synopsis: the kim sisters go on their annual summer trip to hawaii, but this time around, y/n decides to bring her girlfriend, minjeong.
a/n: this is just an idea i had while writing something for my other series: the variable
THE FLIGHT
the video starts with y/n leaning against jennie’s shoulder in the backseat of a car. the blackpink member zooms in on her younger sister’s face, causing y/n to smile and hit the camera playfully.
jennie quickly turns the camera to herself and starts speaking. “we’re currently on our way to the airport, we’re going to be in hawaii for a week. are you excited?” she turns to her younger sister, who nods rapidly.
“y/n is taking her ‘friend’ with us this time, so she’s meeting us there at the airport.” y/n’s lips curve into a small smile as she shakes her head at her sister’s remark and looks out the window.
a quick cut shows y/n running up to another person in a hoodie. jennie chuckles lightly and zooms in on the two embracing. there’s a second cut and y/n is recording with her head against someone’s shoulder.
“guess who's coming with us,” she says in a sing-song tone and shows the camera, revealing minjeong’s face. the aespa member smiles and waves, earning a chuckle from y/n behind the camera.
“cute.” the younger kim whispers at the sight of her girlfriend. minjeong smiles sheepishly before jennie’s voice is heard in the background.
“i’m sitting in between you two on the flight.”
SHOPPING IN HONOLULU
jennie points the camera at minjeong and laughs as she watches her carry several bags in her arms. “are you sure you can carry all of that?”
the blonde shakes her head quickly, looking over in the direction of where y/n appears to be somewhere off screen. the girls seem to be at a mall.
“my arms are about to fall off. i think i need to get back to the gym.” minjeong jokes, earning a laugh from jennie. y/n comes into frame with two more bags in her hand shortly after.
jennie puts her little sister into the frame of the camera. “what did you buy?” she asked while minjeong can be seen adjusting the bags she was holding and stretching her arms.
y/n smiles and waves the bags playfully in front of the lens. “new bathing suits and a new charger because i forgot mine on the plane.”
“i’ll hold them,” minjeong quickly says as she gently takes the bags out of the younger kim’s hands. the action causes the older kim to start laughing.
jennie focuses the camera back onto herself and shakes her head as the trio began walking out of the store. before the clip ends, y/n and minjeong’s voices can be heard off frame.
“baby, you’re already holding everything, it’ll be too heavy.” “it’s nothing, now let me hold it.”
THE BEACH
y/n is seen filming this time, showing the scenery around her. she zooms in on jennie, who seems to be taking a small nap in the shade with her sunglasses on.
“unnie deserves a good rest,” the younger kim whispers to the camera before it cuts to the next part, where she’s walking with minjeong as the sun sets behind them.
minjeong waves to the camera quickly before pointing at the beautiful sunset behind them. “look how beautiful,” she gently takes the camera from y/n to show the sky better.
“more beautiful than me?” y/n says quickly as she jumps in front of the sm idol’s shot. both flustered and amused by the girl’s actions, all minjeong can do is chuckle. “midnight's album is out july 7th.”
“we’re on vacation and you’re promoting your group’s album?” minjeong teases as she gently shoves the other idol. “of course i am,” y/n replies with a smile. “i care about my stargazers.”
“do they know i’m the number one stargazer?” minjeong says quickly as she wraps an arm around y/n’s shoulder. the younger kim points the camera at the other girl again while laughing at her remark.
“you’re not, jennie is.”
THE HOTEL
jennie is seen in pajamas and laying in bed with the hotel tv on. “i’m so tired today, we decided to go snorkeling so we couldn’t film it.” the blackpink member snickered as she recalled an event from earlier that day.
“if you guys didn’t know, y/n doesn’t like snorkeling because the last time we went, a fish went up to her mouth.”
almost immediately, y/n’s voice is heard from off camera.
“jennie unnie,” she groans playfully before climbing into bed with her sister and laying on top of her. she was in a pj set exactly like jennie’s. “don’t expose me.”
jennie chuckles as y/n joins her in bed, wrapping her arms around her sister in a playful hug. “sorry, but it's too funny not to share,” jennie teases, affectionately tousling y/n's hair.
y/n lets out a mock sigh, feigning annoyance. “i should tell everyone about your swimsuit incident,” she says, shooting jennie a mock glare before breaking into a grin.
jennie gasps dramatically, feigning shock. “you wouldn't dare!” she exclaims, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. the younger girl giggles, knowing she has the upper hand in this playful exchange.
“oh, i think blinks would love to hear about the great swimsuit malfunction of 2024,” she teases, poking jennie's side. “so what happened was–”
before y/n could finish her sentence, her sister put her hand over her mouth. “we’ll see you in the morning,” she said loudly to the camera, struggling to keep her hand over the younger girl’s mouth.
“goodnight!”
YACHT
“today we’re spending the afternoon on a boat,” y/n says as she leans against jennie’s shoulder. “minjeongie is taking pictures over there.” she points the camera towards the deck where the aespa member is taking pictures of herself.
“i’m wearing a blue swimsuit today to match minjeong’s,” y/n takes the camera and shows a quick glimpse of her blue bikini. “yesterday we didn’t film it, but i was matching with jennie unnie at the other beach.”
a quick montage of the ocean, sky, and the trio taking pictures is shown before jennie is the only one in frame. she zooms in on the two younger idols who appear to be taking polaroids with each other.
“y/n always brings her polaroid everywhere,” jennie explains while the focus is still on the other two girls. “she’s always showing her pictures to lisa.”
suddenly, minjeong is seen leaning in very close to y/n’s face. “hey!” jennie shouts at the aespa member, causing her to immediately sit straight up and back away from y/n with her hands in the air.
y/n rolls her eyes playfully and laughs at her sister’s antics. “she was moving something out of my face, unnie.”
