-of-a-bitch. Then Wonyoung spins away in the opposite direction.

At this point, it feels like you're fighting an uphill battle. No matter how much you scream their names, they don't hear you. No matter how hard you wave your sign, it simply doesn't exist. In their eyes, somehow, you seem to be like transparent glass that they see right past.

You don't break, at least not completely. Your knees begin to crumple, your heart splintering into fractures. You barely manage to keep the tears at bay, trying to avoid causing a scene, especially in a private, intimate setting like this, with all the phones around and the idols you adore standing right there. 

Your gut tells you it's over, to give up and accept the harsh and brutal reality that you're nobody, but your heart believes in miracles. 

It's only delusional until it works.

Fortunately, Yujin hasn't completely turned away yet. She's moved back in the line to entertain what you assume to be a personal friend, and Liz is now going ahead. So you focus on her instead. She blinks, waves tirelessly at every fan she can see. Someone dressed as her from the Eleven music video (Elizabeth Helga Muller, obviously) catches her eye, and in a rare moment, she steps forward to pose for her camera. But it's fleeting; she steps back just as quickly as she bounded, and returns to waving at everyone within her line of sight. Even so, you appear invisible to her; she stops right at the fan beside you, pointing her face on the guy's shirt and takes her leave.

And finally, Yujin. Back to completing your section, she laughs at a sign held by a guy saying he's cray cray for her. She winks at a fan's camera, then poses by flaunting her bare, toned shoulder for good measure. The screams climb a pitch higher, much to her amusement. You're screaming her name loudly; you don't know where this second wind came from. Desperation, most likely. Like if she doesn't find you within the next five or so seconds, you're probably going to explode.

Nothing like that happens, obviously. But the pain doesn't hurt any fucking less. If she was holding a knife, then she twisted it into your heart, took it out, and then stabbed you again for good measure. 

So yeah. Of course she doesn't see you either.  One last time, all six girls gather at the center of the lounge where everyone can see, and they wave in every direction. Yujin yells out "Thank you for coming! Safe travels everyone!" to a roar of approval from the crowd. Then they leave, in the direction where they entered from—for good. 

It's only after Liz, the last member to disappear past the door, when reality finally sets in:

You are nothing to them. You mean nothing to them. They don't love you like that. 

The tears come falling down. Slowly at first; little drops here and there, the occasional sob and sniffle shadowing the blind, carefree joy that had been stretched thin the moment the stage lights came back on. But it waterfalls almost as quickly, trickles onto the floor like storms on a dark, gloomy sky. Your head bows almost instinctively, like you've laid someone or something you love to rest after watching them die. And something did: a piece of your heart. Actually, the whole goddamn thing.

You didn't ask for much. You didn't even want them to read your sign anymore; a simple eye contact from even just one member was all you wanted. A glimmer of recognition from the people you loved unconditionally, through highs and heartbreaks, and they couldn't even deliver that. Four years of waiting. Of hoping. Of praying for a moment where they could see you, and it never came. 

At first, you thought of the whys, the hows. Where it all went wrong. Nothing makes sense. You had signs like everyone else. Their lightstick in your hand. By the grace of God, you were posted up front row. Screamed their names like it was your religion. There were countless moments, opportunities, frames where you swear they would have 100% found you, but no. Three different avenues to see you, just once, even for a tiny glimpse, and you were completely invisible. 

In the end, you were nothing. You've been nothing. It took this, a brutal wake-up call for you to realize that.

The world you know has been reduced to blurs and white noise. Your knees have given up; you've let your body melt onto the metal post like all the adrenaline keeping you afloat has finally run dry. Even as the crowd begins to disperse, as security and staff usher out the VIPs since they have to clean house for tomorrow's event, you remain there. Frozen. Unwilling to let the impossibility of the situation fully sink in. 

Eventually, you push away. Your legs move of their own accord, slowly walking away from the place where your heart was crushed. To avoid being hounded by the staff, probably not; the world keeps turning. Life goes on. 

Here's the harsh, cruel reality of fandom: the biggest, core memory defining nights of your life is just another Saturday to them. For them, it's another date on an already tiring marathon, another stopover to a massive paycheck. They always say the same things, about how much they love all their fans, love the place they're performing in, and it's all in the oh-so obvious rehearsed script. You should have known this by now; the screen containing their script was right next to you on the floor.

But for the four years you've waited, it was real. And for those two hours or so, you wanted it to be true. Instead, it turned out to be a fucking lie. You peered through the magician's hat and instead of finding a rabbit, there was nothing at all.

The only thing left is a heart that's been completely hollowed out.

—————

Suddenly, everything feels louder, more oppressive. More tilting than the floor you'd been standing on for hours.

The walk out of the venue feels like a slow-moving procession to your fandom. Instead of leaving in joy like everyone else, you're walking away defeated and dejected. Your shoulders are slouched, head dipped to avoid human contact, the bag holding your merch barely clinging to your hand. 

You feel alien. Actually, you are.

All around you, people are celebrating. Fans, families, friends moving along in high-spirits, comparing interactions, texting loved ones, sharing pics and fancams that are worth a few hundred likes on social media at the bare minimum. 'Gaeul pointed at my banner!' 'Wonyoung blew me a kiss!' 'Rei laughed at my sign!' 'Liz took a selfie with me!' 'Leeseo completed my heart!' 'Yujin danced Genie for me—'

Every win is a personal attack; every smile and laugh is an insult. Nevertheless, you quietly soldier on. 

Outside, lampposts guide your way around the mostly lifeless parking lot. The crowd behind you becomes dark blots the further you get away: some hail cabs, others leaving in organized carpools, the rest walking to nearby hotels—same as you. The noise fades the deeper you go. It's here, when the only thing you can hear is the crunch of gravel on the floor, is where you finally feel well and truly alone. Walking by your lonesome in this empty night, it's as if you're returning to the dark, empty void where you belong.

At the outer edges of the car park, you come across a dumpster. One side of the lid is open, reeking of God knows what kind of trash. You lift your plastic bag containing evidence of tonight's wreck: half a dozen unopened photocard packs, a white tour shirt and matching gray hoodie, a handmade sign you spent countless tries perfecting and fucking up, quirked up with each member's distinct personalities, aesthetic preferences, and MINIVE stickers, and finally, the group's lightstick dimmed out.

And much like an alcoholic waking up after a hangover, you begin questioning your life choices.

I should have just followed this group instead. Should have never gotten into K-pop. Should have just stayed home. Wasted all that time, effort, and money to be treated like shit. Could have made my money back if I just sold my ticket, maybe more in the secondary market. Some desperate fuck would have paid for it—

Four years of support. Of waiting. Of hoping. For nothing.

You flinch just remembering. It's in vivid detail: how they glossed over you, how their gazes flicked over and right past you, as if they had actual malicious intent. How they must have perceived you. Like they knew you were there, somehow, and actively chose to avoid you like you were carrying the plague. It doesn't make sense, because tonight never did. 

Your hands are trembling uncontrollably. You're unknowingly shedding tears that didn't escape the first time. The heart has finally understood, and is now telling you this: they hate you. They don't love you like that. Anger has taken grief's place.

So you crumple the bag. Crushing all its contents, but they don't break—not quite. The clothes are wrinkled. The packs are still mostly in place, hardly scratched, and the sign is partially bent, but mostly intact. 

God, you just want to smash it against the dumpster now out of sheer frustration.

Perhaps this is a sign of mercy. That one man's trash is, indeed, another man's treasure. Fine.

So you let your hand hover over the opened side of the bin. Let go.

But you're hesitating, unwilling to pull the trigger, even as your fingers loosen their grip. Letting go means you're done with this life for good. And you're not quite sure what will happen after that.

Suddenly, your breath hitches. Your brain registers something: a touch. Behind you. On your shoulder.

So you stop. 

Turning around slowly, you're expecting venue security ordering you to stop loitering. You'll say 'Just a moment, I'll leave shortly,' or some fan asking about your experience, probably flexing their interaction and pretending to commiserate when they just want to inflate their ego or something. No amount of excuses can hide the pained look on your face. And you'll quietly tolerate it, because you don't want to ruin your night any further by affecting others who are there for themselves too.

With a heavy sigh, you're glancing up from the ground, expecting the inevitable. Your lips are already moving, mumbling some made-up alibi: "Sorry, I was just—"

The words die just as suddenly as they come. It isn't security nor a random fan, none of that: it's much, much worse.

Six distinct figures are standing there, lined up in their usual position from left to right, several breaths away, under the same streetlamp as you. No barriers, no staff keeping you apart; just some K-pop idols fresh off a concert, wearing the same clothes from the same crime scene where they broke you.

Nothing about tonight makes any goddamn sense anymore. The image is difficult to comprehend, but you're staring wide-eyed: why on God's green earth is IVE outside at an empty parking lot. You saw them leave with your own two eyes. How they glossed over you at every single opportunity. How they would narrowly avoid making direct contact, as if you were declared persona non grata. And now, they're here. Actually looking at you. Without obstructions.

Yujin's a step closer compared to the others, but their eyes all share the same expression: concern, regret, apologetic. Her smile is there; not the stage-friendly, upbeat grin that makes her Popo, but a fraction: willfully restrained, delicate.She's twiddling her thumbs, casting her gaze down to the ground, trying to find the appropriate words to say. And when she does, it comes out just as small as her lips:

"Hi. We didn't mean to startle you."

It doesn't quite register; not at all. Seeing them is one thing, but hearing Yujin herself actually talking to you—after seemingly ghosting you the entire night, after you've tried so hard to get their attention, even just one member—is another.

"We didn't realize—" Rei starts. She's got her hands behind her back, also tilting her eyes down to the pavement, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. Her usual energy is equally as dialed down as Yujin's smile, inhibited to something safer, more intimate. "We were waving goodbye, and then I turned to my left, and I saw someone crying. I thought I was just tired, or that it was tears of joy, but I saw you, crumpled at the barricade, and I knew something was wrong."

"Yes," Leeseo interjects. Her smile beams, but it lacks her usual energy, reading the room—or space, in this case. "I also saw you too. Or at least I thought I did. I didn't realize—we missed you."

"But by then, it was already late. Staff told us to keep moving, and we couldn't come back to you," Gaeul finishes. 

Their voices are quiet. Too quiet. The entire time you saw them, you'd watched them remain steady and persistent through exhaustion and one tiring choreography after another. Now, they feel—human.

Liz doesn't say a word; rather, she gently places both her hands close to heart, eyes closed, quietly shedding a tear, letting it fall down her cheek. And Wonyoung, being, well—Wonyoung—softly nods along in agreement, her hands folded together, keeping her gaze on you. 

As one unified group, they lean forward. And with one shared voice, they lower their heads.

"We're sorry."

Formally. Ninety degrees. Their hair fully blocking their faces. The kind reserved for when words aren't enough to atone for a grave mistake.

When they straighten up, Yujin's the one speaking on their behalf. "I know this seems like a lot to take in, but" —she pauses. Swallows her throat, closes her eyes for a flash before looking you in the eye again— "We see you now. We're here. And we are so, so sorry."

And to be quite honest, you don't know how to react. Because you've experienced more lifetimes within the last three hours compared to every other day you've been living on this earth until now. Tonight has thrust you into one roller coaster after another. It's a miracle you haven't thrown up yet, but you'd rather just get off the ride, actually. 

To say that all of this is hard to believe would be an understatement.

"No." The word comes out naturally, inaudible, like you don't want them to hear you now, after you already spent your vocal cords and your lungs screaming their names to high heaven. Instinctively, you're stepping back like a trapped animal, haunted by the ghosts you tried calling out to no avail. "This isn't" —you say, hoarse and worn, flinching and wincing in light pain as your shoulder bumps the closed lid of the dumpster you were ready to toss your life into— "You're not—"

"We are," Rei gently interjects. She takes a step forward, joining Yujin. The girls maintain a respectful distance, even as you stagger away. "This is real.We're real."

"No, no. You can't make me believe." You're smiling, but it's deranged. Laughing a little, too. Not because you're happy to see them, but rather the utter insanity of this situation and everything leading up to this moment. "This has to be some kind of joke."

You're scanning your surroundings now, waving your arms around like you've caught their scheme: hidden cameras, boom mics, skeleton production staff, expecting the rug pull that you're not actually talking to IVE at all. Or at least, the same idols you've seen on stage and on screen. "Alright, you got me guys. I enjoyed the prank, but you can stop now."

"It's really just us," Gaeul insists. She looks remorseful. The way she constantly assesses you,then flickers away when you meet her gaze halfway, uncomfortable watching you acting lost. Or she's sorry for herself. How they made you like this. You don't fucking know anymore. "No cameras. No staff. This is just—us."

"Sure," you snicker, and your reply comes out a little higher, a tinge more angry than intended. The idea is just ridiculous, even for your own delusions, and you explain it best: "because why would any K-pop group be looking for some random fan at 10 in the evening after finishing a concert when they should be flying out now. Is that right?"

Leeseo flinches slightly. Almost imperceptible, but you catch it because Wonyoung's right there to hold her while she's trembling. And through the seeming hurt and a shed tear, she manages to speak steadily: "We—we ran out. Our manager said no. They said we were in a hurry and needed to go. But we insisted otherwise. Just for you," she sniffles. "You were—"

"Shattered," Liz completes, facing her despondent member, sharing in her pain. "You looked really, really sad."

You don't bother denying. God, you weren't even trying to hide the fact you looked absolutely destroyed. It's one of the few times where being alone actually helped; every other fan was too busy celebrating their interactions to notice you falling apart, and they saw through that.

"But why? Why here? Why now?" You find your voice somehow, teetering between confusion and anger, and you're not holding back. It doesn't matter you're shouting at the very idols you loved so dearly; there's only pain, despair, and an innate urge to validate your feelings. "I was there. Soundcheck. The concert. The send-off. Three different opportunities where you could have seen me. Even just once. But you didn't. You—"

"We messed up. We know," Yujin interrupts, sounding smaller than before. It's genuine pain, taken from a place that feels sincere, like you directly took a shot to their heart. "But we did see you. You were front row, closest to the main stage. And at the corner during send-off. You were holding a sign. It—it's just—"

"—overwhelming," Rei completes her member's sentence as Yujin sputters. You've never seen her look this deflated, this—downtrodden. Same for the other members. "We try. There's so many of you, but we try our best to reach you all. We know how much you give to supporting us, and we do our best to give that love back. But sometimes" —her gaze flickers to the floor, to the girls, their hearts and minds moving as one— "people slip through the cracks. Sometimes we miss them, and believe me when I say: it pains all of us. Staff tells us to keep moving, and we try to stay and accommodate you all for as long as we can. It happens. But it doesn't mean we love them any less. It's just" —she sighs— "a hard lesson for us to do better next time."

Honesty stings. As painful as it sounds to hear, and even with the sincerity emanating from their tone, some part of you feels like this is rehearsed. Like they've had this situation happen before. Fanservicey bullshit to make everyone feel included, somehow, even when the evidence is right there. 

"But," Wonyoung starts, careful to make sure each word is chosen deliberately and carried by the wind. She's placed Leeseo in Liz's care and steps forward slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. Stopping inches from you, her mole's now visible, her hands a touch away. "it's never personal. I swear, we never meant to ignore you intentionally." 

You're shaking your head, firmly in denial. Only someone who willingly ignored you would make such a pathetic, lazy excuse.

"You don't have to believe what we say, nor do you have to forgive us," adds Gaeul. She's stepping forward too, sharing the same distance from you as Yujin and Rei. "But we just needed to come here and apologize. To you. Personally."

You can't stress this enough: nothing makes any fucking sense anymore.

"But—why me?" you argue. You're losing your mind, your brain going around in circles. "You had other fans. They probably got ignored too. Fans who actually deserve—"

"You were alone," says Yujin, and the world comes to a full stop. It's delivered quietly, just like every other word, but the impact is far more devastating. And the reason is right there, standing mere inches away from you: the very people that made you feel like you belonged somewhere, now outwardly expressing your inner feelings. "Everyone was with friends or family, or if they were crying, it was tears of joy. But you—"

She pauses. Releases a held breath that feels heavier than it should. And when she opens her mouth again, a tear happens to escape her eye. "You were walking like you had nowhere to go. Like you had nothing left."

So when you were contemplating what would happen next had you thrown everything in that dumpster, you really meant it. They were your everything, your purpose. They made you feel special without ever being aware of your existence. And when they looked past you like you were air, the foundation of your life was shaken to its very core. 

They saw you as nothing. Fuck, you were nothing. And that is more heartbreaking than any relationship.

The tears follow naturally. Again. Really, what else can you do other than fall apart. Of course you wanted them to see you—what fan wouldn't want their favorite idols to notice them—but not like this. You, at your lowest, shaking uncontrollably, drowning in your own guilt and shame, overwhelmed by so much. Meanwhile, they're standing there, apologizing for something that's not even their fault. 

This should have been a joyous moment, something you can happily tell your friends over and over and remember for a lifetime; now you just feel like shit for making them go out this far for something that, by all accounts, is an accident. They have better things to do and places to be, but no: they're right there, trying to mend a broken heart—your heart—and you feel all the worse for it. You're so caught up in your own grief that you don't realize that the bag containing their essence—the very bag you were intending to throw away—slips from your clasp, clattering to the ground. 

Liz takes a step forward. Suddenly stops. She's held back by Yujin and Gaeul, and she immediately understands. Leeseo doesn't; she rushes past everyone, ignoring the panicked shouts of the other members. Crouches down and picks up your bag off the pavement. Carefully brushing away the dust and gravel, she holds it delicately like a prized treasure, but her gaze snags on your lightstick, completely dimmed, and turns it back on. 

Leeseo waves it around with one hand, holding your bag on her free shoulder. She's copying the way you were cheering for them hours ago. The tears have mostly dried out. Only wet tracks remain in its wake, no more noise when you sniffle; just a deep, aching hollowness burying itself deep within your heart. And when you see them through tear-stricken eyes, they're a little too close for comfort, even though they're mostly looking after their youngest. A little too intrusive, like you're an ant being studied under their magnifying glass, and you're burning up.

"It's okay," she reassures you, holding it out for you to reach. "We're here. It'll be—"

"It's fine," you suggest, even though you damn well don't believe yourself. You're swiping your eyes with the back of your hand, brushing aside the last of your tears that have left you vulnerable. "I'm fine. I'm just—"

Laughter comes naturally. Not the hearty, whimsical kind, but the broken, forced type that you turn to whenever you need to cope with something painful. "You said it yourself. I was in the front row. Spent the last few years of my life supporting the only people I loved almost as much as my family. Spent so much of my time and money on you that my friends think I'm crazy" —you're shaking your head— "and I wouldn't care because you mean that much to me. You have no idea the countless nights I cried because you'd announce a show, or some event, or some new pop-up, we couldn't even have that—that you were something I thought was impossible. Until tonight.

You huff, shaking your head, looking unhinged because even talking feels like a gauntlet in and of itself: "All I wanted was just a glance. I didn't even want anything like a selfie or a heart anymore; I stopped trying the moment you wanted to ignore me. A sliver of eye contact" —you motion with your fingers— "that's all I wanted. And you couldn't even give me that. And now you're here, apologizing in front of the dumpster like that's gonna make everything better."

Almost immediately, every member's face cracks, and they bow their heads, instinctively, unable to look at you. They're hurt. Broken. Not because you hate them, but of the realization of just how much you've dedicated yourself to them, only to be treated like nothing, even if it was unintentional. They simply nod, accepting the harsh, scathing truth, because that's exactly what happened: they broke you.

"You're right," says Yujin, still kowtowing, almost muffling herself. "Nothing can make it better. Nothing we can do can change what happened. But we're so, so sorry."

The others bow in agreement with her, unanimous.

When you look up and see them like this: frail, fragile, hurt—something changes again. Maybe you went a little too far.Maybe you shouldn't have said that. At the end of the day, you're just a fan, and idols are still human. There's still boundaries, ones you've overstepped on. This feels like a violation.

You've exhausted your heart to the point where you can only feel empty. No more tears, no more anger. Just cold, unforgiving exhaustion.

"I'm sorry," you start again, letting out a sigh that feels forced out from the depths of your lungs. "I just—I don't know what to believe anymore, and—"

"We know," says Rei, quietly interjecting, slightly tilting her gaze up to meet you. When she talks, there's a bit of her sassy wit coming out: "And I know that tonight's been too much. Not just for you, but us too. Mostly you. I mean, where do we even start—"

Somehow, in the midst of all this tension, her little quip manages to make your lips quirk. Just a tad, but that's enough. That's Naoi Rei for you.

And the girls catch on. The space between you begins to soften to something lighter. 

Leeseo holds out the lightstick again, barely scratched, still glowing. You don't reach for it; don't bother trying. It feels like sacrilege to take it back after your attempt at severing that connection. It's theirs now rather than your own.

"I don't know what to make of all this," you remark, because no amount of logic can make heads or tails of what's happening right now. You should have left this all behind. They should have carried on with their lives. Instead, you're both here, in the middle of nowhere, trying to meet halfway. "I was ready to throw this all away. Forget this night ever happened. And then" —you're gesturing at all six members— "you happened."

"It's our fault," says Gaeul, now meeting your gaze once more. "We should have seen you then. Once we were leaving the send-off lounge, we felt something was wrong. And by the time we saw you, you were broken, and we couldn't come back."

"We're not asking you to forgive us," repeats Yujin, stepping forward, her hands folded together. "nor do we want you to pretend it's anything but our fault. We failed you, and we had to apologize. It's simple as that."

No matter how many times they insist, it never really sinks in. You always keep coming back around to blaming yourself.

"But—your schedules," you argue, unable to accept, not for lack of trying, "Don't you have a flight—"

"That can wait," Yujin answers, and for the first time in a while, there's conviction behind her voice. "There will be another flight. There's only one of you. What matters now is that we do this. We do at least one thing right. We make sure you" —she hesitates— "that you get what you wanted. What you deserve."

And to be quite honest, that'll do. Not because you fully believe them—not at all, actually—but rather you'll likely just go back and forth until one side inevitably concedes. You've already spent most of the day in battle: struggling behind long merch queues the length of your weekday rush hour, jostling for barricade like new sneaker drops, visualizing interactions that never happened, fighting inner demons—the list goes on and on.

"Okay," you breathe out, closing your eyes and letting out a deep breath. "Okay."

Leeseo steps forward, shimmies your bag off her shoulder and hands it back alongside your lightstick with a smile. "Please keep these. They belong to you. For next time."

As you take your items back, you can't help but mutter: "There almost wasn't," and it makes her frown.

"I'm sorry we made you feel this way," Leeseo says, reaching for your hand. You let her. Soft, gentle, delicate, like the kind, sweet girl she is on screen. "Just so you know that this is real. We're real. We're not—whatever monsters you think we are."

"I don't think you're monsters," you reply. "I just felt hurt."

"And that makes us monsters," she insists, her eyes twinkling with welled up tears as you stare back. "What kind of idols would ignore one of their innocent fans? Monsters, am I right?"

"Seo—"

"Just let her apologize," Wonyoung gently chimes in, smiling slightly, her head slightly dipped, now holding Leeseo's hand. "The point stands. You tried to get our attention, we looked past you, and you were hurt, so we had to apologize. No need to complicate it any further."

"You don't have to accept our apology," Liz repeats, driving home that point over and over, and she's right behind Leeseo now. "If you wanted to hate us, then that's fair. Your hatred of us is completely justified. But at least we were able to say sorry, and you listened. That's all we can ask from you."

As she finishes speaking, the arena in the distance goes nearly dark. Only a few lights remain, particularly the big white letters spelling out the arena's name. Most of the crowd have dispersed; all that's left is a mostly desolate parking lot and presumably a team of managers and staff searching for their untouchable assets. 

And speaking of—

"You should go," you tell them, ready to say goodbye, expecting the inevitable rug pull any moment now. "I appreciate that you did this and all, but—"

"We promised ourselves that we'd find you and do it right. They can wait. You can't," says Yujin, and she's looking at the others, and they're all in complete agreement. She's smiling gently when she adds, "We can't change what happened back there, but we can make it up for you. If you want."

The spark that died in that venue flickers back to life. Your brows rise. You're hoping once again. Reckless, youthful hope. But there's always that underlying feeling, a lurch in your heart that's afraid there's something waiting around the corner ready to break it again. 

"Are you sure?" you ask, hesitant, but secretly hoping again, just a little. "I—I don't wanna—"

"None of it—none of this—is your fault," Gaeul interrupts, gesturing around the small circle under the lamp post including you, firm but gentle. "Don't blame yourself for our mistakes." 

"We'll be here," Liz assures you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "As long as you need us. We wanna do this right. If you want us to."

Wonyoung and Leeseo nod their heads in near-perfect harmony.

"And besides, there are better places we can talk in. Other than—I don't know, in front of a dumpster," Rei quips, and it elicits a wave of little, but hearty smiles from the members. "I mean, it is a nice looking dumpster, to be fair."

You can't help but chuckle. Realizing she's broken through, Rei pokes your cheek. "There he is. That's our fan."

Yujin turns her gaze from Rei back to you. "So?"

This should be the easiest 'yes' of your life. They're offering themselves to you on a silver platter; even the most insane person would call you mad to turn down this generational opportunity. But you consider it: the 0.001% that feels like someone running up the score to ruin you so there's some kind of opposition. The trauma is real, still fresh in your mind. You've been through so much from just the last three hours alone. Trust, once broken, is difficult to rebuild. 

And you're thinking as you nod, the most subtle of motions that it almost appears imperceptible, that you might regret this. But you're already moving with them.

"Okay. Let's go somewhere."

No one claps. No one cheers. Even their breaths remain held, like they're walking on holy ground. They just quietly smile with a calm, careful acceptance as they step into formation beside you, away from the dim light of the parking lot and into the complete unknown.

—————

The cafe is closed. 

Of course it is. Tonight is just too good to be true after all.

It's only 10:27 in the evening and yet the whole place—and street for that matter—has already shut down. Your suggestion, a coffee shop across the venue, where you celebrated a fandom cupsleeve event marking the group's arrival in the country hours before the concert, now is just—dead. The commemorative decor is gone; only darkness and chairs stacked upside-down on top of tables and a closed sign hanging behind the entrance door like a middle finger to hope.

Leeseo's sticking her face against the glass like someone's gonna entertain them (nobody's home), while Liz entertains her. "Maybe if we knock on the windows hard enough, someone will open—" 

"I don't know, Seo. The sign says it's closed—"

Meanwhile, the rest—you and the four others you never thought you'd be walking together with—can only smile. But it's wistful, a fleeting moment of levity before reality sets in again.

"We can try somewhere else," Yujin suggests, turning to face you, sounding like it's her fault the café you offered to take to isn't open right now. "There's a nice Chinese restaurant we had dinner in last night—"

"No, no. It's okay," you answer quietly, the words coming out faster than you thought. Shaking your head, regretting the decision to follow them, questioning why you're even here. Why are they still here. "Think all the stores are closed—"

"Look. Over there."  Gaeul breaks the conversation, her gaze directed at a park just across the street. You've been walking for a few blocks, trying to find the few stores that are still open at this ungodly hour, except there's hardly anything left that feels appropriate for the people you're with. Mostly cheap eateries and 24 hour convenience stores. Even worse, the venue is no longer in sight, and you're 100 percent certain the managers are losing their mind, and this is your doing. 

"Quiet, fresh air, plenty of trees and benches to keep us tucked away. Perfect," Rei comments, and she's already moving before any of you can consider other options. The rest follow suit, with Liz yanking Leeseo away from the café windows, and your words of protest die when Yujin gently pushes you along with them.

These last few stretches have been awkward. Quiet. Mostly the girls conversing among themselves in hushed whispers while you're out here being the worst navigator ever. Whenever you check on them, they're just smiling at you, nodding, but their eyes tell you otherwise—something about guilt and regret. Yet they never look as hollow as they were on screen or even during the concert. You wonder what they could possibly be talking about: something about how you've only been crying every five minutes, that they just gotta endure at least a few more minutes before they can finally leave, that they're only doing this because they're idols and they don't want any bad PR—

"This looks nice," says Rei, and you all stop in the middle of a stretch of park road with two benches positioned beside each other, shadowed by an imposing tree, whose leaves gently rustle with the nighttime wind. It's wedged near the main center, you think, the one with a fountain and a statue, but nestled away from the outside world.

They take their seats in the same position they're always in: Rei and Liz around the corners of the benches, Gaeul and Leeseo beside them, respectively, and Wonyoung and Yujin at the center—usually.

Only now there's a conveniently empty slot between Wonyoung and Yujin. A you shaped void. Right in the middle.

Yujin pats her hand down on the unoccupied space. "C'mon. Sit."

It's supposed to be gentle, given how soft she sounds, but with six pairs of eyes staring at you, it feels more of a command. But you follow anyway. You've never felt this self-conscious, this aware of your surroundings and actions. How every little motion feels heavy and weighed with so much at stake. Every little twist, every little muscle—even the way you breathe feels like it's being judged. Even if they're friendly looking.

"Wait," Leeseo suddenly rises from her spot, like an idea came to her. "Ice cream. Let me go get us some ice cream."

"Hold on—" Yujin protests, but Leeseo's already ran off with a hand raised.

"I'll be right back!" she yells out before disappearing from view.

Your stare lingers a minute or so longer than you initially wanted. At the bushes in the distance, at the path she took to run out. All around you, gentle winds sweep away the leaves, brush against the walls, making a light clanging sound. The world here is quiet, peaceful—the type that lends itself to self-reflection. And compared to the tight, suffocating crowds of the concert venue, you feel like you can breathe.

"She's been wanting ice cream the whole day," Rei casually remarks, facing you and reaching out to grab your shoulder. Her smile is warm and fond: not her trademark bubbly grin, not quite, but something a bit more restrained. 

To your right, Wonyoung's kicking her legs while staring up at the night sky. The stars have come out tonight, and you're not referring to the idols surrounding you. One in particular shines brighter than the rest, drawing her complete attention. Liz finds a flower beneath her bench and plucks it, smelling and holding it like something precious. Yujin loops an arm around your shoulder, brushing strands of your hair with her free hand. Gaeul closes her eyes, posture upright, hands elegantly kept together, just soaking in the quiet atmosphere. Rei tries to make a silly joke, but you can only smile while she laughs at herself.

No one says a word. They let you stay quiet. You become something they look after: assessing, constantly checking every quirk of your lip, every twitch of your eyes, constantly assuring you that their time is yours, that this is yourmoment. 

In all your time following them, you've known them only as idols. Performers. Role models. People who could do no wrong. Yet here they are, appreciating all the little things, like they've been given permission to stop and smell the sights, even if only for a few precious minutes.

Everything about tonight—from the show, to the dumpster, now this—leaves your head spinning. Not even your dreams were this—vivid.

"You alright?" Yujin asks, and you don't wanna tell them how you feel. Even if its valid.

"I don't know," you ultimately admit, looking down, feeling everything about you is tacky and shameful in their presence. "This—all feels like a dream. Or a hallucination. And if it is, I don't wanna snap out of it. I don't wanna wake up. Not now. Maybe never."

"But this is real," Liz replies, cupping your face. "You just have to believe."

No matter what they say, you just can't. There's always that sinking feeling, the inevitability in the back of your mind: maybe you're just tired and imagining all this, or they'll disintegrate into dust, or maybe the staff will finally come and force them away. Any second now, you'd be taken back to reality and life moves on as normal—

"I'm back!" Leeseo shouts as she returns with a plastic bag flailing on her wrist. She's taking her sweet time, cheeks flushed pink, walking instead of rushing when she initially left. "They had exactly six flavors, so one of you has to share." Her gaze tilts over to you. "You don't mind, right?"

You nod, accepting without resistance.

One by one, she pulls out different colored packaged ice cream bars for each member, handing them left to right: strawberry for Rei, chocolate for Gaeul, pistachio for Yujin, mint chocolate for Wonyoung, vanilla for Liz, and finally, coffee for herself. 

She saves you for last, seated tensely in the center. It's chocolate, the same flavor as Gaeul. 

"I didn't know what your favorite flavor was, but everyone likes chocolate," she says with that sweet smile, pressing it into your hand, and you just can't deny her at all, even with guilt wracking your brain. 

You unwrap the bar from its packaging, but you don't eat. Even when your stomach groans in protest, you just let it slowly trickle on your fingers and drip on the floor. Holding it feels like it's weighed with a lifetime of burdens. And it's not that you don't hate chocolate (for reference, your favorite is actually mango), but more just the absurdity of this whole damn thing. 

IVE did their part: perform for two or so hours, two and a half if you count soundcheck. Finally, send-off that's at least 10 minutes long. Then they have the audacity to break whatever idol protocol and schedule they have just to chase you down, apologize, walk with you, and now even share ice cream in the middle of an empty park after a concert when it's almost midnight. You can never ask for anything ever again. 

Someone's getting fired, you're completely certain. Fuck it, half the staff is getting sacked when they return to Korea. And knowing you're responsible for that makes you feel all the worse. They didn't have to go that far to find just onefan out of thousands, but also, this is far beyond your wildest dreams. Both sides can be true.

"Something wrong?" Yujin snaps you from your daze, and you instinctively look the other way before turning to her. The others have finished their ice cream bars, mostly, (Wonyoung's still halfway through hers) and yours is the only one that's completely untouched. "Come on. You must be hungry after all that waiting and cheering."

Leeseo frowns. "Don't like chocolate?" she asks, like you're judging her for the poor choice of flavor. 

With just one single, concerned glance, you concede. You take your first bite, let the lukewarmness of the treat rest between your teeth, and for the first time in a while, maybe, just maybe, things might not be bad after all.

"Good?" Leeseo asks now, leaning her head forward, her smiling gradually returning as you gobble through the snack. "Mom told me ice cream always makes you feel better."

You give her a nod and a little smile, one that feels reminiscent of a ray of light peeking in the midst of a cloudy day. 

She's elated. Her idea worked. But she's not celebrating, not quite. You're getting somewhere, and that's what matters.

"It's so pretty," Wonyoung suddenly remarks, and everyone turns their attention to her. She's transfixed on the stars above still, watching the same one in the sky shining brighter than the rest. "So lovely. Haven't seen them out in so long."

"But it's always there," you casually remark.

"I know. We don't ever see them much these days, but it's a nice reminder that they are always there for us, even if we aren't."

Your mouth twists, understanding but tired to get the full context. They hardly ever see the night sky given their schedules and commitments. They don't have room to breathe. Giving them room like this—to slow down, to pause—is something rare to them.

Leeseo takes back the wrappers and popsicles into the plastic bag, not asking permission. Doesn't need to. 

No one speaks. Neither do you. You soak in the gentle breeze, the slow passage of time, the way the world stops spinning and just—breathe. For a moment, you're all alone again. Reduced to your own thoughts with nothing except what's in your head, but it feels clearer now. Your chest feels lighter. Everything's gonna be fine. 

Then you feel the nudge on your shoulder and the echo of someone's throat clearing.

"Look," Yujin starts, and the others straightens up imperceptibly, turning their attention on you. "We should apologize. Properly. For what happened."

Really, they shouldn't. It's an accident, it happens. They've done their part as performers. Meanwhile, you have nothing. You're not entitled to anything from them.

So you vocalize it. "You don't have to—"

"We know," Rei interrupts. "We know we don't have to. But we want to. Need to."

And you just concede because you'll listen anyway. Or they'll never stop insisting. Both.

Gaeul nods in agreement. "Something was up when we left. It felt" —she furrows her brows— "off. It felt like we were missing something. Or in this case, someone. We didn't realize that was you until we finally looked around."

"But it was too late," Liz adds, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "We were already being ushered off, and we couldn't argue with the staff. We couldn't just—turn back. So we have no one to blame but ourselves."

Leeseo squints her eyes. Her gaze shifts to something deeper, more alert, the kind that looks mature and foreign for someone of her age. "I was thinking about the people in the front, at the barricade. I thought I reached everyone. Gave them a heart, a hi-five, anything to make sure I saw them. And I did see you, near the corner, but" —she pinches the bridge of nose with her fingers, trying to think of—an excuse maybe— "I just didn't. I never tried. And I'm sorry."

"Me too," Wonyoung says, inching herself a little closer to you on the bench. "I saw your sign. Flashes of it, but not the whole thing. And staff were pressuring us to move quicker, so we did. We were so focused on staying on track that we forgot about you. I shouldn't have. It's my fault."

"It's on all of us," Rei corrects, reaching over to place a hand on your knee. "We ignored you. Doesn't matter if it was intentional or not, you were hurt because of us. You didn't do anything wrong; actually, you did everything right. We simply just—messed up and forgot about you."

Every apology feels like another stake driven to your heart. A reminder of the cruel reality that even trying your best simply isn't enough. 

"You don't have to," you insist again, shaking your head lightly, looking like you're the one committing the crime by making them share this openly. "I'm just one fan. Out of hundreds. Thousands. I know you can't see everyone. It happens. But—"

"But what?" Gaeul asks, gentle and disarming, and you feel all the more shameful, like you're being interrogated, no matter how delicate they sound.

You sigh. Rei's hand lingers on your knee as you stare down on the park pavement. Your bag containing tonight's memories is still there between your legs. You just wanna curl up and hide away from the world. From them. Let all this pain and despair bubble within. No one cares. They don't have to know everything. Your feelings are mostly invalid.

"We won't judge," Yujin says. "Promise. You can tell us how you feel, and we'll understand."

The six pairs of concerned eyes don't help convincing you in the slightest. But you admit anyway, because you might as well bring it all to God:

"I just wanted you to see me." Every word sounds like a confession to a priest who's probably gonna condemn you to hell for committing the sin rather than forgiving and acknowledging your fault. "I wanted some kind of recognition. A sign that I mattered to you. That I belonged. Because you—your music—mattered to me. More than anything else."

