the first time — park jihyo.
now playing: the first time - damiano david.
synopsis - you were best friends once, almost lovers. now you’re in love with someone else, and jihyo can only watch—too late to stay, too early to forget—all because of herself. part 1 'call me when he breaks your heart'.
pairing - park jihyo x afab!reader x park sooyoung/joy (red velvet).
note — ageless, minor, male blogs will be blocked if interacting with mine.
link to part one in the synopsis note—hope you enjoy reading! xx
⸻
after next summer, everything slowed.
not publicly—your group was still booked, still performing, still smiling on cue under blinding lights. your fans were louder than ever. the interviews sharper. your eyeliner darker.
but privately, it was quiet.
not the kind that means peace.
the kind that follows a storm and leaves the walls slightly warped, the foundation hairline-fractured. things still stand, but not quite right.
you hadn’t spoken to jihyo since the kisses.
not a message. not a look. just silence.
and in that silence, joy appeared.
not all at once. not like jihyo had. not in floods and rooftop kisses and green text bubbles that turned your ribs inside out.
joy showed up like she had nowhere else to be.
the first time, it was rosé’s birthday party—rosé introduced the two of you and you instantly clicked, eyes lingering for a second too long, hands aching to touch.
the second time, it was a dressing room—separate comeback stages on the same music show. you’d crossed paths at the vending machines. she reached for the drink before you could. handed it over without a word.
you looked at her. she looked back.
and that was it.
a few days later, a voice message. short. playful. “you’re everywhere these days. don’t make me start stanning.”
you didn’t respond. not at first.
but her voice clung to you. warm. teasing. the opposite of empty.
and you just had to let her in.
the next time you were in the same building, she caught your eye during rehearsals for a music show. just a glance. and you smiled before you even realised it.
she didn’t try to break through you.
she just stood near enough for the cracks to warm.
what surprised you most was that you weren’t scared of her.
not like you were scared of jihyo—scared of wanting too much, of being too seen.
joy didn’t demand space. she just made room.
in the weeks that followed, you caught her name more often.
on your phone. in photos. in playlists. in articles that paired your names with question marks.
she started sending you pictures of ugly animals. voice notes of her humming between takes. one night, you found a gif of her sent at 2:11 a.m., blinking with the caption: “thinking about you and couldn’t sleep. tragic.”
you laughed into your pillow.
when your schedules lined up again, she invited you into her van.
not with words. just a glance and a raised brow, a subtle nod toward the door.
you climbed in.
she offered you a fruit pouch, half-empty.
you took it.
“you always this quiet?” she asked.
“you always this forward?”
she shrugged. “i’m a virgo.”
you leaned your head back against the seat, smiling into the silence.
the city passed outside the window like a song you didn’t know the words to yet.
she didn’t ask about jihyo.
not once.
and you didn’t say her name.
not once.
but when joy touched your hand, absentmindedly, during a joke you barely heard, your fingers stayed curled into hers long after the punchline faded.
it didn’t feel like a beginning.
not yet.
but it didn’t feel like grief, either.
it felt like breath. like warmth. like something that didn’t need to be explained.
not yet.
just held.
⸻
you hadn’t planned to see her that night.
your schedules had wrapped early. jisoo had peeled off to meet friends. rosé disappeared with her guitar and a bottle of wine. jennie was holed up in a park somewhere, chasing a break. lisa on a little ‘97 date with her friends.
you were halfway through removing your makeup when her name popped up on your phone.
joy: you free?
joy: i want to show you something dumb.
you stared at the message for a second too long.
then grabbed your coat.
she picked you up in a white mercedes with the windows down and the music too low to identify. her hair was loose around her shoulders, a hoodie zipped to her chin. when you climbed in, she handed you a bottle of strawberry iced tea, already unscrewed.
“it reminded me of you,” she said.
you raised an eyebrow. “because it’s red and sweet?”