“i’m sure she was.”
jennie said as she made her way over to the pair and sat in between them before waving goodbye to the camera with a blushing minjeong and a smiling y/n.
synopsis: despite being broken up, you bet your wealthy ex-girlfriend still thinks about you.
there were many things you enjoyed about dating kim jisoo. the way her laughter could light up a room, soft but knowing, like she was in on a joke no one else understood. how her touch was always delicate—calculated, even—as if everything she laid her hands on was an extension of the control she had over the world around her.
but her wealth and status? no, those were never the reasons you stayed.
even now, walking down the narrow, cobblestone streets where red and gold leaves scattered beneath your feet, you couldn’t help but be swallowed by memories of her. the crisp autumn air bit at your skin, a sharp reminder of the past, tugging at your thoughts like the wind tugged at your coat. it was in this season that jisoo had always seemed to glow brightest. her beauty matched the fall—effortless, rich, like a vintage painting come to life. she was untouchable.
however, she was just as cruel.
you just didn’t realize it at the time. how her perfectly manicured fingers—always cold to the touch, always adorned with rings that shimmered in the dying autumn light—had dug deep, not into your skin, but into your spirit. each time she mentioned your "quaint" lifestyle, your "charming" lack of understanding about the finer things in life, it had been wrapped in a velvet glove of affection, so you hardly noticed the sting at first.
it had felt like walking through the falling leaves, admiring the beauty, unaware that winter was creeping closer, ready to strip everything bare.
she had always made sure you knew she was from another world—one where silk sheets were the norm, where every meal came with a waitstaff and a glass of wine you could hardly pronounce. her apartment had been like a showroom, sterile and pristine, with floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched out over the city like a kingdom she ruled from above. and you, standing in the middle of it all, had felt small.
but now, in the aftermath, you could see how she had looked at you, like a pet project. an amusing distraction.
you remember the last dinner you shared at some restaurant you couldn’t pronounce, where the chandeliers above flickered against the dim light and the leaves outside the window swirled like some gilded snowstorm. she had ordered for you without asking, her voice as smooth and cool as the autumn breeze that crept into the cracks of your jacket.
"it’s adorable," she had said, waving her hand dismissively at your confusion when the plates arrived, "how little you know about this. really. it’s sweet."
at the time, you’d laughed it off, sipping the wine that burned your throat more than it soothed. but now you realize how sharp her words had been, each one a blade wrapped in silk.
the holiday parties were even worse.
you’d always felt out of place, like an actor in the wrong movie, wandering through rooms filled with people who looked like they belonged in some old-world painting. there were always murmurs of stocks and art auctions, people in tailored suits that hung off them like armor. you, in your off-the-rack blazer, had felt like an imposter. but jisoo, with her arm linked loosely through yours, had moved through the crowd effortlessly, her smile cold and practiced, like she knew every secret and every face in the room.
the air inside was thick with perfume and candlelight, but it never warmed you. outside, through the towering windows of the penthouse venues, you could always catch glimpses of the world you belonged to—the same city, but miles away, where people didn’t wear silk scarves that cost more than your rent or talk about vacation homes in hushed, reverent tones. the autumn leaves that still clung to the trees seemed desperate, the last few hanging on in the icy wind. much like you had been, clinging to jisoo’s side, pretending not to notice the subtle, cutting remarks she’d make about your clothes, your taste in music, your background.
"you know," she’d say in that breathy, disinterested tone of hers, eyes scanning the room like a queen surveying her subjects, "maybe next time you could wear something… a little more appropriate for the occasion?"
the words had stung, but you’d smiled, nodding like you hadn’t just been dressed down in front of people who already looked at you like you were her charity case. you’d downed your drink, hoping the burn of it would distract from the ache in your chest, while jisoo had already moved on, laughing airily at some joke from a man whose name you couldn’t remember, but whose disdainful eyes stayed with you long after the night was over.
at those parties, she’d always introduce you the same way: “this is y/n.”
nothing more, nothing less. like you were just another accessory—another piece of her perfectly arranged life. your name alone always hung in the air, stiff and formal, with no affection behind it.
it was a title, not a connection.
but the way she spoke about herself was different. she was kim jisoo, daughter of one of the wealthiest families in seoul, a woman who everyone admired but no one truly knew. she never missed a chance to remind people of her lineage, of her success, of the places she’d been that you could only dream of. you’d stand there, smiling politely, the outsider in your own relationship, as she charmed the room with stories of her luxury trips to europe or some exclusive party she’d attended.
you used to tell yourself that maybe this was just her world—one you didn’t quite understand but could learn to navigate. after all, you thought, love was supposed to be about growing, about adapting to each other. but now, looking back, you see it differently. you hadn’t been adapting. you had been erasing yourself.
you remember the first time you’d seen her living room—everything about it had been a display of understated opulence. the couch, soft and inviting, had been custom-made in italy, a piece of furniture that cost more than you’d make in a year. the kind of thing you wouldn’t even dare to sit on without an invitation.
she’d caught you staring at it once, your fingers brushing lightly over the velvety surface, as if afraid you’d leave some permanent mark on it.
“do you like it?” she’d asked, her tone casual, almost playful, as she kicked off her shoes. organic shoes, she’d said—handcrafted by a designer who only used sustainably sourced materials, each pair worth thousands. she’d tossed them carelessly to the side, as if they were nothing more than an afterthought.
“it’s beautiful,” you’d breathlessly answered, unsure of how to respond. what else could you say? the couch was more than a place to sit. it was a symbol of everything that separated you from her.
the older woman had smiled, that knowing little smile of hers, and settled onto the couch, curling her legs beneath her. “it should be,” she’d replied, her voice laced with a subtle arrogance. “it cost a fortune. but you can’t put a price on comfort, can you?”
at the time, you’d nodded, sitting beside her, careful not to spill the coffee you’d brought from a café that seemed almost comically out of place in her world of curated luxury. but now, looking back, you realize how much weight that moment held.
the couch, the shoes, the apartment—it was all part of the same narrative. jisoo’s life was meticulously designed, every element perfectly placed to reflect her status. even her so-called love of organic, sustainable products wasn’t about caring for the earth; it was about showing the world that she could afford to care. it was another layer of the image she presented, another way to remind you that you didn’t quite belong.
the shoes—those ridiculously expensive shoes—had been one of the first things you’d noticed about her. how she would glide through the city in them, effortlessly chic, while you tried to keep up in your well-worn sneakers. how she never seemed to care about the price tag, because to her, money wasn’t something you worried about. it was something you had. something you displayed.