They let it sink in for a moment, their eyes dawning with new understanding. Then Wonyoung holds out her hands, palms wide open.

"Can we see it?" she asks. "The sign you made for us? What else did you bring?"

Your cheeks burn, but you let out a laugh that's more pained than eager. "It's nothing. I saw what the other fans made. Mine is just—slop compared to what they brought. You don't have to. It's not as meaningful as you think it is. Probably ruined cause I crumpled it anyway, too."

"Don't be like that," she replies, correcting but kind. "Please. We want to see it."

You hesitate, because Lord knows it's true you made your sign with middle school arts and crafts, barely held together by glitter, MINIVE stickers, and prayers. But it's out of the bag anyway and you hand it over alongside a wrinkled letter folded in half, one you never bothered to pull out once as they were seemingly barred from accepting any letters during the send-off.

Wonyoung smoothens out the creases around the letter's edges as the members lean over each other's shoulders to read closely. The sign itself is very simple by design: You Make My Universe Spin written in big text while almost every space is covered in something, whether stickers from their merch or glitter or other colorful things, but they focus on the letter more. You watch the way their brows furrow, how their lips read each word several times over (occasionally audible), examining every little detail meticulously. 

"Thank you," she finally faces you, sounding so saccharine and smiling so sweet it's melting your brain. "You really made all this for us? It's beautiful. Really."

"No—no it isn't." You're deprecating yourself, trying to play off your efforts as nothing but a sham. "It's nothing special," you insinuate, trying to take back the sign and letter but she holds them away from you. "You probably read letters and signs that are more—meaningful than mine."

"But this is your letter, right? Your sign?" Gaeul chimes in, pulling on your arm gently to draw your gaze. "You made it, which it makes quintessentially yours. No one has that. Only you. And that makes it special."

"You don't understand," you're still arguing, because you feel it isn't enough. That what you can do will never be enough. "Everyone else had elaborate setups, funny jokes, stuff that actually made you happy or laugh. Mine's just shit—"

"No." Yujin's denial is firm and stops you clean in your tracks, but her stare is warm. "Stop downplaying yourself. It's amazing. The fact you went out of your way to make these says a lot. We see the effort. You’re amazing."

"Yes," Leeseo adds, her hand now intertwined with yours. "We keep these in our dorm. Sometimes we read them whenever we're tired or when we feel like we're lacking. And then we remind ourselves that you exist," she says, pertaining to the fandom at large, one they believe you have a place in, "and it gives us motivation to keep pushing. Because of you."

You were already crying halfway through Yujin's response. There's no point trying to fight the tears now. So they come gushing down, and everything—the last five years—along with it. Wipe them away with your hand, they still keep coming.

"I'm sorry," you sob out, "I'm so, so sorry. You didn't—you didn't have to do this. You deserve so much better than to talk to a crying fan because he thought he was entitled. You should be on that plane by now. You have other schedules, and instead of resting, I'm just wasting your time—"

"Stop."

The voice isn't quite clear; you're too caught up in your own spiraling feelings to stop, and you're still crying a river, hiding your face to notice who—

But then you feel them pulling your arms away from your face and into a hug. Yujin. Through tear-stricken eyes, it's her who's calling to you.

"Please stop. None of that is true. None of what you said is true."

You're crying into her shoulder now, into the fabric of her shirt. She loosens you from her ironclad grip, leaving just enough to grant you space should you want to fully pull back. 

And you do pull away, but not completely; you willingly remain enveloped in her embrace, but there's more distance now, to the point where your gazes are meeting halfway. Yours, lachrymose and inconsolable, while hers is tender and warm.

"Please. Stop apologizing for nothing," she says gently, driving the point home that this isn't your fault, and you still don't quite believe it. You're shaking your head in denial out of instinct. "Us ignoring you—that's on us. Not on you. Never you."

"But—"

"Stop. Please stop." Yujin cuts in sharply again, but there's no malice behind it. Her hands are resting on your shoulders now, lightly shaking you from your spiral, her smile a calming reassurance. "You're not thinking straight. Take a moment. Breathe." 

Once isn't enough; even they know. Each inhale and exhale is a shudder that shudders deep through your bones. She smiles, asks if you feel any better, and you're better off saying nothing than admitting it hasn't helped in the slightest. They understand anyway.

"Just listen to us, okay? Please let us talk to you."

Almost indiscernibly, you nod. And she does too.

"Listen to me. We're gonna say this once, and I want you to hear every word we say."

A pause. To let you breathe. To let you prepare. Then she continues talking.

"You have nothing to apologize for, okay? Nothing. You went to our concert, brought a sign for us to see, a letter you wanted us to read, and who knows what else. You were expectant, like everyone else in that room," she says, pertaining to the send-off lounge, to all the people in the VIP section. "But you didn't get anything, and you were upset. That's normal. That's human."

You're already protesting, mouth half opened, but Yujin raises a finger, so you stop again.

"What happened back there—was our fault. Full stop," she continues. She lets out a sigh, followed by a shaky breath. "Our responsibility as idols is to make you feel seen. To make you feel like you belong. And we failed on that end. We failed you."

The other girls quietly affirm her. Meanwhile, you still have a million reasons as to why you don't deserve this much care and forgiveness.

"I—I still made you come out here," you insist, sniffling, wiping the tracks of tears down your face. "when you should be resting. I made you leave your van. Made you run out without staff in public. Delayed your schedules because I couldn't handle being ignored—"

"Which was our choice," Gaeul chimes in, pulling your hand away from your teary eye. "We knew we hurt you, and regardless of what staff wanted to tell us, we had to make it right."

"But that makes me entitled, does it not?" you argue now, and it sounds so feeble that you're surprised they haven't left you out of sheer annoyance. "I'm no better than a sasaeng or a stalker. I felt entitled to an interaction because I paid for it. Or that I deserved it for showing up. Because I wanted to feel validated."

They don't answer. Not immediately. Then it's Wonyoung's turn to speak up. She redirects your gaze toward hers.

"No you're not. You're not a stalker or a sasaeng or any of those things. Because you aren't following us to our schedules, or harassing us in our free time, or making demands, or shouting in our faces. In fact, we don't even know you. But you wanted the same experience as everyone else; we simply didn't deliver on our end. And again, that's entirely on us. You did everything right. We wanted to make it up to you, that's why we're here."

"But I am entitled," you insist, fighting an impossible battle just to prove you don't deserve this, somehow. Like you're irredeemable, irreparable. "When I saw the other fans around me getting your interactions and I got nothing, I grew angry. At you. And at them. I believed I deserved it too. I've supported you longer and harder. Since debut. Never missed a comeback. But seeing them rewarded and not me left me so bitter that I almost gave up on you. After supporting you for long, I was ready to drop you on a whim. Because I was entitled."

You see the gradual shift in Wonyoung's expression from sweet to something serious. Here you are, telling the truth straight from your heart, and by the way she assesses your features, it seems like a self-indictment more than a genuine confession, evidence enough to condemn you for good. But her hands find yours, and she holds them softly, as if to cushion you from what she's about to say.

"You're right," she starts, and even though you were waiting for the validation you've been desperately seeking, your chest lurches. Like you're being judged, and the punishment is eternal damnation. She hasn't said anything else, but it already hurts. "That's—not a good thought to have. But—as Yujin said, it's normal. It's normal to feel disappointed, frustrated even, when you give your heart to something you love and get nothing in return. That doesn't make you a bad person; it just means you're human, that's all. And sometimes, the best thing you can do is let those feelings wash over you."

You let out a heavy sigh. You're averting your gaze away from Wonyoung and to the ground, newly ashamed again for having such feelings. "It doesn't change the fact that I ruined my whole night because of it," you mutter, still trying to play victim. "I should have just been content to watch you perform. That's what concerts are for: to enjoy your music, your performances. If I wanted a proper moment with you, I could have just gone to a fansign or did a fancall. I became so obsessed with what I was missing that I never saw everything you were giving me on stage tonight."

Wonyoung lightly shakes her head, and she refuses to let go of your hand, even if you try to pull it away or brush her off. "That's also true," she affirms, and it feels like another shot to an already bleeding heart, another clean cut. "You're right that you should have focused on our performance. That being jealous isn't a good mindset to have. But you're already more aware than most others in your place, so that's something you can work on the next time you see us. And there will be one. Trust me."

God, you might as well be thrown the full book. Death sentence. Lifetime imprisonment without parole. Permanent ban—you name it. Not even the assurance of a probable next time makes you feel any better.

They see the frown on your lips. How you winced at Wonyoung's remark. Every word, no matter how brutally honest, has been spoken in the kindest, sincerest tone possible, and that's probably why it hits harder: it feels like a stern talking from your disappointed mother or parent figure, even though you're not that far off in age.

She's not finished yet. Her hands are still intertwined with yours. "Hey. Look at me."

You try; it feels like staring into an angel far beyond comprehension for your frail eyes. So you just—don't. You don't deserve her. You don't deserve IVE.

But she tilts your face back to her gently, however letting you look anywhere you please, just as long as she's in your sight. "It doesn't matter, you know. Even if I didn't call you out, or if you had focused entirely on our performances. At the end of the day, we still didn't see you. We should have seen you. We should have given you just as much love as everyone else, and we couldn't deliver on that. That's something we take pride in as idols—to make you feel like you belong and loved—and we can't even do that for one fan. And you're right to feel hurt because we did that. You have every right to feel betrayed. You have every right to hate us."

"We're not saying it to make you feel better, or to make excuses," Rei adds. "We're telling you this because your feelings matter. You matter. And regardless of what you've told us, you're still a fan. We saw how much you cared, how you gave your heart freely to us, and we couldn't give it the love it rightfully deserved. And for that, we are so sorry."

Again, the tears just keep coming, even when you think you've completely run yourself dry. You were already in the process of breaking down as Wonyoung was talking about how they should have seen you, and even when they themselves admitted they were responsible for their own fuck up, you still feel like it's your burden for putting them in this position in the first place. It's a selfish thing to keep idols hostage, whether willingly or unwillingly.

"I don't deserve this—" you mutter out, freely crying as you don't realize the members closing in to wrap you in their collective warmth. Leeseo softly presses a handkerchief on your nose. Yujin loops an arm on your shoulder again. Wonyoung keeps your hands steady. Liz wraps an arm on your other shoulder. Rei straight up hugs you, with Gaeul and Yujin as fluffy collateral. And Gaeul presses her head against the shoulder where Liz's arm rests. "I—was almost ready to hate you. I almost threw everything away because of tonight. I—"

"We know," Wonyoung chimes in, softly shaking her head. "You have every right to hate us. Even after tonight."

"Your feelings are perfectly valid," Yujin adds. "Hate us. Be upset. Curse us if you want. Lash out at us if you have to. We deserve it. We deserve everything coming our way after what we did to you."

At the end of the day, this is simply not the kind of person you are. Chalk it up to fear or cowardice, you can't be angry forever.

"I can't," you manage between sobs, crying on your shirt because you're suddenly self-conscious and staining their clothes with your tears feels like a cardinal sin. "I can never really hate you, even if I wanted to. Not when you've been my light for so long. That's all what I really wanted: to get close you, my light, and then it hated me back. And even when I was so close to giving up, I remembered how your songs and personalities kept me going. You were there when I felt like there was nothing to look forward to anymore. I was so close to" —you hesitate, but you've already poured out your heart— "ending things, but you made me feel like I can live another day. I just wanted to thank you for all that. That opportunity never came. But I can never hate you after everything you've done for me."

They've been gentle with you the entire time, steady and composed through every moment you've fallen apart. But now, with your admission, they finally open up too. Small, gentle tears, but they're sobbing nonetheless. The dam has finally burst. 

You're drowning deep in your sorrows to notice how tightly they wrap you. Holding you like they're crushing the very embodiment of sadness running through your body. At some point, you cry into Yujin's shirt instead of yours, but she doesn't mind in the slightest. Nobody does. Your tears do all the talking. They just cuddle up close, keeping you warm, letting you pour all that pent-up emotion out. No one tracks how long it takes; even when the droplets are just tracks, the sobs are sniffles, and your anguish is nothing but background music to the city still awake this late in the night, they stay.

And when you finally come to your senses and they find your eyes red from excessive crying, Wonyoung gently wipes it clean with the handkerchief Leeseo offered. The trembling gradually stops; your breath stabilizes, and your chest feels lighter, somehow.

The girls let you gather yourself for a moment. Gentle rubs of your head, your arm, little reassuring smiles. They don't push, don't force it, just let you process everything at your own pace. It's still not enough, not really. You're gonna look back on this 10, 20, even 50 years from now, when they feel like a relic lost to time and feel the same level of awe and disbelief you had when it happened, and everyone's gonna think you're sharing some silly story that sounds like a telltale sign for Alzheimer's, but you've seen it with your own two eyes: they were right there. With you.

"Better?" Yujin gently asks, and it sounds like you're being asked about the meaning of life.

"Kind of," you answer, and it's only half-true: you're certainly in a better place now compared to an hour ago, but these things just don't die within days, let alone overnight. When you return to normal life, it'll be as if you've stepped into a whole new dimension, where everything is mostly the same, except you aren't. 

"That's better than nothing," she says, caressing your cheek. "We'll take it."

Their nerves refuse to relax still. Always careful around the edges, tiptoeing on the delicate, fragile core of your heart, ready to catch you when you fall. 

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," you mutter, shaking your head. "I wish we met in a better place, you know. Like at a fansign or maybe you saw me during the concert and I made you laugh or smile or something similar. Not you having to comfort me in a park letting me cry on your shoulder for God knows how long—"

Gaeul pulls you in for a loose hug, brushing your head and temple. "We're here now, that's what matters. We chose to be here. It's never your fault, remember? You didn't do anything but be present like everyone else and be honest, and what you've shown us says a lot about the kind of person you are."

"But I don't deserve" —you argue, sniffling— "I don't deserve this—I was ready to throw you away—"

"You absolutely do," Liz cuts in, her voice cracking slightly at the last word, holding your hand now. "You could have said no. At the parking lot. When we offered our apologies, when we asked if you wanted to walk with us" —she stifles a sob too— "you could have said no. You could have thrown our merch, yelled at us, told us to go away, posted a hit piece online about how we hate our fans. But you didn't. You gave us a second chance."

"That's true," Leeseo adds, pressing the handkerchief on your nose. "You walked with us. Let us share ice cream with you. And you were honest about everything, including your own feelings. That's grace."

"I don't feel gracious," you insist now, because you're still looking for an excuse to feel like you don't deserve this love being freely gifted to you. "I feel pathetic. I mean, I'm a grown man crying over K-pop idols because they didn't notice me. Do you know how stupid that sounds?"

Yujin simply smiles wider. "That sounds like someone who cares so passionately about the people he loves. And there's nothing wrong with that."

"Right," Rei says. "I'd be concerned if you just liked us cause we were only eye candy for you. Or that you only like us because you want to use our achievements or our talent to put down other groups."

"That has nothing to do with him," Gaeul interjects. "Read the room."

"I'm just saying!" she lightly fires back, shrugging and causing you to chuckle a little. 

The others immediately catch on. "There," Wonyoung points out your tiny, fragile grin. "We were looking for you. That smile. It looks natural on you."

You immediately look away, cheeks flushed a fresh pink. "I can't," you laugh, small and awkward, "I still think I don't deserve this—"

"Stop." Yujin tries to be straightforward. "You deserve—"

"I just can't," you maintain, because you're tired of being silent. "There's more deserving people who should be here instead of me. Prettier, richer, more" —the word dies as you struggle to find the missing piece— "stable—"

"And?" Wonyoung raises her brow, perplexed by your argument, like the very concept is ludicrous and brain-dead. "None of that matters to us. You're our Dive. That's more than enough."

"We take care of all our Dives," Yujin says, one hand on your shoulder and the other constantly tracing your hair and your cheek. "Whether you're a debut fan or just starting since yesterday, whether you spent thousands on us or you only stream our music, and whether you've seen us already or this is your first time. You're all the same in our eyes. All equally deserving of our full love and attention."

"But you especially," Wonyoung finishes. "Because you were hurting and we hurt you."

Even if they actively probed your brain and rewired it so that you believe them with a 100% certainty, you just can't. It's the kind of doubt that religion spits out and negatively affects the people around you.

So you go back to those old ways, those old beliefs. "I don't know how to believe you," and you're crying again, because your heart is made of nothing but unshed tears and utter depression: "I can't—I don't think I—"

"Then let us be the ones who decide." Yujin pulls you flush for another hug, and the others join in too. She looks at each and every single member, one by one, and they nod. Tender and sincere that it finally, finally feels like validation. "And we've decided you deserve this. You deserve so much for giving your heart to us."

"I—I'm not—I don't—"

"Shhh." She insists, so gentle and utterly disarming that whatever fight left in your spirit finally concedes. "Let us take care of you. Just for a little while."

Little by little, the girls rebuild your heart. Not with bricks and mortar, but with warmth and tenderness. Arms loop and enclose around you. Whispered praises in your ear that sound like comfort. For the first time, it feels like you're finally home.

Eventually, the shaky breaths completely fade. All the tears have been shed for a while now. And even the hollowness doesn't feel as bottomless as it used to. It's all because of them: their gentle hearts, their small reassurances, their sincere little gestures. Tonight didn't give you what you wanted; it provided exactly what you needed.

But time stops for no one. They gently disentangle themselves and sit up on the bench, but their gazes never depart. It's been quiet. A little too quiet. One glance and they see you: eyes puffy, still sniffling just a tad, but normal. Mostly normal. Like the very clinical definition of fine.

"So," Rei starts, reaching for the phone in her purse. "we should take some pictures."

"Huh?" you blurt out instinctively, tilting your head in the opposite direction, forgetting where she'd been seated.

"Duh. Selfies," she repeats, lightly mocking like you were supposed to know the memo. She's already held her phone up, perfect angles and all, with the other members already engaged in idol mode. "We didn't have any during the send-off, obviously?"

Rei doesn't wait for you to get ready. She snaps the first shot: six perfect stars encircling an unaddressed elephant in the center of the frame. The girls unanimously approve of it; you don't. You look out of place. Like you're the one that's AI-generated in the photo.

"I'm keeping this," she remarks, mischievously smiling as she returns the phone back into her bag. "Now you. Your phone," she asks, holding out a hand waiting for you to give it to her. Less of a request and more a demand.

You scramble to fish it out of your pocket. The screen lights up, and so do their faces when they see themselves as your lockscreen wallpaper. Liz's mouth makes a silent 'aww,' while Wonyoung tightly holds your hand with both of hers. More importantly, the battery is down to 12%. They're flattered, but all you can think about is just how everything is designed to humiliate you, even though they don't try to bring attention to it.

"Don't worry, this will be quick." Rei's angling your phone now, creating magic from a cramped park bench and under washed out streetlamps. You're still tucked in the center with the others surrounding you closely, making you the focus. 

It starts out simple; a group photo together, nothing fancy, at least not yet. You have your hands folded together, eyes still red from all your tears, your smile semi-present but not quite. Meanwhile, they treat it as if it were another magazine shoot: effortless, natural, like muscle memory. Yujin lets her arm loop around your shoulder like it's her favorite place. Wonyoung leans her head close against yours. Gaeul's smile is small but sincere. Liz makes a peace sign, and Leeseo, over your shoulder, nudges you on the back, whispering for you to grin a little bit wider. 

You feel overwhelmed existing, let alone breathing in their space, but the end result is a shot that's both vibrant and timeless. 

"Perfect," Rei remarks, pointing you out in the frame with her finger. You did, in fact, smile a bit wider. "You mind if I air drop this on our phones? As a memento. If you want—"

"Y-sure," you say, turning to her suddenly, because you can't imagine being in any of their galleries, but she's already sharing it with the other members even before you've agreed (and you would have). "But why would—"

"We want to remember this." Rei answers immediately, already shifting your phone in a new angle. The others prepare for the next shot, nudging you into position, lifting eyebrows, telling you to loosen some more or go at your own pace. "We want this to be a reminder for ourselves to see thoroughly next time. That every person, every corner in the crowd matters."

"And also because we made a new friend," Leeseo adds, and your heart melts.

They fill your camera roll with every shot imaginable: group pics, quirky and cool poses, individual photos—ones with you and a member by your side—solo and paired selfies, so much so that it feels like half of today's camera roll comprises more of their pictures here than the concert itself. Every shot makes your phone feel more and more sacred. It doesn't matter that they're essentially framemogging you into oblivion, still teary-eyed and vulnerable while they're goddesses incarnate; you'll take it, keep them for yourself because every photo is a cherished memory for life.

"Alright. Everyone gather up." Yujin's signaling to the others to hover close again, another group shot it looks like. "Last one. Let's make this special. For you."

"Close your eyes." Rei whispers against your ear, and you comply, without hesitation.

You wait. Trying your hardest not to peek. Yujin starts the countdown. The pit in your stomach tells you something's happening, but you don't think much of it. Probably Leeseo making bunny ears over your head or Liz poking your cheek.

"One, two—"

She suddenly goes silent. But you feel them. Everywhere. On your skin.

Lips softly crash all over your face. On your temple, your cheek, their breaths, the little giggles hushed as they lean away just as quickly as the camera flash pings. It happens all at once. You don't recognize who kisses where. But they kissed you anyway. That's what you know.

When you reopen your eyes, Rei's holding up your phone for all to see, and the result: she's pecking the front of your left cheek, Gaeul's lips just right beside hers, and Yujin kissing your forehead with her arms wrapped around your neck. To your right, Wonyoung blesses your temple, Liz parallel with Gaeul on the opposite cheek, and Leeseo stifling her laughter mid-kiss just beneath Liz. One thing's for certain: they're all beaming.

It's blurry. It's shaky. It's a mess. It's perfect.

All of a sudden, you can't breathe. Your face is burning up, but in a good way. You're telling yourself 'I can't believe that actually happened' without uttering a single word, and they're smiling proudly, showing no regret.

Then a phone buzzes. Not yours, the one in Rei's hand, but from somewhere else. Yujin quickly fishes the one from her pocket and reads. The look on her face, the sudden shift from joy to frown on her lips tells you everything.

"Manager," is all she has to say, and reality has come to bring you back down to earth. You can't even be happy for more than five minutes. "We have to go."

"They're waiting at the park entrance," Wonyoung states, bluntly, now also checking her phone. The message is the same for everyone: South Gate. Five minutes. That's it. Maybe less. 

But they see the returning gloom on your face and soothe you with the same little smiles that had been keeping you warm the whole time. 

"Walk with us," Rei suggests, holding out her hand as they gather themselves and stand. "We want to say goodbye. Properly."

Your mind is telling you to decline. Refuse, say that they went above and beyond, that you don't deserve all this love and special attention they've given you, that they're probably stalling for time for a flight they're almost certainly gonna be late to keep you happy just a little bit longer—

But nothing materializes. You take her hand, and start walking. Together.

You don't go back the way you came from; you continue further down the winding road, and in the distance, you can already see two pairs of headlamps and shadowy silhouettes looming on the horizon. They've been waiting. For how long is a whole other question you have no answer to.

They've encircled closely around you. Yujin and Gaeul lead the way, Leeseo and Wonyoung hover beside you, and Rei and Liz trail right behind. More importantly, they're not rushing. The walk is leisurely, like they aren't supposed to be at the airport right now—or a while ago. The eldest occasionally glance back to check on you, and you just nod every time. Even when Leeseo takes your hand as an assurance, you know the inevitable is just right around the corner, and not even they can't save you from the end.

Eventually, when Gaeul looks at you again, she finally speaks up. "You're overthinking again."

"I'm not." The denial is almost immediate. Defensive but gentle, as to not cause much concern.

"Sure you are," she maintains, tilting her head, assessing your every twitch, your every move. "I can tell by the way you've been staring at the ground and not at our faces. How you've been silent. You don't want this to end."

She's got it spot on. Because the last thing you want to remember is the smiles, the photos, not them waving goodbye from behind a van, even though you have two different lives to live. Even though she only knew you for less than an hour, she's solved your mind.

"Not," you insist, but Gaeul doesn't fall for the bullshit. It came off as weak too, making it all the more obvious. "I—wasn't—"

"Hey. We're not mad or anything like that," she says, facing you, walking backwards, careful to sound firm without provocation. "We're just making an observation. That's all. What are you thinking about right now?"

"Yes." Leeseo swings the hand she's joined to, a reminder that someone is always watching, even if one of the members isn't paying attention. "You can tell us. We won't judge."

Here we go again. They care too much that it's almost suffocating. You can already hear the words: 'Stop—' 'Don't apologize for our mistake—' 'We chose—' 'You deserve this—'

And it's not cause you don't believe after all that's occurred; you do, somewhat. But everything feels too good to be true. That the universe must find a way to restore balance to itself by any means necessary. 

"I don't know," you admit, imagining the annoyed, disgruntled expressions on their faces. "I just—I don't understand why you're doing this—"

Perhaps you wished a little too hard, because Gaeul closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but she doesn't groan or grumble, at least audibly. The frustration on her face is clear as day, however. 

"Because we chose to. Okay? There's nothing else to it," she explains, and Yujin's looking over her shoulder now, at her fellow member, nodding. "What do you want us to tell you exactly? That we love you? That we cherish you? That we will see you again? Of course we will. Because I—we—love you. So, so much."

"We didn't sit on that bench, eat ice cream, let you cry on our shoulders and kiss you for nothing," Rei adds, tapping you from behind. "We really do appreciate you. You just have to believe us."

"Unless you have some other reason you're hiding," Wonyoung chimes in, now taking your other hand. "Tell us. What's really bothering you?"

Suddenly, it feels like their gentle eyes have turned into cold, calculating stares. Being put on the spot like this—it might as well be an interrogation, except everyone's bad cop pretending to act good. And that's exactly why you're doubting. You're still moving, sure, but in a way that makes traffic seem like an open highway, and there's no cliff to drive off from.

"I'm just" —you start, and when you look into their eyes (doesn't matter who), you feel small and fragile— "waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like all this feels like one big lie."

Liz tilts her head, confused. "How come?"

"I don't know," you answer, kicking a small pebble on the pathway. "You've been so good to me it doesn't make any sense. Like I know you've been wanting to leave already, or that you hate me, because I keep crying and whining and doubting you. And I'm sorry. I really wish you just—"

Everyone comes to a complete halt. Yujin stops you with her hand. The rest surround you in a way that feels like cornering a wounded soldier to finish them off. "Answer me this question."

You nod. Your throat feels constricted, but she's expecting words.

"Do you think we would have gone out of our way to find you in that parking lot if we hated you?"

Nothing comes out. You subtly wag your head, but Yujin wants to hear an answer.

"Not enough. Answer me. Please."

You swallow. "—No."

"Do you think we would have asked you to walk with us? That we'd allow you to lead us away from the venue, and eat ice cream here because we hated you?"

Again, "No."

"Do you think we'd let you cry on our shoulders if we hated you? That we've said it for God knows how many times that we love you and care about you? That you deserve everything we gave you right now?" She raises her tone ever-so slightly, still kind and empathetic, but it makes your heart jump. "Would we be having this conversation right now if we were impatient with you?"

"No, Yujin—" you say, panicked because this is exactly what you've been expecting. You've been waiting for the moment the pot finally boils over. But she doesn't move. Doesn't do anything. Just asks.

"Then why are you so adamant that we hate you? Give us a reasonable answer. Right now."

Your eyes widen. You wanna yell. Lash out. Finally make them see first hand that they've chosen wrong. 

But like everything else, it comes out delicate and small: "Because I simply can't, okay? I can't trust a single thing you say."

The world stops. Yujin blinks slowly. So do the rest. Go on. Explain.

"And it's not because I hate you or anything like that—I really love each and every one of you—it's just been tiring, you know. I've been through so much in one day that I can't understand myself or anything anymore. You've been so kind to me, like I said. A little too much that I sometimes wonder if I'm actually talking to the real you. And some part of me believes in the back of my mind that you're being performative. That you'll get in that van and regret doing all this. Or maybe you've been talking about me behind my back."

Their verdict doesn't come for a while. And when it does, it's hysterical.

Yujin shakes her head softly. She lets out a small laugh that's unnerving. "I really appreciate how honest you've been about everything."

There's no judgment in her tone; just an air of freshness that's meant to be light. Instead, you're left puzzled. 

"Most fans would have told us they're fine and go their way," she continues, and her trademark smile is gradually returning. "So believe me when I say your honesty has been so refreshing to hear."

"You're–you're not mad?"

"Why would we be? You've given us no reason to." 

"But—everything else—"

"Nothing in your argument holds up, okay?" Yujin places a hand on your shoulder, leans in close so you stare directly into her eyes. "We saw you crying. We realized we missed you. Then you poured out your heart for us. Do you think we'd regret doing this, after hearing everything you had to say?"

"I—" you say, but the words die on your tongue. Except one. "Maybe—"

"You wouldn't believe how many rules we've broken just for you," she interrupts, smiling from ear to ear remembering. "Delayed our schedules. Fought against staff. Went out in public without said staff and risked ourselves being swarmed—"

"Don't forget kissing a fan," Rei chimes from behind, much to everyone's laughter, Yujin included. "Especially kissing a fan."

"Yes, kissing a fan too," Yujin repeats, chuckling mid-sentence. "but the point I'm trying to make here is: we've done so much to show you we love you. And we'd do it again and again if it means you really, truly believe us."

"But—your schedules—the company—won't they—"

"They won't," Gaeul interjects. "They won't punish us. Severely, that is."

"They know the faces that run the place," says Wonyoung, confident yet classy. "They know what's gonna happen if they provoke us."

"We'll get written-up at best. Maybe a small fine," Liz adds. "Definitely a huge talking. But that's nothing compared to losing you."

"It's all worth it," Leeseo says simply. "You're worth it."

Yujin pulls away, but you refuse to let go of her hand. She lets it stay, halfway facing you as they continue the walk. "You understand now? No matter how much you wanna argue, we'll always say the same thing."

"And what if I still don't believe?" you ask, because you're that obstinate.

"Then we'll keep reminding you," she says, equally as stubborn. "until you truly believe us."

And for the first time in what seemed to be forever, your heart thumps. Just a fraction, but it feels like the light has finally shone on you.

So you continue walking. Still stretching out the moments as far as you can go. The girls have retreated to their usual positions, but it's much lighter now. More serene.

"I really have to say sorry," you start again, and everyone's hardwired to face you the moment that specific word is spoken, because they're expecting another reason for you to put yourself down, another battle to be fought. "for testing your patience. I mean, you've said it yourself: you delayed your schedules just for me, and if I wasn't so cynical, you'd be on that plane now. Or at least on your way to the airport."

The girls can only smile and sigh. "We've been through this," Leeseo says softly, holding your hand a little bit tighter. "You don't have to apologize for anything."

"But—"

"No more buts. No more apologies, alright?" Gaeul looks over her shoulder, over you. Her glare is sharp but with kind intent. "You're our Dive. We love you. You deserve everything. Point blank. Period."

That stops you cold. Firm, final. You can only bow your head, but Gaeul reaches her hand out for you to hold. So you do. She caresses over it gently, softly, reassuring you this is all out of genuine love.

"If we were actually tired or impatient, we would have just bowed, apologized quickly, and gotten in the van back in the parking lot," Wonyoung adds, just to reaffirm everything. "Not spend important time with you. So please—at least give yourself this. Just this one good thing, if you can't accept anything else."

You finally concede. Even though you look the other way, you're still walking with them, letting them hold your hand, and you're not brushing anyone away. 

"Besides, this is actually nice," Rei says, looking up at the night sky. "It's a good change of pace from our usual schedule."

You don't consider asking, but Yujin explains nevertheless: "Most nights, we just fly in the day before the show. Then on the day of the show itself, its rehearsal, soundcheck, stage, send-off, then hotel. Sometimes we just skip the hotel and go straight to the airport. Like we were supposed to tonight. It's all streamlined and micromanaged." 

"Yeah. We're so tired and constantly moving that we can barely talk to each other," Gaeul adds. "We post pics, send a few messages on Berriz, maybe scroll Twitter a bit till we pass out on the plane."

"Your energy is what keeps us going, and I mean literally," Yujin speaks again. "After the show, we just—crash. It's hard to go from people cheering for you to—dead silence."

You feel the same way: how two hours can pass by in a flash, expending all your passion and energy after months of waiting and preparing, and then it just—ends.

"Plus, this was the perfect excuse for ice cream," Leeseo suddenly says, tilting her gaze over to you. "I've been craving for some the whole day."

Ain't no fucking way, you're saying to yourself. "You weren't."

"Of course I was," she answers cheerfully. "Staff told me it would affect my voice. Seriously. Even just one cone, they said no. So thank you."

You look at Leeseo in utter disbelief. "You used my emotional breakdown for ice cream." Not a question, but an observation.

"Yep. But we made a friend out of it. It's a win-win," she says, and everyone laughs.

"I told you I wasn't joking," Rei quips.

The air between you feels lighter now. They're chuckling, and you're grinning, just a bit. Leeseo points it out, and you're averting your face while they huddle around you, warm as ever. All is right in the world.

"Let's talk about other things that aren't about crying," Liz suggests. "Where did you come from to see us?"

The change in atmosphere and tone catches you off-guard, but you answer comfortably. "From the countryside. Drove four hours just to be here."

"One way?" She looks surprised.

"Yeah. I mean, I've got a hotel to return to after" —your words die thinking about it— "you know—"

"I get it. It's been a long day. For you probably."

"No shit," you reply, casual, like you're conversing with friends, uncaring about the fact you just swore in their presence. "I've been up since 6 AM because that's how excited I was. And also because of all the driving, obviously. But that's nothing to some of the people I've met there."

They remain silent. They know what you mean: people who've flown out from other countries, from the corners of the region, when driving is simply implausible, and your dedication feels like a stroll compared to theirs. Some fansites could be included too, given how they're willing to go this far.

"You have no idea how we reacted when the announcement dropped," you continue. "It felt like salvation. Like our prayers were finally being answered because you actually included us in your world tour."

"I saw it on Twitter," Rei says. "The fanbases were cheering for you. Even those from countries that weren't included—they were celebrating."

"It meant I didn't have to fly out to see you, and I was already considering it. But you came to us."

"We heard of how quickly it sold out too," Yujin notes. "Faster than Taipei, Macau, and Seoul. I'm surprised they didn't announce a second show here. You guys were so loud."

"I heard your ment," you answer. "about there not being a day two. I would have gone too. Maybe all three days."

"Then we would definitely have seen you," Leeseo says. "But—we did. Just a bit later than you wanted."

And somehow, it lands like a joke now. Not something you'd pine over. She's smiling, and you're smiling, and everything feels right.

"So—why didn't you?" Gaeul's turn to ask. "You said you considered flying out. What happened?"

"You did, obviously," you chuckle, barely sidestepping past a particularly large fallen branch, "but I have flown out before. For another group. I would have waited for the encore if I chose to fly out. But its—a lot. Travel, accommodation, food, merch—"

"That's fair."

"And there's more," you continue, "I wanted it to be special, you know? I wanted to be at the front, and I got it. So you could see me. But—"

"We also happened," Gaeul finishes your sentence. "We're still regretting it. We'll never stop admonishing ourselves for this."

"I know, and you don't have to. You don't owe me anything," you say, and the memory still lingers in the back of your mind. They notice the subtle shift on your lips: the pain and the despair. "but at the time, it seemed like a complete—rejection. Like you wanted nothing to do with me. After all the years I've supported you. I just wanted some acknowledgment, and" —you take a breath— "it felt like I was unworthy of you."

The walk stops abruptly again. Rei and Liz's hands are suddenly on your shoulders. You're not crying—not yet at least—but your breaths are shaky, and you're trying to fight it off.

"So yeah. Big deal you finally came for us, especially for me, personally." You're looking into Yujin and Gaeul's eyes. "When you went on your first world tour, and we weren't included, I was hurt. So much so that I actively distanced myself from you: your music, your faces, anything that had to do with you, I wanted no part of for a while." 

Their gazes tilt down a little. Their lips twitch. Leeseo holds your hand a bit tighter.

"So why did you come back?" Wonyoung asks, tiny and disarming. 

"I—I knew I couldn't be angry forever. You were still the same group I loved so dearly, and I couldn't blame anyone but myself. I knew we didn't have the streams or the demand for you to come. Hell, when the concert movie was released in theaters, guess what: it didn't even screen anywhere too. I had to watch it off a camrip from some website. It's like you were actively trying to avoid us. None of this is your fault, obviously, but it doesn't change the fact that it hurts. And when it hurts, what do you care about more: the mind, or the heart?"

No one dares to speak. Other than Wonyoung, no one dares to look at you either. They simply listen.

"We hardly get any foreign artists, let alone K-pop shows, and the rare times they happen, they either cancel or are unknowns, usually both. So color me surprised when you, of all groups, with your popularity, decided to book a show here. It's a big deal for the entire country."

They exchange looks. Ones of dawned understanding. And they don't argue, not at all; they let you keep talking.

"But more than that, this was my chance. I thought I could be front row, wave my sign, scream and shout and finally, something would answer. That I wasn't yelling into an empty, uncaring void."

A pause. A sniffle. 

"We didn't," Liz mutters airily.

"You didn't," you say, sounding small now. "And when it happened, it felt" —you sigh, search for the words— "specific. Like you knew I was there and wanted to single me out. And I know that's not rational. I know you can't see everyone. Not if you had all the time in the world. But in the moment, it felt like complete rejection. Like you were disgusted I was there. That you wanted no part of me."