“because it looks like it’d stain easy.”
you laughed. didn’t answer. let the bottle rest between your thighs as she pulled away from the curb.
she drove without telling you where.
the city passed in streaks of gold and blue. you leaned your forehead to the window. joy tapped the wheel in time with nothing.
finally, she stopped outside a quiet overlook—just high enough to see the han river blink between buildings.
you got out together. the breeze was cool and kind.
neither of you spoke for a long time.
“you don’t flinch anymore,” she said eventually.
you turned to her.
“you used to,” she added, voice low. “whenever I got close. your shoulders would go tight. your fingers would twitch and your hands would pull away.”
“i didn’t notice.”
“i did.”
you looked at her then—really looked.
her face was soft in the moonlight. open. not waiting for anything. not pushing either.
“it’s not that i’m not scared,” you said quietly. “it’s just… you make it feel like it won’t kill me to stay… and i don’t know how to do that, i’m not used to it.”
she didn’t reach for you. didn’t close the distance.
“y/n,” she just said. “i’m not in a hurry.”
you stood there together, the bottle of tea sweating in your hand, the air heavy with everything unspoken.
a car passed behind you. a dog barked in the distance.
joy tilted her head. “you want to come over?”
“now?”
“just for a bit.”
you hesitated.
then nodded.
she didn’t smile.
just opened her door and waited.
and you followed.
⸻
joy had her own way of being and staying.
so here are the six (of many) ways joy made you stay:
the first time she showed up with strawberries, it was raining.
she didn’t text first. just knocked, hoodie soaked, grinning like the sky hadn’t touched her. you opened the door in pajama shorts, eyes still swollen from sleep. she held the tub out like a peace offering.
“i saw them and thought of you,” she said. “they’re not fully ripe, but they’re sweet.”
you smiled. truly. let her in.
they tasted like summer. new beginnings. living, not existing.
you were half-asleep on the couch. her head was in your lap. she was watching something—some drama with too much crying, not enough plot. you weren’t watching anything at all—well, you weren’t watching anything on the screen. what you were watching, was just her breathing, the way her chest raised and feel with each breath she took. the way her lashes fluttered at the sad parts. the way her hair unintentionally sprawled out in a way that made her look even more beautiful. the way everything about her was nothing but pure beauty in such a delicate, feminine way and just seemed to work together to take your breath away.
she didn’t speak. didn’t ask. just curled closer, like she already knew the weight of your silence.
you let your hand drift through her hair and thought, maybe this is what safe means.
2:47 a.m.
your phone buzzed once.
a photo of a dog. one ear up, one ear down. ridiculous.
the caption just read “tell me this isn’t your energy”
you stared at it until your chest stopped hurting.
she sang off-key in the car. loudly. on purpose.
a vocalist as good and experienced as joy could only ever sing off-key on purpose.
the windows were down. the wind was in your face. she was singing taylor swift like she’d never been paid to hold a note in her life.
you joined her.
it felt like freeing.
your name in her mouth was different.
not softer. not prettier.
just real.
like she wasn’t calling you to get something.
just to let the word land in the air.
she kissed your shoulder instead of your mouth.
it was late. you were on her floor. legs tangled. hearts loud.
and she could have.
but she didn’t.
she kissed the slope between neck and collarbone, then pulled away like it meant nothing.
no smile, no teasing, no playful wink
but you felt it for hours.
and she never explained.