you remember asking her about them once, marveling at their craftsmanship, at the intricate details stitched into the leather. “they’re nice, right?” she’d said, almost bored with the conversation. “made by a small artisan. i like supporting brands that are more...conscious. but it’s not just about the shoes, you know? it’s about a lifestyle.”
at the time, you’d nodded along, impressed by her philosophy, thinking there was something admirable about her commitment to sustainability. but now, with the clarity that only distance can bring, you see it differently. it wasn’t about responsibility or caring for the environment—it was about exclusivity.
jisoo didn’t just buy things; she bought status. and as a result, she never let you forget where you came from.
she didn’t need to say it outright; her silences were louder than any words. the way her gaze would graze over your simple gifts, a flash of disappointment quickly masked by a too-sweet smile. the way her laughter, always so soft and melodic to anyone else, would carry a sharp edge when she’d point out how "cute" your attempts to impress her were. every look, every gesture, had been a reminder: you would never be enough.
and the holidays only magnified the divide between you. her family gatherings were a spectacle—elegant, with a quiet kind of opulence, but they were colder than the snow beginning to fall outside. conversations were distant, sterile, filled with politeness and half-meant compliments. you’d watch as jisoo’s mother raised an eyebrow at you, a polite but questioning smile on her lips, while her father barely acknowledged your presence at all, too engrossed in conversations about business acquisitions and real estate.
you remember the first time you had brought her home to meet your family. the warmth in the room had been undeniable, even if the house had been modest. the table was small, the plates mismatched, and the wine was cheap, but there had been laughter. real, full-bodied laughter, the kind that left your cheeks flushed. but jisoo had sat there, stiff and out of place, a polite smile frozen on her lips as she delicately picked at her food. she had said all the right things, but you could tell—she didn’t belong in your world, just as you didn’t belong in hers.
and after that night, she’d never come back. not once.
"it’s not my kind of environment," she’d said, as if your family home was some quaint little corner of a forgotten world. but you hadn’t pushed it. you’d just smiled, hoping that love would eventually smooth out the rough edges between your lives.
but it never did.
your image of her entirely changed once she launched her own dior collaboration.
the transformation was undeniable. jisoo had always been poised, elegant, and out of reach, but when her dior collaboration was announced, it was as if she ascended to another level entirely—a world you never truly belonged to. the moment you saw her in those campaign ads, draped in luxury from head to toe, with that distant, unreadable expression in her eyes, you realized something had shifted. it wasn’t just the clothes or the brand—it was her.
the once subtle differences between you were now glaring. she’d always had a way of making you feel small, of making the simplest moments feel like they were being measured against some invisible standard. but now, with the world’s eyes on her, she no longer had to hide it. she wore her superiority like couture, and her status was no longer just an undercurrent in your relationship—it was the defining feature.
you remember scrolling through your phone that first day the campaign was released, seeing her everywhere—billboards, social media, magazines. her image was iconic, flawless, unattainable. the woman in those pictures wasn’t the same person you once loved, or perhaps she was, and you had simply refused to see it. the jisoo in dior was the one the world adored: polished, elegant, and untouchable. and the jisoo you had known—the one who laughed with you on lazy sundays, who curled up next to you in bed with soft whispers—felt like a figment of your imagination.
that night, you sat in your apartment, surrounded by the faint scent of coffee and fallen leaves, watching her face appear on the tv during yet another interview. the host praised her for her taste, her grace, and asked how it felt to be a global ambassador for such a prestigious brand. jisoo smiled that small, practiced smile, the kind that could melt an audience but had always left you feeling cold.
“it’s an honor, truly,” she said, her voice as smooth as ever. “i’ve always been drawn to the finer things in life, and working with dior is the perfect alignment of that vision.”
drawn to the finer things. those words echoed in your mind long after the interview ended. it wasn’t that she loved the finer things—anyone could—but the way she lived for them, the way they seemed to define her, made you realize just how different you were.
the last time you saw her in person, it was the tail end of last fall, the leaves almost entirely stripped from the trees, the sky a muted shade of gray. you’d met for coffee, though it felt more like a final performance than a reunion. she had walked in, dressed head-to-toe in dior, effortlessly chic in her monochromatic outfit, the click of her heels on the hardwood floor echoing like some distant reminder of all the ways she had outgrown you.
she hadn’t even taken off her sunglasses, those oversized black lenses that concealed any hint of vulnerability. the moment she sat down, you knew—this was the end.
“i’m heading to paris for fashion week,” she had said casually, as if she were talking about a trip to the grocery store. “things have been busy.”
you remember nodding, unsure of what to say, feeling the weight of the unspoken words between you. there was no warmth in her gaze, no familiarity in her voice. the woman sitting across from you was a stranger, more concerned with her schedule, her image, her empire, than with you.
when you finally found your voice, all you could manage was, “i’m happy for you.” it sounded hollow, even to your own ears.
she had smiled—an empty, fleeting gesture. “thanks. it’s good to hear you say that.” her leaving behind the scent of her designer perfume felt more symbolic than it probably should have,
that’s when you knew—there was nothing left of what you once had.
the girl you had fallen in love with was gone, replaced by someone who only cared for power, prestige, and perception. and as the autumn wind howled outside, rattling the windows of the café, you realized you weren’t mourning the loss of her, but the version of her you had once believed in.
jisoo wasn’t just a woman anymore. she was a brand. a symbol. a masterpiece crafted by the very world she belonged to. and you? you were simply a chapter in her rise to the top, forgotten as soon as the ink dried.
you didn’t date kim jisoo for her wealth.
you dated her for the way she seemed to know the world in a way you never could—confident, poised, above it all. you thought that maybe, by loving her, you could somehow touch that world too. but love wasn’t what had tied you together. not really.
it had been power.
she loved the way you looked at her, like you were eternally trying to catch up. the way you stumbled over the names of her favorite designers, or blinked in confusion when she mentioned some art exhibit you hadn’t even heard of. she loved the control. and you—god, you had loved her for it. back then, you thought it was awe. now you see it for what it was: submission.
but there, in the middle of the bustling autumn streets, as you watch the leaves scatter across the pavement in a dance as fleeting as your relationship, you find yourself wondering—does she think about you?
does she ever sit in that apartment of hers, surrounded by luxury and untouched by the season, and wonder what it would be like to be less than perfect? does she ever close her eyes and picture the messier parts of love, the parts she could never let herself fall into?