"We don't." Yujin holds your wrist, her glance tilting at the others, a unified front: "We couldn't hate you; we hardly know you. You couldn't give us a reason to hate you, and you haven't."

"And we would never," Wonyoung adds, leaning close. "We're not the type to single out people and humiliate them. We'd know."

"We don't always show it well," Gaeul continues. "But we get tired. Overwhelmed. Sometimes, it feels like we're going through the motions, and to an extent, that's true. There's only so many faces we can recognize before everyone becomes a blur. But that doesn't mean we love you any less."

"Every wave, every heart, every gesture we make—that's for you," Liz states. "Even if we're not looking directly at you or your camera, it carries all our love for you. We want you to feel that, even if it seems impossible."

"Our speeches might feel rehearsed and tired sometimes, but that doesn't mean it isn't genuine," Wonyoung speaks again. "We want to see our Dives everywhere. Your cheers, your energy, your excitement—it's why we perform. To give that love back, even just a fraction, is our highest honor. So whenever we say 'We love you,' or 'You're the best,' we truly mean it." 

"But you didn't see me," you finally say, tilting your eyes to the pavement, and even you feel exhausted bringing it up; you can only imagine what's going through their heads hearing you make the same tired argument for the umpteenth time. "I saw it with my own two eyes. You looked right through me. You can say all these beautiful things, but it doesn't change the fact that you ignored me. And—"

"We know," Yujin interrupts. It's heavy and regretful, but to the point. "We're not making any excuses. But we want you to understand that it wasn't personal. It's never personal."

The answer comes naturally before you can even think. "It felt personal."

"And that's on us," she replies, tilting your chin so you can meet her eyes. "You felt hurt. You were hurt," she immediately corrects. "That's normal. We didn't mean to. But we're so, so sorry."

No matter how many times you try to patch it, your heart keeps leaking; there's too many holes—some worse than others—to be fixed with band-aid solutions. In other words, you're crying again. Even when you want it to stop, even when you think you've emptied yourself out, the tears continue gushing down.

"All I wanted was to thank you," you mutter silently, wiping your eyes, unable to glance at them. It feels like you're back at square one. "That's it. I didn't even want a heart or some stupid fanservice anymore. Just a glance or some kind of recognition. For your music, for your content—for being you. You got me through times where I didn't think" —your voice gradually fades, hesitating as to whether or not you should tell them, but you do anyway— "I'd make it. And I thought if you saw me, I could finally say how much you mean to my life. But you didn't. And when you left, I—I thought that was it. If not tonight, I would never be able to—"

Leeseo pulls you into a deep hug. She wraps her arms around your waist from behind, pressing her head against your back. Even though you're trembling, words failing, and you're the tears and pain wash over you, she holds you through it all. 

"You're saying it now," she whispers on your shirt, gently tugging you a little tighter. "and we're listening."

She barely finishes her sentence when the others join in on the hug. God, you want it to stop. You're tired of falling apart like this, yet your heart is built on a foundation of sand and glass. But you let them carry you for a while, because you need saving now, even though you don't outright say it.

Rei's the first to pull away. Even here, they move in perfect sync. "Earlier tonight, I remember you told us something. About you not enjoying us on stage because you were too focused on getting our attention."

Almost immediately, your heart sinks. She'd only been noting—rather modestly, you might add—and yet you know what's coming. 

"Yeah," is the only thing you say, and it sounds like an admission of guilt.

"I don't think you're supposed to do that."

Simple and straightforward, yet it hits the point home like a shot to the gut. You can only avert your gaze in shame.

"We work so hard on our performances so you can enjoy them," says Liz, holding your hand. "Above anything else, we want you to have fun. To leave feeling like the time, effort, and money you spent with us was worthwhile. Interactions are nice, but they're not the main point."

"And you said it yourself: you could have joined a fansign or a fancall if you really wanted to talk to us," adds Gaeul. Each word is one piece of self-incrimination after another, made even worse by the fact they're using your own admission against you as evidence. 

"We just want you to be happy," Yujin says, right to the point. "to be here. With us. Even if it isn't—directly communicated."

"I was happy," you state. It sounds like a confession. You're glancing up at the sky, at the full moon partially blocked by clouds. "At the beginning, I really was. Seeing you in person for the first time—that was everything. It didn't feel real until you were actually there. And honest to God, the concert was everything I could have ever wanted and more. But as the show was winding down and you were scattering around during the encore—"

"We know." Yujin cuts you off. "But you were having the time of your life," she remarks.

"Until I wasn't," you admit, because you're as easy to fold as any common lawn chair. 

"Until you got in your head," she gently corrects. "You told us you became desperate and jealous. That you dwelt on what wasn't there instead of what you had."

"That's—yeah—" You wince. "Yeah. That's fair. And that's entirely on me. I should have been grateful to even be there in the first place."

"Right," Leeseo says. "And even if we don't see you exactly, the fact you gave your time and effort to be here means more to us than you already know."

Not exactly words of comfort, but you'll take it.

"There's always a next time," Wonyoung adds. "If you want there to be. You can always do better. And so will we."

"It's a learning lesson for all of us," Gaeul immediately follows. "So that makes us even."

You're still lingering on Wonyoung's words. "If there is a next time," you mutter out, and they see the way you deeply think about it, that you're clearly doubting.

"There will be," Wonyoung reassures, delivered with that trademark confidence that feels like a guarantee. "We'll make sure of it."

"We should keep moving," Yujin suddenly states, staring ahead to the vans parked at the gate's borders. Still a good distance away from where you're standing, but a looming presence nonetheless. Everyone's attention is drawn toward them—except yours. "Manager's gonna be so pissed."

Her gaze then briefly lands on you. "Not your fault, of course." 

She makes it abundantly clear, but you're you. You don't think that. It's clearly your doing.

They start walking again. No longer a closed bubble, but as a coordinated unit straight ahead. You'll let them leave without you. Still under the belief that you wasted so much of their time, even with all the reassurances they've given. 

Except they don't; Rei grabs your hand with that cheeky grin and pulls you in tow with the rest, until you follow in step naturally. There's no rush, no urgency in their stride, like they're oh-so obviously aware of how you don't want them to go. The glances whenever they over their shoulder don't make it any less subtle.

You're more than content to watch. Soak in every little action, every little thing they do. It isn't the most exciting of things: just six stars without the pressure of cameras or spotlights. Not their typical idol selves, but the actual humans behind the facade. This is the girl group you sometimes call home. 

And you can't help but want to enshrine it.

"Can I—" you start, almost mute, as if you're asking for too much. That this feels too authentic to be caught on camera.

Yujin turns around. "What is it?"

You deny it at first. "No—it's nothing," but she sees the phone in your hand. Immediately understands. "I'm good—"

"Candids," she remarks casually. "You want to take candids of us?"

"N-no—" you choke on your own words. She smiles, that gummy puppy-eyed grin that's charming. 

"Go ahead," she says kindly, gesturing to the others to watch for your camera. 

Forget that there's hardly any decent lighting around (unlike at the bench) or that the photos themselves come out as mostly blurs and silhouettes; it still looks natural, and that's how it should be. Sometimes their faces aren't even present in the frame, whether by design or accident, but they're polaroid worthy regardless.

You catch them in their most open form: Yujin staring up at the sky, Gaeul glancing back with her side profile in view, Rei doing that brainrot gesture, Wonyoung flipping her hair, Liz looking down at the ground, and Leeseo smiling shyly with her finger pointed at you.

"Tell us your name," Wonyoung then asks, and your face burns up at the thought. Doesn't matter you never said it once up until now; this suddenly feels too intrusive. Or that they'll probably forget you after this.

They look amused. You say it anyway like the foldable lawn chair you are.

"Record this," she then instructs, pointing your phone toward her like the star that she is, and you start. You catch the little smirk on her lips. You hear your name spoken in her saccharine tone, and your brain just glitches.

"Thank you for coming today. I hope you can look back on tonight with fond memories. We see you. We love you."

The other five girls jump into frame, waving, smiling, echoing the same thing: "We love you, Dive. I-ting!"

Your face cracks. Just a little. 

You've been trying to avoid it the entire walk, but before you know it, it's already over.

On the other side of the gate, the vans are waiting. Engines idle, windows all tinted pitch-black, and their manager and bodyguard waiting almost impatiently. It's nothing personal, but the guard glares at you like you're the reason he's getting his pay docked when they return to Korea—which you most likely are. Meanwhile, the manager subtly points at his watch, telling you everything you need to know.

The girls turn around to face you one last time. This is it.

Yujin holds both your hands with hers, leaning her face forward. "This isn't goodbye."

Open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Her choice of words is very specific, you realize. Like she's studied your mind and how it works.

"We will see you again," Wonyoung encourages. 

Glancing at her, you say, doubtful, "You don't know that."

"We'll make sure," she replies, insistent and resolute but gentle. "One way or another, we're gonna find you."

"But—the company—the tours—there's no guarantee—"

"We don't break our promises." Rei steps forward, firm in her stance. "Even if you're all the way at the back, or even if it's not here in your country—we will find you. That's a promise."

"And how will I know—"

"Because you're the kind of fan that never gives up," Gaeul quickly interjects before you finish. "The kind that still believes and keeps going after everything. You let us comfort you when you could have walked away. That speaks volumes about the kind of person you are."

"We won't forget you," Liz chimes in. "You trusted us. Gave us a chance to make things right, even when we didn't deserve it. That kind of grace can't be forgotten easily."

"We promise we won't forget you," Leeseo reiterates. "We can't ever forget a person like you."

Yujin and Wonyoung are nodding. Wonyoung takes your hand and holds it, intertwining your pinky fingers together. "We will see you again. We swear."

You can only smile and shake your head, barely stifling a laugh. It isn't pleasant, even though it looks and sounds convincing, like you're finally starting to believe, when in reality, this feels more like a eulogy. A final farewell.

And now it's your turn to say yours.

After taking a deep breath and letting your nerves breathe, you face them, one by one, and speak:

"Yujin. You're the best leader anyone could ask for. You've had to bear so much, but you still carry your spark, especially when you perform. I can tell how much you love performing on stage. Thank you."

Her eyes glisten.

"Gaeul. I'm glad people are starting to notice you now. You were always the most underrated one in my eyes. People don't understand what you bring to this team. It may have taken this long for you to get that shine, but you deserve it so, so much. Thank you."

She smiles. Looks away. Cheeks puffed.

"Rei. Your energy is so infectious. Your smile, your chaos, your silliness—even when I was falling apart, you managed to make me laugh. And you held my hand when I wanted you to leave me back there—twice. You make everyone feel included. So thank you."

Her grin wavers. She quickly averts her gaze, but a tear is falling.

"Wonyoung. I don't even know where to begin. Everything you do is iconic. But how you keep yourself composed and calm, even with all the needless hate for every thing you do, is what stands out to me. I wish I could be as great as you one day. Thank you."

She puts her hands together. Mouths something quietly: "You already are."

"Liz. You're gorgeous. Always have been. The people who think you're a visual hole are blind and stupid. They don't even realize that you're actually hilarious and charming. And don't even get me started on your voice. That same voice kept me afloat during some sleepless nights. Thank you."

She's crying openly, poorly concealing her face behind the sleeve of her shirt.

"Leeseo. You've grown up so fast. So much so that even I feel old, even though we're not that far off. But you're still brimming with that same joy and light from day one. You remind me that I'm also growing with you guys, but it doesn't mean I always have to be serious. Thank you."

Her lips tremble. 

"I want to believe so bad. Trust me, I really do, and I hope it happens. I want to be there for every tour, every milestone, every anniversary, every comeback until you decide to call it quits," you say through a shaky voice, and you're trying to fight off the tears because you're so fucking done with crying and you want them to see your smile even in these dying moments,through gritted teeth and deep breaths: "But if I don't, and this is the only time I will ever see you, then I just want you to know how truly important you are to me. You helped me through some of the darkest parts of my life, when I was lost and hopeless and I thought there was nothing left." 

You pause, cry a little, but ultimately keep going: "You gave me something to hold onto. You made me want to live."

You watch their faces shatter in real time. Tears streaming everywhere, unable to gaze at you, their heads bowed in deep reverence. Even both Gaeul and Wonyoung can barely keep themselves together, and they rarely show any emotion. The fact you're the only one managing to maintain some semblance of steadiness in the end, somehow, is a miracle in and of itself.

"So thank you. Thank you for sharing your talents, your personalities—your everything. Not just for me, but for every person that proudly calls themselves a Dive. And I'm sorry—for pushing you away too. For being so annoying and parasocial and cynical about whether your love is real or not. I don't deserve the kindness you gave me, not after everything I did—but thank you, thank you, thank you. For finding me when I was broken. For mending my heart. For giving me a second chance. For making all this" —you're gesturing with your hands, pertaining to the years of devotion, hope, and belief— "worth it in the end. You really are my everything. And I will miss you so much."

They pull you in for another hug. Now they're the ones crying into your warmth. All six members. You let them. It's the least you can do. 

"You're not a bad fan," Yujin mumbles into your shoulder, crying freely. "You never were."

"You gave us a second chance," Rei adds. "You could have walked away. You could have hated us after what we did. But you chose to stay. We should be the ones thanking you."

"We don't deserve a fan like you," says Leeseo, her lips curled into a frown, her tears landing on your shirt.

"I don't deserve a group like you," you counter, falling into their embrace, but you're smiling. Genuinely.

"Please keep going," Wonyoung murmurs into your shoulder. "If not for us, then for yourself. For your loved ones. For the many memories you have yet to make." 

"Please stay," Liz echoes. "We still have to meet again, remember?"

"We'll move heaven and earth to find you again," Gaeul says. "Just promise you'll keep going, okay?"

"I'll try," you say, and it feels like you're finally standing on your own two feet. "For you. I'll try."

Their held breaths are released. Relief. Yujin simply puts it best:

"That's all we can ask."

—————

"Girls. Time," is all the manager has to say, and they draw back from your embrace. Slowly, reluctantly, like now they're the ones refusing to let go. Oh, how the tables turn.

Leeseo tries to keep her fingers close a moment longer, but you gently remind her (and everyone else): "I'll be fine. More than. Because of tonight. Because of you."

She doesn't seem fully convinced, but she smiles anyway. 

One by one, they walk past the gate and climb into the vans. Gaeul first, and she blows a kiss from a distance. Rei second; she tries to make a face, and you laugh, and she's delighted. Liz simply makes a heart with her hands, and you mirror her gesture, switching the dynamic between idol and fan. Leeseo softly nods; she's still sobbing a little, but you reassure her with a smile and she's finally assured and enthusiastically waves goodbye.

That leaves only Yujin and Wonyoung.

Wonyoung gathers her hands together. She closes her eyes. Says a tiny prayer, then afterward, she leans forward to plant a soft peck on your temple. 

"For luck," she says, before quickly pulling back. "We will see you again. Trust."

"You didn't come to our section once," you quietly remark, but it's delivered in friendly jest. "Until the actual end of the concert, actually."

"Sorry." She laughs, light and airy, but sincere. "I'll keep that in mind for next time. When you're there."

"Not just for me," you say. "But for everyone else too."

Wonyoung takes her step back and enters the second van, but not before blowing you one final kiss: "Make sure to eat something. Ice cream isn't enough."

Lastly, Yujin. Both of you briefly stare at each other for a moment, until you blink and break the silence: "You should go. I can take care of myself."

"Again, this isn't goodbye," she reiterates, the same thing she said when you first got here, but you properly believe it now.

"I know."

"Will you be okay?" Her eyes are twinkling with unshed tears. "We can ride you back, just to be sure—"

"I'll be alright," you insist, and you're completely certain. "It's just a block away. You have a flight to catch."

She finally yields first. Nods.

"Be safe going home, okay? Text someone once you're at your hotel."

"Of course."

You can only nod before she walks away and enters the van. Their bodyguard slides the door shut and heads to the passenger seat.

The engines hum. No waves, no gestures, no more assurances—just a reminder that life goes on. That your best days are just someone else's routine. But as the vans begin to move, you see a flash of light from inside one of the windows, hands waving at you, and a phone held up in maximum brightness with a written message:

"We see you now <3"

It's only visible for a moment as the cars drive off. You watch the vans gradually disappear from view, until it becomes a dim blur you can no longer follow.

Time stops for no one. You're on your own again.

When you realize that you're alone, like really, truly alone, the world feels larger. Louder. Like that hour in the park was paradise. And now, it's back to reality.

You're not sure where to start. Where the dream began and when it ended. The last hour still doesn't feel real. Even with all the evidence on that phone, now barely hanging on for dear life (at 5%), you're still trying to convince yourself this all really happened. 

But the tears, the comfort, the catharsis—they were real. 

You're crying again, because your body language has been reduced to this, but it's not out of pain anymore: rather true, genuine joy.

Finally, you turn the other way. Every step feels light. Your phone buzzes. On screen, their lips are on your face. You can't help but smile. 

You can't wait to tell her everything.

(And you'll walk with your head held high, because the best is yet to come.)

—————

(A/N: hey so can't you tell i haven't moved on yet

In all seriousness, this idea has been around for almost a year or so. I will admit there was a time I actively wanted to avoid their music and content because I couldn't stomach being jealous about missing their first world tour. It took me months, and one concert movie watch along with a friend to finally get closure. I swore I wouldn't miss them again should they ever return, and thank God they did. I was more than happy to be seated all the way in the back, but as the date drew closer and other factors were in play, something in me was compelled to take a risk and get a better spot. So I did, with just one week till the show date. And I don't regret it. Not in the slightest.

They say you associate key moments in your life with key figures. And for me, IVE (and Le sserafim to an extent) defined my college years. I was a freshman when I had my first concert (and they took my concert virginity), and now I get to see them again as I graduate three years and six other shows later. So this fic represents my journey as a fan and as a person. It's a full circle moment, an ending, but also a new beginning. So believe me when I say that IVE is that special, because I can look fondly on these past 3 years, through the good and bad. And last Saturday was a reflection of that.

Big shoutout to cray and Dotoli, let's run it back in 2028/2029 (with raf and qwib this time)!

Onto better days ahead. Thank you so much for reading ♡)

[dimp1ez]

"Real Analysis"

An Yujin x Reader/OC ft. Liz (Kim Jiwon) as supporting character

Word Count: 11.2K, smut.

A/N + Summary:

A silly and not-so-serious self-inserted POV fic drafted when IVE visited Los Angeles a while ago. Thank you so much @autumnyacorn and @dotoliwrites for beta reading and the thoughtful comments! I learned a lot from you two to improve my writing! >3

(Fanprose has one day of early access, see it here: Fanprose)

TW: (sweaty) Car Sex, POV fantasy, idol x fan, bias-cucking

Mid spring, I wander on the streets of Los Angeles to enjoy my long- awaited Spring break. The cloudy cool air brushes my face, Southern California is not always full of sunshine, sometimes the sky is also dim.

Hollywood is still crowded with tourists; I didn’t join their party because I’ve shown multiple family friends around the area to the point where I can basically memorize the orders of the names on the Wall of Fame.

L.A. isn’t always my place; I live in a city where many people would have no idea where it is until I say “It's a 20-minute drive from downtown L.A.” Right now, I am back here, to this place where I mostly visit to relax and to temporarily forget.

The winter quarter had been cruel, failing a class or not is not as important as getting this break ASAP. Fortunately, I am a dedicated DIVE (IVE fandom name) and blasting their songs can restore some of my lost energy – especially right after they released their second full album REVIVE+.

ODD is my favorite song amongst them despite it not being the title track. The lyrics are very poetic, beautifully written. The message of embracing imperfection motivated me out of the self-doubt swamp after failing the first exam of the quarter. “Not bad, this imperfect feeling… asymmetrical lines are beautiful.” I murmur to myself while staring at the asymmetric letter “F” on my Canvas portal.

It’d be nice if I could write a fiction using the lyrics as an anchor… Anyways.

I keep walking, letting the breeze caress my face and my body. My hair is a bit messy, swaying in the wind as I paid little to no attention throughout the quarter to take care of them. Surrounding me is this messy crowd, people from all over the country chit-chat as they blend in to be a part of the City of Angels. How I wish I can see my angels one day?

That day is way sooner than I ever could’ve thought.

-

My phone in the pocket buzzes, a two-line message from my best friend Henry.

“Yo bro, Bob and I are coming to pick you up in a bit! Send us ur address when ur ready.”

Both of them are dedicated DIVEs like myself, and as they now come back from their universities at the east coast during Spring Break, we decided to hang out in Korea Town here in L.A. All three of us had never seen IVE in person before, nor had any of us experienced a concert before. So, now it is a good chance to talk about the plan that takes the virginity of two “first-timers” on one occasion.

I’ll be standing at the Starbucks right next to that In-n-Out, see you in a bit.

-

A few minutes later, I see Bob’s car drifting towards me, Henry waving at me exaggeratedly with both of his arms at the passenger’s seat. I quickly hop on to the backseat before the car behind us even reacts with a honk. Well, that's downtown traffic for you.

“Yo! Long time no see! The last time we met was already…last time! Maybe it was last summer?” Henry greets me with his iconic, yapper-spirited energy.

“Ay I know right? How’s the photocard collection quest going for your hot “wife” Naoi Rei? You said you’re gonna get 100 of them by the next time we meet!” I roast Henry.

A lovesick grin grows on his face, “Ah… about that… almost there…How about you? I bet you’re still watching your I AM Liz fan-cam every day.”

“And that Baddie Yujin clip as well. Correction, it’s ‘Mommy Yujin’.” Bob adds on, hands still on the steering wheel.”

“Fuck you both,” I shoot back, laughing. “Dimplez ship is the best ship. I’m not horny like you two. Go back to drooling over your Gaeul ODD performance video, Bob.”

Bob smirks. “Hard to deny. Gaeul killed it. Even you said ODD was your favorite song from the album too, didn’t you?”

The banter flows easily as we drive toward Korea Town, palm trees swaying outside the windows. The cool breeze through the cracked window calms my nerves. Everything feels peaceful.

Until we turn the corner into the K-Town block.

The sidewalk is packed. We try our best to squeeze our car into a miniscule streetside parking spot before all three of us walked out of the car. What us three saw shocked us. In front of the Korean restaurant we normally hit up, there’re groups of people waiting outside. Many of them have cameras of different models; some pace back and forth impatiently, others stand in tight clusters, whispering and constantly checking their phones. The atmosphere feels… off.

“Yo, since when did it become another TikTok influencer’s place? I’ve never seen so many people waiting here.” My brain is full of question marks.

“I don’t know, maybe it just got viral or something,” Bob mutters.

“Fuck it… plan changed! They said two hours, we ain’t waiting that long…even though they got good banchan. Let’s just get some fried chicken instead.” Henry comes back from talking to the shop owner, face full of disappointment.

I sigh, starting to trudge back to our parked car across the street. I take a glance at the groups of people waiting outside of the restaurant. Someone has a stabilizer rig that looks like it costs more than the meal itself. All that for a 30-second Instagram Reels? When we walk past a young man in sunglasses, I overhear him on the phone, “They’re this popular even in L.A.??? No way I can make it… I drove two hours down the south!”

Who are “they”? Those TikTok vloggers and Instagram “GRWM” girls? And why are they popular in Los Angeles in the first place? I can’t recognize any of them. I think to myself. You see, this is one of the things I dislike about social media culture. One big name says a restaurant is good, everyone starts to hop on the bandwagon. Man, I really miss the old times when us three just drive by and have a quick, authentic Korean style lunch. They got really nice banchan and kimchi jjigae. They remind me of how we just regularly came to this place to hang out before we went to college in different cities last year.

Henry and Bob seemed to be upset as well, but there is always a Plan B, and Plan B today is to get some Korean style fried chicken at the next block – no lines at all. We decide to order to go as there is a park right near the restaurant area, and it’ll be a huge waste of the California sunshine so why not turn it into a picnic and eat outdoors?

It takes about ten minutes before the cashier waves at us for collection, so I walk back into the store from outside. “Thank you so much! By the way, do you know when that Korean restaurant down the street got popular? They said the line is two hours today!” I casually chat with the guy.

“Hm? I don’t know, maybe just a group of tourists today? I never knew you have to wait that long?” He seems confused as well while handing me our order.

“Well, then it’s God’s message for us to try some chicken today.” I give him a genuine smile before walking out towards Henry and Bob.

We settle our stuff on a wooden bench in the park; a few geese idle on the grass like they’re the owner of this place. Henry unties the plastic bag and takes out the paper box with our fried chicken — garlic gochujang as Henry likes it. Well, as a Korean himself, maybe he has the final say in deciding the order.

We immediately sink to the bench, pick up a few pairs of plastic gloves to start our feast.

“What do you think, Mr. Korean? Is it authentic?” Bob mutters with his mouth already stuffed with a big chunk of chicken, dipped in that sweet, spicy sauce.

“Mhm… it is decent, the gochujang tastes a bit like my mom’s cooking.” Henry responds after taking a bite.

“Your mom? Or your mommy Rei?” I of course cannot let go the chance to tease him; I smirk as Henry’s ear turns red once that name hits him.

“Damn… Surely I’d be more than happy to try out her cooking, just…no chance!”

“You’d like to taste HER, not her cooking.” Bob adds on with a devilish grin.

“You two horny asses, and you?” Henry points at me, pretending to be angry despite his smile that almost reaches his ears. “Bob, did you know that this man”, he turns to Bob, “Wrote a whole-ass 15 thousand words fanfiction about his ‘Mommy Yujin’? I bet your keyboard is already auto-correcting “Monday” into “Mommy” huh?”

It is now my turn to turn my face into a tomato. Well, I could argue it is because of the spice from the chicken, but all of us know that it is a blatant lie.

“It... it was just one fic! It was for... for the readers! And I used it as a metaphor for her ... leadership!” I defend myself, weakly.

“All caps. You were the one typing ‘she’s so damn hot, I even wanna call her mommy’ in Discord! Stop pretending you’re not down bad for this girl.” Henry adds on, I know I lost at the moment he mentioned the Discord group chat - where we had and still have a lot of  ‘honest confessions’. Well, you can’t blame me for that! Unlike Henry and Bob, I don’t have a girlfriend. So, it is quite natural that I need some ways to ease my loneliness, aren’t I?

Although it being the truth, tactical decline is the core of the banter. “I’m not down bad at all! Y’all know me well, my number one bias is Liz. I love her, purely, respectfully.” I claim.

“This guy is playing innocent now, too fake,” Bob sighs exaggeratedly while grabbing another piece of chicken from the box. “Liz fic when?”

“Never!” I almost shout immediately, “You know me, I... I just can’t even think about those scenes with her. I’d imagine wrapping her with a blanket and kissing her forehead instead.”

“Okay okay, whatever you say, pure hearted fanboy.” Bob exclaims.

“Hey guys, you know IVE is in L.A. now, right?” Henry suddenly asks.

“Oh yeah, I saw Yujin’s Story earlier today.” Bob responds casually.

“Wait, what the fuck? For real?” I almost choke on the chicken as I heard it, “but well, we ain’t gotta see them, there’re like ten million people around the metropolitan area.”

“Plus, they’re probably eating somewhere high-end, like a VIP room and tinted glass minivan type of stuff. They ain’t coming to Koreatown for food they can eat every day.” Henry says.

“If we ACTUALLY meet them, who’s gonna lose it all first?” I casually let the question slip: it’s gonna be another round of banter, but that’s why we love yapping with each other. “Henry is probably going to start reciting all the Rei verses out loud until he gets tackled by the bodyguards” Bob laughs blatantly.

“And you are going to lose your dignity, your sanity and all of your savings the moment you see Liz.” Henry fires at me.

“Hard to say I won’t, but losing my savings is foreseeable. You know the ticket sale for their concert opens next week right? Don’t blame me for not reminding you.”

“Wait really? I don’t even know they announced the date already?” Henry seems confused and excited at the same time.

“You’re a fake fan bro. Let me also set a reminder to get tickets,” Bob reaches his phone on the bench next to him, “Oh fuck! I forgot to wipe my hand! The sauce got all over my screen!” Bob screams while wiping the gochujang on his phone with a napkin.

“Hahahaha, you deserve it.” Henry laughs out loud.

-

Two whole boxes of chicken disappear amidst our chatter; I finish the last piece and chugged the rest of my Celsius before padding my full tummy.

“Hmm... what y’all doing later? Do I get a drive home?” I ask them. 

“Oh! We’re actually gonna head for my girlfriend’s place for a party. You said you're not interested in those before, right?” Bob lifts his gaze from his phone.

“Nah, count me out. For God's sake, please wear a condom, and don’t get her pregnant.” I shake my head.

“Not that type of party, don’t you worry.” He stands up, “well... it had been nice seeing you man, it had really been a while.” Following him is Henry, “Yeah, time flies! Anyway, y’all hit me up on the date when tickets go on sale! We should hop on a voice chat, definitely need a plan to secure our chances.”

“Will do! See you all around, I’ll just chill here for a bit.” I stand up too, waving at them as they walk towards the car.

Seeing them leave, I sit back down on the bench, plugging in my headphones to enjoy this moment of peace. I select my IVE playlist, watching the geese waddling around the grass. A few joggers or dog-walkers occasionally run by, and I give a polite nod to each of them. It’s a really rare chance I can just sit here under the SoCal sunshine and not have to worry about anything. What an afternoon!

Soon, I feel my eyelids getting so heavy. The last thing in my mind is Liz’s “Unreal” playing and me thinking, “it is not a bad idea to have a nap.”

The world turns black.

-

I don’t know how long had passed, maybe an hour? Damn, it was a really nice nap. I open my eyes, almost blinded by the sunlight. The park is strangely empty. The joggers had moved on, and the geese were silent near the pond. There is this faint metallic taste in my mouth and my lips are dry as hell. I feel strangely warm and relaxed: it had been so long since I’ve had the luxury to take a long nap, I’d as well just continue sleeping.

Wait.

Wait a second.

I feel like I almost fall unconscious again. But I see a group of people exiting the backdoor of that Korean restaurant we skipped earlier. Something feels…off. Why are they wearing such long coats? And with masks? And with sunglasses? I must be hallucinating right now. Do TikTok influencers have sasaengs these days? Look at those two bulk men in suits, I swear to God they’re bodyguards. Wait a second, is that....

She walks with her arms crossed, her chin tilting at that precise, elegant angle that suggests she wasn't just walking to a car; she is reclaiming a runway. It is a gait I’d analyzed in a hundred airport arrival clips—the "Wony-walk."

She is physically taller than the men in suits, her silhouette cutting through the hazy LA heat with a sharp, expensive precision. There is a glimmer of a silver heart-shaped pendant swinging against her chest, catching the sun like a strobe light.

It’s her. My brain didn't even need the confirmation of a face. That poised, that "above-the-rest-of-the-world" energy—it’s Jang Wonyoung. And if the "Center of the Center" is here, then the rest of my universe is standing right behind her.

My universer takes off her mask for some air, at that moment, my heart stops beating. Her gaze is shining so bright and clear like an energized puppy despite her minimal makeup, I’ll never  mistake her for anyone else.

The universe just put my angels 20 feet away from me, at a random park in Los Angeles. I rub my eyes, trying to open them wider. Confusion floods my brain like how my adrenaline does.

They shouldn’t be here... they should be in those high-end restaurants that have a reservation one year from now. Maybe some VIP lounges in Beverly Hills. Or maybe visiting some random venues of local sports teams as guests. The Los Angeles Clippers can be a nice idea. Any way they’d like, but definitely not in the back alley with dozens of paper boxes behind a Korean restaurant in downtown L.A. where even people like myself call it an affordable place.

I put my wrist between my lips and bite down hard. This is the standard protocol I have for myself to test if I’m dreaming. I hope the pain will be as brutal as possible, so I know I am not hallucinating when I say “I just saw IVE near a parking lot in downtown L.A.”

Instead, I feel the adrenaline spike and this very familiar feeling of fight and flight. This feeling that I’ve experienced countless times sitting in an exam, panicking and not knowing what to do. It almost cost me though. They’re walking closer and closer towards that parking lot nearby, where three black minivans parked parallel. My window is closing.

If I sit, I am a coward. I’m singlehandedly killing any potential fairytale stories before they even have a chance to start.

If I run, I’m a creep. And those big men in black suits are going to tackle my skinny body within a second without any effort. I’d be pushed away and it’d be the most embarrassing way possible to give my self-introduction to IVE.

I stand up and start walking.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

Gaeul, Yujin, Rei, Wonyoung, Liz, Leeseo.

They’re right there. They’re so close, yet so far away. My heart is hammering so frantically that I forget my chest exists. My cheeks and ears burn albeit someone just set a fire on my face. Well, they absolutely did.

I keep walking, picking up my pace just slightly so I don’t look suspicious.

Closer, I can smell the lingering floral scent of their perfume. Not just expensive, but overwhelmingly distant.

Even closer, and it is at the point where some actions are necessary, otherwise I’d walk right into them. A manager-like man in a polo shirt, with a transparent earpiece puts himself in the middle of the walkway. Right between me and my dreams come true.

“Excuse me, no stopping. Private time here, please keep walking.” He says, with a slight accent and a professional, emotionless tone. His palm sticks out facing me like a “Stop” sign.

I freeze, and the hesitation was nearly lethal. He quickly turns and nods at the man in suits, mouthing something in another language.

The members keep walking, don’t even bother looking in my direction like similar shenanigans had happened countless number of times. Well, I can understand that certainly. But I’m not a stalker! I... I need to prove it to him before I get swept away!

“No, please!!!” I raise my pitch just a little bit, hoping I won’t scare away the girls. “I... I am a DIVE! I’m NOT a sasaeng!  I... I live right here... and I was just walking by! I... I have this...” My expression stutters thanks to the extreme nervousness.

But I need to persuade him. I can see his tense facial expression just eases by a bit. And I have a lifeline.

I reach for my pocket with my violently trembling hand. The thing I’m looking for is on my phone. To be exact, it is between my phone and my phone case.

Clack…

The crisp sound breaks the pressurized silence as my plastic phone case drops on the concrete walkway. I don’t bother to pick it up at all. Instead, I carefully show the managers these two photo cards I’ve been putting in my phone case throughout the journey of being a DIVE.

First one, ATTITUDE era Liz. Blonde hair, lethal dimple on her left cheek. That warm smile itself is enough for me to squirm in my blanket burrito with a big smile every time I see it.

The second one, BADDIE era Yujin. The sharp outfit. The charisma that made me start writing fics on Tumblr. The origin of how Henry roasted me for all that “Mommy Yujin” nonsense. The daring stare like she can see through all my filthy fantasies at night.

“I... I have this... PLEASE! I’m an actual fan.” I hold the two photo cards like some sort of passing badge, hoping to move the manager.

But he doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move at all. I start to get anxious as half of the group is already at the parking lot.

“잠깐만요, (Wait a second) Manager-nim~” Two girls at the back slow down, before stopping and looking at my direction. I can immediately tell the one who just spoke was Yujin. She approaches the manager and whispers in his ear. “Aigoo, he’s just a fan! Look at him, he’s literally shaking right now. How can he do any harm?” Yujin giggles while peeking at the photo cards.

Well, don’t ask me why she just spoke English to her manager. It was NOT! It was Korean for sure. But a huge thank you to Duolingo, I was able to understand the most important conversation I’ve ever overheard in my life! (Author’s note, this message is not approved or endorsed by Duolingo).

They then kept whispering something that’s beyond one year worth of Duolingo learning, while I was left there, teeth clenching nervously.

I try to distract my attention. Hmm... who is that girl next to Yujin? It’s either Liz or Rei based on the relative height with Yujin. I hope she’s Liz... but I’d be such a fake Liz fanboy because I can’t even tell if that’s her.

“Listen, do you want a signature?” The manager finally turns back at me, after sighing like “are we really doing this”?

I don’t care. My soul is almost escaping my body. “YESSSSS! Please! Please!”

He waves at me as a signal to keep walking, so I do. But he’s still serving like a shield, completely blocking me with the girls. “Look, you are alone. No cameras. It is good. But if we stay here? People see and they gather. We don’t want that.” I immediately understood. The group of the people I saw outside of the restaurants? There were no TikTok influencers. There were no Instagram model girls. They were all here, camping IVE…

He clears his throat while I nod obediently. “I know you’re going to tell you friends, and everyone is coming here in minutes. So, walk with us, get in the car, get your signature. We drop you off somewhere mid-way and we both are happy, understand?”

“Y.... yes sir! Thank you so much!” I bow immediately, just for him to nod and he knowingly falls behind. Allowing me to walk parallel to the two girls.

“Hi~” Yujin smiles politely, fan service mode activated.

“Hi~ how are you?” The girl next to her takes off her mask.

It is a miracle that I didn’t just faint right at the moment. It is Liz. Kim Jiwon. Elizabeth Helga Muller, her German name, as you wish.

“OH MY GODDDD! Liz!” I scream out loud, only for the manager to give me a deadly stare like “keep it low or get out of here.” I instantly cover my mouth and apologize. “Sorry, sorry. I got too excited... I’m really a Liz fan.”

“Oh, really? Thank you.” Liz smiles, a bit timid.

“Can I see them?” Yujin asks, pointing at my photo cards.

“Definitely!” I hand them to her, while trying not to have any physical contact with her - I don’t wanna mess up this once in a lifetime opportunity by getting falsely assumed as a creep!

“Me and Jiwon, hehe” Yujin giggles proudly. “You are lucky today, no?”

“More than lucky, Yujin-ssi.”

“Aw~ what a polite fan boy, you can call me Yujin. What’s your name?” She seems a bit amused, which is definitely a green light for me.