⸻
it was just a post on twitter.
someone reposted a behind-the-scenes clip from a music show. blackpink was coming offstage—sweaty, breathless, high off the crowd—and there you were. cheeks flushed, smile half-wild, hair stuck to your forehead.
you passed by joy. she reached for your wrist. didn’t pull—just touched.
you looked at her like you were already laughing.
whoever posted it added a caption:
“get a room omg”
jihyo had scrolled past it.
then scrolled back.
then watched it again.
it was seven seconds.
seven seconds and she forgot how to hold her phone.
she muted the audio—some stupid love song. watched again. focused on your hand—the way it didn’t flinch. the way it lingered. like it belonged there.
she didn’t close the app. didn’t throw the phone.
just stared.
she could hear the low hum of her air purifier. the clock ticking softly behind her. the sound of her own breathing, steady but not enough.
it wasn’t even a moment, really. not to anyone else.
but she felt it in her ribs.
like bruises she hadn’t noticed until someone touched them.
she hadn’t said your name out loud in weeks.
not to anyone. not even herself.
but there it was again—sitting on the edge of her throat like a word that didn’t know how to die properly.
she turned off her phone.
lay back on the bed.
and stared at the ceiling until the light through her curtains shifted from gold to grey.
⸻
you hadn’t planned to write anything that day.
the studio was already heavy with work—half-finished mixes, loops repeating too long, a notebook full of scratchy phrases that didn’t hold meaning anymore. you were tired. the kind of tired that starts in the chest.
joy wasn’t supposed to be there.
but she came anyway.
“i’ll sit in the back,” she said. “won’t breathe too loud.”
you smiled. didn’t ask why that made you feel like exhaling.
the producer left the room. said he needed a phone call and a cigarette. maybe space—fed up on pretending he didn’t see the many stolen glances you and joy threw each other’s way.
you stayed behind.
so did she.
she curled up in the corner of the couch, hoodie sleeves over her hands, face bare, hair still a little wet from a shower you hadn’t known she’d rushed through to be here. she looked soft, unfinished, exactly like herself.
you were scrolling through old drafts on your laptop when she started humming.
not to fill the silence—just because something inside her was moving.
a low, broken tune. half a scale. no words. just her.
you didn’t realise you were staring until she stopped, looked up, eyes half-lidded.
“am i being annoying?”
you shook your head. couldn’t speak yet.
then, almost without thought, you reached for your notebook. the one you never used around anyone. the one with the pages folded in on themselves, like even the paper had secrets.
you wrote:
i thought my heart had felt it all
i swam for miles across the ocean
never met the shore
pen to paper. breath steady. hands not quite.
she watched you this time.
quiet.
curious.
not interrupting.
you kept writing.
that night, the stars aligned
heaven dropped a line
before you, i was just a flare in the sky
a breath hitched in your chest. you paused, fingers tightening around the pen.
joy shifted on the couch but didn’t speak.
not yet.
you reached the end of the bridge before she asked, softly, “what is it?”
you looked up. “a song.”
“for the group?”
“not exactly.”
she blinked.
“for me?” she teased.
and you heard it—the small waver of hope in her voice.
you didn’t confirm.
you didn’t deny.
her mouth tugged into something quiet.
“should i be nervous?”
you smiled, not entirely steady.
“i think you already know.”
she didn’t press.
didn’t lean in.
just let you write.
just let you feel.
you kept going until the lyrics blurred a little. until the shape of the song wrapped itself around her voice, her laugh, her being here—now—like she belonged in this room more than the music ever did.
she hummed again.
you listened.
and kept writing.
because maybe you were always supposed to.
⸻
you sat with it for a long time.
the song was done. saved. tucked neatly into your phone, the file name bland enough that no one would guess what it held. but you knew.
the way the girls had sang it, the emotion building up, your voice in the chorus, it all still made your throat a little too tight.
the bridge sounded like your ribs trying not to crack open.
it was quiet in the flat. the kind of late-night silence that felt like someone was listening just behind the walls.
you’d turned off the lights an hour ago. the only glow came from your phone, joy’s name pinned at the top of your screen. you hadn’t messaged her. hadn’t said anything about the song since she dropped you off two nights ago and grinned at your half-wave through the car window like it meant more than it did.
maybe it had.
you played the song again.
this time, with your eyes closed.
the lyrics didn’t feel like a performance. they felt like a confession caught mid-fall.
you imagined her hearing it.
headphones on. head tilted. lips parted a little.