you smile bitterly, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. maybe she does.
maybe, even now, as you wander through the city you had once explored together, her mind drifts to you—the one person who had never fit neatly into the frame of her perfectly curated life. maybe she remembers how, despite everything, you were never quite small enough to be molded.
and maybe, just maybe, in her moments of silence, with her designer bags and high-rise views, she thinks about how she’ll never find someone quite like you again. someone who saw her for more than just the polished surface she presented to the world. someone who, despite it all, had loved her—flaws, cruelty, and all.
the wind howls, scattering more leaves into the air, and you watch as they swirl and disappear. there’s a certain beauty to the way things fall apart, you realize. a kind of freedom in it.
jisoo might not know that, but you do. however, your mind refused to let you rest.
it was 3 am, and you were still wide awake. the cold light of your phone screen cast shadows on the walls of your tiny apartment, worlds away from the penthouse where jisoo was probably fast asleep. you imagined her there, wrapped in those luxurious silk sheets, her breath steady, undisturbed by thoughts of you. in her city. the one that always felt a little brighter, a little shinier than yours. a place you never quite belonged.
your mind wandered, picturing her with someone new. someone from her world. the kind of girl who knew all the right names to drop at fancy dinners, who could wear those thousand-dollar organic shoes without feeling like an imposter. a girl with a perfect pedigree, someone who her friends probably thought was “better” than you. you could almost hear them whispering it, their voices low but full of certainty.
it wasn’t long ago that you had tried to fit into those circles. you’d been the outsider, awkward and out of place in jisoo’s world of high-society dinners and private parties. but you tried, back when love made you brave, when you thought if you just held her hand tight enough, the rest would fall into place.
they let you sit at the table, once. out of courtesy, or maybe because you were still attached to her arm like an accessory she wasn’t ready to give up. you’d laugh when they laughed, your smile tight as they sat around talking about the meaning of life, throwing around names of philosophers and books you’d never heard of.
“the book that just saved me,” one of them had said, casually, like it was a known fact that certain books saved people. you’d smiled and nodded, even though the title flew right over your head, another reminder of how little you belonged.
jisoo had glanced at you then, her eyes softening in the way they sometimes did when she noticed you struggling. she squeezed your hand under the table, like she used to when you were still hers, when you thought her world was one you could live in.
but that was before. before the doubts crept in, before the weight of her world pressed down on you. now, it felt like she’d moved on, maybe even found someone who fit in effortlessly where you never could. someone who didn’t have to pretend.
you rolled over, the silence of your room closing in, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she was asleep now, completely at peace. and if the girl in her bed had the right name, the right look, and could keep up with her friends when they talked about art and life and all the things that always seemed just out of your reach.
the thought made your chest ache, that deep, familiar loneliness that always seemed to come with thinking about her. about them. those nights when you sat in the background, silently wishing you could be enough. but no matter how much you tried, you could never quite silence the feeling that jisoo’s friends were always comparing you to someone else, someone better.
and tonight, even though you knew it was pointless, you couldn’t stop wondering if they were telling her that the new girl was everything you never could be. or maybe jisoo was out at one of those cool indie concerts she dragged herself to every week, trying to feel young, trying to prove she was still part of the scene, even though she didn’t belong there any more than you did. it was always about feeling cooler than she actually was, pretending she wasn’t inching further from the age of the crowd around her.
but even with her friends laughing by her side, pretending to be someone else, you knew the truth.
the house was quiet in the way that only a place untouched by time could be. sunlight stretched through the window in faded ribbons, catching on the fine dust that hovered in the air, untouched by movement. ivory had slept too long—long enough for the day to start slipping toward evening, long enough for the weight in her bones to feel less like exhaustion and more like avoidance.
when she finally shuffled into the kitchen, there was already a cup of coffee waiting. not steaming, but still warm, the heat dull against her palms when she curled her fingers around the ceramic. across the counter, the woman who had placed it there lingered, watching without watching, her hand resting idly against the marble like she had been waiting for something that never arrived.
for a while, neither spoke.
the silence between them wasn’t new. it was built from old bricks, cemented by the things they had never figured out how to say. the younger girl took a sip of the coffee. it was made just the way she liked it.
that alone made her stomach twist.
her mother exhaled slowly, shifting her weight. “you can stay as long as you need.” the words settled between them, heavier than they should have been.
jane’s slender fingers tightened reflexively around the mug, as if it could be the only source of grounding in that fragile moment. “that’s not how this works.”
“i don’t care how it works.” jennie replied without hesitation. there was a brief pause before she continued again, tucking a strand of her own loose hair out of her eyes. “you don’t have to rush into anything.”
a bitter scoff pressed against the back of ivory’s teeth, but she swallowed it down. the thought of staying here—of being cocooned in this familiar, yet unfamiliar space, waiting for the storm outside to pass—felt too much like pressing pause on a life that wasn’t waiting for her to catch up.
she slowly set the cup down with a quiet clink. “and then what?” each word is slow and deliberate, as if she was expecting some sort of catch, or perhaps a way to never face the reality that loomed so large outside these four walls.
“then we figure it out.”
the ‘we’ caught her off guard.
there had been no ‘we’ for years. only phone calls that rang too long, missed moments softened by expensive gifts, letters never sent. a life built in separate rooms, separate countries, separate realities.
and yet, here they were, pretending there was something salvageable between them.
ivory’s gentle gaze dropped to her hands, tracing the rim of her cup with the pad of her thumb. “you think that’s possible?” she whispered, the implication evident without any more explanation.
her mother hesitated. just for a mere second. but it was enough.
the truth settled in the space between them, quiet and suffocating.
maybe neither of them knew how to be a mother and daughter. maybe they never even truly had.
the clock on the wall ticked forward, measuring the silence between them in steady, indifferent beats. the weight of it pressed against ivory’s ribs, a quiet suffocation she had learned to live with. it had always been like this between them—words clipped before they could be said, emotions restrained, careful.
her mother’s hands twitched where they rested against the counter, fingers curling ever so slightly before she stilled them again. she looked the same as always—poised, untouchable, beautiful in the way that had made her a legend long before ivory ever knew what it meant to belong to her. but in the soft glow of the afternoon, there was something weary in her eyes. something fragile beneath the surface, like glass just before it cracks.
ivory swallowed, the taste of coffee bitter on her tongue. “i don’t know if i want to figure it out.” the words left her mouth before she had the chance to stop them, and the moment they were out in the open, she wished she could take them back.
something flickered across her mother’s face—hurt, maybe. but it was gone before she could be sure.