“Ah! You can call me dimp...I mean, Mercy. m-e-r-c-y.” I almost slipped something that’s supposed to be top secret. Fortunately, I reacted quickly.

My heart has no sign to slow down, so I start to take some deep breaths. They notice. “Are you nervous?” Liz asks. “You don’t have to be so tense, fanboy. We don’t bite!” Yujin adds on.

Well, but to be fair, how can I NOT feel nervous at this moment? Walking next to me are literally the two women in the world that bring me the most joy. One with her dimple and a voice that’s clearer than my future. The other one with her...... charisma and....... leader spirit. I’m nowhere close to being ready!

“I....I try.” I manage to squeeze out two broken words.

“Hey buddy.” The manager taps my shoulder from behind as we’re close to the only minivan that’s still parking in the lot - well it seems like the rest of the members are already gone.

“Yes sir, what shall I do?” I try to be as cooperative as possible.

“This is the plan, ok?” He stops at the trunk, finds a sharpie from one of the bags. “You seem like a good person.”

“Yes sir, I am a good person. What do I need to do?” Man! Just give me the rest of the script! At this point I’m willing to do anything for their signature.

“You see, THAT group of people with cameras,” he stops, “We don’t want them to know where we are. So here is what’s going to happen. You unlock your phone, give it to me, so you don’t take photos or record. Everything is private, I will check your photo booth whether you stalked or filmed us.”

“My... my phone? Absolutely sir, I’ll give you my phone.” Yes! He’s taking my phone! I’ve never felt so happy before when someone takes my phone. Now he has my personal items, he can’t kick me away!

He quickly peeks at my photo booth to make sure I’m indeed not a sasaeng. He starts talking again, “Good. You give your photo cards to Yujinnie and Jiwon, they sign. Get in the car, we will drop you off somewhere mid-way so you don’t spoil our location.”

“Wait, what??? I’m getting in the car?” My brain refuses to believe the offer I just received - car ride with IVE. “Me? Really?”

“Yeah, you~” Liz walks past me, before getting on the back row of the minivan.

“Or you can take your phone back and walk away.” The manager says.

“No sir, you keep my phone.” I hop on the passenger’s seat at the front, try to be very gentle and give Yujin and Liz their personal space. I’m carpooling with IVE! That alone is already a miracle.

The door slides shut. The cool air conditioning and the smell of the leather seats separate me from the heat outside.

-

For the first minute, I sit with a tense posture: back straight, hands on my laps, palm sweating. I try to peek in the rearview mirror; Liz is on her phone with her hat back on and Yujin sits at the very back row next to the manager and I have no idea what they are whispering.

“Are you holding your breath? You look like a statue there.” Liz giggles.

“If I were you, I’d cherish the time and say something. Like, how did you end up becoming a fan?” Yujin adds on. I turn my head to my eight o’clock, and try my hardest not to look like I’m about to have a heart attack when I see Liz’s gentle smile.

“Liz-ssi, you.... you’ve always been my number one, do you know that? Every time when I’m stressed over those abstract proofs in Real Analysis, I’d watch your fancams over and over... and I’ll feel motivated again. Don’t get me wrong, I admire your vocals so much. It is cleaner than a glass of water...”

“Aw~ thank you so much for your kind words! Real Analysis, it sounds difficult... is it like a lie detector? To see if something is real or fake? Hehe” Liz giggles timidly and gently, her gaze flickers with sincerity.

“Eh... kind of, we analyze real stuff. It is very abstract, but you inspired me a lot when I had hard times nonetheless! I... I don’t know what else to say, Liz-ssi, it is my biggest honor in my life to get to tell you how much I liked you!”

I did it. I did the unthinkable in many fanboys’ sweet little dreams! I got to tell my favorite idol how much I appreciate her without being filthy! I showed her how dedicated and respectful a DIVE I am. I certainly just won the world.

“Ahem, Jiwon-ah, looks like you got a big fan here. How about me?” Yujin suddenly asks from the back, tone with a hint of mischief.

“I...I really like you too! Yujin-ssi.” For some reasons only I should know, I was NOT ready to answer this question so I stuttered.

“Really? You hesitated! Are you a fake fan?” Yujin keeps pushing, sounds a tiny bit frustrated but still playful.

“Leave this poor little boy alone, unnie.” Liz’s smile widens instead, her facial expression screaming “Not again” like she had seen Yujin battle for a bias title thousands of times.

“Then tell me what parts of me you like, fanboy?” Yujin reaches to the middle row, putting her face right next to Liz’s, her puppy eyes open wide and wink with anticipation.

“I... Ah...I... like your... hmm... power! And... leader spirit! Also, your... your confidence!” I defend myself, trying to convince Yujin that I’m not a fake fan but maybe only they can see how red I got when Yujin stared at me innocently like that.

“Aw, how cute! Leader Spirit and confidence.” Yujin intentionally emphasizes the two nouns like it is the password to something secret.

My heart skips a bit... please don’t be.

-

After a few more rounds of polite exchange of words, the manager (now driver) pulls over somewhere on the street. It looks familiar despite the tinted window.

“Yujinnie, Jiwonnie, do you want to get some In-N-Out? It is very famous in America!” The manager unbuckles his seatbelt, turning back towards Liz and Yujin and doesn’t even bother to look at me. More than reasonable, I don’t blame him. To him, I was just a piece of luggage they hadn't unloaded yet.

“Really! Let’s go!” Liz’s eyes flicker with sparkles.

“Not for me~ I’ve tried it many times when we toured in America last year!” Yujin says.

“Ok, then I’ll go with Jiwon. Yujinnie, you wanna wait in the car? We’ll be back soon.” The manager opens the door before Liz joins after him.

My hand automatically reaches for the seatbelt. My heart leaped. This was it. A walk with Liz. Just us (and the manager) under the California sun. "I’ll help! I can carry the—"

"No." The manager and Yujin almost say it at the exact same moment, the one single word cuts through my excitement like a cold snap. "If you truly care about her, you don't want to see 'Liz accompanied by mystery young man in L.A.' on Dispatch tomorrow morning, right?"

I froze, my hand halfway to the door handle. The implication hit me like a physical weight. Me? A mystery man? With Liz? My face didn't just turn red; it felt like it was radiating heat. The thought of being linked to her—even in a scandal—sent a shiver through my chest.

"Stop," the Manager sighed, glancing at me in the rearview mirror with a look of pure pity. "I know exactly what you’re thinking. No. Don't even go there."

I slumped back into the passenger seat, my ears ringing. "Right. Sorry. Safety first." For a twisted moment, I felt like I was almost a protagonist. Almost a “scandal”. Almost become the main character of a fanfic. Almost someone important enough to be "accompanied by Liz. The heat in my cheeks wasn't just embarrassment—it was a soaring pride. I felt like I was floating two inches off the leather, drifting in a golden California daydream where I actually mattered to her.

But a dream is always just a dream. You’ll wake up nonetheless.

“Good Boy~.” Yujin casually slips, her tone full of teasing.

I felt like I was being handed a death sentence wrapped in a compliment.

Some scenes that are not supposed to show up here start to automatically play inside my head. Fuck. I fucking forgot… My phone.  Please… Please don’t tell me she found them.

Yujin had my phone – it got handed to her naturally as the manager needs to drive. Maybe he told her to check my photo booth if I stalked them from the airport. But I have all of my Tumblr drafts as screenshots in my Pictures… All of those… stories.

Liz looked back at me, her expression softening into that sweet, concerned look. "Are you okay? You look like you're about to faint. Car sickness?”

"I’m 100% fine!" I squeaked, my pitch an octave too high. I gave her a thumbs-up that felt incredibly unconvincing. "Just... thirsty! Take your time!"

Beside me, I heard a muffled, frantic sound. I turned to see Yujin burying her face into a velvet travel cushion, her shoulders shaking with silent, hysterical laughter. She knew. She knew exactly how "screwed" I was, and she was enjoying every second of my internal collapse.

"Let’s go, Jiwon-ah," the Manager said, putting on his sunglasses.

"Bye-bye!” Liz waved, her silhouette flashing one last time before she stepped out into the bright Los Angeles afternoon with her mask back on.

The door hissed shut. THUD.

The lock clicked.

-

“So,” Yujin breaks the deadly silence. “Apparently, mister pure hearted fanboy… You write stories about me, very… analytically, hm?” It is over.

“I… I can explain it…” I want to turn around and defend myself, but I physically can’t.

“Can you?” I hear Yujin’s voice coming from the middle row, she had crawled from the back like a predator corning her prey. “You handed the unlocked phone to us yourself, and I was scrolling through those story drafts all the way.” Yujin’s words sound mysterious; danger is hiding beneath that seemingly emotionless tone.

“I… it… it was just fiction… I didn’t mean to… Sorry.” I give up, knowing I just dug my own grave. Maybe I get kicked out of the minivan after my confession, and Yujin’s gonna tell Liz all of those. I’m screwed… my character, everything… Liz is going to despise me and she’ll feel so disgusted!

“You told Jiwon she was your number one because she’s so pure… and so clear. You study mathematics and you love pure things, don’t you? You told her how a respectful and dedicated DIVE you are because of her, hm?” Yujin pads the seat where Liz was just sitting, “Come here, don’t make me say it twice.”

I hesitate for a fraction of a second, before squeezing my body through that tiny space. Maybe there is still hope, but I know for a fact that I am completely at Yujin’s mercy. The seat is still warm, Liz’s lingering vanilla-scented perfume is so healing – yet what’s next to me is like a blackhole, full of force and unknown.

I meet Yujin’s gaze. Her eyes are dark, unreadable, and terrifyingly vivid.

“It seems like you don’t write about her spirit, do you?” Yujin murmurs, finger hovering on her bottom lip. “Tell me, if Liz is your angel… Am I your… downfall?” she licks her lip now, her alluring eyes never leaving mine. “Or are you finally gonna admit that I AM the truth that you’ve been secretly hiding from her?”

My heart is not slowing down. I come to the realization that maybe I am still screwed, but it’d be the best bad news I can hear. “You’re not answering my question. And I’m getting impatient. If I am impatient, I do really messy stuff. You don’t want to get on the blacklist of Starship Entertainment, do you?” Yujin has no sign of stopping her fire, knowing she has the upper hand from the start.

“I… I’m sorry Yujin… Please don’t! I swear it is just some nonsense, I… I can delete them if you want. Just please don’t say it out loud! I’d do anything.” My cheeks must be radiating heat at this moment and I’m also already used to the frantic pounding of my chest.

Maybe it was my sincerity, it must be. My response is like it just triggered some keywords.

“You said, anything?” Yujin smirks with mischief.

“As long as I don’t get blacklisted…” I stutter.

“Get to the back row, now.”

“If… if you say so.” My nostril already misses Liz’s pure scent at the moment I lose contact with her seat. I carefully take a step over their designer purses on the pass-through before placing my tense body onto the back row as Yujin instructed.

Yujin follows, taking the right side of the three connected seats. She sits on her knees, looking way comfortable despite being in such a packed space. “So... I’m going to give you some chances to prove to me that you’re not a filthy, degenerate fan.” Yujin says.

“I’m definitely not! Do you want me to show you my Spotify Top 0.1% Fan Badge?” I reach out for my phone that’s still on her lap.

“Aw, cute little attempt. But I'll keep it for now.” She holds my phone hostage, slipping it under her weight.

“T... Then how do you want me to prove it? I can recite the lyrics for all of IVE’s title tracks?” I stutter.

“Come on, you write those little stories about me, but still pretending to be innocent. Huh?” Yujin’s playful grin suddenly disappears, what comes after is something rawer that I was never ready for.

She slips her finger into my shirt from the bottom, scratching my chest in the most agonizing way possible. As much as I don’t want to admit it, the bulge down below starts to get visibly larger.

“See? You’re being very honest with your body.” She’s barely audible, basically just blowing air into my already itching ears.

“Yujin-ssi, please don’t! We... we will be in trouble! And I’ll become filthy and degenerate if you keep doing this to me!” I accidentally confess in desperation.

“Hmm... it’s better if we have an open conversation instead, maybe?”

“Y...yes! Conversation! We’re not supposed to be doing this at all!”

“Ok.” Yujin says, but her hands say otherwise. She quickly yanks my shirt off in one go, my chest suddenly exposes to the air. Next, she takes off her black jacket and her white T-shirt as well, leaving only a plain, white bra.

“What... what the fuck?!” I shout in awe while trying to cover my eyes with my palms. I can’t look at that... I'm not supposed to!”

“That’s why I call it an open conversation. If you don’t like it, I can also take it off. Hm?” Yujin hovers her finger onto the strap of her bra, teeth biting down her lips. God. Pure seduction. Why is she doing this?

“Why are you doing this?” So I ask.

“Aw, I want to test you. Let’s play a game.” Yujin smiles while putting her palms on each of my shoulders.

She then pulls me dangerously close, forcing me to look directly into her predatory gaze.

“Since you do analysis all the time, tell me, who is your favorite member in IVE?” Yujin asks, hands cupping my face. My breath immediately hitches.

“I... it’s Liz, you already knew that.”

“Nope baby... wrong name.” She crashes her red lips against mine. My whole world collapses. Yujin captures my hesitation, kissing me even more aggressively. Her tongue invades through my trembling lips, forcing mine to swirl with hers. I take it all, secretly enjoying this gut-wrenching guilty pleasure. I just got a kiss from the character in my wildest fantasies - but it feels like a huge betrayal to Liz at the same time.

“First chance is wasted. You didn’t give me the answer I wanted to hear. We can keep playing this game until your pure little angel is back. Guess what she’ll have to say when she sees us like this? Sweaty and half naked in the back seat?” Yujin is seemingly enjoying everything, her tone bright and joyful.

“Now tell me again, if your favorite is Liz… then why are you this hard, hm?” Yujin grins, fingers brushing my itching length through the fabric of my pants.

“Be…because I am a straight man!” I give out my final attempt to brush it off, but seeing Yujin’s facial expression remains unchanged, I know I’ll just let her do her thing. “Plus… you’re very hot.” I add on.

“It is hot here indeed, fuck, I’m sweating.” Yujin hums, realizing the AC is little use under the SoCal sun in the afternoon. “We gotta do this quick, before both of us pass out from the heat.” I take a quick glance at her half naked body, sweats already dripping down her chin – her scent mixes with the faint perfume, more arousing than ever.

“We are gonna do what?” My logic fails; it can’t be? I am never properly prepared for a scene like this.

“Take off your pants, right now…You’re lucky today. I’m going to show you why I AM the leader of IVE, and you’d start regretting why you didn’t choose me as your bias from day one.” Yujin mumbles, while unzipping her short culottes. I take a big gulp uncontrollably when she reveals her full curve, a few drops of sweats clinging onto her frame and her plain cotton pantie is already damped. Maybe from the heat, maybe from the arousal… or probably both.

My hands freeze on my belt, not knowing what to do after witnessing Yujin just stripped before me despite my throbbing length already screaming for release. “Fuck, stop pretending for be so innocent.” Yujin gets a bit impatient; her hands automatically locate my belt. And click, she unbuckles it before yanking both of my jeans and boxers all the way down to my ankle.

My itching length springs free, a wet sound covers the quiet humming of the AC. A pathetic moan escapes from my throat as Yujin wraps her hand around my base. “Look at this, already so hard for me~.” She gives it a long, slow stroke before climbing up onto my lap. Her hard is warm, contrasting with the cool leather of her boots squeezing my leg.

“Fuck… Yujin, are you sure we’re doing this? I.... My favorite member in IVE is An Yujin! Are you happy now?” The final bit of sanity left in my brain knows it is wrong, we’re both fucked if Liz and the manager are back from In-N-Out and see their respected leader of group is stroking a filthy fanboy in the back of their car. Is this even real? Is this even possible? I am just a helpless fanboy that fell into Yujin’s charm and couldn’t escape. But why? Why would she even talk to me, let aside… having sex with me? It must be a dream, but her deadly scent is so real.

“Too fake.” She clicked her tongue. One smooth motion and her fingers were at my belt. “You still call me by my stage name like a polite little fanboy. I want the real one. The one you type at 3 a.m. when you think no one’s watching.”

Yujin stares directly into the deepest of my soul, she unhooks her bra with her free hand. The strap slides down her shoulders and the fabric slowly falls off her gorgeous body. Her full breasts bounces up and down right inches away from eyes, she turns to throw the bra away.

“Now your Mommy Yujin is right here, do what you need, helpless little fanboy.” She quotes directly from the deepest secrets that I’ve been hiding, and that’s exactly enough to destroy any defense I have left. My hips jerked involuntarily and I groaned, the sound way too loud for a tinted minivan in broad daylight.

“Fuck…” The thrill of getting caught at any time mixes with her sweated scent are like a drug that just gets me addicted. I follow my instinct, carefully take in one of her juicy tits in between my lips and suck lightly. She tastes alluring. Her perfume alone is enough to drive me crazy, not to mention the faint salty, sweaty taste just mercilessly assaults my nostril.

“Mmph….” I try to say something, but my mouth is too busy savoring Yujin’s perfect tit. I never in my life had thought this would happen, yet the sensory had defeated the sanity. I manage to not faint from the overwhelming lust despite Yujin hasn’t started anything. I take a look at her soft hand grabbing my length, then keep my eyes shut again. Well, if I mute one of my senses, the rest becomes more sensitive, no?

“Look at me.” Yujin commands, she reaches close, hair brushing my cheeks. I oblige; she then opens her mouth and lets a string of her saliva fall onto the tip of my shaft. My body bucks as the slick, cool liquid meets with my overheated skin. Her eyes never leave mine. Deadly. Alluring. I can’t contain my desire anymore.

I reach out for her face, pulling Yujin close before kissing her juicy lips. This time it is much more intense compared to the first. My movements are desperate and hungry, and I can tell she likes it. She responds with equally thirsty kisses, the wet, obscene sound echoing in the warm minivan.

“Good… You finally stopped your little lie. I almost believed you’re such a dedicated and pure DIVE until I saw those filthy stories.” Yujin lets go of my lips, “It’d be your loss if you never tried me…bet you’ll feel different after this. Liz can still be your sweet angel with a crystal-clear voice, but you won’t ever forget who makes you this desperate.”

“Fuck…please, Yujin… Please don’t bring Liz into this.” Yujin’s words bring back that gut-wrenching guilt. For a second, I just hate myself so much for not having the self-discipline to resist Yujin’s force and it’s a pure betrayal to Liz.

“Uh-oh, look at who is triggered. But weren’t YOU the one who wrote ‘I am mommy An Yujin’s Puppy, please use me as you like’? Bet you got hard just by thinking about it when you hid under your blanket writing it, huh?” She amplifies the filth, quoting directly from one of my drafts. My head is a mess made of embarrassment and the painful pleasure from Yujin’s hand that never stopped stroking me.

“Am I meeting your expectations, or do you want more of me? The energy? How about the leader's spirit? Hmm?”  

“What even is the point of all this?”

“To prove you wrong, fanboy. It makes me sick listening to all those beautiful lies but I know for a fact your body thinks otherwise. Just admit it, or we can stop here and wait ‘til your Jiwonnie comes back and sees it herself. Hmm? Last chance~”

“You really care about it that badly?” I hover my hands onto Yujin’s sweat-covered waist in awe. “Fine, if you really want to see me being filthy… I’d let you.” I know it is time to let go of my rational thoughts and just follow my instinct. And my instinct tells me to grab her bouncy ass and feel it with my palms. “I’ll make sure this pair of sexy legs keep shaking for hours.” The final doubt inside of my head is gone as I feel the smooth texture of her body on my hands. I’ve never felt anything like this before. The velvety smooth skin, the warmth, the sweat. They just feel so vivid… and so Yujin. 

“Exactly the energy I want... Now touch me… show me how much you’ve been starving for this body.” Yujin’s tone is still commanding, but with a hint of arousal.

“Fuck… do you know how crazy you drove me with this body, Yujin?” I confess, mumbling because I am busy eating her tit at the same time. I draw little circles around her nipple, just to feel how heavenly she tastes with that faint scent of her body wash and the lingering sweat. Meanwhile, I don’t forget the work down below her butt. My hands start roaming free, staring from her waist, lingering on her cheeks before groping her insanely sexy thighs.

Yujin lets out several hums each time the tip of my tongue meets her nipple, her face is blushed from the increasing temperature and her own arousal. I lick and suck her other tit with equal desire – the desire that I’ve been hiding from everyone, that had made my head spin in countless midnight hours.

She doesn’t respond to my question. The minivan’s tinted windows trapped the heat like a greenhouse. Sweat beaded along Yujin’s collarbones, catching the faint dashboard glow and sliding down the valley between her breasts in slow, glistening trails.

Suddenly, a loud, door slamming sound from a nearby car drags me out of this dreamy picture. My heart sinks. We’re in the public; Liz and the managers are still coming back at any time. Yujin catches the sudden halt of my motion and I am certain that she can see through what I’m thinking. She dismounts from me, crawling to the driver’s seat only in her damped pantie.

Beep.

She locks the door from inside before turning off the engine. The AC is still on but it feels like nothing under the California sun. Yujin crawls towards me sitting there in the back row, slowly, like she is catwalking on a run way. Her hips roll and sways, each step makes her seducing frame even more alluring.

After like a year has passed, she finally gets back on my lap. Yujin grabs my leaking length once again and gives it a lazy stroke. Her fingers drawing lazy, tormenting circles on my sensitive head. “Mmph… fuck…” I groan, taking a deep breath so I don’t just come before even getting a chance to feel her. To really feel her.

She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her pantie and peels it down her thighs in one fluid motion, kicking it aside. The scent of her—sweet, musky, unmistakably aroused—hits me like a drug. Her pussy was glistening, puffy and pink, lips already parted and shiny. She wrapped her hand around my cock again, guiding the head right against her entrance.

“W… wait!” I stutter.

“Aw… Don’t tell me you’re gonna chicken out at the last second.” Yujin purrs, her gaze is now nothing but pure desire. I don’t dare to keep staring at her anymore before I completely lose it and start screaming “Mommy Yujin”.

“We… we don’t have a condom!” I almost yell. Being caught walking with Liz? It is nothing compared to making Yujin a mother. There is zero probability that I can survive the fans if it ever happens, so, safety first.

“Screw it, we’re constantly on the pill anyways. Is that it? Can I properly fuck you now?”

“Y…”

I don’t get to finish. Yujin doesn’t wait for the rest. She drops the rest of the way in one smooth, greedy motion, taking every inch until her ass flushes against my thighs. A broken moan escapes her throat, and the sound goes straight into the deepest of my soul.

“Fuck, you’re bigger than I thought,” she breathes, already rolling her hips in tiny circles, grinding her clit against my pelvis. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Better than jerking off to my fancams in your dorm room?”

I cannot answer. My hands autopilots to her waist, gripping hard enough to leave marks. She starts riding me relentlessly then—slow at first, savoring it, then faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the van. The leather seat creaks under us. The AC still humming uselessly against the heat we were generating. Yujin bounces on my laps in near frantic motion. Each time she releases me from her slickness, the next second I’m being greeted by her warmth. Yujin is incredibly tight, and it makes me speechless. I’m nowhere close to being in charge as I helplessly watch how much Yujin owns the moment. Her bangs are damp from the sweat; her elegant fingers push the wet strand of hair behind her ears.

I dive back into her flawless body and continue to worship her tits before I lose myself in her alluring gaze. Her nipples are swollen, I plant careful kisses here and there, leaving wet marks on her frame. Her frame that owned my wildest dreams at those lonely nights.

“Mmph...” Yujin moans softly, “You’re doing good, maybe your mouth can do more than just lying.”

“Fuck… I never lied!” I thrust up into her in embarrassment, our sweat damps the leather seat – the squeaking sound echoes obscenely in the car. “Then show me, show me you are capable of making me come… like how it is in those dirty little stories you wrote about me.”

Her encouraging tone is exactly what I need to turn me on even more. I grab her waist with both of my hands, pushing her away from my laps onto the seat before I reposition myself before her. Yujin’s long legs immediately wrap around my chest; her leather boots are still on. The stiff texture contrasts with her smooth skin, and they just add an extra layer of stimulation on my sweating body.

I start pounding into Yujin in a relentless fashion as the desire I’ve been trying to hide is inevitably flooding through my body. I grab her thighs, lifting her legs and rest them onto my shoulder. Yujin rubs her clit with one hand, letting out several cracked moans, while the other hand grabs her own tits. Her eyes are half closed, getting lost in the sensation.

The minivan shakes, matching our fanatic rhythm. The tinted windows already fogged up from the heating atmosphere, I never stop my thrusting. My nails dig deep into her skin like I’m trying to hang onto something before my downfall. “Hmm? Yujin-ssi? Is this what you want? Getting wet because a fanboy is filling you up?” I tease.

“Mmph, just like that… harder… When are you gonna admit that I am better than Liz? Only this is not enough…” She mutters.

I thrust once more, to the absolute deepest I can and I just hold it still. “Don’t say her name!” I squeeze out a cracked groan.

“Liz this… Liz that, but look at who is so hard inside me right now… Hmm?” Yujin keeps taunting me like she is daring me to go harder. Yet, she pushes me away, I whine from the loss of the friction.

Yujin stands up and paces slowly to the middle row, where Liz was sitting. She gets her hands onto the seat, while arching her body and stretches her perfect ass out. I immediately follow her, hands located onto her soft waist try to enter her again. But instead, Yujin grabs my shaft, heads turn back toward me, eyes full of nothing but seduction.

“Bet your mouth is already watering just by thinking how tight this ass would be, huh?” Yujin teases, rubbing my fully hard length up and down along the entrance of her but never letting me in.

“Fuck… please let me in already.” I don’t stand a chance when there is a perfect body like Yujin’s in front of me.

“Does your precious little angel ever make you beg like this? I guess not, huh?”

“N…No”, I take a big sniff, but unfortunately, Liz’s pure, vanilla-flavored scent gets replaced gradually by Yujin’s addicting mixture of her sweat and her floral perfume. I whine again, but this time from pure hunger. “Please… I want you so bad…” My voice muffles.

“Good Boy, I love it when you are honest.” She finally puts me back into that warm and wet pussy that I’ve been craving for. I continue to fuck her from behind; my hand just can’t stop itself from slapping Yujin’s bouncy butt.

“Mmph~~~” She moans exaggeratedly, like an acknowledgment of how her body makes me lose control. “How does it feel? Becoming the protagonist of those stories you wrote?”

“Fuck… It feels amazing, you’re so fucking tight.” I admit in both guilt and shame.

“Good. Then give me all of it, do better than that nerd you built.”

“I…I’ll try, I am not sure if I can last long… mmph.” I slow down my pounding by a notch, otherwise I’d soon give in and unload myself into Yujin.

“You better do, you know the consequence of disappointing me, right~” I can’t see her face, but her words are enough to let me pick up my pace again. I bite my bottom lip as hard as possible to endure the building pleasure, but surprisingly I don’t feel any pain. It must be the dopamine flooding rent-free in my system, that my sense of pain is already overwhelmed.

I try to alternate my rhythm between slower, deeper strokes and shallower, quicker thrusts. Yujin is clearly also enjoying herself as I feel her walls clenching against me each time I enter, trying to drain me in a timely manner.

“Fuck… just like that, you are gonna make me come!” I can feel Yujin’s pussy clenching tighter and tigher on me; I keep slamming into her as she gradually gives in to the pleasure. It only takes one extra deep thrust before she hits her climax. Yujin’s body locks up, fingers digging into the seat while her walls flutter and spasm, almost making me come on the spot. I slow down, and keep thrusting through her orgasm.

Yujin takes a few deep breaths until she releases my throbbing shaft from her pussy. Her juice immediately drips out from the point of contact, my itching dick is swollen, coated by her essence entirely. She turns around, quickly pushes me down onto the seat before guiding me back into her again. I bury my face into her chest, greedily sniff her aroused scent.

“You made me come… not bad. So, you get what you deserve, fanboy.” She smirks.

And we both know it won’t take long for me to release into her. She keeps riding me – each time she rolls her hips so my shaft is getting sealed by her wetness from all angles. Sweat pours off both of us, mixing between our bodies, the air thick and heavy with the scent of sex and her perfume and pure desperation.

“Now… come for me~” Yujin orders, and that’s all I need.

After she slams back down on me one last time, I grab her waist firmly as I cross the line of no return. I come. Hard. Ropes of thick juices of mine flooding her walls while I keep kissing her tits messily. Yujin moans loud enough like she’s screaming. She keeps grinding down through my orgasm like she is chasing a second of her own, her walls fluttering and squeezing every last drop out of me.

But she doesn’t just stop there. Even as I am still pulsing inside her, she keeps riding. The overstimulation hits like lightning—pleasure so sharp that I can’t distinguish if it is pain. My thighs tremble violently, every nerve in my body is screaming.

I am gasping, chest heaving, sweat pouring into my eyes. My shaft keeps throbbing, raw and oversensitive. The minivan felt like a sauna now, windows completely fogged, the leather beneath us soaked with sweat and cum and her arousal. My balls ached, my thighs burned, but the pleasure kept building again, impossibly, another orgasm already coiling tight in my gut.

“Again,” she demands, wrecked but still commanding. She leans down, biting my lower lip hard enough to sting. “Fill me until it’s dripping out of me when Liz gets back.”

The mention of Liz—sweet, pure Liz—should have killed the mood. Instead, it twists something dark and guilty and unbearably hot in my chest. I buck up into Yujin with a broken sob, chasing that second release like I’m wicked. She meets every thrust, riding me harder, faster, her tits bouncing, hair wild, eyes locking on mine like how she shows up in every filthy thought I’d ever had. Within another minute, I come again. This time it doesn’t last as long, but the pleasure is equally high.

Yujin lifts herself up from my wrecked length, the obscene picture of my own essence mixed with her juice dripping out of her pussy almost makes me faint on the spot. She sits down next to me; fingers spooning a scoop of the cream and puts right into her mouth.

“Hmm… tastes good…” Yujin grins.

“Yujin… fuck… You’re unreal.” My breath has yet to recover from the overwhelming two orgasms in a row. I lie down on her lap while she caresses my hair in soft strokes. “I…I’m so drained, just give me like one minute. I need to catch my breath before we clean this mess.”

“Aw~ don’t worry, take as long as you need.” Yujin’s voice is like honey.

I feel the danger of getting caught by the manager and Liz approaching. But hey, how am I supposed to clean up when my balls just got drained by Yujin? As much as I want to get back on my feet and start wiping down the mess everywhere, my eyes are getting really heavy.

“My cute little fan boy~ have you changed your mind yet? Who is your favorite IVE member now?” Yujin teases me, fingers scratching my neck gently.

The dial turns. It wasn't a question, but rather a demand for total submission.

I gaze up at Yujin’s gorgeous face. It took me years to realize what I really wanted. I had committed a thoughtcrime for years, pretending to be pure-hearted and innocent. But I inevitably succumbed to my lust.

All those pitiful little lies I told myself! All those stubborn denials of my true desire! Two salt-scented tears trickle down the sides of my nose.

But it is alright. Everything is alright. The struggle is finished. I had won the victory over myself. 

“I love An Yujin.”

My eyes give up resisting the weight anymore.

“Hey… hey!” Yujin pushes my shoulders, “At least put your pants back on!”

I don’t care anymore. The oxytocin is real. Unconsciousness soon claims me.

The world doesn’t go out with a bang; it ends with the scent of Yujin and the crushing weight of a memory too heavy for my waking self to hold. My vision blurs, the tint of the van’s windows stretching into an infinite, velvety black—and then, the hum of the AC is replaced by the dry rustle of wind.

-

I open my eyes again, and I find myself sitting on the bench in the park where I spotted IVE an hour or two ago. The sun had drifted to the west, dimmer orange light hover above the park.

“Where I spotted IVE…”

I panic, my lips are dry and my eyes heavy. I quickly stand up and sprint to the parking lot, no minivans are there. NO! It must be that the manager dropped me off where he picked me up, and I fell asleep again on the bench because I was so exhausted from the sex! It makes sense that I don’t remember WHEN I got dropped off and HOW I said goodbye to Liz and Yujin.

I… I need proof of this. So, I reach out to my pocket. 

My phone is there; it must get handed back to me when they dropped me off! I know it! 

I need to see the signature…. I need to see that sharpie ink. 

I impatiently rip off the phone case and let it drop to the grass, where two sleeved photo cards of Yujin and Liz are still quietly sitting there. Back facing me.

I close my eyes and pray… Please don’t let it be a dream. But when I open them again, the photocards are gone as a breeze blows through me. The grass flutters, the geese idling in the lake fly up and I am left shaking in the wind. The two cards swirl in the wind, entering an entangled state like my memory.

The faces of my purest angel and my desired downfall start to blend, the colors of their hair and the light in their eyes mixing together into a frantic, spinning blur. Akin to the mess in my brain: there is one line of pure admiration, for the boy who smiles stupidly hearing Liz’s vocal; and the other line of unsatisfiable desires, for the boy who simps Yujin under the blanket in those lonely midnights.

They ran perfectly parallel in my head, one line never touching the other. Until today, when the boundary is starting to become a twisting manifold in front of my own eyes.

The photocards finally cease their frantic spinning in the spring SoCal air, drifting down like misplaced autumn leaves. They settle quietly upon the grass, just two feet away—a distance that felt like a light-year. I laugh; not a sound of triumph, but a soft, hollow exhale of relief. 

Maybe. Just maybe.

I realize in this heartbeat that I don’t have to know.

The wave function doesn’t need to collapse. 

I don’t have to see if the ink was still there. 

If I look and see the bold strokes of her pen, I’d spend the rest of my life doubting my own sanity, haunting by a miracle I could never explain. 

If I look and see only a blank, pristine surface, I’d be forced to mourn a ghost until the day I’m gone.

They are the definition and the projection of perfection and beauty onto my lonely little world. But for forty minutes, they were vivid. Liz’s dimple was a hymn I could finally hear, and Yujin’s touch was a fire I could finally feel—within my reach, yet forever beyond my grasp. 

They’re like smoke in a mirror: always visible, but always far away. 

Maybe it is destined? But we’ll never meet under the daylight.

I look up into the sky, squinting against the relentless gold of the California dusk, and one thing remains certain. 

We shared the same horizon. 

We breathed the same heavy, salt-tinged air of Los Angeles. 

We are both on the way for what we love. 

We both exist, beating hearts on this same spinning planet.

Doesn’t THAT make us real?

Perhaps.

Asymmetrical lines can be beautiful, but parallel lines will never intersect….

[dotoliwrites]

Unreal (IVE Liz x male reader)

~24.6k words, syndicate boss's daughter Liz x vigilante reader, 'smut'

A/N: This is dedicated to my twin @kwilquib who loves Liz. Happy birthday! This is also my first x reader ... and first fic in second person ... so please be kind ...

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=====ENTRY #111131325233151811211251422323=====

Three bullets.

Bang. Pops the front right tire. Sends the Mercedes-Benz zigzagging down the street. Crashes into a fish stick stall.

Bang. Pops a dark red tunnel through the driver’s skull as he crawls out of the vehicle. His partner screams.

Bang. Now he doesn’t. Larynx blows into his esophagus. Only blood gets to spew out of his lips and all over his suit.

And you still have three-fourths of a round loaded into your Taurus TX22 pistol.

As the final passenger of the luxury car pushes out of their steaming ride, you shove your gun back into its holster. Instead, you unsheathe your hwando blade—the same blade your parents gifted you for your sixteenth birthday—and ready it at your side.

Your mark looks up at you through teary eyes. You don’t even register what they say.

Slick.

With one clean and deft motion, your mark’s eyes turn blood red in an instant. But no sign of remorse is etched on your face. Why? Did they show your family remorse when their Clan broke into your home? Did they show your parents remorse when they shook the living daylights out of them for their debt? Did they show you remorse when they murdered your parents right in front of you?

You still remember it. Every time you smell fresh blood in the air—you remember it.

The way your father begged and pleaded on his knees. He was never the type to bow down to anyone, but his forehead was right between their polished shoes. The sound of shattering dishes as your mother’s heart sank just as fast as the first few shots fired into her. The tightness in your chest as all the air left your lungs the moment you saw your parents turn into lifeless, unmoving bodies, bleeding out against the entryway of your family home.

It’s been eight years. Eight long, grueling years you have spent trying to avenge them—trying to get your revenge.

What was another three more bodies to your growing count?

You don’t care. They’re all just collateral. What you really want—who you really want—is Kim Jaehwi.

And you want him dead.

That was the plan. Until your recent mark started sending more grunts and goons out to hunt you—more than the usual at least.

On any other day, you’d flee the scene of the crime, head to your pathetic excuse for an apartment, clean your weapons and your clothes, and call it a day. But mere hours after you murdered everyone in that Mercedes-Benz, a manhunt for you was already in full swing.

Men in suits trudging up and down the streets. Goons with brass knuckles and similar hwando blades knocking on every house and business within ten kilometers of the incident. Police cars needing to stop at the blockades these thugs have set up themselves to initiate their own ‘investigation’.

You know the Devil Cat Clan is relentless. The moment they hear a man with a crow mask has reduced their member count even by just a bit, they chase after you. But today, you must have killed someone big. Because even the higher-ups want you gone now.

At least, that’s what you gathered when a spray of bullets disturbed your evening tea, shattering the flimsy walls of your two-hundred-thousand-won-per-month apartment. You don’t regret the loss of your favorite safehouse. You regret not salvaging the Samanco still sitting in your refrigerator.

You rush towards your other safehouses: the goshiwon in the Mapo district, the house out in the Gyeonggi-do suburbs, your college buddy’s place in Gangnam, the public safety shelter where you were brought to eight years ago back in Yongsan-gu.