you imagined her asking, is this about me?
you imagined yourself lying.
you stood up too quickly.
grabbed your keys. pulled on a hoodie. heart suddenly louder than your footsteps.
you didn’t even put on shoes. you were already halfway to the door when the weight hit you.
not fear.
something heavier.
you stopped.
one hand on the doorframe. the other clutching your phone like it might ring if you held it tight enough.
you looked down at her name again.
typed out a message.
deleted it.
typedanother.
can i see you?
deleted that too.
you stood there, door half-open, air cold against your bare feet.
then shut it.
slowly.
you sat on the floor, back against the door.
pressed play again.
and whispered into the dark, like she could hear you if you said it soft enough—
“you’ll know soon.”
⸻
the lights in the room were warm, the air a little stale, and you weren’t really listening.
jisoo was telling some story about a wardrobe malfunction. rosé was half-laughing, her hand fluttering to cover her mouth. lisa sat cross-legged on the floor, sunglasses on indoors like it was a joke only she understood, teasing jennie every time the comments flooded with heart emojis.
you stayed mostly quiet.
you had your hoodie sleeves pulled over your palms, cheek pressed to your knee, the camera catching only half your face. the others filled the space just fine without you. they were glowing, loose, excited. your presence was quiet, but not unhappy.
just… still.
until lisa mentioned it.
“should we talk about the new song?” she said, offhandedly, reaching for a jelly snack from rosé’s hand.
lisa grinned like she’d been waiting. “tomorrow’s gonna be special,” she said, eyes flicking to the screen. “we’re performing something for the first time.”
the comments lit up instantly.
new song???
WHO WROTE IT
oh my god oh my oh my god???? you can’t just drop something like that so casually????
rosé rolled her eyes playfully. jisoo winked at the camera.
and then jennie said it, soft and easy like it was nothing.
“she wrote it,” she said, nodding toward you.
there was a beat.
a soft ripple in the energy.
rosé reached over, lightly nudged your leg. lisa leaned in close, as if daring you to respond. jisoo made a little noise that might’ve been pride or might’ve been teasing.
but you didn’t look up.
not until your phone buzzed in your hand.
joy [13:48]: what did you do
joy [13:48]: what’s it about
joy [13:48]: is it the same one? from the studio that day
joy [13:48]: should i be scared?
you blinked. stared at the screen.
and then—softly—you smiled.
slow. small. the kind that happens before you remember you’re on camera.
you looked up then.
right at the lens.
like maybe, for a moment, you saw her through it.
you texted back.
you [13:49]: maybe
you [13:49]: but not for the reason you think.
the others were still talking. laughing. rosé was reading comments aloud. jennie was waving at a fan who said her name in all caps over twenty times.
you leaned your head against lisa’s shoulder. she didn’t react, just adjusted slightly to make space.
the live ended less than five minutes later.
somewhere else in the city, jihyo sat in her van, watching the replay volume so low it was almost on mute.
her manager had tried to say something, but stopped the second he saw her face.
she held the phone like it might bite her. stared at your name on the screen, at the caption: blackpink teases emotional new track—written by member y/n.
she didn’t need sound.
she watched the way jennie said it. the way the others smiled.
and she watched you.
the way you didn’t react.
not at first.
not until the message lit your screen.
then the shift.
the smile.
the look.
it crushed her.
not only because she just knew it was joy.
but because she remembered what it looked like to be the reason you smiled like that.
and now, she wasn’t.
not even close.
she locked her phone and pressed it to her forehead like it might dull the ache behind her eyes.
but it didn’t.
it never did.