“i know,” was all she said. and somehow, that was worse.
the ache curled itself deeper into ivory’s chest. she had expected an argument, a sharp retort, something to grasp onto. but instead, there was only quiet acceptance. the kind that made her feel like she was slipping further away, like there was nothing tethering them together except the undeniable fact of what they once were.
she looked away, eyes drifting to the floor, then to the window where the sun had begun its slow descent. she had spent years imagining what it would be like to stand in front of her mother like this, with nothing between them except everything they had never said.
it didn’t feel like closure. it just felt hollow.
her mother sighed, soft and almost imperceptible. “you can still stay.”
ivory hesitated. “for how long?”
“for as long as you need.”
the words should have been comforting, but instead, they sat heavy in her chest. she didn’t know what she needed. didn’t know if this was a bridge being built or if they were just two people standing at the edge of something that had already collapsed.
she ran her fingers along the rim of her cup again, the warmth fading, leaving only the ghost of heat behind.
“okay,” she said finally, barely above a whisper.
her mother didn’t smile. she didn’t reach across the counter, didn’t try to make it something it wasn’t. she only nodded, as if that single syllable was the most they could manage.
and maybe it was.
the clock on the wall ticked forward, measuring the silence between them in steady, indifferent beats. the weight of it pressed against ivory’s ribs, a quiet suffocation she had learned to live with. it had always been like this between them—words clipped before they could be said, emotions restrained, careful.
across the counter, her mother’s fingers twitched before stilling against the marble, a hesitation so small it would have been easy to miss. but ivory didn’t miss it. she never had. she had spent a lifetime attuned to the subtleties of the woman in front of her; the way her jaw tensed when she was thinking too hard, the way her hands curled when she wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.
for all her mother’s poise, for all the ways the world saw her as untouchable, it was in moments like these that she felt painfully human.
“i don’t know if i want to figure it out.” the words left ivory’s mouth before she had the chance to stop them, and the moment they were out in the open, she wished she could take them back.
something flickered across her mother’s face. hurt, maybe. but it was gone before the younger girl could be sure.
“i know,” was all she said. and somehow, that was worse. there was no fight, no sharp retort, no insistence that they try. just quiet acceptance. the kind that made her feel like she was slipping further away, like there was nothing tethering them together except the undeniable fact of what they once were.
ivory looked away, cat-like eyes drifting to the floor, then to the window where the sun had begun its slow descent. she had spent years imagining what it would be like to stand in front of her mother like this, with nothing between them except everything they had never said.
it didn’t feel like closure. it just felt hollow.
her mother sighed, soft and almost imperceptible to someone who wouldn’t be sitting this close to her.
“you can still stay.”
ivory hesitated. “for how long?”
“for as long as you need.”
the words should have been comforting, but instead, they sat heavy in her chest. she didn’t know what she needed. didn’t know if this was a bridge being built or if they were just two people standing at the edge of something that had already collapsed.
and yet, she wasn’t blind to the struggle on the other end of it. it had taken her far too long to realize that this wasn’t easy for her mother either.
she thought of the quiet sacrifices—the ones she had been too young to understand, the ones she had willfully ignored. the endless flights back and forth, the phone calls left to ring not because of carelessness but because of exhaustion. the way her mother had tried, in the only ways she knew how, with gifts wrapped in ribbons and words spoken through other people because directness had never been their strength.
she had always been waiting for a version of her mother who knew exactly what to do, how to love her in all the ways she needed. but what if that version never existed? what if, just like her, she had been figuring it out as she went, doing her best even when it was never enough?
ivory ran her fingers along the rim of her cup again, the warmth fading, leaving only the ghost of heat behind.
“okay,” she said finally, barely above a whisper. her mother didn’t smile. she didn’t reach across the counter, didn’t try to make it something it wasn’t. she only nodded, as if that single syllable was the most they could manage.
and maybe it was.
when ivory made her way back to her room, it smelled faintly of lavender. it wasn’t the scent of a new space but of one carefully curated, pieced together from the fragments of a past she had long since left behind.
kuma’s nails clicked softly against the hardwood as he followed her inside, his round, aged eyes looking up at her with quiet expectancy. he had always been a patient little thing, even when she was a child tugging him into her arms, chattering away about whatever nonsense had filled her head that day.
she knelt down, letting her fingers sink into his thick, graying fur. “hey, old man,” she murmured, scratching gently behind his ears the way he liked. he let out a small huff of approval, leaning into her touch.
ivory reached for the small bag of snacks she had found on the bedside table (clearly left for her, like so many other things in this room) and took out a tiny piece of jerky, holding it between her fingers. kuma sniffed it once before taking it delicately, chewing with slow, deliberate motions.
ivory exhaled, letting herself settle into the quiet. it was easier like this. just her and kuma, no words, no expectations.
her gaze flickered across the room, taking in the details. the furniture was new, but the essence of it wasn’t. the softest sheets, the pillows stacked just the way she used to like them. a shelf lined with books she barely remembered reading but knew had once been her favorites.
and then, there were the boxes.
she hadn’t noticed them at first, tucked carefully into the corner as if they had been waiting for her to rediscover them. a strange feeling curled in her chest as she reached for the first one, peeling back the lid.
inside, ribbons. bows in soft pastels, some slightly frayed at the edges from years of use. she picked one up—light pink, satin, still neatly tied. she used to wear them all the time. her grandmother used to fix them in her hair before school, gentle fingers smoothing down flyaways.
she swallowed the lump in her throat and set it aside, moving on to the next box.
this one was heavier. she opened it to find stacks of old photographs, some in envelopes, others loose. the kind taken with a disposable camera, the colors slightly faded, the edges curled.
she pulled out the first one and let out a quiet breath.
her finger covered half the frame, but she could still make out the image—her mother, seated in a makeup chair, a stylist working on her eyeliner. the date on the back was barely legible, but it must have been years ago.