But they have all been either broken into, torn apart inside-out, or heavily guarded by members of the Devil Cat Clan.

Well, shit.

You don’t even have enough time to worry about whether they’ve figured out who you are or not. Instead, you think of the last safe place you could seek refuge at.

The Requiem.

Before you even enter the underground bar, the bouncers on either side of the door give you nasty glances. You wonder if it’s because of your still in your usual tracksuit. They seem new—they aren’t used to you yet. As you push past them and head inside, you soon realize coming here is a bad idea when every criminal-in-hiding, vigilante, and underworld devil at the bar has their eyes on you like you don’t belong here.

Fuck them—you just want a goddamn drink and some room to breathe.

You slide over to the counter and signal for a drink from the bartender. He looks new too. He hesitates for a moment, but when you see your friend warn him with a glance, he immediately begins pouring you a glass of whiskey.

At least he knows better than to ask.

“Seems like someone’s had a rough few days,” Yujin teases, leaning forward on her elbows towards you. “You look like shit.”

“I have you to thank for that,” you say in between sips of your drink, feeling it burn down your throat. “Who the hell did you send me to kill? Ever since then, the Clan’s been on my ass non-stop.”

Yujin shrugs, pulling back to reach for one of the drawers, where a pile of keys were being kept. She picks one up and slides it over to the bald roughneck beside you. “Dunno. I’m just doing what you’ve told me to do: find members of the Devil Cat Clan causing trouble, ping their location, send them your way. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You scoff as you down the rest of your whiskey. “Whoever that was is causing more than just a pain in my neck. How big is this mess you got me in?” you ask, never really having the time to keep up with recent events.

As if on command, Yujin interrupts the ongoing football match on the TV and puts on the news—much to the dismay of several blokes.

You try to take it all in. 

They’re covering it up. They made it out as an accident. Potential gang wars. No involvement from the Devil Cat Clan. They’re framing it as a tragedy. Collateral damage. Remnants of the ‘old school’ jopok ways—the old family style of mafia. But then the next few things catch your eye.

Whether it was further cover up, some sort of red herring, or something they actually had planned, the news comes as a surprise to you nonetheless.

Jaehwi has a daughter. And he’s marrying her off.

Something about strengthening the presence of the Devil Cat Clan. Something about metaphorically marrying their former jopok ways to more civilized and ‘clean’ endeavors. Whatever their explanations are, you don’t clock it. Partially because you could never believe that the Clan would ever want to come clean. Partially because there are four men with guns by the door threatening the bouncers to be allowed inside.

“Shit, they followed me all the way here,” you spit as you glance at Yujin for support. “Got anything for me?”

Without thinking twice, she pulls out a briefcase from underneath her and shoves it against your chest. “Bullets, clean set of clothes, burner phone. Get as far away from here as you can and sort this shit out before thinking of coming back again. Until then—don’t die.”

And as every last member of the Seoul underbelly at The Requiem pointed their guns towards the entrance of the bar, you take this as your chance to escape. Before darting out through the back entrance, you take one last look at the news showcasing Jaehwi’s revealed daughter.

Suddenly, an idea comes to you.

==

You thought it would be a good idea. You thought you could benefit off of the chaos going on in the background.

But the moment you walk through the gates of this traditional-style mansion at the very heart of the Devil Cat Clan’s scope of control, you begin to doubt your idea.

The plan was simple: act decent, present yourself naturally, and hope to get chosen as one of the potential aspirants for the hand of Jaehwi’s daughter. The rest? Well, the rest can follow. You have to worry about getting past screening first.

Which proved to be immediately difficult.

They ask for your identity and background, so you tell them the script Yujin prepared for you the moment you showed up at The Reqiuem searching for work as a new vigilante. They ask why you have weapons, and you tell them—who the hell doesn’t have weapons in this day and age? They ask you if you know what the Devil Cat Clan’s about, who the boss and his daughter are, and what your intentions for marriage would be. While you can’t tell them you’re here to get closer to Jaehwi and to end his miserable excuse for a life, you instead tell them, “I’m here because I see an opportunity to not just help the Clan with your endeavors, but to … pursue another endeavor of my own.”

They assume you meant getting with the boss’s daughter. You let it slide.

There are about ten other men of different ages and appearances at the waiting room. While they all form a colorful cast of potential husbands, what they had in common with each other (that you evidently didn’t have) was simple—affluence. Bespoke suits, watches that costed ten job’s worth of payouts, shoes that shined brighter than your future, gravitas that far exceeded what your dirty little lips could muster.

And yet, you still hold out hope.

By noon, that number reduces to seven. The first ones to go were the men pushing fifty—not much else to be said there.

By four, that number reduces further to five. The next ones to go were the men who had yet to make a name for themselves in their respective fields. This makes your legs tense and your breath hitch. You were getting closer and closer to the shaving point.

By nine, that number reduces to just two: you and this other guy in a white suit with a hairstyle that reminds you of Alex the Lion from Madagascar. He has the scars on his face to match the glint of the golden knuckles wrapped around his fists. You make the mistake of staring at him for too long, and when he catches your eye, he lets out some sort of growl as he cracks his fingers.

Well, this is just going swimmingly.

You’ve been a night owl all your life. Staying up past midnight is an easy feat. But the weight of the past few days being on the run is now slowly taking its toll on you. As the clock ticks further into the night, you find yourself losing the battle against sleep.

Until she walks in.

The first thing that rouses you from your slippery slope down into slumber is this fresh and powdery rose scent that’s elegant yet not overpowering. It thrills your nostrils. It captures your mind. The second thing that shakes you awake is the sound of her stilettos against the marble floor—gentle, light, unassuming. The final thing that makes you train your eyes on her was the way her floral dress clings to her slender frame, tracing up the length of her petite figure, and leads your gaze towards the neutral expression on her face.

She doesn’t belong here with the likes of Alex the Lion and you. She belongs somewhere between movie sets and luxury brand billboards.

She’s unreal.

And she’s looking right at you.

In fact, she’s not just looking—she’s pointing right at you. What did you do? Did you say something in your sleep? What the hell is going on? But the heat rushing to your face is overtaken by what her assistant says to you next. “Sirs, the decision by the young mistress has been made. You, in the back, please come with us.”

“Let’s get you acquainted with Lady Jiwon.”

Dinner.

They walk you along polished hallways dotted with traditional decor, through an luscious and well-maintained courtyard, and towards an imposing three-story building surrounded with Devil Cat Clan goons armed to the teeth—just for dinner.

You already regret your decision. But it’s too late to back out now.

As you enter the building, you’re brought towards the dining room that looks less like it belongs to an organized crime syndicate from the twenty-first century and more like it belonged to the owners of this house from six hundred years ago. A low dining table that looks a little larger than the usual soban frames the center of the room. Around it are several cushions atop a carpet with some sort of a mosaic design on it. Before you even contemplate hesitating, the man behind you presses up against you, reminding you of your situation with a shove. Eventually, you yield and join Jaehwi’s daughter at the table.

You have to hand it to the Devil Cat Clan—they are swift and efficient. Within moments, they begin setting the table. In mere moments, they pour you both tea, light some candles around the room, and set up different plates around Jaehwi’s daughter’s side of the table.

You say ‘they’ like there are multiple of them assembling all of this, when really, it’s just one woman in a traditional maid dress.

The assistant from earlier excuses himself and congratulates you for your first meal together. You’re not sure how to go about this, but you resolve to give it a try. Bowing next to you, the same maid from earlier gestures towards your empty side of the table. “Can I get you anything, young master? Our chefs are of the finest caliber, so I assure you—whatever cuisine your heart desires is no problem for us at all.”

You turn to the girl across you, still wearing her floral dress, staring at the food in front of her like she has seen this scene play out a thousand other times before. You return to the maid and say, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

You keep it simple. Nothing more than it should be. Dinner. Just dinner.

With that, the maid excuses herself with another bow and heads to the kitchen to relay your request.

You can hardly call it a meal—whatever she was given. It looks more like a batch of impulsively assembled side dishes that had a total calorie count equal to an average meal—less appetizing, more functional. You realize this girl wasn’t even asked what she wanted to eat. She was just served it.

Like she doesn’t have a choice.

The maid returns minutes later with a similar set of food. When you ask her about this peculiarity, she just smiles and says, “Lady Jiwon follows a strict diet as per the request of Master Jaehwi. She is quite used to it by now.”

Like hell she is, you think to yourself as you watch her barely touch anything laid out for her. You admit—it smells good. And these side dishes of hers even taste great. Better than any convenience store meal could offer at three in the morning. But she isn’t eating any of it. Instead, you file away those sentiments. You’re not here to give a damn about what Jaehwi’s daughter thinks about her ‘rich girl food’.

You’re here to find a chance to strike at her father. So, you start something you absolutely dread doing with your marks.

Small talk.

“So,” you begin, poking at the vegetables you saved for later. “Marriage. You and me. Why all of a sudden?”

No response from her.

Instead, the response comes from her maid, which you start to think is her personal maid, as she continues hovering just out of view. “Lady Jiwon has been of age for years now, young master. It was only a matter of time before her father offers her hand to suitors. Lady Jiwon is aware of this, and is prepared to take any actions necessary to preserve the dignity of the Devil Cat Clan as his eldest child.”

You roll your eyes. So much for getting more information out of this girl. But you try again.

“Ok then. What about you? I mean, you as a person. Tell me about yourself.”

Again, before the girl could even get anything past her lips, the maid in the back replies, “Lady Jiwon is a wonderful woman. She has grown so much since I’ve begun taking care of her as a child. She enjoys gardening, traditional arts, and fashion among many other things. I’m afraid I cannot disclose much about her as is forbidden by Master Jaehwi. I hope this much will suffice for you, young master.”

This maid is starting to get on your nerves. You’re never getting to Jaehwi at this rate.

Clearing your throat, you exhale briskly before putting down your chopsticks. This grabs the girl’s attention, and when she locks eyes with you for the first time since arriving here, you ask, “Are you ok with getting married like this? Like a transaction? I mean, there’s always divorce, but your first marriage has to at least mean something, right?”

On cue, the maid responds, “Lady Jiwon has—.”

“Lady Jiwon this, Lady Jiwon that—I’m not asking for what you think she wants to say. I’m asking the damn woman in front of me what she thinks herself. So stop interrupting her,” you growl, maintaining your gaze towards Jaehwi’s daughter. “Just tell me. Do you even want to get married?”

She remains speechless against your first act of defiance within her household—within the territory of the Devil Cat Clan. The girl trembles in a way that a stray cat would when approached by a stranger—or anyone else for that matter—for the very first time. She has this look like she wants to come up with something, like she wants to say something, but what’s stopping her isn’t that she wasn’t sure about it.

She wasn’t sure if she was allowed.

Once the moment has come to pass, the maid interjects once more. “Like I was saying, young master, Lady Jiwon—.”

“It’s ok … Areum-unnie …”

Her voice. It came out. And god forbid—if you weren’t sitting within the premises of the Clan that murdered your parents, you would have likely spared the thought that she sounds just like an angel would. “It’s ok … I’ll take it from here.”

She’s no longer hunched forward. She’s no longer eating—not like she was picking at her food much earlier anyway. Now, posture straight, hands on her lap, she bows her head in a polite manner before rising up to meet your defiance. “I don’t have a choice. It’s … what’s needed of me. The least I can do is try to enjoy this as much as I can. I suggest you do the same.”

“I’d be enjoying this more if you’d stop looking like you’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

Her face does a thing that’s not enough to be a smile but is certainly above neutrality. The corners of her lips twitch in a way that you ascertain is of her own volition. “Thank you for sharing a meal with me. I … I’m sorry I couldn’t offer much for our first meal together. But I hope we can look forward to more … fruitful interactions in the future.

You fight yourself from scoffing. Yeah right—like you’ll let this farce play out for any longer.

Before she is able to stand up and command her maid, you shoot up from your seat and clear your throat. “Your … your father. Is he … home?”

That was such a weird fucking question to ask her, and her expression reflects the same sense of surprise. But still, she replies, “No. Father is away again tonight. Like always.”

Like always. The words echo in your head a few times. “I see. Sorry if that was … a bit weird to ask. I just wanted to—.”

Areum interrupts you with a terribly hidden snicker. “Oh my, young master. How bold of you to be having such … thoughts already. You need not worry. Even if he was home, I imagine he wouldn’t mind his daughter’s suitor seeing her upstairs.”

“Seeing her upstairs?”

Areum nods, running a hand down her mistress’s back several times to smoothen out the creases of her dress. “You did wish to see her to her room, did you not? I don’t blame you—it would be wise to get acquainted sooner rather than later. You do remember that part of the provision for marriage, no? If Lady Jiwon deems you unfit for her hand in marriage, Master Jaehwi will have you killed.”

Well, shit. You should have read through those damn papers better.

Caught between your held breath and the next, you nod like someone who was just realizing what they had signed up for. “Yeah …  I’d like to accompany her upstairs. Do you mind?”

Areum shakes her head, extending her hand in invitation. “Right this way, young master. The living room is on the second floor. Her bedroom is on the third. Lady Jiwon, I trust you will be in good hands. Consider this … a test of his prudence and fidelity.”

Prudence this, fidelity that. You just need a chance to escape. If you had known Jaehwi wasn’t going to be anywhere near his daughter, and if you had half a brain cell to even read that contract you signed earlier, you wouldn’t be here right now.

You wouldn’t have done this.

The girl glances over her shoulder without even fully turning around. She eyes you like you should already know what to do. Oh, how mistaken she is when you don’t even offer your arm out to her as you two ascended the stairs. Instead, you left her to cling to the wooden grooves of the railing.

You pause by the landing on the second floor, and she wonders what’s wrong. “Nothing, nothing. I just—can you give me a moment before I head up? This is new even for me, entering a woman’s bedroom and all. I just want to be … a bit more ready.”

While you might not be the best suitor, you are certainly a well-versed liar. She buys your deceit without a hint of doubt and continues upstairs to her room. 

Now that you’re alone, your mind races. The plan is in fucking shambles.

You were here for Jaehwi—not for his daughter. But the bloody bloke isn’t even home. Defense mechanism or just poor parenting? You couldn’t care any less. You came here to strike from within the Devil Cat Clan while they were still scrambling outside to find you. You aren’t leaving without doing any significant damage to them at the very least.

When you feel the weight of your hands drift towards your legs, inching closer and closer to your holsters, you then unravel a certain line of thought.

What if you don’t kill Jaehwi?

A riveting idea, you have to admit. But, what if you didn’t kill him? Instead, what if you kill someone else?

What if you took the life of someone that mattered to him, just like how he took the only two people you have ever loved in your life from you?

So you wait an hour. Then two. And once you’re certain the girl isn’t peeking over the balcony anymore to see if you were still coming up after her, you don your crow mask once more and grip your hwando.

This is for your parents.

You ascend up the final flight of stairs, one step at a time, holding your breath.

This is for what they did to your family—this is what they did to you.

One hand on the handle of the sliding door, you carefully tug it open and reveal the dark bedroom with its owner sleeping on her bed, back towards you.

This … is for what he took from you—Jaehwi … Now, it’s your turn to take from him.

And as you hovered over the girl’s bed, blade in hand, the same weapon that you’ve used to take countless of Devil Cat Clan lives with, you slice downwards and split her neck wide open.

At least, you would have, if you didn’t hear her sob.

Pausing with the sharpened edge nearly pressing into the delicate exposed skin of her nape, you shudder and tighten your core.

She’s crying.

Once she shifts and turns towards the reason why there’s a depression next to her on the bed, you swiftly take off your mask and shove it behind you while also sheathing your blade in the same motion.

“It’s … you. You’re still here …?”

Sweating, shaking, body tensing like a strung bow, your neck produces the bare minimum motion for a nod. “Yeah, I … I guess I still am. I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep, really. I was just … I was just …”

You look across her face: at her reddened eyes, at the damp spots against her unblemished cheeks, at the hair that clung to her temples, and at her full lips that quivered with the slightest motions. 

Then, you sigh. “Sorry if I woke you up. You were … crying, weren’t you?” you point out like an idiot, as if she didn’t already know that. “Is it because of what I asked you earlier?”

She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even want to look you in the eye.

Instead of the awkward kneel and hover you’re doing above her laying figure, you instead convert to a sit on her mattress. It was only then that the girl fluffed her comforter up so you could apparently join her under the sheets.

You don’t question it. You just slip right in.

Hand on her waist above the comforter, she turns on her side once more. “I don’t want to get married. I … I never even dated anyone yet. Never really liked anyone before. But my father … he said it was time. Our Clan is losing influence. Many of our members are defecting and joining other families and gangs. He … he said there was no other way.”

You thought you hated Jaehwi enough already, but you learned you could hate him even more. “Your dad isn’t exactly the picture of parenthood, is he? Can’t you just say no? Can’t you just run away from all of this?”

She lets out a soft chuckle before shaking her head. You watch as the wavy ends of her hair dance underneath the moonlight. “All that I am … all that I have … is here. With my clan. I have nothing else. No one else. So I … I have no choice but to stay.”

She does something behind her back. She rests the back of her palm against her lower spine and splays her fingers open.

“Just for tonight … you can leave tomorrow and never come back … but for tonight, can you please—can you please just pretend to be mine and stay with me?”

You feel the weight of your blade against its sheathe. You feel the weight of each individual bullet in your pistol. You feel the weight of the pouring rain against your back on the night of your parents’ funeral.

And then, you feel the weight of her open hand against your thigh.

And then, you take it.

“You have some nerve allowing me to stay here. I could be an assassin out for your family’s money or something,” you tease, sublimating the anxiety that’s beginning to build up in the back of your head. “Why did you even choose me in the first place? I’m sure the other guys who were waiting to marry you could do more for you than just … this.”

You thought it would take her longer than that to respond, but you are mistaken.

In a heartbeat, she squeezes your hand in hers and tells you, “You seemed like the least threatening one. It felt like I could be safe with you.”

Your blade clinks in its place as if to laugh at her response, but you keep it silent with a firm squeeze as you sigh.

“Let’s hope you’re right about that.”

==

That is not the only time you attempt to assassinate Jaehwi’s daughter. In fact, that is not the only time you fail to kill her.

Like that one time you tried to maul her with a crowbar you picked up from the armory across the courtyard. You were going to beat her skull in but you had to stop when she ducked down to pet a stray kitten that wandered into the compound.

You stopped for the kitten—not for her.

Or that one time you aimed at her from the living room window on the second floor as she made her way towards some of the Clan members. You could have easily pulled the trigger several times on her, but you held back when she kept bowing politely to each one of them. You had to stop because you couldn’t miss your shot—and the lord knows Yujin didn’t pack you enough bullets.

It didn’t help that she spotted you shortly after and waved at you.

How about that other time when you approached her with a garrote in hand, ready to strangle her from behind? She was too busy watering her flowers to notice that you had arrived. You couldn’t just let her choke to death and cough up blood all over her orchids, right?

Instead, you ended up watching her tend to her personal garden as the sun set quietly behind you both.

This isn’t working out at all. Every time you got close to Jaehwi’s daughter, something would always get in the way of you ending her life. It was meant to be swift. You planned to make it as painless and as clean as possible. But time and again, life had other plans.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Your window to visit her always opens at four in the afternoon. By the fifth day since the beginning of your arranged marriage, you were all out of ideas on how to take her out as you show up to the front gate of the mansion once more.

“I.D.?”

You look up at the burly guard in front of you, blocking your way. “What would I need an I.D. for?”

He grunts, leaning forward to cast his shadow over you, and repeats, “I said, I’m going to need an I.D. Before I let you in.”

Just when you were about to consider beating the hell out of this gorilla, a familiar face pokes her head through the door and smiles up at you. “Young master, I see you’re on time once again. Come, please head inside.”

You don’t appreciate her comment on being timely—you just had nowhere else to be. You couldn’t take any jobs from Yujin. Couldn’t even be anywhere near The Requiem or any of your safehouses. This was all you had now, so of course you showed up on time.

You give the gorilla-looking guard one final smirk before heading indoors.

Unlike the previous times that you’ve been here, Jiwon was nowhere to be found. Normally, you expect her to be sitting by the courtyard or reading a book in the living room. But today, she wasn’t home.

An idea strikes you.

You race up to her bedroom knowing full well that she wasn’t around, and with a quickened breath, you open her door and welcome yourself inside.

You start going through all of her things.

Her cabinets, drawers, that one compartment attached to her desk, the plastic crates underneath her bed, behind each ornament on her shelf, and even between the nooks and crannies that filled with dust—you leave no stone unturned in your desperate attempt to get any information that you can use on either her or Jaehwi.

But you found nothing.

The only thing you discover is that this girl was abundantly … mundane? There is no better way to put it.

When you pictured what the daughter of Kim Jaehwi would be like, you thought of anything but this. 

You imagined a spoiled chaebol who hopped from country to country each week and only visited Korea whenever daddy wanted her back home. You imagined fancy hotels, spending sprees, parties with as much designer drugs as she had designer clothes, running from the law, and getting her father to bail her out with his ‘influence’ each time.

You certainly did not expect someone this … bland and quiet.

As you withdraw from the last of her wardrobe, coughing at the dust that spewed from the hangers of her untouched clothes, you wonder what use killing this girl would be in the grander scheme of things. It almost feels like Jaehwi doesn’t care about her enough to even let her become her own person. It almost feels like she doesn’t even matter to him.

But why do you care?

“What are you doing?”

Yeah, what were you doing? The words repeat in your head. But when you realize someone else said it to you, you hide your hands behind your back and turn to see Liz wrapped up in a pair of towels. “Why were you going through my stuff?”

Well, shit. What’s the lie this time?

You could tell her you saw a bug and couldn’t kill it before it snuck into her wardrobe. You could tell her Areum asked you to prepare some clothes for her—seeing that she’s buck naked beneath those towels. You could even just tell her that the wardrobe was open when you entered, and you were just closing it.

Instead, the truth slips from your lips.

“Look, there’s a reason for this …” you confess, unsure of where this was heading. But when you look at her confused and naive expression, you conscience won’t let you lie to someone like her again. “I just … I don’t know what I was hoping to do actually. I guess I was … I guess I was just trying to get to know you more. Somehow.”

Strangely true. That wasn’t even much of a lie. “Huh. Ok …”

“Ok,” you say in return, bouncing on your heels as you avoid making eye contact with her. But she bats her lashes twice as if she’s waiting for you to continue your alibi. “I uh, how do I put this? It’s weird just marrying you and into … all of this … without really knowing you much at all.”

“You think it’s unnatural,” she wonders, her tone bordering more on curiosity than concern.

“That’s one way to see this. Definitely.”

“So you want to … align stories?” she continues.

“Align stories? Right, right—align stories,” you nod, deciding to go with it. “I’m sure the other higher-ups of the Clan will want to know how I earned your respect. Or love. The media will have questions too when they publicize all of this. We should work on our cover story.”

You are so eager to delve deeper into this farce that you fail to realize Jiwon is waiting for you to stop running your tongue and give her a moment to change. “Right—after you change, of course. Would be difficult talking to you while you’re still naked.”

Her expression doesn’t change. So you shut yourself up, head out, and give her some time.

Once she’s ready, she calls you back in.

Her room smells of citrus shampoo, conditioner, and wet skin. You walk towards her and sit on the edge of her bed while she crosses her legs atop it.

“So, what ideas do you have for a cover story? I think the first few things we need to iron out are how we met, why we started dating, and what we love about each other. Sappy, I know, but it’s realistic at least.”

Jiwon purses her lips in thought, but it doesn’t amount to anything concrete.

“Ok, let’s try to break it down further. Maybe we can start with the first question: how did we meet? Where do you usually go? You know, for fun and stuff. Where do you hang out outside of home? Maybe we can use that—I can work with it. Better something you’re familiar with so you end up making less mistakes when you explain.”

But Jiwon isn’t able to give you a response. She just looks at you as if you might have the answers she’s looking for.

“Wait, do you … mostly just stay at home?”

The way she retreats underneath her comforter is enough of a response for you. “Huh. I can’t really say I met you at home. They’ll think I’m some kind of robber breaking and entering into your house. They’ll have me killed.”

“I … I used to go to school,” she offers up in an attempt to pitch something useful. “I had to stop after middle school because my father didn’t like how there weren’t any exclusive high schools for girls. Any good ones, at least.”

“You could have gone to Sookmyung or Sehwa. Those are really close to my old high school,” you ponder, drawing figures on her bedsheet as if you were mapping it out. “One time, me and my friends got—.”

You stop yourself. Why are you remembering this? 

This is a memory from your past life—a life you chose to bury and leave behind. This is a memory attached to who you once were, to who you used to be, to the you that still managed to have a normal life—with his parents. But that’s over now. And you swore not to think about it—any of it—ever again.

So why are you bringing it up again? Why are you even telling her this?

When you pause, she reaches a hand out and tries to place it over yours, but she jerks it back towards her person and gets all shy about it. Despite that, she has this look on her that’s telling you to continue, to not hold back. She must be thinking you were conscious about oversharing. She’s blissfully unaware that you’re intentionally stopping yourself.

“I … This one time, we all tried to get ourselves a date for Valentine’s. Stupid, I know, but we thought we might have a chance asking outside of our high school. So half of us went to Sookmyung, and the other half—my half—we went to Sehwa. I told them to play it cool, but god, they were such dorks. They approached the first girls that walked out of the school entrance, hitting on them right away. I was so embarrassed because of them that I barely got to ask anyone out.”

“Glad you know that was very weird,” she notes. “If I studied there, I would have called the cops on you.”

“Yeah, admittedly I’m not the best at courting or dating anyone. Never really had a girlfriend either so … this is all pretty new to me too. Which is crazy … right? One day I’m … just another person on the street, and the next day I’m … I’m marrying someone like you.”

You two share a look of understanding but immediately glance away when you connect a little too deeply with the other.

“I don’t know why I brought that up, sorry. It just came to me,” you try to continue past the topic. “So you didn’t go to high school. That’s out of the question for our cover story. Did you go anywhere for fun? In your free time?”

You think of asking her when even was her free time because every day seemed like a free day to her. She doesn’t seem to be invested in any form of academics, business, or even hobbies for that matter. She was just … here. At home.

“I … I like to sing.”

You nod, leaning into that. “Yeah, Areum told us. I remember that. What do you usually sing? Karaoke?”

“I’ve only been to a karaoke place once before, actually … I was probably twelve at the time,” she recalls, lacing her fingers together atop her lap. “My father had to meet some people, and he wanted to bring me along to introduce me. I ended up sneaking out and into the empty room next door. I had a blast singing some of my favorite anime songs.”

“You watch anime?” you ask in disbelief like Jaehwi’s daughter having some semblance of a personality was earth-shattering to you. “What did you watch?”

She chuckles like she thinks it’s ridiculous. “Oh, nothing big. Just … Madoka Magica, Shinsekai Yori, San-Gatsu no Lion. Those shows …”

She buries her face into her palms and peaks out at you to see your reaction. You in fact have none. You’re too stunned by this to even think of a response. “So the daughter of a syndicate leader likes dark magical girls, dystopian fantasies, and human drama.”

“Is it … bad?”

You shake your head and laugh at such a question in disbelief. “Not at all, it’s actually very … endearing. By any chance, did you ever watch …?”

You talk about your favorite anime shows and movies. Of course, you can’t help but circle back to the topic of your favorite openings and endings. As a result of this, you talk about other similar things too: your favorite K-dramas, your favorite Western movies, favorite bands and musical artists, favorite genres of music. You even go as far as talking about the places around Korea that she’s visited—Jeju being the standout one. About her favorite types of food—whenever she is allowed a cheat day of sorts, at least. About her favorite pastimes even, which she explains is all she ever does now in her daily idyllic life.

Throughout this entire time, you get the feeling that she’s another person—that she’s another human being. Just like you. The label of being Jaehwi’s daughter is something you easily forget—just like your initial excuse of coming up with a cover story together. It feels refreshing hearing her answer out of her own volition, recount stories and memories without being prompted, and actually responding to you like she has a mind of her own.

It’s incredible watching Jaehwi’s daughter opening herself up like this to you.

When you ask her what kind of cake is her favorite—and you hope it’s oreo cheesecake too because that’s the only cake you will ever eat—she asks if this is for your wedding. “I never really thought about the flavor yet … it has to be fancy though, right? My father—.”

You click your teeth and swat at her. “My father this, my father that—I’m asking you what you want. Actually, screw the wedding. Let’s not … let’s not even think about that right now. If your dad wasn’t in the picture, what would you be doing right now? What would you want to do, huh? What would you try?”

You can see the years of being under control dance across her face as she thinks long and hard about the answers to your questions. It takes her a few minutes to decide on a response that’s satisfactory to her—a quirk of hers, you now learn—but she ends up saying, “I want to … play video games.”

Leaning forward, you stare at her with eyes as wide and as open as your jaw. “What? You’ve never played video games before?”

She crinkles her nose in an innocent way. “Don’t say it like that … I wasn’t allowed to play any games growing up. My father thought it was a waste of time, and he would always put me on some kind of tutor for the summer: piano, traditional dance, painting—you name it. It was only my mother … who … who …”

She begins to choke on her words, and you see her visually jerk and jolt in place as she’s struggling with more than just words now. “I-I … she …”

You don’t think twice: you hold her hands and squeeze them. “Rough topic? Sorry, if I had known—.”

But she shakes her head. “No … no it’s ok … Just being … yeah, don’t worry about that. I um, I never really got to play any video games. If I could use my money, I’d maybe … maybe buy a TV.”

“You do know that’s not how you play video games, right?”

She turns her head to the side like an owl would. “But I saw my sister playing on her TV. Isn’t that where most games are now?”

She has a sister? You file that away for later.

But your hand can’t resist slapping itself across your face. A groan shortly follows. “That’s … what we call consoles. Probably a console, yeah. This nifty little gadget you plug CDs into? The CDs have the games, and the console lets you play it. On the TV. The TV itself does nothing for you.”

“So you mean to say you need a console to allow you to play a game, and you need a TV to allow you to play a console? That … sounds very complicated,” she points out. And when you hear it said out loud by someone who has never known any of this, you realize that she’s got a point. “Are they expensive?”

“Are you kidding? You’re Kim Jaehwi’s daughter. You’re flooded to the chin with cash from—.”

You stop yourself when you start to remember the debt your parents owned Jaehwi’s lowlife loansharks. You stop before the memories can come surging back from when they would arrive weekly to try and shake what little cash your family had left to make your parents pay up. You can feel the blood boiling in your veins as you remember what got you here in the first place—what brought you your misery.

But when you look at Jaehwi’s daughter and see the soft of her nose twitch out of concern for you, slowly, your frustration begins to fade. “Sorry … yeah, you’ve got money on your side. I wouldn’t be worried about that.”

“What games can you play on one? Can you … can you play Minecraft?”

Your hand flies back to your face. The daughter of Kim Jaehwi, the leader of the top syndicate in all of Korea, wants to play fucking Minecraft? She could have asked for anything else—a weeklong vacation in the Maldives, her own private jet or yacht or limousine, or even a pet peacock if she was that freaky.

But Minecraft? That’s something commoners enjoy.

Something you enjoyed.

When you stand up, you almost don’t want to leave when she crawls across her bed to follow you, but you reassure her with a smile.

After half an hour of awkward conversation with her personal maid and sifting through dusty boxes in the storage room, you return to her bedroom with an old laptop, its charger, and an extension cord.

“That’s …”

“Borrowed it for a while. It was a pain convincing Areum to let me even have it, but she said it might still have your dad’s credit card credentials on it,” you happily announce, laying it all out on the bed and plugging the laptop to the nearby outlet. “We could get you Minecraft on this.”

“You don’t have to. My father would—.”

“Probably notice?” you finish her sentence as you enter the password Areum told you. “He wouldn’t mind losing a couple thousand won. What’s that against his daughter’s happiness?”

As you connect to the internet with the laptop—something you both are surprised by—you head over to the website, purchase the game, and wait for it to install. As you’re explaining to her the general gist of the mechanics within the game, you notice in your peripheral vision that her mouth is doing that thing again. It pulls up from the corners this time, towards her ears, ever-so-slightly.

She smiles.

Shaking your head, once the all-too-familiar loading screen comes into view, you place the laptop onto her lap. “Think you’ll be fine, or do you need me to backseat you?”

She bites her lip and says, “I think I’ll be fine. So I just … press ‘singleplayer’ right?”

She was definitely not fine.

She spent the first ten minutes marveling at her new game, it’s unique block design and layout, and the cute little baby pig that approached her from the forest. But once the first ten minutes are up and nighttime falls upon her, she is immediately racing towards the nearest pile of dirt to bury herself six blocks under. 

She alternates between whimpers and screams with each zombie and skeleton that chases after her poor unarmored character, struggling to even collect wood or stone without the ever-present fear of a mob jumping at her. While you’re watching this girl play what is likely her very first video game, you can’t help but feel this tightness in your chest. 

It isn’t happiness. It isn’t joy. You knew what those felt like once upon a time. This is something … different. You resolve not to give it a name. Instead, you decide to see her sob into her thighs as she gets blown up by a Creeper for the seventh time in a single night, her items scattering to the winds.

You don’t even realize that you fell asleep at some point. The last thing you remember was her rocking your thigh steadily while mining for some iron in an abandoned mineshaft.

The moment you wake up, the room is dark, and the moonlight from the window is faint. It must have been hours now since you passed out. The first thoughts in your mind are the laptop and Jaehwi’s daughter, worried about what else beyond Minecraft she must have gone on with it.

Your answers, conveniently enough are right next to you—tucked into bed, back against you, the device right next to her blanketed feet, sleeping soundly like one would after a whole evening of playing Minecraft.

You pick up the laptop and unlock it, wondering what she was up to while you were out cold.

There, on the corner of the screen, was a sticky note. Written on it were the words: Made a house, too scared to mine again.

You opened the game and saw her humble little shack cobbled together with different bits of stone, wood, and spare wool. The occasional leaf blocks throughout the design tell you how desperate she was to build somewhere to live.

Cracking your knuckles, you manage a smile as you equip yourself with her nearly-broken wooden sword. “Leave the rest to me then.”

You spend the entire night lighting up a large area around her house with torches, making a little mineshaft downwards from the side of her house, and clearing the nearby zones off of any hostile mobs. You put it the dirty work—the kind of work you enjoy more back when you used to play this game with friends—so that she doesn’t have to. You’re amazed you still remember the recipe for a shield, how to pick off mobs with a bow, or even how to abuse hunger mechanics. 

By the time you leash a dog to one of her fences, your eyes begin to falter, and before you know it, the early morning rays of sun threaten to blind you from the window. But the call of sleep is too strong. You hope you’ve done enough for her today. Now, it was finally time to rest in the real world.

Little did you know that the girl beside you got to wake up with a wide grin on her face as she took her new pet along with her to explore the world once more.

==

Your days with Jaehwi’s daughter look a lot like that day.

You spend your mornings doing god-knows-what trying to get your life back together again despite what’s going on around you. After a few days blow over, the heat on your back drops and you manage to return to The Requiem to take more jobs from Yujin. You clean these jobs up like usual, but you take extra pre-caution to get to your mark before four in the afternoon.

Because that was when your time with her began.

Of course, you’re keeping up an act. It wouldn’t make sense to stop following through after just a few days. It would make the Clan suspicious. It would place heat on you again. 

Of course, you tell yourself that, but in actuality, spending time with his daughter was oddly enough a pleasant treat.

Whenever you come over, she’s already in the living room, hunched over her laptop, eyes wide open as the lights from her game flash all across her face. It’s almost endearing how adorable she looks when she’s taken over by the childhood wonder she’s been withheld from for years.

It’s almost endearing—until you remember you still have to kill her.

And you still try. You still try to end her life. But you know how things go—life still gets in the way.

You try attaching your ol’ reliable silencer to your pistol and convince her to enter the Nether, so you could shoot her in the back while she’s distracted by armies of Piglins. But the moment the lack of gold on her character becomes a problem, she’s throwing herself at you as if a physical escape in the real world would equate to a similar escape in the game.

You end up just hugging her trembling form and reminding her it’s just a game. The Piglins can’t hurt her in real life.

You try stabbing her in her sleep again—just like you originally planned. But Jaehwi’s daughter is one hell of a light sleeper. The moment you open the door to her room, she’s already turning towards you like she’s been expecting you. She pats the side of her bed and invites you to sit next to her, telling you all about what she did in Minecraft that day, how annoying Phantoms are, and how she might make a boat out of cherry wood and sail across the large ocean to the east.

You end up smiling through her stories of being raided by Pillagers.

You even try poisoning her food. You offered to serve her some breakfast in bed to surprise her, and Areum is immediately taken by your ‘sweetness’, naive to the notion of you sprinkling her meal with an agent so strong it would only take one bite to kill any mark. Except she doesn’t even want to take a bite of her food. She was too eager to jump back into the game again the moment she wakes up, insisting you eat the food yourself so it wouldn’t go to waste.

You end up dumping her laced breakfast into the trash, but not before kicking the can in frustration.

You regret buying her that damned game. Who would have thought it would make things more difficult than it already was.

This was unreal.

“Yeong Kyungsam—thirty-three, married with no children, head of logistics at one of Jaehwi’s construction companies, one of their fronts for money laundering.”

Bang.

“Myo Seungri—fifty-five, unmarried, retired grunt who worked for Jaehwi’s father and helped kill students during the Gwangju Uprising back in the eighties.”

Bang bang.

“Jeong Sooyun—twenty-seven, unmarried, works as a loanshark—.”

Bang bang bang.