⸻
jihyo knew something was going to break tonight.
maybe not out loud. maybe not in a way the cameras would catch. but deep inside—quietly, completely—she was already crumbling.
the venue buzzed with its usual electricity. velvet lights. silver dresses. the hum of names whispered into mics backstage. everything glittered, but her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
she sat three rows back, tucked between idols she’d known for years and strangers who knew nothing about her but her stage name. she smiled when she had to, bowed when someone passed, but her mind wasn’t here. not really.
her mind was on you.
you, and the song.
the one she hadn’t heard.
the one everyone was talking about backstage in fractured whispers and giddy guesses.
new song from blackpink tonight
written by y/n.
rumour says she wrote it for red velvet’s joy whilst they were in the studio together—blackpink’s producer had an interview and said that joy sat in on one of their recording sessions due to y/n’s request.
jihyo had begged to be pulled from the show. she’d said her stomach was off. said her voice was strained. said she needed to rest.
no one listened.
so here she was, in heels that hurt, wrapped in a dress too tight to breathe, holding herself together with nothing but silence and glossed lips.
the lights dropped.
the crowd roared.
blackpink’s name flashed across the arena in molten red.
a slow fog crept across the stage as if the air itself was being pulled in toward them. the instrumental cracked—first soft, then louder, then something volcanic.
then they appeared.
the five of you in matching white and silver outfits—little red accessories across you only.
you, at the back, just barely visible—until the lights found you and you stepped into them like you’d been born there.
the reaction was instant.
cheers. screams. phones shaking in the air.
itzy’s yuna nearly jumped from her seat, hands clapped tight in front of her mouth. kazuha from le sserafim reached for yunjin beside her, eyes wide with excitement.
jihyo watched it all. heard it all.
and yet—none of it landed.
she couldn’t feel her fingers.
blackpink opened with something explosive. sound and movement wrapped around each other like smoke and flame. the choreography carved lines into the stage, every beat deliberate. each member owned her place like the floor belonged to her.
the energy shifted between songs without pause. one anthem crashed into another. it wasn’t just a performance—it was a storm dressed in designer.
jihyo couldn’t look away.
you were incandescent.
when you smiled during a transition, the cameras didn’t even need to zoom in. your joy bled all the way to the rafters.
and then—
silence.
the lights dimmed to a hush. the air fell low and heavy.
a single note.
drawn out like a held breath.
you moved to the front.
and everything changed.
jennie stepped forward first.
i thought my heart had felt it all,
i swam for miles across the ocean, never met the shore.
lisa followed. her voice slower now, more grounded.
my eyes were closed, my highs were lows,
just getting drunk on pills and potions, craving something more.
you stepped into the centre. the spotlight curled around you like it already knew where it belonged.
travelled the world, but it got me nowhere,
nothing could ever compare.
jihyo exhaled so quietly she barely felt it leave her.
rosé sang the first half of the chorus.
a kiss, a touch, a song that made me cry,
and all the drugs i’ve done, they never got me higher,
than the first time we met,
there’s nothing like the first time we met.
the camera panned to jisoo as she moved closer to her mic stand.
i crashed my car, oh baby, i was flying,
and i talked to god, he couldn’t get me higher,
than the first time we met,
there’s nothing like the first time, the first time we met.
the room tilted.
not literally.
but inside jihyo, something swayed.
rosé sang the first two lines of the second verse.
that night, the stars aligned,
heaven dropped a line,
then you sang another two.
before you, i was just a flare in the sky,
a kid too afraid to go play in the light,
the audience screamed when rosé’s voice came layered with yours to wrap up the second verse.
a colourless painter, a man with no sight.
before you, i was nothing, was nothing, had nothing.
the chorus came around again.
this time it was jennie and lisa.
i only had a kiss, a touch, a song that made me cry,
and all the drugs i’ve done, they never got me higher,
than the first time we met,
there’s nothing like the first time we met.
i crashed my car, oh baby, i was flying,
and i talked to god, he couldn’t get me higher,
than the first time we met,
there’s nothing like the first time, the first time we met.
jisoo sang the bridge.
you set the room on fire,
you take the angels higher,
i heard a thousand choirs,
oh baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet,
travelled the world, it got me nowhere,
nothing could ever compare.