she shuffled through more. a shot of her mother, asleep on the couch in jieun’s home, one arm curled under her head. another of kuma, much younger, standing in a bathtub with a guilty-looking jennie beside him, hands stained with traces of blue and yellow paint. ivory barely remembered that day, but suddenly, it came back in flashes—how she had wanted to make kuma “prettier,” how her mother had sighed but laughed through it, gently scrubbing the paint out of his fur.
the photos were endless snapshots of a life she had long since convinced herself was too distant to reach for. her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up another one, the glossy print curling at the edges. it was blurry, the kind of shot taken in haste, but she could still make out the scene—a much younger ivory clearly running off with a much younger kuma in her arms.
she barely remembered that day, but the warmth of it seeped into her bones like something familiar.
another photo was one of her mother outside of a performance venue, bundled in a thick coat, one arm slung around jieun’s shoulder as they both smiled at the camera. ivory recognized the building, the soft glow of streetlights casting shadows against the pavement. it was a rare night that she had been there too, clinging to her mother’s sleeve. she mostly remembered being half-asleep in the back of a black van waiting for the idol to finish her rehearsals.
she swallowed, reaching for the next item, but this time, it wasn’t a photo.
a tiny bracelet, tucked carefully at the bottom of the box. the elastic was stretched, but the small white beads were still intact, spelling out her name in block letters.
ivory traced her fingers over them, the ghost of a memory flickering to life. she had worn this every day in elementary school, a gift from her mother after one of her first big performances. she had lost it once—cried for hours thinking it was gone forever—only for her mother to find it in the backseat of the car, slipping it onto her wrist before bedtime with a soft, “it’s okay. i’ll always keep track of you.”
her throat tightened.
her gaze fell to another item, nestled between the photos. a silk scarf, delicate and impossibly soft beneath her fingertips. she recognized it instantly—the chanel pattern, the muted golds and blues.
paris. fashion week. she had been too young to go, still in school, but her mother had called her late at night, voice tired but excited.
“i’ll bring something back for you.”
she had thought it would be a keychain, a souvenir from an airport shop. instead, jennie had pulled her aside after returning home, slipping the scarf into her hands with a conspiratorial smile.
“don’t tell anyone, okay? this was part of my outfit.”
ivory had worn it everywhere around the house. around her neck, draped over her hair, even tied it around her wrist a few times before eventually tucking it away somewhere. she had completely forgotten about it.
and yet, her mother hadn’t.
she exhaled shakily, setting the scarf down. kuma shifted beside her, pressing his small, warm body against her leg. she reached out instinctively, running a hand over his fur, grounding herself.
her mother had kept everything.
not just the big things. not just the glossy, polished memories that made their way onto magazine pages. but the small, quiet pieces of their life together—the bracelet, the scarf, the photos ivory had taken with clumsy fingers, even the ones where her finger blocked half the frame.
the ones that no one else would care about.
the ones that mattered.
a lump formed in her throat, impossible to swallow down.
kuma let out a soft huff, resting his head against her knee. she looked down at him, brushing her fingers over his graying fur.
“she never really let go, huh?”
the little dog sighed in response, curling closer. ivory sat there, surrounded by pieces of her past, letting the weight of it settle over her like a blanket. and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel quite so confused.
since she’d be staying here for a while, ivory decided to walk around and explore her mother’s home. the house felt different when she wandered through it—not foreign, but not quite familiar either. ivory had spent years here in pieces, never long enough to claim it as home, but never distant enough to forget some of its layout.
she moved through the hallways with quiet steps, brushing her fingers over the walls, the faint hum of memories whispering beneath her touch. most of the doors were open, revealing rooms with carefully curated furniture, minimalist but warm. her mother’s taste had always been expensive but never cold.
she hesitated at one door, slightly ajar.
jennie’s office.
pushing it open, she stepped inside, her breath catching for a moment.
it was a space that could belong to no one else.
awards gleamed from polished shelves—golden statues, crystal plaques, framed certifications. blackpink albums were lined up neatly, each era immortalized in glossy covers. magazines, stacked and arranged, bore her mother’s face in various phases of her career. some covers were young, fresh-faced, from her early years; others carried the weight of experience, eyes sharper, presence even stronger.
ivory had seen these before, on coffee tables, on billboards, in passing. but here, in this room, they felt different. personal.
she let her gaze drift lower, toward the desk. packages, unopened, sat neatly near the foot of it. but one thing in particular made her pause.
a black-and-white album, familiar in every way.
her chest tightened immediately.
fearless.
lesserafim’s debut album, her own group’s first album. an ep technically, but they sold like albums. but this specific one sitting in front of her very own eyes wasn’t just any regular copy.
this was a signed one.
and the album wasn’t just signed by her. it was signed by all of them.
ivory recognized the way the metallic ink layered over the glossy black-and-white cover, the way sakura’s looping signature sat just above kazuha’s neat scrawl, how yunjin’s writing curved beside eunchae and chaewon’s. and how her own signature was right in the middle, elegant and simple.
this wasn’t a random purchase. this version wasn’t even for sale. because this was a fan sign edition.
her brows furrowed as she carefully picked it up, running her thumb along the edge of the plastic. the thought of jennie waiting in line at a fan event, sitting across from her, was almost laughable. that definitely didn’t happen.
but that only made the question worse; how did she get this?
she gently flipped it over, checking for anything unusual, but there was nothing beyond the standard album. no note, no sign of how it ended up here.
ivory’s stomach twisted. her mother had done this on purpose. she didn’t just buy an album online—she had gone out of her way to get this, knowing exactly how limited it was.
there was only one explanation.
she must have sent someone. a manager, an assistant—someone who had gone in her place, sat in front of lesserafim, and handed over the album to be signed by each and every single member.
and yet, her mother had never mentioned it. never brought it up in casual conversation, never let it slip during their rare phone calls.
she had just simply kept it for herself.
ivory exhaled sharply, sinking onto the edge of the desk. her mother wasn’t the type to make grand declarations, she never had been. but this? this was something she had never expected to find. and then she heard it.