As the blood stopped spreading across Sooyun’s carpet, you kick her lifeless face to make sure that she’s dead dead. You kick her face again just for the hell of it. Once you confirm she’s gone, you stuff your pistol in your holster and check the time on your phone.

Three-thirty-five.

Leaning against the window, you part the curtains and stare outside, weighing your options. It would take approximately half an hour to get to the mansion, but it would only take fifteen minutes to go to the nearest Subway to get a sandwich.

You go with the sandwich.

You line up, get your order taken, get your order messed up, watch as the staff apologizes and redoes your order with her manager behind her, and then finally, you get the sandwich you’ve been craving for, and take a seat somewhere near the back.

But it tastes like shit.

This is your favorite order for a sandwich and it tastes like absolute ass. You’re not sure if it’s because you can’t stomach eating this alone or because you can taste the guilt of your actions with each bite. Whatever it is, it makes you check the time on your phone again.

Four-eleven.

You let out a sigh. Next to you, a high school student is eyeing you with a scared look on his face. You’re not sure if he’s scared because of your weapons or because you’ve been staring blankly at your half-eaten sandwich for minutes now. Either way, you offer him your half, and when he strangely enough accepts, you get up and begin jogging towards the Devil Cat Clan’s mansion.

“You’re late. But I still need your I.D.”

You grunt as you pretend to look for your non-existent I.D. through your different pockets. No way in hell are you giving this gorilla your actual I.D. “Can’t you let me in? I’ve been coming here for days now. Surely you recognize me.”

The guard doesn’t flinch. “You’re late, Tracksuit. She’s not happy with it.”

Those words stab into your chest. “I know, so could you just let me in?”

Before the gorilla can beat you to death, Areum pops her head out and assesses the ruckus before saying, “You’re here, young master. I thought you wouldn’t be coming today. You’re quite late.”

You exhale firmly through your nose. “I’m very aware of that. Could you help me get in?”

Sure enough, Areum waves down the guard and helps you enter the premises of the estate. She’s aware you know your way around by now, so she leaves you to confront the inevitable as she heads off to attend to some chores.

When you make it up to the third floor and open the bedroom door, a pillow smacks you right in the face before falling between your feet.

“You’re late,” she accuses you without looking up from the laptop. She’s just circling around the apps with the trackpad, pretending to be busy. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

You shrug, picking up the pillow and placing it next to her. “I don’t have to come everyday, do I?”

That’s what makes her look away from her laptop. She clutches the pillow you picked up and hugs it tight against her chest. “I guess not …”

You glance away as you feel heat overtake your face for a brief moment. “Whatever. Is this what you’ve been up to again? You’re way too addicted to this. Maybe I should delete—.”

The pillow smacks your face again, and immediately, she recovers it with a pout. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh I would, young lady. You’re cooping up here’s gotten worse since I bought you that game,” you point out, sitting on the bed now. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even managed to play all this time with just a trackpad. Doesn’t it hurt your fingers?”

She shakes her head. “I can manage. Want to see what I built while you were gone?”

You inch closer to her and she shows you what’s new. You give her a day, and she managed to build a simple doghouse for her pet. You give her three days, and she managed to dig streets into the ground, make her own pathways with a shovel, and connect the roads in a cute little pattern. You give her a week, and she’s managed to copy the layout of this mansion as similarly as she could with the limited blocks and materials she has access to.

“Not bad, not bad,” you’re saying over her shoulder as you watch her do donuts on her boat. “I bet by the time we get married you would have already built all of Seoul in your world.”

Her mouth does it again—she smiles. But this time, she’s chuckling along with it.

But that moment is short-lived when your noses touch and you both realize how close you are to each other.

Instead of pulling herself away, she lets you stay where you are, hovering above your shoulder. Instead of withdrawing yourself, you allow yourself to stay close to her, staying by her side.

The two of you don’t say anything for a good few minutes.

What breaks the ice is one of your fingers moving towards hers, which was by the trackpad. You wiggle it around, and the field of view in the game wiggles around as well. “Maybe we should get you a mouse.”

“A mouse?”

“Yeah, for your laptop. I think we can get you a nice Logitech one that’s bluetooth too. It will help you with your building—trust me,” you explain. “And you’ve been playing on mute still? No wonder you keep getting jumped by mobs. I turned on subtitles for you already, but it helps to hear where they’re coming from too.”

“Ah, I get conscious playing with volume, especially when everyone’s already asleep.”

You chuckle. “You know, you’re technically their boss. I’m sure they wouldn’t give a damn if they heard their boss screaming after being chased by Skeletons again.”

She punches your shoulder—not a soft one, but one that packs some strength behind it. “Ya! I know how to use a shield now, you know?”

She raised her voice. That was the first time she’s ever done that. Endearingly.

When you don’t speak, she hides her face against the pillow and looks up only to paddle back to her little dock area. “I guess some earphones would help.”

Leaning back on your hands, you ask her, “What else do you want to buy? I don’t just mean for your laptop or to feed your Minecraft addiction—I mean other things. In general, you know?”

“In general …?”

You nod, glancing around the bare room within her four walls. “Things you’ve always wanted but never got to have. Things you couldn’t buy for yourself. Things you wish Jae—your dad could have gifted you but didn’t. Because he’s an asshole.”

She punches you again, this time with less power as she seems a bit more conscious. “Not clothes then. He only ever buys me clothes. Sometimes they aren’t even the right size.”

You think about the wardrobe filled with dust. You think about the first dinner you shared together and how meek she was. And you think about how, right now, you’ve heard her speak ill of her father for the first time. “You’re sure daddy won’t be mad if he heard that?”

And then, for the first time as well, you see her smirk at you. “Daddy won’t mind if I spend money again. He hasn’t given me a gift for my birthday last year anyway. This is just … making up for it.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘revenge’,” you quip, yet the word never felt sourer in your mouth. “How about we go to the mall then?”

Immediately, her expression twists and tightens. “The mall …? You mean like … outside?”

You nod, weirded out by her question. “Where else would the mall be? I know a gaming store I used to … I used to go to when I was younger. If they’re still open, maybe we could buy your gaming gear there with a discount too. Then, we can go around and see if there’s anything else you want to buy. We could even get something to eat afterwards.”

It seems she doesn’t like what you’re telling her. The moment you run your mouth about the different things you could do together at the mall, she falls silent and returns to that wilted state you first saw her in.

Dropping the topic, you reach out to her. But you stop yourself before your hand could touch her skin.

Why were you doing this? Why were you offering to go to the mall with her?

She could ask someone like Areum to go with her and buy whatever it is you listed out. She could just order them online and have them delivered the next day without any problems. Why did she have to go to the mall? And why did she have to go with you?

You’re supposed to fucking kill her—not babysit her.

Not take her out on some date.

When she comes to once again, she pushes the laptop away along with the pillow she was previously hugging. She curls up into a ball and lays down with her back towards you.

Well, shit. What did you say this time?

Rubbing your temple, you lay down next to her, share a moment of silence first, and then speak to the ceiling. “Another sore spot? Sorry about that. I still need to get used to your … triggers.”

But she shook her head. “No, it’s just … I … I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” you say, and you fight the urge to look at her, knowing she would get too conscious—too ‘seen’. “Believe me, I’ve been called a disappointment more times than you can count. You’re the last thing I’ll think of when I think ‘disappointment’.”

Something in her springs to life. Something in her makes her sit up, and then get off the bed.

You follow her. You trail behind her like you’re her shadow. She glides out of her bedroom, down the stairs, into the courtyard, through the lavishly decorated hallways, past the Clan goons who all greet her politely, and when you’re both finally at the main entrance of the estate, she takes a deep breath and sighs.

She takes one step through the door and instantly, she’s shaking. Sweating. Like she’s sick. Like she’ll combust if she steps out into the light.

It’s only then that you recognize what was happening—a panic attack.

You lift her beneath her shoulders and bring her back inside, and without any hesitation, she’s clinging to you for dear life.

You hear her sobbing into your chest.

“I-I can’t … I can’t go out …” she whimpers, shaking her head, trying to dry her eyes against your jacket. “I-I-It feels like I need to … need to vomit. Head spinning, chest … chest hurting. I can’t … I’m sorry.”

Whatever happened to her—whoever did this to her—had a lot of explaining to do. But not her. She didn’t have to say another word. “You idiot … you didn’t have to do all this just to show me. Don’t worry about it. We’ll … we’ll find another way.”

“But that’s the thing—I don’t want to stay like this forever.”

As she trails off, back indoors, back down the first few hallways, and as you follow shortly behind her, she humors you some. “I didn’t always used to be like this. Just … just happened recently. I just … I just wish I wasn’t this helpless.”

“I just wish I wasn’t this weak.”

You know that feeling. You’re terribly familiar with it. 

Feeling helpless. Feeling hopeless. Feeling weak. The world doesn’t stop for anyone or anything. It doesn’t stop for unpaid debt. It doesn’t stop for murdered parents. And it certainly doesn’t stop either for the traumatized children of syndicate leaders.

So you do the sensible thing and place your hand on the small of her back, rubbing it in arcs, before you whisper to the wind. “One step at a time, ok? Take it easy. I’ll … I’ll help you.”

You tell yourself this is part of the plan. You want to help get her out of the house so you can kidnap her, take her somewhere more isolated, and shoot her there.

Instead, you’re doing anything but that.

Because you have to deal with with two things.

First, the goons. They’re everywhere. 

When you start visiting Jaehwi’s daughter earlier than four in the afternoon, you see for the first time what happens in the first half of her days.

The different thugs and lowlifes under the employ of her father visit her for some reason. They greet her, make small talk with her, ask her for ‘her blessing’ before they go around and do god-knows-what. Nothing untoward. Nothing slimy. They treat her more like an idol to be worshipped than a dainty daughter they needs to be taken care of. They tell her about their exploits, about their ventures, hoping she would support them with a few kind words. But she isn’t much for words. She just nods and thanks them for stopping by.

You worry some of them would recognize you—because oh boy, do you recognize a good amount of them. Like Eyepatch, who came to her bragging about the new businesses he contracted into the Clan’s protection scheme—you’re pretty sure you’re the reason he’s only got one eye now. Or Mohawk, who showed her the brand new watch he bought with the money he made through Clan work—you could have sworn that was a fake; you broke the real one two months ago when you broke his wrist too.

Instead of worrying, you try not to think too deeply into it and let them pass.

Second, her trauma. Or whatever this is that she’s experiencing. 

You think it might be some adverse reaction to disobeying her dad’s command to stay at home. But when you hear Areum actively supporting and encouraging you to help her, you begin to wonder if it’s something else.

You start by getting her used to standing by the open door. That seems easy enough to do. But even then, she’s already clinging to the hem of your track pants every time like she’d seen a ghost.

Once she’s pinching your clothes a little less, you accompany her in taking her first few steps outside. Just on the sidewalk. She’s trembling like she’s about to collapse, but you stay by her side the entire time, reassuring her, letting her know you were right there. If she could clear Woodland Mansions by herself, surely standing on the sidewalk was no challenge for her.

Then she’s able to cross the street. Then she’s able to head down to the other end of the road. Then she’s able to head towards the bus station, and down into the subway.

One step at a time, you managed to help her conquer her fear. And she insists she is only able to do so because you held her hand the entire time. You don’t even notice you were doing that, but hey—if it helps, then it helps.

Nothing more to it than that.

Come the day you both agreed on to go to the mall together, you arrive at the estate on time this time around. But the gorilla at the gate stops you once again.

“Really? How many times are we going to do this?” you ask, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Just let me in. I have a d—I have somewhere to be with her.”

He raises a brow at your change in tone. “Like always—I.D.. No I.D.? No entry.”

“You’re impossible.”

Half hoping Areum would show up again, you give it a few minutes. Sure enough, a head pokes out of the door to greet you.

But it isn’t Areum’s.

“H-Hi …” she meekly greets, taking one shy step after the other as she meets you outside the gate. “Sorry, I was … already waiting for you here. Do I look ok? For the mall?”

Your eyes don’t even hesitate to look her up and down. She’s wearing a lovely little frilly dress with ruffles that flowed downwards to her knees and a trench coat over it to keep her warm. You look away to avoid the eagerness in her eyes as you nod. “It looks fine. Yeah. Good enough.”

She pouts and rubs her nape. “Maybe I overdressed—.”

“No. You um, you look great. You really do,” you push out of your lips, feeling the heat rising from your chest. It didn’t help that the gorilla was eyeing you very carefully. “Although I think you should put a disguise on. Or something.”

“A disguise?” she asks, covering her lower face with one hand. “Who am I hiding from? My father?”

“No, it’s just … do you even follow the news? Your face was everywhere just two weeks ago. Even if you aren’t the talk of the town anymore, someone’s bound to recognize you,” you lie to her. You know damn well why you’re telling her to put on a ‘disguise’.

You don’t want anyone else to fawn over how beautiful she looks right now.

Pursing her lips, she looks like she wants to refute you, but caves to your request anyway. She asks Areum to give her a face mask and a cap to wear. “How about now? Is this better?”

It’s not. It’s worse. Way worse. For you, at least.

Because now that half her face was covered, all you can focus on are her eyes, on how soft and elegant they are—like a cat’s. A cat who knows how to crush your ribs and squeeze the air from your lungs with just one look. With every look. Now, they’re all you can see when you look at her, and it’s getting harder to think of anything but her damn eyes.

“Um, so …?”

It was the gorilla who answered on your behalf with a chuckle. “You look beautiful, young lady. Don’t let this dumbass tell you otherwise.”

You roll your eyes and take her hand. “Let’s go.”

To be clear, this is not a date. You’re just taking the syndicate leader’s daughter to the mall to buy gaming gear. That’s it. That’s all it has to be.

To whom you needed to clarify that with, you aren’t so sure. But it’s good to keep in mind as the day goes on.

She’s never taken the train, so you teach her everything she needs to know. You get her a card and tell her to keep it for future use. You show her how to use it, how to squeeze into a packed train, how to know when it’s your stop.

But you get the idea she’s not really paying attention because her eyes are glued on you the entire time.

You do your best to keep her from bumping into the other passengers, positioning her next to the doors, but as the train continues to fill, you’re left with no choice but to encroach on her personal space.

One arm above her head, your face hovering above hers, you wince every time some idiot bumps into your back, making you press up closer to her. But she doesn’t look away.

All she looks at is you.

When you reach your stop, you show her the directions to get to the mall from here. You hope she was at least paying attention this time, so she could get here by herself in the future. But her eyes would not meet anyone’s. She keeps her head down, hand tightly squeezing yours, as the two of you walked down the bustling city streets to get to the mall.

Once you’re there, she lightens up a little bit.

Her doe eyes widen in amusement as she’s exposed to the different sights within a mall: the different stores, the scattered stalls, the occasional advertiser, the free samples, the nonstop escalators, the oddly placed water fountain, the annoying kids—all of it. She takes it all in with a sense of wanderlust.

And you can’t help but smile.

You take her to the gaming store you used to frequent years ago. You hardly recognize the staff, so a discount was out of the question, but you do find what you promised to buy her. You’re set to pay for the black Logitech mouse and matching black earphones with your own money—the money you scrounged up after yesterday’s marks. But she’s holding this pink Hello Kitty designed mouse close to her chest, and then she’s looking at you with those eyes, and before you knew it, you’re returning what you had picked out and instead slid her pink mouse and pink earphones towards the cashier. You are not safe from a mechanical keyboard either, and when you try to reason with her saying her laptop already has a keyboard, her eyes droop just the slightest bit and it was all over for you once again.

You curse underneath your breath, but she’s next to you, holding your arm as she watches her new gear get bagged. And for some reason, seeing all that was more than enough to make it up to you.

She wasn’t sure what else she wanted to buy because she wasn’t sure what else existed in the mall. So you take her around.

She has no reason to be shoulder-to-shoulder next to you. She has no reason to lean into you whenever she was avoiding passers-by. She has no reason to still be holding your hand either since you had no intent of leaving her behind. But you let her. You let it happen. You both continue to play the role of the soon-to-be-married couple.

Because damn it, it was starting to feel … nice.

If being a couple meant you could get away with hearing her whimper and throw a tantrum whenever she loses against you at the arcade, if it meant getting an excuse to wipe the crepe filling from the corner of her lips, if it meant allowing you to press your cheek against hers at the photobooth, or sitting her on your lap when all the benches are full, or even fixing her hair when it gets messy underneath her cap, then damn it—who the hell wouldn’t cash in on this experience?

The least you can do with your predicament is enjoy it.

Once her stomach is filled, and her legs are tired, and you’re carrying more paper bags than either of you would have expected, she gives you a certain smile with her eyes that signals that she’s satisfied now, and that she’s ready to go home.

“Thank goodness we’re done. I don’t know how much I can still carry,” you tease, lifting up one hand, showing how each finger was connected to a separate bag. “You went wild with my money, didn’t you? Shopping always feels better when you’re not the one paying for it.”

She chuckles and leans into you, nuzzling her head. “You’re always going to be paying for me when I go shopping.”

“There’s going to be a next time?” you genuinely ask. A part of you dreads it, but a greater part of you is somehow looking forward to it.

“Of course. When we get married, we’re doing this every week.”

“Every week?” you repeat, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m filing for a divorce before our first anniversary then.”

She leans in to punch you, but her attention is caught by something else.

It’s about half an hour to closing time, and as you both circle around the atrium to get to your exit, you notice some sort of event ongoing.

The circular central area has been converted into a makeshift dance floor. Scattered around it, couples are locked in a slow dance, swaying to the beat of the songs that the mall speakers were playing.

You want to say something funny about their masquerade theme, but her eyes are heavily trained on the dancing couples that glided across the improvised dance floor. She watches as they pull apart, come together, twirl around, and bow before one another—all while remaining connected the entire time.

When she returns to you, her eyes fall between her feet. So you stop in your tracks.

“Let me guess—you want to dance?”

“I … I was just …”

You smile and lift her chin up. “You want to dance, don’t you? Go, I’ll hold our things.”

But she pouts and shakes her head. “I can’t dance alone. Dancing like that is for two people.”

You’re confident you can list the different ways someone could dance alone, many of which would probably end up with you sounding stupid. But as she holds your hands and tugs you towards the music and dancing, you take a deep breath and reluctantly nod.

“Ok, I guess we can dance for a song or two.”

You grew up with two left feet. Dancing was the last item on your bucket list of things to learn when growing up. You imagine she’s got no experience with it either.

But damn, does she make it feel easy.

She puts on her face mask again to try and keep to the theme. You know it’s probably a bad idea, but you pull out the crow mask you always keep tucked away behind you and put it on. She stares at you and can’t help but laugh. “You look stupid. Where were you hiding that?”

“I … let’s just say I always want to be ready to join a masquerade ball.”

Her hands move when yours can’t. They slide up your elbows, towards your shoulders, and find purchase around your nape. Clinging to you, she smiles with her eyes and pulls you closer. Meanwhile, your hands are awkwardly resting by her hips, bags swaying with every motion, fingers afraid to dig too deep into her skin.

And you dance. The two of you, in your own little spot on the dance floor, swaying each other to the rhythm of the songs. It isn’t complicated. It isn’t intense. You both just allow yourselves to feel the rhythm against your combined bodies, and hold each other as you dance.

“I had fun today,” she mutters through her mask, looking into your eyes. You can almost see the crow mask looking back at you through the reflection on her irises. “I … I always seem to have fun when I’m with you.”

“And here I thought I was the only one enjoying this arranged marriage situation of ours,” you fire back, and it earns a soft giggle from her.

“You know, it made me … it made me think,” she continues with a whisper, pulling you even closer, so that now, the tip of your crow mask was dancing around her own protected nose. “If we met under different … circumstances, would we … would we still be like this?”

Your fingers twitch against her waist. “What do you mean? Would we still be getting married?”

“Would we have really fallen in love?”

You never considered this—whatever you two were doing, whatever you two had—as love.

In fact, you have never thought about love for the past eight years. You thought every last notion of such a feeling left you the moment your parents died. Since then, nothing’s really been the same anyway. And between chasing after goons with bullets or avoiding being hunted yourself, there was never really a pause—a space—where you can breathe and think about anything other than surviving, other than revenge.

But right now, confronted by such a question, you allow yourself the space to think about it.

“I … don’t know. If I didn’t sign up to be your husband, I don’t think I would have ever done … any of this—any of what we did—with someone else. I don’t think I’d make a good partner, really. If … if only you knew …”

She reaches towards your face with one hand and plucks your mask off you, holding it by the tip of its nose. “Then show me the real you. Not the you that’s trying to just … make me happy with our situation. I want to see who you really are, and … I want to see if I can fall in love with that. Please?”

You bite your tongue and try to control your breathing. Your physique isn’t this terrible—you’re not supposed be left sweating and out of breath by just a few circles around a dance floor. But somehow, you are. You’re utterly weakened by her words, and you’re absolutely ensnared by her eyes.

Just like how she pried your mask off of you, you dig your fingers between the strings of her face mask and pull it off her too. “Then I want to see the real you too. The you you want to become outside of your dad’s shadow. The you that’s beyond the Devil Cat Clan. The you that’s been there all along, waiting to come out.”

And just like that, she blushes like a flower learning to blossom for the first time, reddening like a tomato in a heartbeat.

There are two pistols hidden inside the length of your pants, each with about sixteen bullets loaded in. You have your hwando strappedagainst your chest, underneath your jacket, waiting to be unsheathed. And you have two separate garrotes hidden inside the heels of your shoes.

But despite all that, you don’t even think about killing her—or her father—for even a second. No. All you can think about is how you can keep sharing moments like this with her. 

Because god damnit—it feels great.

It feels unreal.

==

Yeah, it’s safe to say the plan has fucking changed right about now.

You’re on the third week towards your upcoming marriage with Jiwon and you have made zero progress on your little revenge plan. If you aren’t going to do anything soon, you might find yourself married instead to the very organization you swore to burn to the ground.

But somehow, that idea doesn’t bother you anymore.

Your days with Jiwon begin to change. Since your vow to each other that night at the mall, your lives start to bleed into one another.

Jiwon asks you about the your track suit get up, your crow mask, and the weapons you always bring around with you. You just tell her it’s for safety purposes, but she’s not buying it. She begs you to stop bringing them around with you. And if she hadn’t asked you of it, you never would have. So you stopped packing them—for her sake. But the track suit agenda persisted.

Jiwon introduces you to her garden. This is the first time she formally does so. She tells you each of their names, recalls which years she started taking care of them, how much to water each of them, and what songs she likes singing to them on the daily. You tell her you want to hear one of her songs, and at first, she’s rather meek about. But when she realizes you spent five hours of your day just hearing her yap adorably about her beloved plants, she believes a song wouldn’t hurt—and oh boy, does she have such an angelic voice. You’re almost envious of the plants for hearing her sing every day.

Jiwon requests you to tell her about your life outside of her, about what you do for a living, about what you do for fun. You can’t exactly tell her you kill people for money. Instead, you tell her about the distant past. About how you used to study finance in college. About the sleepovers and all-nighters you used to pull with friends. About the times you would just jog early in the morning to help clear your head. And even about the times you crushed on certain girls around campus. And she listened. Jiwon listened to every last story of yours like they’re tales about another world. For you, they very well might have been given how long ago they were now, but you found some comfort in sharing your past with her.

You eat dinners together now. You spend hours at night laying next to her in bed talking about the silliest things. You greet her ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ each day. You get her little gifts and trinkets whenever you can. You even count the time left until you have to go, and the time remaining until you can see her again.

Is this what it means to be really dating? You’re not quite sure. But the things that are bouncing around in your head, making your chest feel all sorts of different things—they feel very real to you.

“Im Kyung-Mi—forty-six, married, one of Jaehwi’s hoobae’s from his short time in university, now handles several laundering fronts for the Clan.”

“Bo Hana—twenty-nine, unmarried, operates phishing scams in six different online chatrooms, blackmails and extorts victims daily.”

“Mun Youngjae—thirty-one, married, moved from insurance fraud to loansharking, opened up a new lending business in preparation for his firstborn due in four months.”

But you let them all slide. You let those marks go for today like you have been doing for the past few days—much to Yujin’s surprise and dismay.

Why? Simply because you didn’t want to be late for your time with Jiwon.

Promising Jiwon not to bring guns around anymore changed the way you saw daily life again. For once, you don’t have to be always on your guard. For once, you don’t have to be in hiding. For once, you’re not living day to day between one chase to another. You can actually look forward to things. You can actually plan things farther than just a day at a time.

You can actually live.

So as you hand the paper bills towards the florist who helped assemble a lovely and fragrant bouquet for you, purchasing flowers for the very first time, you believe this was a better way to spend your money—better than a new pistol or a shiny new blade.

You hold the bouquet close to your chest with a smile. You feel stupid. You guess you look stupid. But right now, it hardly matters.

Because you are about to go on your very first date with Jiwon.

The two of you felt that it was only right that you both should properly have a date before getting married. So, you ended up scheduling a date today. As you walked towards the entrance of the estate with the flowers in hand, you briefly think about your impending deadline. Your impending need to resolve the shit you have in the background. But once the thought passes, you file it away and try not to think about it for now.

Everything’s going well. Why ruin that?

Before you can even greet the gorilla, and before he can even ask for your I.D. again, Jiwon’s head pokes out of the door and she greets you with the widest smile. “You’re here! You’re early.”

“And you’re already dressed,” you note, immediately noticing the black mini-dress she has on. It showcases her bare shoulders, her slender legs, and her collarbone draped with a small silver necklace. “You look amazing.”

The gorilla scoffed and turned away. “Kids these days. Just go on your bloody date already.”

Jiwon blushes and peeks inside. “Could you wait for a moment? I have company right now, but I’ll be ready to go in a few.”

“Not at all. Take your time,” you say as you follow her indoors.

She rushes away from you, and you wonder why she’s in a hurry. It’s only when you arrive at the courtyard and you see another beautiful young lady exiting Jiwon’s home that you realize what she meant.

This girl didn’t resemble Jiwon at all: jet-black hair, oval face, sharper eyes, flirty smirk, cropped top, concerningly short skirt.

Yeah, she was nothing like Jiwon.

This new girl approaches you with a grin that says she already knows what is going on. She eyes the flowers, then you, then chuckles behind a raised hand. “So you’re the man unnie’s getting married to.”

Unnie? Is this her sister?

“Yeah. Well, I guess this is me,” you raise, extending both hands to the sides. “It’s not much, but I guess it works.”

“It really does. For her,” she teases, smirking wider. “You’re all she ever talks about these days, you know? I had to come here and see for myself what you were all about. I think I can see where she’s coming from.”

You park that thought as you get all flustered holding your flowers for Jiwon. “I …”

The girl chuckles one final time before winking at you. “Take care of her, oppa. Don’t break her heart. She’s the only sister I have, so … make her happy.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you proudly announce, lifting your chin. Finally, you regain some of your confidence back.

As the girl disappears into the hallways behind you, you trudge up to Jiwon to ask what that was about.

You catch her in the middle of touching up her lipstick. She wears lipstick now, apparently. When she sees you, she immediately closes her hand mirror and hides both behind her back. “I-I … I told you to wait for me.”

You crinkle your nose, and doing so almost makes you want to die. “You look pretty enough as you are. Who was that, by the way?”

“That’s Hyunseo. She’s my half-sister. She’s … the closest sibling I have among many others,” she explains, putting her makeup all into one bag before walking towards you. “And those?”

You extend your hand forward. “These are for you. It’s normal to give girls flowers on dates, right? I uh, I wasn’t sure if this was overboard.”

She leans into you to smell the flowers, letting out a blissful exhale. “Their lovely. Thank you. I’ll have Areum-unnie place them in a nice vase for me.”

Finally, you pop the question. “So um, are you … are you ready? For our first date?”

Jiwon bites her plump and freshly reddened lips and nods. “Yeah … yeah I’m ready.”

So you extend an arm out towards her, and she takes it, and you’re both giggling like teenagers over how silly you two are at your age over a simple stupid date.

The date was anything but—simple, maybe; stupid, not at all.

Going to the mall again felt derivative, and Jiwon isn’t sure if she can handle going to a crowded place again this soon. So you had the brilliant idea to take here somewhere you have always wanted to take a date to.

A cafe.

It had an interesting name. An alliteration of sorts. But what caught your eye was the ambience.

As the bell chimed when you open the door, you’re greeted by the barista at the cashier. You hold Jiwon’s hand as you both approached him and start to order.

“New couple?” he asks, trying to make small talk as he keys in things on the monitor.

Neither you nor Jiwon can respond right away, refusing to look at each other or the barista. The man chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry if I got that wrong. I just see a lot of couples come by around this time of the day. Although … someone as cute as you, miss, would surely have no trouble finding a date around town—.”

Your hands moves before you can even think. You wrap an arm around Jiwon’s slender waist and pull her closer to you. “She’s mine. She’s my girlfriend. We’re getting married next week.”

You don’t know if the blush is from your cheeks or hers, but Jiwon leans into you and rests the back of her head against your collarbone. “Yeah … he’s my boyfriend. We’re on a date … n-not our first though! We’ve dated many times before um, before now. For sure …”

The barista swaps between looking touched to looking confused. “Ok miss … I was just teasing.”

A female barista elbows him as if to tell him off. “Don’t tease the customers like that! Sorry about him, he can get a little carried away sometimes. Drinks are on me.”

“For real?” you ask, and before the male barista can protest, the female one takes control of the situation with a nod. “Yes sir, please enjoy your stay!”

With that, you take your free drinks and sit yourselves towards the back. Jiwon looks like she wants to sit next to you instead of across from you, so you indulge her and drag your heavy chair towards her side of the table.

“Ahh~ Free drinks taste better than paid ones,” she hums between sips, knees bumping together.

“You never had to pay for any of your drinks before, what are you talking about?” you retort, taking a long sip of your iced americano. 

You banter a bit before talking about other things. About her Minecraft world. About her sister. About your refusal to wear anything but tracksuits. And about makeup brands.

And it’s perfect. This is perfect. She’s perfect.

You once dreamed of something like this. You don’t remember the exact details, but the feelings are warmer. The sensation is cozier. And the girl across you is more beautiful than you ever imagined—even when she has coffee shooting out of her nostrils after you make her laugh.

She’s unreal.

And then the topic goes to marriage. Your marriage. Next weekend.

The atmosphere surrounding you both tightens to a standstill. No one wants to make the first move towards that discussion. But somehow, one of you needs to speak up.

“So it’s next week,” you raise, taking one for the team as you set your cup back onto the ring it formed on the table. “How do you feel about it?”

She hesitates for a moment, pondering her words, but when she finds the right thing to tell you, it comes out without hesitation. “I still don’t like our arrangement, but … I can still like you, right?”

Damn she is really knocking you out of the park with every little thing she says. “That … I don’t think that’s a problem at all.”

She smiles, and so do you. But it fades away the moment she sees something behind you. “Oh no … oh no that’s …”

You turn around and see a flock of six men in suits and shades entering one after the other into the cafe. They don’t give the bell a break, ringing it continuously. They don’t stop for the greetings of the baristas either. Instead, they head right for you and Jiwon.

Once they surround you like a wall, they bow to their waists. One of them speaks up and says, “Lady Jiwon, the Master has requested your presence. He wants you and your fiancé to meet him right now. He’s already at the restaurant.”

You can visibly see Jiwon’s muscles tighten and lock in place upon hearing this. “My … my father? Why now of all times? I-I’m in the middle of—.”

“It’s his request, my lady. We’re just the messengers,” he explains as if in apology. “Please don’t delay this any father. You know how Master Jaehwi can get when he’s … kept waiting. We already have a car prepared for you.”

She glances towards the henchmen, then to you, then to her unfinished drink. Standing up carefully, she nods and holds out a hand shyly towards you. “Then I don’t have a choice … Please, lead the way.”

You take her hand and walk with her towards the parking lot, where a sleek black Mercedes-Benz awaits you.

The ride to the restaurant is a short one, but the silence throughout it made it feel like forever. Jiwon says nothing to you—in explanation, in apology, in request—almost like she’s already assented to the situation. You recall how docile she was previously with Areum and the other staff. You can only imagine how pious she is towards her father.

You’re brought to a large Chinese restaurant. The signboard, carpets, and staff uniforms were all a blinding shade of red. You were never one for Chinese cuisine, but you can tell this restaurant was different—more refined, more elite, more extravagant.

You are proven right almost immediately when you are lead towards a private room on the second floor, where an all-too-familiar figure was seated at the opposite end of the round table surrounded with dishes and meals.

Kim Jaehwi.

Your hand clenches so hard around Jiwon’s hand that she winces from the pain. But you can’t help yourself. You curse your better senses for coming here without any weapons on you. Had you known you would have been in the same room with Jaehwi this afternoon, you would have ditched the pleasantries and snuck at least a small knife in with you.

He’s there. He’s just over there. And you haven’t got a single way to kill him.

So you choose to instead bow to him submissively, feeling your stomach curdle at the thought of showing deference to this wretch. Jiwon does the same but lower than yours. Once you both stand upright once more and are allowed to take a seat, you stiffly sit on the edge of your chair and keep your back straight the entire time.

Jaehwi sips from his tea cup and sighs. “So. Jiwon, this is the man you’ve chosen to marry?”

His voice is coarse. His words are grating and repulsive like a fork scratching against a chalkboard in your head. His gaze is the worst. Those yellowing eyes scan your figure as if to evaluate you, as if to judge you, and you can’t help but feel sick at the thought of allowing this man to appraise you like another business opportunity. “He seems decent. Good-looking. Well-off? That I do not understand. Why marry someone without a notable background? Is it for love? You’re not making it any easier for yourself if you don’t start thinking about what’s best for you and your future.”

Jiwon makes no attempt to tell her father otherwise.

Sighing, he uses his chopsticks to pluck up a pair of chicken feet, slurping on it like you two weren’t there. Jiwon doesn’t motion to get anything, so you hold yourself back from eating as well. Besides, you lost your appetite the moment you saw his pathetic face.

“The marriage is next week, so I want to make sure everything is in order. Including your readiness,” Jaehwi raises, gesturing to Jiwon with his chopsticks. “Are you sure about this? I do not want to deal with the aftermath of your indecision on the day of your marriage.”

He doesn’t sound like a father ensuring his daughter wouldn’t be making a mistake. He sounds more like a syndicate leader gauging whether his biological investment has finally matured—has finally been secured.

You turn to Jiwon, only able to offer your hand in support. You aren’t completely sure yourself either—especially not after seeing this bastard’s face again. But for now, an answer to placate him will do.

But Jiwon doesn’t say a thing even in the face of such a life-changing decision.

Her father shrugs once more and continues stuffing his bowl of fried rice with more steamed fish. “If you’re not going to say anything to me, then at least enjoy the food. And the wine. Help me finish it, you two. It was very expensive.”

The food is fresh and well-cooked. It’s incredibly rich and flavorful—your opinion of Chinese cuisine has changed. But the wine is too strong for your taste. Just one sip and you know you’re going to regret drinking more than one glass of this. Unfortunately, you’re made to help finish the whole bottle along with Jiwon, who already reddens at the face with just a few sips.

By the time your dinner with Jaehwi is over, you are one dead body, one decent plan, and one responsive fiancée short. As much as you curl your fingers into the arms of your chair at the sight of Kim Jaehwi fleeing your presence still alive after weeks, months, and years of striving to get to him, the only one you can think of right now is the girl next to you.

Once the door closes behind you two, Jiwon lets out an audible gasp like she’s been holding her breath like she’s held her tongue against him this entire time. “Thank god he’s gone … I don’t think I can drink wine anymore either …”

You lean to rest your forehead against hers in an act of comfort. You’re pretty buzzed yourself, so you’re not sure why you thought physical intimacy like this is a good idea. But you roll with it. “Are you ok? You weren’t saying anything the entire time. I was worried.”

Jiwon nods, rubbing her temple against yours. “That’s just … that’s just how I am with my father. I can’t say anything against him … to him … He just does what he wants to anyway.”

“Don’t think about him” you say. Whether thats to Jiwon or to yourself, you’re not entirely sure. “Let’s get you back home. You look redder than I’ve ever seen you before.”

She turns to you and giggles in an uncharacteristic manner. You chalk it up to the alcohol in your systems. “Really~? I feel … light. But also … numb? Is that a thing?”

She flicks your nose and chuckles again. “Are you going to carry me? I don’t think I can walk like this.”

As if to prove her point, Jiwon stands up and immediately loses her balance, swaying unsteadily as her hands come flying around her. You catch her by the waist and ground her before lifting her into your arms and carrying her.

She gasps and clings to your neck as you bring her down the stairs towards the car that’s been waiting for you both.

When you’re both dropped off at the estate, it’s already well past midnight. Jiwon’s humming different melodies to herself as she’s in your arms once again. It’s only when you lay her down in her bed that she calms down from her alcoholic high and turns to face you with more sincerity on her face.

Tapping the free space on the bed, she invites you to join her. You waste no time tucking yourself into bed with her again. Like you always do.

She stares up at the ceiling, and so do you. You think you might stay like this for a while until both of you fall asleep. But it’s when Jiwon asks you a question that you realize she’s not in the mood for sleep just yet.

“Can I ask you something? And I want you to be honest with me,” she starts, still talking to the ceiling. “Why are you still doing this? Why are you still … trying to get married to me?”

You shrug. “The food here’s pretty good. I get free car rides once in a while. Get to relax some and fool around. But most of all? I get to see a pretty woman each time I visit. I think that’s the real kicker to this arrangement, honestly.”

She rolls her eyes. You can tell from your peripheral. “You always call it that. An arrangement. Our predicament. Our situation. Is this all it will ever be to you?”