then—
you.
alone.
the camera shifted to you and jihyo knew instantly the final chorus went to you.
and she new it was going to be the worst thing she had ever experienced—listening to you perform a song you had written, live, for someone sitting a few rows away from her when she was not brave enough to claim you.
and her eyes watered when the instruments died out and your voice came out soft, bare, breathy—real.
you didn’t look at the camera.
you looked at her.
not jihyo.
her.
joy.
a kiss, a touch, a song that made me cry,
the drugs i’ve done, they never got me higher,
than the first time we met,
there’s nothing like the first time we met.
and when i crashed my car, oh baby, i was flying,
and i talked to god, he couldn’t get me higher
than the first time we met,
there’s nothing like the first time, the first time we met,
the four other girls on the stage joined you.
the first time we met,
the first time we met,
there’s nothing like the first time,
you closed your eyes for the final line.
as if it was a prayer. a goodbye. a beginning. both.
the first time we met.
the lights faded slowly.
no big finish.
just breath.
the camera turned—
not to you.
to joy.
and she was radiant.
blushing, hand hovering at her mouth like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to smile that wide. eyes shining. lips parted.
she looked like someone who had just been chosen.
jihyo didn’t move.
couldn’t.
the applause roared in her ears like static. she blinked. once. twice.
her back was straight. her expression neutral. cameras everywhere.
but inside, it was a different story.
inside, everything was shaking.
and she had to sit there, still. perfect. glowing. while the world celebrated the song that shattered her.
because that’s what idols do.
they smile while they bleed.
⸻
the applause was still echoing through the walls.
backstage pulsed with movement—crew members shouting into headsets, makeup artists chasing smudged eyeliner, managers checking watches. the kind of organised chaos that never really stopped. only slowed. and even that felt too loud for jihyo tonight.
she stood near the far wall, tucked just behind a rack of coats no one would touch until the end of the night. close enough to hear footsteps. close enough to see everything. invisible in the kind of way that only someone used to being watched could learn to be.
and then, she saw it.
you.
emerging from the side exit of the stage after blackpink accept an award, slow, breath caught somewhere behind your ribs. still shimmering from the performance, sweat at your temples, your lips slightly parted like you’d forgotten how to exhale.
and joy.
already walking toward you.
in her post-performance outfit change and her dress caught the light before her face did—floor-length, strapless, satin dipped in deep red. a long slit up one leg, just high enough to be bold. heels black, sharp, purposeful. diamonds on her ears, delicate. her hair, jet black, parted to the side in soft waves, one strand pinned behind her ear with something that glinted like a secret.
she looked untouchable.
until she looked at you.
then she was something else entirely.
her expression was so open it hurt to look at. eyes wide, unreadable, almost hesitant. like even now—even after everything—she needed to be sure you meant it.
you didn’t say a word.
you just let her step close.
jihyo stood frozen.
she could’ve turned away. she could’ve blinked. but her eyes stayed locked to you like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
joy reached for your hand.
not all the way.
not a declaration.
just enough to touch the space between your fingers.
just enough to know she could.
your head tilted toward her like it belonged there.
you smiled—barely.
and it was worse than anything jihyo had prepared herself for.
no kiss. no spoken words.
just that look.
just that moment.
just that unbearable softness between two people who didn’t have to hide anymore.
a stylist passed by behind her, laughing into their phone. someone called down the hall for a change in lighting cues. the world kept moving.
but jihyo didn’t.
her hands were clenched so tight she felt the crescent moons her nails left behind.
behind her, someone called her name—momo, maybe.
jihyo didn’t answer.
she stayed right there. pressed to the wall. lips sealed. chest hollow.
she had imagined so many endings.
some with closure.
some with fire.
some with more kisses and touches.
some with tears and apologies and slammed doors.
but this—this silence—
this was worse.
because now she knew.
she hadn’t just lost you.
she’d been replaced.
and the thing that killed her most—
you looked happy.
not in the way fans imagined.
not in the way cameras could manufacture.
you looked happy in the way jihyo remembered. in the way she used to make you.
before she taught herself how to let you go.