“what are you doing?”
ivory startled, her grip tightening on the album as jennie’s voice cut through the quiet. it wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t exactly soft either—just careful, measured. the kind of tone that left no room for misinterpretation.
she turned her head slowly, finding her mother standing in the doorway, one hand still resting on the frame. jennie’s gaze flickered from ivory to the album in her hands, her expression unreadable, but not surprised.
like she had known this moment was inevitable.
for a second, neither of them spoke.
ivory’s fingers hovered over the album’s cover, her mind racing through the implications of it all. “you had this.” the words came out quieter than she intended, but there was something pointed underneath.
jennie didn’t immediately respond. her lips parted as if she had something to say, something she had thought about before—but then, she hesitated. just enough for the silence to stretch.
ivory didn’t know what answer she was expecting.
an explanation? a reason? maybe even an admission that she had cared, in her own strange, distant way.
jennie exhaled, tilting her head slightly, her expression caught between embarrassment and something else—something closer to pride.
“i did.”
the words were simple, but the way her arms crossed, the way her gaze flickered from ivory’s hands to the shelf behind her, said more than she probably intended.
ivory studied her carefully, her fingers grazing over the smooth cover of the album. “why didn’t you tell me?”
jennie let out a soft, almost nervous chuckle, running a hand through her hair. “what was i supposed to say? ‘hey, i sent someone to a fansign so i could get my daughter’s album signed like some overgrown fangirl?’” she shook her head, pressing her lips together as if the thought alone made her cringe. “i figured you’d just make fun of me.”
ivory blinked in surprise. the idea of her mother, none other than jennie kim, going out of her way to get a signed album, then hiding it away because she was embarrassed? it didn’t fit with the image she had built of her over the years.
“you actually sent someone to a fansign for me?” ivory’s voice wavered somewhere between disbelief and something warmer, something more fragile. her mother scoffed, looking away like she couldn’t believe she was admitting to this.
“of course, i did. you think i wouldn’t?” she said as nonchalantly as she could. but then, softer, she spoke to add to her previous statement. “you’re my kid.”
something in ivory’s chest ached.
it was such a small thing, barely more than a murmur, but it landed heavy—like a stone dropped into water, sending ripples through everything she had been trying so hard to keep still.
she glanced back down at the album in her hands, suddenly unable to meet her mother’s gaze.
you’re my kid.
all this time, she had thought the distance between them was insurmountable, a canyon too wide to cross. but now, holding the proof of this, she wasn’t so sure.
ivory hadn’t been to her mother’s house in years. she’d only been on a few separate occasions, never spending the night or anything. that wasn’t allowed after jennie had moved out of jieun’s home. usually when she had to go to her mother’s house it was to pick up something for jieun or vice versa. sometimes her grandmother would leave things by accident, and would go with her to go pick it up after school.
looking back now, jane has reason to believe her grandmother did that on purpose so her mother could see her.
ivory’s eyes took in the space around her, a quiet sort of awe settling in her chest. the house was elegant but lived-in, warm in a way that surprised her. she had always imagined her mother’s home as something distant and impersonal, a place too pristine to truly belong to her. but standing here now, she realized how wrong she had been.
the scent was the first thing that hit her—a familiar mix of white florals and something undeniably her mother. it tugged at something deep in her memory, something she hadn’t let herself feel in years.
jennie walked ahead of her, carrying one of ivory’s bags effortlessly in one hand. "you hungry? i have that one brand of ramen you used to love." her tone was light, casual, as if this was something they did all the time.
jane hesitated in the doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “you remember that?”
her mother glanced back, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. it was truly a wonderful gift as a mother to remember everything about the carbon copy of herself while watching her grow into someone entirely her own. “of course, i do,” jennie said simply, as if it had never been a question. “you went through a phase where it was all you wanted to eat. i used to sneak it to you when your grandmother wasn’t looking.”
ivory huffed softly at the faintest memory, shaking her head. “she hated me eating junk food.”
“she still does.” jennie chuckled, setting the bag down by the stairs before turning to look at her daughter properly. “but i figured, if you’re staying here, you should at least have something that feels like home.”
the words struck something deep in ivory’s chest.
staying here. home.
she swallowed, forcing herself to step further inside, eyes scanning the house—the high ceilings, the sleek furniture, the warmth in every carefully curated detail. it didn’t look exactly how she remembered it, but it still felt undeniably hers. like somewhere she could belong.
“where’s kuma?” ivory asked after she cleared her throat, trying to dispel the notion that this million dollar building was her home. her mother’s lips curled into a small smile at the mention of her beloved dog. “sleeping in my room, probably under the covers like he owns the place,” she said, shaking her head fondly. “he’s gotten lazier with age, but i think he’ll be happy to see you.”
ivory nodded, her fingers lightly grazing the edge of the marble countertop as she took in the house once more. it was strange—so much of it was unfamiliar, yet it still held remnants of something she couldn’t quite put into words. something that made her chest ache.
“you can go wake him up if you want,” jennie offered, watching her carefully. the taller girl hesitated before shaking her head. “no, let him sleep. i’ll see him later.” she cleared her throat again, trying to fill the quiet between them.
her mother returned to making the instant ramen, a quiet determination in the way she moved. ivory wasn’t sure why she was so focused—after all, it was just ramen. but the older woman handled it with the same careful attention she gave to everything else, as if even this small act needed to be done just right.
ivory shifted on her feet, glancing at the counter before hesitantly stepping closer. “do you, um, need help or something?” her mother glanced up in surprise, as if the offer had caught her off guard. “oh,” she said, then quickly shook her head. “no, it’s fine. it’s just ramen.”
jane awkwardly rested her hands on the counter. “right. just ramen.” silence stretched between them again, not quite heavy but noticeable. ivory watched as her mother poured hot water over the noodles, the steam curling into the air between them. she tapped her fingers against the marble, then, without thinking, reached for the seasoning packets.
jennie noticed but didn’t say anything. she just slid one of the bowls toward ivory, a silent invitation.
ivory carefully tore open the packet, shaking in the seasoning. “i think you forgot this.”
a ghost of a smile touched jennie’s lips. “i was getting to it.”