You never really thought of it deeper than that before.

What were you two? 

Outside the upcoming marriage. Outside the awkward beginning. In between the stolen moments here and the genuine instances there. What exactly were you and Jiwon?

You don’t know at this point. You don’t fucking know at all.

“I could ask you the same thing. Why are you still tolerating me—?”

“I’m not tolerating you. I never was,” she replies sharply, turning to face you now on her side. “You’re … you’re not what I expected.”

“What exactly were you expecting from someone who’s supposed to be your future husband?”

“I … I don’t know. Someone weird? Desperate? Just … not this. Not this at all.”

You smirk, nodding at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment then. But you’re asking all the questions—let me ask you some too.”

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Why did you choose me?”

The question catches her off-guard as you see her staring past you in thought. “Why did you choose me that day? Your dad, Jaehwi—he had a point earlier. Why me? You could have picked someone richer or more influential to help you run this syndicate better. You could have chosen someone smarter or more capable than me to support you in the future and give you a stable life. But me? I’m … I’m just a no one. I’ve got nothing going for myself or to my name. All I can give you … all I can do for you … is this.”

You lift your hand in an arc across the air. With just that motion, you point at all the things that have been added to Jiwon’s room over the weeks that you’ve been together.

But Jiwon shakes her head in defiance to your self-deprecation. “Do you remember what I told you the last time you asked me that?”

“Sort of. Something about not being threatening enough. Something about feeling safe,” you recount, hoping it was right.

Smiling, she wiggled her way towards you and pressed her face into your chest. She waits for you to wrap an arm around her, and when you finally do, she whispers, “I chose you because you had this look in your eyes. Like you were just as lost and … broken … as I was. And it just … it just sort of clicked in my head.”

Jiwon looks up at you and asks, “Tell me … do you think broken people can ever be fixed again? Do you think … do you think we can still feel complete?”

You take a long and deep breath, let the air fill your lungs, and watch as your chest rises and falls with the exhale, before attempting to even answer that question.

“I … I used to think some of us are broken beyond repair. Some things … some people … they ruin us. Immensely. Like we’re distorted beyond recognition. Like we’re … warped beyond the point of return. And it’s not our fault. Life’s cruel like that. But lately? Lately I’ve been thinking that maybe … just maybe … we only believe we’re broken beyond repair because we can’t see the whole picture. Something or someone might walk into our lives and … remind us of who we once were. What we can still be.”

You don’t notice you’re embracing her tighter now. You can feel her struggling to catch her breath beneath you, so you loosen up a bit. But even then, she chases after your touch and nuzzles against your chest. “That was beautiful. I’ve never heard you say something almost … poetic like that.”

You chuckle, pushing away the stray strands of her hair. “Just speaking what comes to mind. Just speaking my truth.”

After sharing a few more moments together like this, Jiwon pulls away and moves towards the edge of the bed, sitting up. This scares you for a moment, and it occurs to you that you don’t like the feeling of seeing her leave like that. Instead, she takes several deep breaths before finally doing what she meant to do.

She saunters over towards the foot of her bed, kneels down, and withdraws something deep underneath the bedframe. Once she pulls out what appears to be a small wooden box, she trembles as she walks over to your side.

You sit up and join her, placing a hand on her thigh. “I … I wasn’t always like this. The me you see right now? It’s … it’s broken. It’s missing. Not that I’m lying to you or anything, but … I’ve just felt incomplete since … since my mother died.”

The weight of her words presses against your chest. “Your mom? You never talked about her.”

She nods, acknowledging it, but not without the first few tears escaping from her eyes as she recalls what she must have been keeping locked up for so long now. “My mother … my eomma, she … she was the person I loved most in the world. She used to live with me here, you know? We did everything together. She taught me everything I know—how to take care of plants, how to sing, how to … how to carry myself in front of my father. It was just … me and her. Me and her against the world. That was until … until she died.”

Jiwon opens the box on her lap and takes out a necklace that sat on top of the other trinkets inside. She holds it up towards her collarbone, and you see how it forms a matching set with the necklace still wrapped around her neck.

“This was my mother’s … We wore it together whenever w-we went out,” she pushed out between sobs. “You … You reminded me of her. She would always be the one guiding me, showing me around, taking me places … It wasn’t too often, a-and I never really paid attention, but … to me, those moments were what I treasured the most.”

Then she hunches forward and lets out a sharp whine as she takes out the remaining contents of the box. They’re pictures—pictures of a young Jiwon with her mother. Some were in full color while others still had that nostalgic paint of aged film. “These … these are all that I have left of her because … because … she died. Just … just last month.”

You feel a heavy chill drag across your spine as you stare at the woman in her photos.

“They said she was killed on the way home from the airport b-by … by an unknown attacker.”

You think back to the three bullets. The skidding car. The blood on the ground.

“She was gone for months … abroad … and I was so excited to see her come back a-a-and tell me about her trip, but … but …”

Then you think back to your final mark as they exited the vehicle, crawling, pleading, begging for mercy.

“Now … she’s dead … And I’ll never get to talk to her again …”

Like a moment frozen in time, you remember now what that woman said to you as you pressed your blade into her neck.

“Please … mer … -cy … I have a daughter … a child … let me see her again first …”

And you remember what you told her in reply.

“I had parents once too. And your godforsaken clan never gave me the chance to save them. So why should I spare you?”

Before she could even sob, your blade had already done its work.

How cruel is the world?

How cruel is fate to have made your path intertwine with Jiwon only to end up with this scathing realization? You couldn’t even think about the marriage. You couldn’t even think about comforting her in your arms. Because all you could think about right now was how wrong you had been.

How wrong you have been this entire time.

For the past eight years, you’ve been bitterly chasing after your revenge. You believed that each kill, each murder, each slaughter, was another step closer to avenge your dead parents. Did it never occur to you that these people had hopes and dreams too? That these people had families too? That these people might have also been like you—victims of the system, other cogs affixed into this bloody, relentless machine?

Did it ever occur to you that, with each life you took, you were possibly ruining another’s?

And what did you hope to gain after each kill? What did you hope to achieve after murdering every last member of the Devil Cat Clan—even Kim Jaehwi himself? Would that have made you happy?

The emptiness inside you says otherwise.

Jiwon collapses into the crook of your neck, sobbing into your shoulder, but you remove herself from you and gently push her away. She stops for a moment and glances at you. “Wh-what …?”

You shouldn’t. You know you goddamn shouldn’t. But you go against your better senses and cave towards your conscience that’s screaming blasphemies into your mind. 

You should have kept quiet. You should have just let the moment pass. But you feel sick to your very core, and you can’t in good faith continue on with this—whatever this is—with Jiwon any further.

Not without telling her the truth.

“You asked about the guns … and the blade … and the weapons,” you start, staring between your feet, unable to look her in the eye anymore. “You asked me what I did outside of you … what I did in my free time … what I did for work. Jiwon, I-I … I’m a vigilante. I put justice into my own hands because the system has failed me before. I kill people for money, Jiwon … I-I-I kill people because I want my revenge. On your father. On your clan. Because they killed my parents eight years ago and left me broken like this …”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and begin to weep. “She was … just another mark to me. I didn’t care—I never cared for them. I just … wanted them gone. Wanted them all gone. Jiwon, I … I’m … I’m sorry. I’m the one who killed your mother that day.”

Silence. Nothing but silence.

Then it comes one at a time.

First came the slamming of knees to the ground. Then the shattering of a wooden box against the wall. Then hair being tugged accompanied by screams and wails of pain. Then, you hear crying. Endless, volatile, heavy crying. As Kim Jiwon comes completely undone on the floor.

You look away. But you can’t. You force yourself to look at her—at the mess you made.

At the life you ruined.

“Get … get out …”

You hold your breath and reach a hand towards her. “Jiwon, I—.”

“I said … get … OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!”

Like a ghost dragged out from your dead carcass, you float past her and through her door without a heft of weight to you. Behind you, her door slams shut as her wailing and shrieking continue to echo into the night.

Like Jiwon, you fall to your knees, slam your forehead against the floor, and continue bashing your head against the cold hard surface.

Over, and over, and over again. Not until the darkness takes you.

Not until the crying stops bleeding into your ears. Not until you have punished yourself enough.

At some point in the night, you are roused from your sleep. Whether you passed out from the fatigue or the pain, you find yourself stirred awake now and into a sit.

It was Jiwon.

You rub your eyes and blink rapidly in surprise and confusion. “Look … please, just let me—.”

She interrupts you by pushing a glass of water towards your lips. “Drink. We just had alcohol in our systems … that’s all. Nothing … nothing happened, ok? Just forget it.”

Not wanting to argue, you drink the water slowly down to the very last drop. You notice Jiwon has already drunken hers—her glass settled off to the side. As you finish your drink, you can’t help but feel an odd sense of warmth engulfing you, swallowing you, smothering you.

It’s only then that Jiwon gives you a defeated smile.

“It’s fast acting isn’t it—the poison?” she states calmly, body swaying from side to side like she’s still intoxicated. “Who knew that the kiss of death could feel this … warm?”

You start to choke and gag on instinct, feeling your veins start to swell and your lungs start to burn. “What … what did you do to me? What did you put in our drinks?”

But Jiwon shakes her head, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her eyes anymore. “We’re both broken … You thought we could still be fixed … You thought we could fix each other, but … all we did was break one another all the more … My family hurt yours, so you hurt mine … Let’s end this cycle of hatred right here.”

She reaches forward to caress your face one final time, and all you can see as your vision grew hazy is her scared and tired eyes looking back up at you. “Thank you for trying … but it’s ok now. This is it for us, so … just let it happen. Let it take you.”

You wait a minute. Then five. Then ten. But when you expect to die, you instead grow warmer by the moment. “What … what exactly did you mix into our drinks?”

Jiwon, who is completely flustered and beginning to sweat, replies, “I-I … I found a bottle in my father’s bathroom while you were asleep. I thought … I thought it was some kind of poison. It was labelled ‘aphrodisiac’—”

Your eyebrows twitch. “Jiwon that’s … that’s not a poison … that’s …”

You don’t even get the chance to laugh at her mistake. The warmth and the pressure that’s been building up from the aphrodisiac now spread downwards and made your nether region throb with need. “That’s for arousal …”

Jiwon eyes your growing need that’s straining within your pants. She can feel that growing need inside her too—you can tell from the way her breaths grow more ragged and intermittent. “I-I … I didn’t know … God, I-I-I can’t even kill myself properly … I’m such a failure …”

But her tone spoke nothing of regret. Her eyes indicate nothing of remorse. Instead, her quivering lips, and the way her tongue dances across them as she eyes you, spoke of another sensation altogether.

Desire.

She’s on you now, climbing your laying body on all fours. You try to push her away, but you knew better than to hurt her any further. Once she’s straddling your hips, unknowingly grinding circles against your crotch, she leans forward and whispers into your ear. “Let me just make one more mistake … please …”

And just like that, you’re both a maelstrom of lust and unbridled desire.

Her hands tear through your clothes, stripping you off your last remaining ounces of dignity. She stares at the chest and abdominals you’ve been hiding underneath your stupid jacket, traces your scars with a finger, then immediately, she’s running her hands all over them.

You can’t resist her yourself either. Hands flying towards her minidress to pluck the strings off her tight figure one by one. Once she’s sliding out of it, you peel her underwear off her like you’re plucking petals from a flower. When you’re both aligned in the right way, you waste no time turning into a mess of bouncing, licking, and thrusting as you consume one another.

Neither of you have been this hungry before. Neither of you would feel sated until you had gone the whole way.

And so you see it through. All. Night. Long.

Come the morning, you find yourselves naked on Jiwon’s mattress. Somehow, at some point in the night, you both managed to make it here. Both pillows were now on the floor along with the comforter that usually came above your bodies. She’s laying on her stomach next to you, eyes struggling to stay open.

You get one last glance of her bare form—not an inch of her left uncovered—before she screams at the top of her lungs.

Screaming that you had soiled her in her sleep.

==

“Chwe Yeonseok—.”

Bang.

“Han Yongjin—.”

Bang.

“Tang Jisu—.”

Bang.

“Lee Min-ah—.”

Bang.

“Chae Woojin—.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

As you drop the bloody insignias on the bar counter and shove it towards Yujin, you expect the payment for hitting your marks. That’s thrice your daily usual—just like the previous days this week. But when the wads of cash arrive, you simply flit through each bill with a soulless gaze before stuffing it into your pockets.

You should have been fine.

The Devil Cat Clan kicked you out of their property as soon as Jiwon cried wolf. It was a miracle they didn’t beat you to death then and there. The proof was undeniable with how both of you were naked. The aphrodisiac turned out to be useful somehow.

Jaehwi said nothing about your alleged assault of his daughter. He let you keep your head, so you used it to keep going and going and going.

You’re back at The Requiem again. You’re taking jobs left and right. Murdering without question. Killing without doubt. Earning paycheck after paycheck. No longer worried about goons on your back—at least, goons from the Devil Cat Clan. You told Yujin no more of those marks—not for now, at least. You no longer have to contemplate an arranged marriage either. You were finally free.

But something was missing. And Yujin points this out as she offers you another glass of whiskey.

“Rough week? What the hell happened this time? Shouldn’t you be happy you made an entire month’s checkout in just a few days?” she prods, polishing a glass she just rinsed. “What’s up with you? You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“When have I ever been myself since I showed up at your place, An Yujin,” you sigh after your chug your drink, smudging the back of your hand against your dried lips. “Just let me make my money in peace.”

“But what are you doing it for?”

The question comes out of the blue, and you could have sworn you heard another voice asking you that. But when your gaze returns to Yujin, who’s now bent over the counter, she continues, “What is it even all for? I took you in here eight years ago thinking you would have sorted out your life by now if you found your purpose. But what is your purpose?”

You shrug, demanding another drink. But Yujin refuses.

“Do you know why you’re the oldest hitman here?” Yujin raises, staring at the several other lowlives gathered at The Requiem alongside you two. “That’s because everyone else who’s come before you already found their shit in life. They made peace with their inner demons. They’ve moved on. So when will you?”

Her words burn your throat more than the whiskey does.

Before you can think of a reply, you hear something on the TV. “—duled this weekend. It will be held—.”

You snatch the remote from the spectacled bloke next to you and struggle to return the channel back to the news station.

It’s a segment about Jiwon. She’s still getting married this weekend. Although, right next to her now is a picture of a familiar lion-looking fellow in a tight white suit.

“You know that guy?” Yujin asks, gesturing towards Alex. “Have you bumped into him before?”

“Could say that,” you slur, feeling the alcohol get to your head. “Met him once.”

“You’re insane. You’re absolutely insane,” she lauds, shaking her head. “That’s the son of the Golden Dragon Gang’s boss. He’s larger than you think. And now, he’s going to marry the legitimate child of the Devil Cat Clan. That smells like trouble.”

You raise a brow. “Why? Won’t that mean our marks get easier to find now that they’re merged?”

But Yujin shakes her head. “The Golden Devil Gang’s a bunch of menaces. If they merge with the Devil Cat Clan, they’ll have more goons under their control to do their dirty work. Even if the Clan’s done some terrible shit in the past, they don’t resort to violence first. But the Gang does.”

The man you stole the remote from whistles. “Bummer. Feel bad for the old man—Jaehwi? Once his daughter gets married, she’ll likely take control of the Clan. But since she’s marrying into the Gang, the Gang will likely take control on her behalf. Reshuffle staff and personnel. Relocate their bases. Might even force Jaehwi to fully retire.”

You think back to how Jiwon fits into all of this. You think of how she’ll lose the only people in her life because of this merger—because of this marriage.

You think back to her crying face. To how she punches you whenever you tease her. To the way she curls up in her sleep.

You think of all the time you spent together. Those numbered days counted against less weeks than you have fingers. You think about how you once look forward to meeting her at four in the afternoon each day—everyday. And you think about how disappointed you felt every time you had to leave.

You think of her beautiful eyes, of the scent of roses and elegance, and of her warm gentle smile.

And you watched it all vanish from view.

But then, you hear her voice in your head.

“Tell me … do you think broken people can ever be fixed again? Do you think … do you think we can ever feel complete?”

And then it hits you.

What was your life for?

That’s something you have thought a lot about now that you were alone once again. You thought it was the quiet moments when you could sleep with a comfortable mattress beneath you and a cozy blanket around you each night. You thought it was the unspoken moments when you can blast into criminals with your pistols or slice them up into bits and pieces with your hwando. You thought it was about chasing after your revenge, letting violence lead the way, until you’ve spilled every last drop of their blood against your feet, until you’ve squeezed every last ounce of your sorrow from your shallow little heart.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You clung to this path of yours like a vice. It rid you of your misgivings, but did it fill the emptiness that remained within you?

No. It left you empty still.

So what filled your life?

It was the color. The color she brought into your world.

Through the recollections of your past, through the little moments you shared, through the warmth of her cheek, through the tightness of her fingers against yours, through the echo of her laughter in your mind, and through the tightness in your chest when you are away—Kim Jiwon has not only brought glorious technicolor into your life once more.

She’s taught you how to live again. She’s taught you how to love again.

To love each day. To love yourself. And most importantly, to love her.

So when you realize all this, and you stand up to finally tell Yujin your answer, you realize what you have to do. She has given you your life back, and now, it was time for you to give back hers. “Yujin, give me rolls of hand wraps, pepper spray, a taser, and your finest suit. I’m … I’m going to need it.”

She doesn’t even question your request. She just smiles at whatever you’ve come to realize and nods. “I thought you’d never ask. I have just the right suit for you.”

And so you do it—you go chase after your purpose.

You chase after her.

Tugging on your tightened tie, dressed from head to toe in this sleek secondhand suit Yujin lent you—which she claims was from some renowned assassin, John Something-or-Other—you beat your wrapped up fists together to bolster yourself before you crossed the road and head towards La Luce Wedding Hall at Myeongdeong.

The entrance is crawling with goons from both the Devil Cat Clan and the Golden Dragon Gang alike. But you don’t care. You’re not here for them. You’re not here for any of them at all. You’re only here for one person and one person alone.

Kim Jiwon.

No bullets. No lethal weapons. Just carrying enough with you to get past some trouble.

You take a deep breath, put the crow mask back on, and charge right in.

Of course you’re stopped before you even get to the front steps.

The Clan henchmen are the first to recognize you. They wouldn’t miss your mask even with their eyes closed. They chase after you, pin you down, and start beating you up, eager to grab a piece of you as they threaten to rip you apart.

But you resist. You break free from their grasp and start sacking them in their pathetic faces. Throwing punches left and right with your wrapped up fists. Knocking them out cold but not dead.

This strategy of yours quickly falls apart the moment the Gang goons join in to stop you. So you whip out your pepper spray and taser and go ham on them. Leaving behind an ocean of tearing and paralyzed fully-grown men in your wake.

By the time you pushed into the lobby, you were out of spray and charges, so the moment the goons with blades and brass knuckles lounging around on standby spot your intrusion, you begin to panic.

Well, shit. This could get bloody. Now you’re starting to wish you had your pistols with you.

Boom.

Like a stampede that cascades past your vision, you see a hulking figure tackle all of them out of the way, clearing your path forward. This same burly figure sacks some of the Gang goons and grapples some of the resistant Clan thugs who are looking at him in shock.

You’re in shock yourself too when you realize who this is.

“Gorilla,” you mutter as you see the familiar bodyguard wrestle a dozen other Clan and Gang lackeys, keeping them in place. “You—.”

“Enough about me! I won’t ask for your goddamn I.D. again,” he quips even while his face is being beaten in. “You came. So do what you have to do. Go to her!”

You nod and waste no time taking advantage of this opportunity.

You check each and every function room just to make sure, but after crashing more than a handful of parties and celebrations with a roundhouse kick to the door each time, you’re certain that the wedding you’re looking for was down the corridor—at the grand hall.

You should have known from the way the guards stationed outside of the hall were holding guns this time.

One of them presses a finger into his earpiece and receives some sort of missive. When he sees you, he beckons to his comrades and they take aim towards you.

Well, shit. This isn’t good.

But just before your life could flash before your eyes, a circular object imposes itself before you, interposing between you and certain death.

“Young master, so you really did return,” Areum grunts, smiling down at you as she holds up her tray like she’s Captain fucking America, deflecting their bullets and holding them at bay. “Lady Jiwon is just up ahead. The ceremony is already under way but you still have time. Don’t waste it!”

When the rain of bullets stops and the men begin to reload, you give Areum a solid nod before darting towards them.

They try to reach for you with their empty weapons, trying to tackle you, trying to pin you down or smack you with their guns, but you’re too fast for them. You’re zigzagging through the traffic until you manage to burst through the doors of the grand hall.

You’re a mess.

Your mask is askew on your face. Your bandages are bloody and tattered. Your suit is anything but straightened. But here you were. You finally made it.

And immediately knives are being thrown your way.

You duck behind guests, shamelessly using them as meat shields, but they’re smart and immediately flee your vicinity. You curse under your breath as you have to kick over tables and chairs to protect yourself from the mixture of blades and bullets. You’re left wondering if this was the end of the line. If this is as far as you’ll get.

It isn’t until you see a princess in a lilac dress duck next to you behind your table that you see a spark of hope. “Hyunseo?”

“You promised to take care of my sister, didn’t you?” she recalls, loading up the gun she’s holding before shoving it towards you. “Then prove it. Don’t let that bloody Golden Dragon Gang’s son take my unnie away. Aim for the ones in white!”

You nod, and when you hear the clicks and clacks of reloading guns, you grab the opportunity to get back up and start firing at them one by one.

Bang. Between the shoulder and clavicle.

Bang. Right to the solar plexus.

Bang. Against the ankle.

You fired your gun only at the members of the Golden Dragon Gang who were dressed in white—and you didn’t shoot to kill. The moment the Devil Cat Clan noticed this, they ceased their assault towards you and watched as you cleaned up the last of the Gang men with weapons, rendering them all immobile.

And now, it was finally time.

Unaware of where the ceremony’s already at, you come bursting onto the aisle and lean forward on your knees to catch your breath. When you glance back up, you see Jiwon holding hands with Alex the Lion, wearing the most beautiful pure-white dress you have ever seen, her veil already pulled back to reveal her face.

You came just in time to stop the kiss.

Guests on either side of the aisle stand up in a mix of awe, surprise, and condemnation. Some try to boo you away from getting any further. Others murmur and gasp at your insolence for intruding. But you don’t worry about them. They’re either potbellied pigs who have fattened themselves up from crime money or senile veterans who showed up just for the ceremony of it all. They weren’t capable of harming you at all.

Towards the front, you see Kim Jaehwi standing now, watching you, not interfering whatsoever. You see Alex the Lion staring you down like a predator would another who dared to interrupt his hunt. Then, you see Jiwon glancing at you with those eyes that you’ve seen before—the look she has on her when she’s asking you to buy something or to get her something or to take her somewhere.

This is it. Everything has lead to this moment.

You undo your bandages and reveal your swelling fists. You take your hwando blade from behind your back and unsheathe it, making the blade shine underneath the yellow hall light. Tossing the casing aside, you do the unthinkable before the crowd.

You kneel before Kim Jaehwi—your sworn goddamn enemy—press your forehead between his polished shoes, and offer up your own weapon towards him.

“What is the meaning of this? What the fuck are you doing in MY WEDDING?” Alex growled from the altar, threatening you with nothing but words. “If you want to make a fool out of yourself, do it else—.”

“Ceremonial eviction.”

With those two words alone, you command the entire room in an instant as the grand hall falls silent to listen to you. “Ceremonial eviction. I read about it—about your Clan. When someone decides to quit without any good reason or is forced to leave due to misconduct, you perform a ceremonial eviction. You cut off a finger. Or a toe. Sometimes you even cut off an ear if it’s that bad. To make up for their insolence. To leave a mark on their bodies—a mark they can never forget.”

You raise your blade up higher. “I’ve used this weapon to kill hundreds … thousands of your Clan. I used this same weapon to … to kill your main wife, So Gowon. So I offer it to you, Kim Jaehwi. Use it to end my life, but just … just promise me that in exchange for doing so—for getting rid of the largest thorn in your side—you set her free. You let Jiwon go and allow her to live a proper life outside of this syndicate bullshit. That’s all I ask.”

You can’t see Jaehwi properly, but you don’t need to to envision the face he makes as he picks up your hwando. “You have the guts to murder my men, my people, and even my own wife … you even pretended to be interested in my daughter, then assault her, and then now … you have the gall to come waltzing back in here begging for her freedom? You sure make a lot of demands for a pathetic little wretch.”

With a deep breath, Jaehwi wastes no time. “Die. Die knowing your sacrifice will mean nothing in the end.”

Slink.

When you expect the blade to sink and tear through the skin of your neck, you instead feel the tickle of cloth and lace against your cheek along with the smell of roses.

You glance up and see Jiwon kneeling in front of you, interposing between you and her father—arms stretching out to the side, face drowning in tears, trembling in body but unwavering in spirit. “Stop, father … please don’t hurt him … If you want to let your frustrations out on someone, then … then let it be me. But not him. Not him. He’s already gone through so much in his life … more than I could ever hope to bear alone. He just … he just wanted to get revenge on the people who hurt him … on us … like you want revenge on the person who killed eomma … on him … Let me—let me take his punishment instead …”

Jaehwi spends a moment to take it all in, to take in the sight of his eldest daughter willingly throwing his life over a nobody like you instead of being wed to someone as well-off as Alex the Lion. 

With a chuckle, he stabs the blade into the wooden pew and crashes back onto it. “Who the fuck are you, huh? Who the fuck are you to my daughter that she comes bursting out of her shell to confront me just for you? You … you’re one lucky man—having such a fine young woman stand up for you so boldly like this,” he says, turning to his daughter now. “And you—I asked you once before, and I’ll ask you again: are you sure about this man?”

Jiwon helps you up to your feet and holds your wrists tightly. She doesn’t look anywhere else but right into your eyes as she asks you, “Did you … did you mean what you said to me that night? After we got drunk and got home? You said … you said broken people like us could still be fixed—could still feel whole—with other people. In other people. Because … because, god—I’ve had this hole inside of me ever since I could remember. Even before my mother. Even before her death … So please, tell me, did you mean it? Do you really mean it? Because … because you’ve managed to fill this aching hole of mine bit by bit ever since I met you, and now, I don’t know what else to fill it with—who else to fill it with—other than you.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and then a final one before you press your forehead against Jiwon’s and nuzzle into her. “Kim Jiwon, I meant every single word I said to you that night because you do the same for me. You made me … think of a future. You made me look forward to waking up again. And … you helped me find a purpose. Even if it meant just protecting you. Even if it just meant being with you and keeping you safe. Even if it just meant making a beautiful woman like you happy for the rest of her days. It brought me joy—a joy so overwhelming it’s filled more than just the hole in my heart.”

“Kim Jiwon, you gave me my life back … and I can’t thank you enough for it. With you, I feel complete. I feel whole. I feel … like me again. So please … let me help give you your life back too.”

Jaehwi seems satisfied with this. He takes out his pistol from his pocket and aims at Alex. “Get out of there, boy. This wedding’s continuing, but not with you.”

Flabbergasted, he strokes his mane back in place and glares at the old man. “Oh no, that isn’t happening, Jaehwi. My father and I struck a deal with you—.”

Bang. Jaehwi shoots him right in the knee, sending him crumpling forward and howling in pain. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about that now. Someone get him off the bloody altar.”

In mere moments, a mix of Clan and Gang thugs help escort Alex off the altar and into the front pews to lay him down and stop his knee from bleeding out.

Jaehwi turns to the both of you now, smiling. “Go, sweetheart. Get married to him like you were supposed to. And, son—don’t fuck it up this time.”

So you hold Jiwon’s hand, and she holds yours. You walk her down what little stretch of aisle is left until the altar. You both giggle when you realize that’s what father’s do with their daughters—not what future husbands do for their future wives.

You pull her veil down, only to pull it back up. When your eyes meet again for the first time in what feels like ages, you can’t help but get lost in them. The priest, who is absolutely still in shock over everything that just happened, asks you. “Do you accept this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

You think back to the time you two danced slowly, holding each other, masks off, just staring genuinely into each other’s eyes.

“Yes. I-I mean, I do. I do.”

As Jiwon chuckles, she gets asked the same thing. “And do you, in turn, accept this man to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward, to have and to hold, in good times and bad, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health; will you love, honor, and cherish him for as long as you both shall live?”

“Even if I have to die all over again and be reborn the next day, even if I have to find him through different biomes and different versions of reality—I will find him. And I will love him. I do. I really do.”

“Hey, wait, did you just make a Minecraft—.”

Before the priest can tell you to kiss the bride, your bride kisses you first. She drags you in with a need that’s more than passion or lust, and you respond in kind by pressing her lips against hers and holding her oh-so-close.

And as the organ begins to play the song of victory, and as the guests gathered here today cheer nonetheless for a successful wedding—some way, somehow—you dip Jiwon forward as you continue to kiss each other. Only when you break away to chuckle and nuzzle your noses together does that thought ever come to you.

“After all that’s happened to me, after all that we’ve been through, I still … can not believe that this is happening right now. This is absolutely unreal.”

Jiwon chuckles into your lips as she steals another kiss from you. “You know, we’re supposed to have our first kiss before we have sex for the first time. You got the order all wrong.”

You just shake your head against the teasing girl. “You’re unreal.”

But Jiwon shakes her head in reply as well. “No—we’re real now, my love.”

And you couldn’t have asked for more.

[haruaverse]

𝑴𝒚 𝑭𝒂𝒗𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏 ᥫ᭡

ଓ❧ Wonyoung x seventh member!reader ❧ଓ

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Everyone knows Wonyoung is attached to her best friend, you just don't realize there's a much deeper reason why. Or maybe you do?

𝑓𝑒𝑚!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟, 𝑗𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑦, 𝑐𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑦!𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑦, 𝑝𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑦!𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑦...

⊱ 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ⊰

𝑨𝒉𝒉 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒑 𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒄!!!! 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒋𝒐𝒚𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝑦! ♥︎♡♥︎

𝙃𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜!! ʚɞ

ᴬˡˢᵒ ᴵ ᶠᶦⁿᶦˢʰᵉᵈ ʷʳᶦᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᶦˢ ˡᵃᵗᵉ ᵃᵗ ⁿᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵉᵛᵉⁿ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰ ᴵ ˢʰᵒᵘˡᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵃˢˡᵉᵉᵖ ˢᶦⁿᶜᵉ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ᵗᵉˢᵗ ᵗᵒᵐᵒʳʳᵒʷ ˢᵒ ˢʳʳʸ ᶠᵒʳ ᵃⁿʸ ᵐᶦˢᵗᵃᵏᵉˢ! ☺︎

The other members had stopped questioning why Wonyoung had always clung to you months ago.

The first time they noticed it, it was just tiny things.

Wonyoung sitting next you during every schedule. No matter what.

Her hand reaching for yours whenever you two walked anywhere together. How her head almost always ended up resting on your shoulder during long van drives to said schedules.

How she had absentmindedly played with your fingers as she scrolled through her phone. It had become so normal between you two that nobody even commented or teased you on it anymore.

Well sometimes...

"...You two are attached by an invisible string." Yujin said one day as she watched Wonyoung follow you around the dorm like a sad puppy.

You had let out a little giggle at your older friend's words but Wonyoung just gave her a slight glare. She glared because she wished it was true.

To her being your best friend was the greatest and the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

It was great because she got to hug you tightly in her arms whenever she wanted. She got to hear your sweet, honey laugh every day. She got to be the cause of that laugh too.

She knew your coffee order by heart, knew which side of the bed you preferred to sleep on.

She knew your nose formed little wrinkles whenever you smiled too hard. She knew your favorite flowers, your favorite movie, favorite hoodie. She knew absolutely everything there was about you.

But... she wasn't your girlfriend and that meant that every time another person smiled at you... she noticed.

Every single compliment.

Every stare that lingered a bit too long to just be friendly.

Every interaction that was seemingly harmless.

She noticed all of it and she hated herself for caring so much.

"You look really pretty today." She heard one of the makeup artists whispering to you. They smiled warmly at you after finishing a small touch-up.

Your face lit up at the compliment, "Really? Thank youu!"

Wooyoungs smile dropped ever so slightly across the room.

Pretty? Obviously.

You were pretty. Beautiful. Gorgeous. Absolutely breathtaking.

According to Wonyoung there weren't enough adjectives to describe your beauty. But having heard someone else say it out loud made an unpleasant feeling twist inside her heart.

She quickly pulled her gaze away from the scene before anyone could notice.

"...Wonyoung?" Your voice cut through the silence in the room.

"Hm?" She hummed in response, her fingers toying with her shirt.

"You've been awfully quiet." You murmured being a bit concerned for your bubbly friend. Not used to her being so quiet with you.

"I'm just tired." She said quickly and started her vocal warm up so you won't continue questioning her.

She lied.

It seemingly only got worse during music show recordings.

You were an MC this time around and your fellow co-star complimented your outfit. Your stylist commenting on how cute you looked with the group's new concept as they fixed your hair.

Another idol stopping you in the hallway to tell you how big of a fan they were and liked your smile.

To Wonyoung each of those interactions felt like another paper cut. They were tiny and harmless but with them growing, her heart stung constantly.

"Wonyo." You whispered as you poked at her arm, "Earth to Wonyoung..."

She blinked as she regained her focus, "Huh?" You giggled at her confused state, "You've been staring at me."

She looked away from you, deciding the ground suddenly deserved her focus, "... Sorry"

You saw as she avoided your gaze, "You okay?" She almost immediately smiled as she nodded her head, "Of ccourse!"

A minor frown appeared on your lips, "You know I can tell when you're lying." A laugh almost left her lips as she took in your words.

Of course you could. She was your best friend, you knew her better than anyone ever will. If only you knew the reason why she lied.

Wonyoung had become even clingier without even realizing.

Sitting down next to almost immediately whenever you sat down. If you stood up and walked away somewhere, she would somehow end up right beside you once again.

Her fingers already intertwined with yours. Her head resting on your shoulder like always as her arm looped through yours.

The other members would send knowing glances to each other as Liz whispered, "... She's nesting." Leeseo would dramatically nod her head, agreeing with Liz, "Very much so..."

Wonyoung's voice made them stop with their conversation, "What are you whispering about?"

Gaeul awkwardly said as she avoided Wonyoung's gaze, "Nothing.", before Rei followed with, "Definitely nothing."

Wonyoung narrowed her eyes at her members as you simply laughed at the action.

One day the group was busy filming a behind-the-scene vlog for your M Countdown performance.

At some point you wandered into another group's waiting room to greet an old friend. Your friend pulled you immediately into a tight hug. Wonyoung had looked away from you for only five seconds.

Five seconds and when she looked back towards you, you were laughing. She saw as your friend still had an arm around you, "..."

Her jaw tightened at the sight. She knew she was being ridiculous, she was your friend.

That was all.

But still why did she have to hug you that tightly.

Leeseo noticed the small pained look on Wonyoung's face, "You alright?"

She only hummed in response, not really feeling like talking as she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"You don't look alright." Leeseo said as she tried to see at what or who Wonyoung was glaring at.

"I'm fine." She said annoyed her gaze not leaving you for a second. Leeseo finally noticed where gaze was focused on, "Oh."

The sight of you with your friend made her understand, "... You're jealous."

Wonyoung's eyes immediately snapped to her, "I am not!" Leeseo laughed at her denial, finding it very amusing, "You absolutely are!"

Wonyoung huffed as she murmured, "I'm just..."

A small silence followed after she spoke. Leeseo giving her a smug look, "..."

"..."

"I wanted to hug her first." Wonyoung pouted, her cheeks slightly puffing up with air.

A sympathetic smile appeared on Leeseo expression as she looked at her pouty friend, "That's...kind of adorable."

Wonyoung whined and buried her face in her hands, "It isn't." Leeseo reasoned with her, "It really is."

Later that day you practically skipped over to her, "Wonyoung!" A big smile spread across your face, "There you are."

You tightly wrapped your arms around her waist without any warning. Her brain nearly completely shut down at your touch on her skin, "..."

You rested your cheek on her shoulder, "...hii," you glanced up at her, "... I missed you." It was three simple words that made her nearly melt into the floor beneath her.

"You...you were gone for twenty minutes." Wonyoung scoffed a little at you suddenly being the clingy one. You hugged her even tighter, "I know!"

A small smirk formed on your lips, "I still missed you."

Wonyoung couldn't understand how you could say something like that so casually.

That same night you two were cuddled up on the living room couch. Your legs were tangled up together with your head resting against hers.

The TV was now mostly background noise as neither of you were really watching whatever was playing. "...Can I ask something?"

You tilted your head slightly to look at her, "Always"

Wonyoung nodded and continued, "... Do you..." You saw as she hesitated, "...Do you ever think people flirt with you?"

You blinked at her words, "... Huh?" She quickly brushed off her question, "Never mind."

You moped as she looked away from you, "No, tell me..."

A small, raspy sigh left her, " Today..." she looked back to you, "... Your friend."

You had a curious expression spread all over your face, " What about her?"

Wonyoung slightly sulked at the memory, "She hugged you."

You whispered a questioning,"...Yeah?"

"And..." she hesitated again before continuing, "She complimented your smile."

You laughed a little at her confession, "So?" She copied your word, dragging it out a little, " Soo..."

You stayed quiet, trying to think of something to say, "..."

Wonyoung slightly freaked out as you stayed silent, "... Nothing." She said it quickly as she started to overthink her words.

You just looked at her, really stared at her. Then you connected the dots and everything clicked in place, "... Wait..."