⸻
her phone was too warm against her palm.
jihyo lay curled on her side, one arm under the pillow, the other holding her phone above her face. the room was dim, her hotel curtains drawn, city lights leaking in at the edges like a secret she didn’t ask to hear. the digital clock on the nightstand blinked red.
2:43am.
she should’ve been asleep hours ago. the schedule tomorrow was brutal. but her thoughts hadn’t stopped pacing since the flight, so she’d opened twitter. maybe to feel less alone. maybe to feel nothing.
she scrolled quietly, automatically. a few itzy photosets. someone reposting a clip of nayeon tripping onstage. a fancam from the award show, her own face blinking back at her for half a second. she scrolled faster.
then it hit.
a short edit. just twelve seconds.
no sound. just a still from a video and the text:
joyyn has us in a chokehold rn
a red heart. a link.
she almost kept scrolling.
almost.
but the profile was familiar.
a fan account she’d followed years ago—back when she and you still sent each other links in the middle of the night and laughed over the edits people made. she remembered this user. they’d always been soft on you.
and she had never unfollowed them.
the thumbnail loaded slowly.
you. and joy.
close. smiling in the way people do when they think no one’s watching. you nudged her arm with your shoulder. she looked at you like you’d said her name without speaking it.
jihyo stared at it for longer than she should’ve.
then she tapped the hashtag.
#joyyn
#confirmed
#blackvelvetnation
it opened like a wound.
clips. photos. replies. thousands.
people screaming in all caps. sobbing emojis. videos of fans reacting to the moment like it was christmas morning.
a user with a jennie profile pic had posted:
THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACH OTHER. THIS IS LOVE.
a red velvet fan had commented:
it’s official. they finally said it. i’m gonna pass out.
jihyo’s heart slowed.
she scrolled again.
then saw the link.
official. verified. red velvet’s youtube channel. a simplevlog during joy’s promotions for her solo.
her thumb hovered.
every part of her body said don’t.
but she clicked.
the video opened with joy in the studio—recording. she was in black slacks and a black jumper—one jihyo recognised a little to well.
the clip switched to joy at a vanity, getting her makeup done for a scene in her mv, clad in a flowery sundress.
then she was laughing on a couch. hair loose, dress casual. not red-carpet joy. not red-velvet joy.
real joy.
your voice filtered in off-camera.
do i have to sit like this? i look awkward.
she laughed even harder.
the video cut.
you both were seated now. side by side. nothing posed. no styling. just you. together.
and jihyo knew.
you didn’t even have to say it yet.
you looked at her like she was your centre of gravity. joy looked at you like she knew she was being held.
we just… wanted to say it properly,” you began, “instead of everyone just wondering and hoping.”
joy nodded.
your hand reached over, gently lacing through hers.
“we’re together.”
a soft smile.
nothing explosive.
just truth.
just joy.
jihyo didn’t hear the rest.
she placed the phone on her chest, screen still lit.
her eyes burned, but no tears came. not yet.
the ache came first.
slow. steady. cruel.
her hands shook.
her mouth opened, as if to say something, but there was no one to hear it.
she turned to face the wall, body curled in on itself.
and then it came.
the tears, sudden and breathless, like she’d been holding her breath since you left and only just realised how long it’d been.
she cried the way you cry when it’s too late to ask for anything back.
not to feel.
but to forget.
and somewhere, your voice kept playing. soft. careful. happy.
and jihyo—
jihyo held herself still, the screen glowing beside her heart, replaying the thing she used to be part of, now belonging to someone else entirely.
⸻
thank you for reading! hope you enjoyed—if you did, please like/reblog, thank you xx
also, here are the results for the vote at the end of part 1, lowkey loved writing for someone other than my bias line in twice.