Wonyoung froze as she heard you, "...You're jealous." Wonyoung's eyes widened and her mouth opened as if to say something but nothing came out, "..."

You found her expression quite adorable. Wonyoung frowned and looked away, "...No."

You tried to stop the smile from spreading across your face as you said with a fake stern tone, "Wonyoung."

She whined out, "I'm not."

"You are."

"I just..." she paused before continuing, "...maybe a little."

A gentle smile formed on your lips, it made her heart ache. You found her eyes with yours, "You know she has a boyfriend, right?"

Wonyoung's eyes light up a little at your words, "...Oh."

You continued with, "And she's literally friends with both of us."

"...Oh, yeah."

Neither of you spoke for a good minute before she mumbled again, "...I'm still jealous."

Her words made you laugh so hard that your stomach started hurting. She frowned at your laugh, thinking you're not taking her seriously, "I'm serious!"

"I know!"

She sulked again, her lips forming a mini heart, "It's not funny!"

You gazed at her, "It kind of is." Wonyoung murmured, "I can't help it..."

You gave her a knowing smile, "I know." She continued with, "You get compliments all the time."

You looked slightly confused with her words but you let her continue, "You smile at everyone." You nodded, "I do."

"You hug everyone."

"I don't." You protested instantly with a shocked tone in your voice. Like you almost found the comment offensive for some odd reason.

Wonyoung looked at you, eyes blinking, "...You don't?"

You shook your head at her, "I hug you."

"..."

You thought about what to say, "And the other members, sometimes."

Wonyoung nodded at that and a small rosy blush appeared on her cheek at your next words, "But mostly you."

Her heart fluttered and her stomach tightened. "You know why?" You asked her softly as she carefully looked at you and asked why.

"Because you're my favourite person." The room felt all of the sudden very quiet. The TV noise completely ignored by you both.

Wonyoung quietly asked, "...Favourite?"

You hummed in response, you couldn't stop the smile from forming on your expression anymore, "I'd choose you every time."

You couldn't tear your eyes away from her, "If I had a bad day, I'd want you."

"If I had good news, I'd tell you first."

"If I wanted a hug..." dramatically you opened your arms as you said, "...I'd look for you."

You saw as Wonyoung's eyes started getting teary. "...Don't."

She whined and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. You curiously looked at her, slightly teasing her, "Don't what?"

She looked at you, "Say things like that." "Why?"

Wonyoung gasped out, "...Because you'll make me cry."

Your smile softened almost immediately, "Oh."

Wonyoung shyly looked at you as she finally spoke again. Her voice was so soft, barely above a whisper, "...I think I'm in love with you."

The words escaped her lips before she could stop them. The silence that followed felt like it would never come to an end.

"..."

"..."

"... I'm sorry." She immediately pulled away from you, "I shouldn't have-"

You gently took her wrist in your grasp, "Wony." She nodded her head, "I know..."

You shook your head, "Noo-" Her voice interrupted you, "I don't want to make things weird."

"Wonyoung!" She finally looked up to see you smiling brightly at her. It wasn't a awkward or nervous smile. It made her nervous to hold your gaze. So she avoided it as best as she could, but it was just so... soft, "I was wondering how long it'd take you."

Wonyoung's head snapped back to you, surprised by your words,"... What?"

You laughed a little at her shocked expression, "You make heart eyes at me every day."

She pouted as you called her out, "I do not..." You sighed, "You literally glare at people for complimenting me."

"..."

"You cuddle me every chance you get..."

"..."

"You pout when someone else steals my attention from you..."

Wonyoung groaned as she covered her face in embarrassment, "... Was I really that obvious?" You laughed at her little whine, "So obvious..."

She made a little squeaky sound, "I'm never recovering from this..." You admired her as you spoke up, "I don't think you need to."

"... Whyy?" Instead of answering her, you gently leaned forward carefully and pecked her lips. You felt as her entire body froze, "I like you too."

Wonyoung didn't say anything, "..." Complete silence overflowing the dorm room.

"... Wonyoung?" Nothing. "Did you die?" Still nothing.

"I think I broke her..." You whispered to yourself.

Your body shook a little as Wonyoung buried her entire face in the crook of your neck. She let out the cutest whine you've ever heard from her, "I've waited so long..."

On an instant you wrapped your arms around her, "I know." You listened as she continued, "I was so scared..."

Her hold on you was impossibly tight as if she let go you might disappear into thin air. " You have no idea how much I wanted this."

As you heard her words you smiled into her hair, "I think I do..."

What you both didn't see was Yujin peeking into the living room, "Finally.."

Liz, standing next to her nodded with the biggest smile, "Took them long enough."

"Idiots.."

𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑢𝑢!!ᰔᩚ

𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘭𝘺 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑖𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑 ᵕ̈

ᴸᵉᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ʚɞ

[jmuns-kpop]

A Tablespoon

~Ive's Yujin (x Male Reader), 3.1 k words, Fluff

Read it on Fanprose

The question haunts you, day in and day out:

How did you end up here?

It's a tad dramatic, though. The benefits are good, overtime is rough, but at least you're compensated for it. People are… fine, your boss even nice at times, but you always thought you were destined for so much more than a 9-5.

(9-8, usually, you remind yourself, looking at the time.)

---

Hey, remember when you were complaining earlier? Well, there's some good to all of this.

If you like being poked in the side of the stomach every couple of hours, that is.

"Ow!" you yelp as the poke sends a sharp jolt through the side of your stomach. "What the hell, Yujin!"

"Hush, you'll be fine," she waves away your complaint. "Did you see this?" She shoves the printout in your hand.

"Are you being dramatic again?"

"Well, yeah. No more than you though. Can't even take a poke to the stomach," she rolls her eyes, but the shadow of her dimples tells you all you need to know.

"What is it."

"A thanksgiving potluck! When I applied for an American company, I thought the work culture would be better. I didn't expectall this… extra stuff!"

You scan the paper, a list of thanksgiving food items and names assigned to them.

"This is work culture. It's a work potluck."

"This doesn't affect ROI's! It's above my paygrade!" Yujin cries.

"You get paid more than me."

"I do more work than you."

"Hush, we're talking about the potluck. You got assigned… cranberry sauce. I got assigned the mac and cheese. I'm sure you can manage."

"We're in Korea! No one eats cranberries! I don't even know where to get them! Trade with me."

You put on your most smug face. "Sorry, Yujin, boss specifically asked me to do the mac." You stretch, faux-arrogance lining your voice. "Famous family recipe, you'd understand. I make it every year."

In your stretch, you're of course, vulnerable.

Poke

"Yah! What the hell!" you yelp much too loud, and suddenly you're acutely aware you're standing at the fax machine with the prettiest girl in the office, all eyes trained on the two of you talking about macaroni during work hours.

"Bootlicker!"

Yeah, so it's not all bad.

---

Like a mound of gold, you carry that pot of mac through the building with utmost care, steam billowing through the gap in the tinfoil drawing eyes from everyone in the damn place.

Elevator's about to close, and through the front door comes a sight you'll etch into your memory forever. Perfect woman she is, Yujin, hair slightly a mess, runs towards you, container in hand.

Unconsciously, your foot is at the elevator door, holding it open.

She walks into the elevator in a hurry, placing her container directly on top of your macaroni pot, probably smushing the pasta through the tinfoil. You can't help but cringe.

"Did the cranberry sauce win?" you laugh.

"I was up. All. Night." She runs her fingers through her hair, inspecting herself in the elevator mirror. "This party better be damn worth it."

"Just wait 'till the Christmas party."

She takes the container back, eyeing your macaroni.

"Smells good," she manages.

It's a glowing success. Well, you should've made more, to be honest, but still, second, third helpings of the stuff are piled high onto peoples plates.

And yet…

"It's not bad, Yujin," you wince, trying your best to hide your reaction as you bite down on a cranberry sauce lathered turkey.

"It's horrible, you're like, the only one who's taken any!"

"N-no seriously, this is like, my third helping."

Her shoulders slump. "Don't lie to me, you've been holding back a cough the whole time."

"Have n-not!"

"You just did it again!"

"Look, I'll even get more."

"Hmm."

Okay, she's bickering in that playful way she always does, but if there's one thing you've learnt about Yujin working with her for half a year, it's that she's very proud. Not in some arrogant, in your face way, just, she works hard, you know.

"Your mac is good. Like, really good," she changes the subject.

You shrug. "Well, it's a family recipe, so."

"Yeah well," she stabs some macaroni and brings it to her lips. "You should teach me some time."

===

It's these little moments that keep you here (not all of them have to do with Yujin, one time your boss invited you into his office and pulled out a bottle of scotch from under his desk, said it was 'for the occasion', whatever that meant), but the paper work is still an unending stack of monotony.

It's good, in all aspects of the word.

But you don't want good. You want something more, something that you can connect to.

You don't want somewhere you can just autopilot, let the workplace around you blur as time moves around you. You want somewhere you can take your own steps.

"You're spacing out again," Yujin's voice cuts, and you instinctively move your hands to protect your sides.

You intercept her outstretched finger aiming for a poke.

Dimples are back, and she's smiling, and you almost forget how damn boring this job is. "Wow, you're getting better," she says slowly, ripping her finger out of your hand because the contact feels a little too real here at the fax machine. "Look at this!"

It's a similar sheet to the thanksgiving potluck assignments, but this one is headlined with: CHRISTMAS PARTY.

"They have me down for napkins! That's so embarassing."

You do your absolute fucking best to hold in a laugh.

"Well, napkins are important."

Maybe laughing would be better. She moves so fast you can't even react, two jabs of her fingers at either side of your abdomen causes you to buck forward.

"Ow! What the hell!"

Some of your coworkers don't even react to your bickering anymore.

"I can't just bring napkins, this was supposed to be my redemption!"

"I already told you, your cranberry sauce wasn't that bad."

She crosses her arms, and her face doesn't betray her. She's annoyed. "Don't patronize me."

You think of insisting, but that look on her face is pure determination.

"Okay, it could've been better."

"Exactly, and now I can't prove I can do better. They gave the cranberry sauce to you— look!"

It's true, next to your name is the familiar macaroni and cheese, but also cranberry sauce.

"Okay, it's decided," she settles, "we'll make it together."

So, An Yujin is at your house, with that damn smile you've only seen in daylight. It's different at night, when there's less light pollution to block out how damn radiant she is.

So much for cooking together, though:

"So this is what you come home to every day, no wonder you're so…"

"So what?"

"Tedious, monotonous, hmm— oh, dull is a good one."

"That doesn't sound like me at all!"

"Yeah, not when you're talking to me. Usually, though." She says, taking a gander at your living room, and before you can react to the implications of what she said: "you could really use some plants, liven the place up a bit."

"What would I need plants for?"

"They're cute! Your kitchen is nice, though."

It is. It's one of the things you pride yourself on most, spices all lined up in the cupboard like little soldiers, dry ingredients labelled and stored perfectly, and the chef d'ouvre of the place, a custom built wine cabinet.

"So this is where your home decor budget goes huh," she teases, opening the cellar and pulling out a particularly expensive bottle of wine. "Corkscrew?" she smirks.

"Oh, make yourself at home, why don't you," you roll your eyes, but toss a corkscrew her way anyway. "What happened to cooking?"

"Well, we can't cook without wine! That'd just be boring." She finds your wine glasses, pouring particularly hefty helpings.

"Nope," you stop her before she can raise the glass to her lips.

"What do you mean, no?"

"You have to let it sit."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, you're one of those," she teases, raising it again.

You grab the glass from her hands and place it back on the table. "Trust me, it's worth it."

She lolls her head, looking at you annoyedly. "How long, then?"

"Half an hour."

"Ugh. What are we gonna do for half an hour?"

You open your grocery bags, tossing her a pack of cranberries. "Sauce."

Cooking with Yujin isn't like cooking alone; it's chaos. There's splatters and noises you know don't belong, and it's only made worse when the wine has properly decanted.

"And now we just let it reduce for a bit," you say, closing the lid on the saucepot full of cranberry sauce.

Yujin's hair is a mess, her T-shirt stained red. "That's exactly how I made it last time. Like, exactly."

"Hmm, well, we'll see. Mac and cheese time."

"Ugh, can't we just make japchae. I'm good at that."

"No, people like my mac."

"Fine, then teach me."

"Get me the cheese," you request, grabbing the grater. "Yujin, cheese please— Yujin?" You turn around. "Hey! That's enough wine!"

"Never enough, this is the fun of cooking!" By the time she's done pouring, her glass is nearly full. "Get your glass!" she demands.

You reluctantly grab it, and she brings the bottle down to pour.

"Hold still."

"I am."

She tips the bottle up, dimples still etched on her cheeks with that sly little smile. "Oops." She tips the bottle nearly upside down until only the dregs pour out. "Looks like we finished it all."

She raises her full glass of wine (what, maybe 4 helpings worth) to her lips, raises her eyebrows slightly and sips.

"That's my wine, miss."

"I thought you wanted to cook, not drink— fine, hold out your glass."

You do, and maybe it's the wine, or the constant work wife allegations your coworkers berate you with, or maybe it's just Yujin here in your happy place, but you hold it out close to you so she has to saddle right up next to you to tip wine from her own glass into yours.

Okay, you're sensationalizing it, she's not saddled up right next to you. But she's close, closer than she is when she pokes your belly at work, or sits down across from you at lunch to pick at your food. She smells kinda homey, whatever that means.

She raises her glass to pour, and you realize, homey smells like fresh laundry and wine. She starts pouring, but not before her eyes flick to yours.

It catches you off guard, and you fumble with the glass.

If things weren't messy before, they are now. Yujin tries to overcorrect for your juddering hand, and spills the wine all down your front.

"Oh—" she stutters apologetically, but not before you grab her still full wine glass and jovially splash some on her, price be damned.

"Ugh, this T-shirt is ruined now! What the hell was that for!" The shadow of her smile still lingers, but it's hidden by her playfully challenging demeanor.

"You spilled on me, first. Plus, you already have cranberry stains all down your front."

"I did not! And your hand shook!" And she pokes you in the abdomen.

It goes like this, the night, and it's the most fun you've ever had while cooking.

Soon, the overwhelming smells take hold, and now considerably more drunk, stained, and giggly, you lift the lid of the sauce pot off, revealing the velvet burgundy of the cranberry sauce.

Picture it like a movie: you and Yujin bent low, eye level with the pot as you lift the lid, steam billowing out.

"It looks the same as mine did," Yujin says defensively.

"It'll taste better."

"How do you know."

"Because I made it."

She rolls her eyes. "Mhmm, sure. Get me a spoon." You both straighten up, and, spoon now in hand, she takes a small dollop of the sauce.

Blowing once, twice, she takes a bit of your sauce.

Her eyes close, and you're honestly a little nervous. You can't remember wanting someone to like your cooking as much as you do now.

She slowly opens them, and then: "damn. It's good."

Relief. "Why do you sound disappointed, hmm?"

"Would've been fun to tease you," she says plainly, loading her spoon again. "Here," she offers

Two things:

1) Yujin is spoon feeding you

2) Indirect kissing via that spoon

She's just staring at you too, waiting there, large brown eyes excited.

Your eyes find literally anything else to look at as you close your mouth around the spoon, and, unsimilarly, you don't close your eyes. Instead, your eyes focus as the flavours dance on your tongue, throwing whatever tension existing onto the backburner.

"Good, right?"

"Hmm," you reply.

"What? Oh, come on, don't be one of those people who can never be satisified with their own cooking. This is like, way better than mine."

"It needs something," you reply ignoring her earlier sentiments. "Hey, pass me a tablespoon, won't you? No— drawer on the left, yeah."

"Seriously?" she questions. "We already added sugar—"

"Trust me," you say, mixing just a tablespoon more in the sauce. "Try it now."

It's undeniable, her reaction says it all. If she liked it before, now, it's perfect.

"Wow."

"Better, right." It's not a question.

"Mmm," she answers. "Okay, that was really good."

It's simple, it's something you've heard about your food before. Hell, Yujin complimented your macaroni not 2 months ago, but seeing her reaction, it steels your resolve, it seals your decision.

"Good, then you can make it next thanksgiving— well, now that you know how to make it."

She settles from her reaction, grabbing a kitchen towel and wiping down a nearby counter. "Yeah, if they don't give it to you again."

"They won't."

"What do you mean they won't?"

"Yujin I— I think I'm gonna quit."

Her body tenses and her head flicks to you, and just seeing the look on her face you want to take it back. But then the look is gone, and she goes back to wiping. "Oh."

She says it like it doesn't mean anything; honestly, it shouldn't, really. You're just two coworkers making food. But it does, the air is loaded. And this is enough to crumble whatever resolve you had built up.

"I don't know, though," you say.

"Well, where would you go? What would you do?"

You peer around the kitchen. "This."

"What, cooking?"

"I know it's stupid, but I've always wante—"

"It's not stupid at all!" she exclaims. "It's brilliant!"

"You think?"

"Yes! It's so… you."

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, 'I don't know', you were so confident just a second ago."

"Yeah, but, this job is so stable. And I mean, I only cook at home, I don't know if I can make it as a pro."

Yujin leans back on the counter, raising her glass to her lips. A long, exaggerated sip, and she smiles. "I believe in you. I see you, you know, when you're sitting at your desk. I know you don't want to be here."

It's touching in a way, how she knows, how she pays attention. "Except when I'm talking to you," you say dryly.

"Well, I'm not like that," she says. "I can survive in this job without you." It's not meant as an insult, the opposite, actually. It's said like: 'don't worry about me, I can keep myself sane at work'. In her own special way, of course.

She stares at you, resolute, determined, like she's the one that's about to quit her job to cook, and then a timer beeps, signalling the macaroni is ready.

"We'll keep in touch, anyway."

---

Listen, it's not like you've been counting the days since you were last here, but it's been a while.

You still remember the humdrum of the lobby as you climb into the familiar elevator, and then: her.

Yujin, hair disheveled again, rushing through the lobby like she always does. Your foot sticks out, stopping the door from closing.

She's still looking down as she crosses the threshold of the elevator, but when she looks up, sees you and gives a little yelp, you can't help but smile.

But she clears her throat, straightens up, embodies professionalism (for some reason, she's never cared about that around you before), and says as plainly as she can, "what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off at that nice restaurant you never invited me to?"

You too stand up straight, sustain that pretense of this being an elevator with just two old coworkers. "I work here."

"You worked here. 6 months ago."

"Well, I'm back."

She turns to you, slumping. "What happened to your dream."

You shrug. "Hmm, I tried it. It wasn't for me."

"But you loved cooking!"

"Still do."

"Then why'd you leave?"

"It was stressful, hours were fucked. And I got yelled at like, 6 times a day. But really, it's because it's not the same."

"It's not the same as?"

"Cooking for you."

Yujin's cheeks go red, but her eyes never leave yours.

"Maybe I can do it again sometime?"

She clears her throat, composes herself. "Cooking with me," she corrects.

"Right, with you."

"Yeah, that wouldn't be so bad," she says as the elevator door opens to what will inevitably be your workplace for the rest of your life. "Wait— don't tell me you reapplied to this job just so you could ask me that! You could've just called!"

"Yeah, well," you say, stepping back into the familiar office, "this place isn't all so bad, is it."

"You hate it here."

"Not all of it, some of it is fun."

"Most of it isn't fun at all."

You shrug again. "A tablespoon of the stuff is all I need," you say, before walking off to your old desk.

---

The place is crowded, which kind of stresses you out, but even 30 years later, Yujin's smile is enough to calm you down.

She grabs your hand from across the table. "Are you nervous?"

"Not even a little bit."

"Hmm, right," she rolls her eyes, scanning a printout labelled 'GRAND OPENING MENU', until—

"From the chef herself!" Yujin glows.

The chef is walking towards you carrying an elegant looking dish.

"First courses are out in 10 minutes, and we're absolutely fucked," the young girl says. "But I wanted you to have this before shit goes down," she places the food (a pasta dish) on the table. "First plate of the restaurant."

Before you can even respond, the chef turns away in a hurry.

Suddenly, she stops, turns around.

"Mom, Dad— thanks," she mutters, before running back to the kitchen.

Small picture

[aerienchanted]

IF U THINK I'M PRETTY toxic!wonyoung x fem!reader

you're not sure what this thing — relationship, situationship, whatever you wanna call it — between you and wonyoung is, only that it's toxic, more than a little problematic, and you both can't get enough.

content: fem!reader, toxic!wonyoung, headcannons, toxic relationship/situationship, r & w are both idols but in different groups, hickeys & marking, a little suggestive, pretend infidelity? possessiveness, very mixed signals, she makes you cry at one point word count: 1.0k note: i write for ive now #whowantme

❦ toxic!wonyoung who gets mad when you don't immediately answer her texts, even if she's left you on read for weeks before sending it

❦ toxic!wonyoung who always posts suggestive pics whenever you even briefly suggest ending things. she'll see your text come through and glance at the word 'end' before swiping away and posting a photo dump she was originally saving just for you — nothing explicit, just a little more than she'd usually show — only to open your message and find out you were talking about the end of your promotions and wanted to meet up. oops!

❦ toxic!wonyoung who flirts with other idols in front of you just to make you jealous. nine times out of ten she'll throw their number away afterwards, but that's something she'll never tell you.

❦ toxic!wonyoung who always has to touch you. when you're at an award show, her hand is placed discreetly on your lower back, and she keeps you with her the whole time fans start to joke you're a secret member of ive. even if you've just had an argument, she's pulling you on her lap and making you sit there, arms draped around your waist. to anyone else, it'd look casual, but the crescent fingernail marks she leaves in your skin tell another story

❦ toxic!wonyoung who refuses to label your relationship. one minute your acting like girlfriends and the next she's passing you though the halls like a complete stranger. what's the point in giving a name to something that fluctuates so much, anyways?

❦ toxic!wonyoung who leans into fanservice with her members when she's mad at you

❦ toxic!wonyoung who hardly ever apologises with words, instead showering you with gifts and luxury in the hopes you'll forget about it

❦ toxic!wonyoung who, when the gifts don't work because you insist you can't be brought — as if, when you said this, you weren't wearing all the jewellery and new shoes she brought you — she'll resort to the pouting. she raises her voice a pitch, widens her eyes, and pleads for your forgiveness, only half meaning it. you know this, and yet are completely weakened by her tactics. she back in your bed before the sun sets.

❦ toxic!wonyoung who always has to be partnered with you when your respective groups have to do dance challenges together. she loves her members, sure, but there's no way she's letting them dance with you while she's waiting on the sidelines

❦ toxic!wonyoung who buys out a whole restaurant just so you can have some alone time, then goes back to only talking to you for hookups for the next weeks like nothing happened. if you didn't have the perfectly preserved napkin tucked in you bottom drawer, you would've sworn you were imagining it

❦ toxic!wonyoung who sprays her perfume all over your clothes and pillowcases so her scent still lingers whenever she's away

❦ toxic!wonyoung who lovessss leaving hickeys. you'll warn her not to mark your neck in case someone sees but she won't listen, pressing harsh but not unwelcome kisses wherever she pleases. the next day you'll wake up with blooming bruises all over your body, reaching into your makeup bag only to find wonyoung's stolen your concealer so you can't cover it

❦ toxic!wonyoung who pretends things aren't exclusive. you'll see each other again after a little while — idol schedules have never been for the weak — and you'll casually ask what she's been up to, but she's mad because you got into bullshit dating rumors with an idol you barely even looked at once, so she'll lie and say she started sleeping with someone else — maybe a waiter from her favourite restaurant, or another idol, it doesn't matter — as if she didn't spend every night watching your fan cams, unable to sleep

❦ toxic!wonyoung who lives to make you jealous. she once went as far as buying a new scent of perfume, lightly spraying it on herself and pretending it was another woman's just watch you get mad.

❦ toxic!wonyoung who can't help but make fun of you when you get upset. she'll go too far and you, despite trying to hide it, will start to cry. you'll throw her out of your apartment, tears streaking down your face while she calls you pathetic the whole time, laughing in your face as you push her backwards. it's only once you slam the door in her face that she realises what she's done and immediately comes running back to kiss away your tears like she wasn't the one who caused them.

❦ toxic!wonyoung who likes to text you the most outrageous things while you're doing a live stream just to see the way you stiffen, the way your eyes dart from your phone to the camera like you can't believe she's doing this right now. she's always messaging you throughout the day — when you're not ignoring each other, this is — asking questions about what you ate, what you're wearing, who you've spoken to today, like if she doesn't know these things she'll explode, but she saves her most private messages (and pictures), for when you're in public and can do absolutely nothing about it.

❦ toxic!wonyoung who insists everything be run on her own time. you can't come over because you're busy with practice? she's annoyed — you're ruining her free day! she's out of the country on tour? she's sending you plane tickets to come join her, as if you don't also have work.

❦ toxic!wonyoung who, if you're arguing and you look away, will grab your chin and force you to look at her. whatever you want to say, you can say it to her face.

❦ toxic!wonyoung who gets bothered by your 'break ups' — can you really call them that if you're not even together? — more than she'd like to admit. at first, she might be fine, so long as she locks her phone away and imagines you more affected than she is, but then everything slips. she hears your groups song on the radio and instantly thinks of your voice. your touch. the way you look up at her, eyes wide and watering, and suddenly she's shooting you a text before she even registers her phone in her hands.

❦ toxic!wonyoung who, for all her ghosting, lies, and toxicity, might as well be addicted to you

enjoyed this? click here for more!

ive taglist: @wonroha

perm taglist: @emmaitoshi @madwheelerpilled @kpopluver167 @seonghwaswifeuuuu @demiurqe @fallen-angel-in-h3ll @snowmeii @junnoou @murderbasketheassassin

[cupidchaes]

 †　　　 𓈒　(   C̲H̲E̲R̲I̲S̲H̲ ꨄ︎  WONYOUNG )  . gf headcanons

我 ⸼ ࣪ ✿ ◌ ۪ contents. jang wonyoung x fem reader, gf headcanons ! ( sfw and nsfw )

notes. oh my lesbian hyperfemme dom wonyoung agenda... nobody gets u like i do..

ꨄ︎ . big on nicknames. 'baby,' 'sweetheart,' 'angel,' 'honey' you will be called something cute at all times. she might even weaponize it against you when needed.

ꨄ︎ . unapologetically obsessed with dressing you up. she’ll drop a ridiculous amount of money on matching fits just so she can privately admire you in it. “spin for me,” she’ll hum, dead focused. and if you pout, she will just kiss it away.

ꨄ︎ . (suggestive) loves lingerie shopping together, not because she wants your input, but because she enjoys watching you blush in the dressing room when she tries something on and asks, “do you like this on me?” everyytimee. and when you (of course) shower her with compliments, she acts all nonchalant before trailing “good. you’ll get to see it tonight” WHY IS HER FLIRTING GAME TOP NOTCH ??

ꨄ︎ . relatively possesive, and surprisingly easy to make jealous. kisses you before you go out everytime (and leaves stains of her lipstick all over your skin on purpose, won't tell you but others will see & that's what gets her going)

ꨄ︎ . gift giving and physical touch are her love languages, argue w the wall. 1000% the type of girlfriend, when she's on tour buy a thing for you in every single city stop she has. when she comes back, you'll be showered by like what? 27 gifts. lightwork.

ꨄ︎ . is obssesed with the thought of you being obssesed with her. is into praise in various ways, loves compliments, loves feeling on top of the world.

ꨄ︎ . (nsfw) 100% has a photo album of multiple nude images of you in various different positions. you looked good riding her? your tits looked so georg? "pause, let me take a picture :3" you look so hot while coming? look at you squirming? "sooo cuteee :3 let me take a picture!" what a pervvvv.

ꨄ︎ . (nsfw) into dry humping. don't ask me how i know, i just do. something about you getting off on her??? and all she has to do is just.. watch?? while praising/degrading you?? okay... my dream date.

[sunghoon-s-girl]

MINISKIRT

Genre: crack and fluff (?)

Pairing: popular girl!Wonyoung x popular girl!reader

Word count: 2K

Warnings: none

A/N: what's better than Miniskirt by AOA? wlw Miniskirt by AOA! Femme x femme nation please rise up, I feel like there's always little representation about this kind of couple, but I love it (as a femme I love femmes). I also love loserish Wony and slightly bimbo reader. This is absolutely for myself, but I hope you too will enjoy it <3 (I think sometimes tumblr drops the quality of my banners, but I hope it's only on my device)

You're beautiful, absolutely stunning, both pretty and hot.

Both boys and girls have always liked you and that made you proud. The feeling of power that came with holding everyone's hearts in your hand was something you liked to get high on. The thrill of never really breaking them but also unavoidably crashing them each time was your favorite thing.

The popularity that came with it was something you didn't take as a given. You spent time and money into crafting your reputation and upholding it, always wearing high brand clothes the right type of revealing, going to the best hairstylists and beauty centers to maintain your beauty. But also working your ass off to be one of the top students all the while being socially active in the best groups of people.

Everyone loved you and you wanted it to stay that way.

Of course, sometimes you gave yourself to someone.

You only had a couple relationships in your life, but you were never the first to approach. Usually, the person would be brave enough to pursue you and after a long courtship you'd give in if you found them attractive enough.

But you hadn't been in love yet.

When you enrolled university, not even a week in you were the talk of the campus. The new celebrity. While many were curious about you, most wondered if it meant the queen was going to be dethroned.

Jang Wonyoung was similar to you. The perfect popular girl.

You didn't search for competition, didn't believe in it. The two of you didn't need to cancel each other, you could perfectly exist at the same time and shine each on her own.

That's what you told people when they asked what you thought about her.

And it was the truth. But also, you never met her, so you didn't really have an opinion on her.

When you did met her, things changed a bit.

How could someone so perfect be human? She was an angel, right? Or some sort of deity. Being in the same class as her felt like a blessing, breathing her same air felt like a sin. She was unattainable, yet you couldn't not want her.

Was this how other people felt about you?

It had been only a week since you started taking the same class as her and Wonyoung had become the center of your thoughts. You didn't even know what the lessons were about anymore, you showed up only to watch her.

On the second week, you gathered your courage to talk to her. As the class was dismissed, you walked towards her, putting on your best smile and friendly attitude.

"Hi Wonyoung, I'm... y/n"

You stood baffled in the classroom, a crack making its way across your heart.

"She didn't even spare me a glance! She completely ignored me!"

"Maybe she didn't hear you"

"I really hope so, Jake, because if she did it on purpose I might go crazy"

You pressed your face into your pillow, which muffled your frustrated scream. Beside you, Jake giggled.

"What's so funny? There's nothing to laugh about, this is a tragedy"

"It's just... it's the first time you're on the other side, it's entertaining to see you so worked up"

You huffed, dropping your head on his shoulder. The people who liked you really had a rough life if it was like this. The people who liked you...

"Jakey, you've been my first boyfriend, so you were able to conquer me. How did you do it?"

"Ah, don't remind me, it was the hardest quest of my life and I still ended up friendzoned"

"Don't lie, you love being my best friend. Come on, tell me, maybe it might work for me"

"Alright, fine. Well, you didn't really notice me at all until I started putting more effort into my appearance"

"Great! I can do that! Time for selfcare day"

The next lesson of the course you shared with Wonyoung, when you walked in all eyes fell on you. Every step you took brought the attention to the clicking of your stilettos, and then your black stockings until they landed on the miniskirt.

Soon enough, a crowd of guys surrounded you, complimenting your attire and flirting with you. You played into it, laughing at their jokes and flaunting your new attire like a peacock does with its tail.

But when you looked towards Wonyoung, she wasn't paying attention at all. Her head was turned in the opposite direction as she talked with her friend Gaeul.

You didn't let it affect you, though. Acting nonchalantly, you passed by her seat, slowly, giving her the chance to look at you, even glancing her way to check if she noticed.

"Nothing, I tell you, nothing!"

By how many times you paced on the same spot there will be a hole in your fur carpet.

"Maybe she was just too distracted by other things, don't let it get you down"

Jake patted the spot on the bed next to him, welcoming you in his arms when you sat down.

"You're y/n. Since when you give up on a challenge without putting in your hard work?"

"You're right. I'm y/n, there's nothing I can't do if I want to"

After two other tries you accepted that only dressing up wasn't enough. So you forced proximity.

"Hi! Is that seat taken?"

You smiled prettily while pointing at the spot next to Gaeul.

Finally Wonyoung raised her head and looked at you. Yes! But... why did she shoot you a icy glare?

"No, it's free, you can take it"

At least Gaeul was nice to you.

The lesson was spent with trying to not make yourself obvious while stealing glances at her. She didn't seem to feel your eyes on her at all, though.

As soon as the class ended, you tried to talk to her, but before you could even finish saying her name she was dragging Gaeul away with her. Gosh, she was driving you mad.

"Wony, why did you run away like that?"

"Because she was clearly about to start a conversation!"

"So? Wouldn't that be good? It was your chance to talk to her"

"Unnie, you know my brain shuts off when the girl I like speaks to me. I would have only made a fool of myself"

Gaeul giggled at how cute her friend was. Everyone else only saw her cool side, some believed her to be heartless. In reality she was an awkward endearing bunny who didn't know how to act when she had a crush.

Really, she had been talking Gaeul's ear off about y/n. And in the last week it had gotten worse, even since she started putting on miniskirts everyday, making sure to walk in front of them each time.

You two were both so obvious and oblivious. What a perfect match.

"You know that if you want to get her you'll have to talk to her eventually, right?"

"Yeah, I know... I'm just not ready"

Wonyoung pouted, knowing that somehow she had to put herself together as she watched you walk out of the classroom with a defeated look.

Yes, you felt defeated, but you didn't give up. You kept sitting next to Gaeul every lesson. Wonyoung might have kept ignoring you, but befriending her friend was still a step forward, you were learning a lot about your crush through her. Plus, the girl was actually really nice and fun to be around.

However, you needed a more structured plan. That's why you invited both Jake and Gaeul to lunch.

"This is getting ridiculous. Just go tell her you like her!"

"Well, it's not that easy. Wonyoung might actually run away without saying anything"

"Ugh, I'm gonna grow old before I get to make a move on her at this point"

You buried your head in your arms, leaning on the table. You were trying your hardest, but if she kept slipping through your fingers you might've given up sooner than later.

"Uh, Wonyoung is here"

Immediately you shot your head up, hurriedly looking around the place until you found her. Your smile soon dropped, though.

"Who is the girl with her?"

"That's Yujin. They were together, but now are just friends"

"Oh, so like us- hey, y/n, where are you going?"

"Wony! What a coincidence! Are you waiting for someone else?"

"No, we're having lunch alone-"

"Perfect, we can join you!"

You slid into the seat next to Wonyoung, waving to Jake and Gaeul to also come over.

"Have you decided what to order yet?"

"We come here often, we'll just have our usual jjapaguri"

"Oh, but Wonyoung's cutting on carb lately, right?"

You stared at her expectantly while she wondered how you knew.

"Yes, I am"

"You should get the LA Galbi instead, it's so good, you'll love it"

Yujin looked between the two of you, noticing all the details you yourselves probably weren't even aware of. How your body was twisted in Wony's direction, giving her all the attention and staring at her with heart eyes. How Wonyoung's blush deepened the moment you arrived, how she fidgeted and stole quick glances at you.

Turning towards Gaeul, the friends started communicating with gestures. She asked her help to get you together. Yujin knew what to do.

"Wony... I actually wanted to talk to you in private, but since I don't think that will be easy I'll just say it in front of everyone. Let's get back together"

"What!?"

"No, you can't!"

Panic settled onto both of you. Wonyoung was confused by it all, while you believed it was now or never. So you took her hands in yours, not caring anymore about sounding desperate.

"Wonyoung, please, don't get back with her. Give me at least a chance before. I really like you!"

Now she even more confused. Her head was spiraling, trying to understand everything that was happening.

"You... you like me?"

"Yes"

"I like you too"

"Really?!"

Wonyoung just nodded, but it was enough for you. A second later you had your arms around her, hugging her close to you.

"Yujin, back off, you heard her. She's mine now"

"I knew it'd work. Congratulations"

Both you and Wonyoung gave her a questioning look.

"It was so painfully obvious you like each other. And that you were jealous. I just gave you a push"

"So... you don't want to get back with her?"

"No, we're just good friends"

"Oh thank God, that scared me so much"

Finally you let go of Wonyoung, slouching against your chair, relaxed now that there wasn't a threat anymore. But you snapped back up when you realized that you just declared to Wonyoung and she did too.

"Wait, you really like me? But then why were you always avoiding me?"

"I was scared of messing up. You're literally perfect and my brain gets fuzzy when you're close"

"Y/n is not perfect, you should have seen her crashing out-"

"Jake, shut up! I'm having my romantic moment. Were you saying?"

"I become too awkward when I have to talk to girls I like. I didn't want you to stop getting close, but didn't know how to get closer. I'm sorry"

"Gosh, you're so cute. So we can become girlfriends?"

"And we hugged and organized our first date and that's how I met your mother"

"Yes, please"

"You know that Marie can't understand you, right?"

"Don't say it out loud! She might get offended"

You covered the cat's ears while you reprimanded Wonyoung, which earned you a giggle from her. Oh, how you loved hearing her laugh.

"We were really stupid. How didn't we understand it before, that we liked each other?"

"You're the one who should have understood it. I was putting in so much effort, meanwhile you treated me like the plague"

"I know, I'm sorry. But your efforts weren't for nothing, I couldn't think of anything else when you showed up in a miniskirt"

"I can't deny I'm really sexy in them. That's why I keep wearing them for you"

Leaning in, you captured her lips in a sweet kiss, which was followed by another and another as Wonyoung couldn't get enough of you, even after a year together.

You must really thank miniskirts.