“uh-huh.” ivory stirred the noodles, the simple motion giving her something to focus on. she felt her mother’s eyes on her but didn’t look up. "you know, i’ve made this for you more times than i can count," her mother mused, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia.
ivory glanced up, chopsticks hovering over the steaming bowl. "yeah?"
jennie just hummed, tilting her head slightly. "when you were little, you’d get these random cravings in the middle of the night. and of course, your grandmother didn’t want you eating instant ramen at the time, so i had to sneak it to you like it was some kind of contraband."
a small scoff left ivory’s lips as she twirled her noodles. "that sounds fake, but okay." her mother smirked, shaking her head. "it’s true. you’d shuffle into my room with your blanket wrapped around you and tell me you’re hungry and it would be like 3 in the morning."
ivory tried to suppress the small smile threatening to tug at her lips. "and you actually made it for me?"
"every single time." jennie reached for the pot and immediately blocked her daughter with her arm when she saw her daughter move. "ah, don’t touch that. it's hot."
ivory blinked at her slightly confused but deadpan. "mom, i’m eighteen." she said slowly, as if trying to remind the older woman. "and yet," jennie reminded, narrowing her eyes as she dramatically pushed her daughter back a step with her free hand, "you still somehow have the survival instincts of a toddler. just let me do it."
the taller girl groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation. "seriously?" the younger girl shook her head and leaned against the counter off to the side.
jennie ignored her dramatics as she carefully poured the steaming broth into their bowls. "see? if i let you do it, you’d probably burn yourself and then i’d have to explain to the entire world why my fully grown daughter can’t be trusted with boiling water."
ivory crossed her arms, unimpressed. "i can be trusted with boiling water." jennie simply shot her a look as she set the pot down. "weren’t you the one who grabbed a hot pan straight out of the oven once?"
a faint flush of embarrassment came onto her face but jane just clenched her jaw. she knew better than to argue against her mother with this, especially given her track record. she just huffed quietly and looked away.
her mother gave her a pointed look before sliding one of the bowls toward her. "exactly. now sit down and eat your noodles before you hurt yourself on those too."
ivory rolled her eyes but begrudgingly obeyed, grabbing her chopsticks. "unbelievable," she muttered, stabbing at the noodles but didn’t argue further. for a moment, they just simply ate in silence, the warmth of the broth filling the space between them. it was simple—just instant ramen—but somehow, in this quiet moment, it tasted like something more. like her childhood.
soft. safe. simple.
then came the subject of sleeping. something ivory hadn’t necessarily worried about. from what she remembered, her mother had a guest room or two. she assumed she’d be staying there for the night, maybe for the next few days. it made sense, at least. the world was up in arms over them both, and she couldn’t exactly show her face anywhere for the time being.
“um,” jane cleared her throat as she set her utensils down, glancing at her mother. “can i shower? i’ll have to borrow some of your clothes. i don’t know if they’ll fit me though.”
jennie let out a bark of amusement, looking at her daughter in incredulous curiosity. “why wouldn’t you fit in my clothes?”
the younger girl blinked at her mother, taking in the absurdity of the situation as if it was truly rocket science. "wait, what do you mean, ‘why wouldn’t i fit in your clothes’?" she asked, tilting her head slowly with furrowed brows of confusion. "you're the short one here."
jennie let out a small, disbelieving laugh, her eyes narrowing playfully. "short? you’re literally only like a centimeter taller than me. barely worth mentioning, sweetheart."
ivory’s jaw dropped open slightly, her cat-like eyes widening in shock. “no. it’s definitely more than that.” the taller girl said flatly. but her mother just raised an eyebrow, straightening her posture and tilting her head slightly to the side just like her daughter had.
“wanna bet?”
the younger girl shook her head in amusement. “can i shower first and then we can measure it?” jane asked with a huff of indulgence as she moved away from the counter. her mother just chuckled, letting her daughter go. “fine, fine. go shower, baby. but don’t take forever. i’ve got a tape measure with your name on it.”
ivory shot her a look of feigned annoyance before disappearing down the hallway, and jennie returned to her bowl of ramen, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. it had been so long since she’d had her daughter here, let alone like this—teasing her, laughing, talking like everything was normal.
a quiet thought crept into jennie’s mind. she hadn’t realized until this very second just how much she’d missed the sound of her daughter’s voice in this house. it was small, but it mattered.
she quickly shook off the sentimentality and went to clean up the table. as she put the dishes away, her eyes drifted toward the hall. then she saw those unmistakable eyes turning around to face her again from the hallway. ivory poked the inside of her cheek with her tongue, looking very shy for once.
“i don’t remember where anything is.” she said hesitantly, reminding the blackpink idol of just how much time her daughter had spent outside of this place.
jennie let out a soft chuckle, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel before stepping toward her daughter. “right. let me show you.”
leading the way down the hall, she pushed open the door to her bedroom and beelined for the closet, sliding it open with practiced ease. inside, perfectly arranged clothes lined the racks, their organization betraying the habits of someone who lived alone and had too much time to curate every inch of her space.
ivory lingered near the doorway, arms loosely crossed, watching as her mother flipped through different sweatshirts with a focused expression, muttering under her breath like this was a high-stakes styling session.
"okay," jennie mused, plucking a hoodie from its hanger and turning, pressing it against her daughter's torso as if measuring it by sight. "this one’s big enough, i think."
a slow blink. "that’s a crop top on me."
she frowned, lifting the hem slightly, as if somehow stretching the fabric would change reality. “oh.” tossing it aside without hesitation, she grabbed another and repeated the process. "alright, this one, then."
ivory glanced down, then back up with a deadpan look. "that’s chanel."
jennie blinked in confusion. "and?"
without missing a beat, the younger girl looked at her mother as if she’d just asked if the sky was blue. "you just asked me if i want to sleep in a chanel hoodie. me, a dior ambassador, in a chanel hoodie."
"would you prefer dior?" her mother asked sarcastically. but once again, ivory didn’t even hesitate. “yes actually, i would.”
silence followed. jennie gave a slow blink. then another.
the blackpink idol’s head tilted slightly, as if waiting for the punchline. but ivory just stood there, completely unfazed, holding the chanel hoodie like it personally offended her.
the older woman narrowed her eyes. "you’re joking." her daughter crossed her arms, looking ever so serious for an eighteen year old. "i’m not."
jennie scoffed, placing a hand on her hip. “excuse me?”
“you offered.”
“that was sarcasm.”
“well,” ivory shrugged, completely deadpan. “mine wasn’t.” jennie gasped, clutching the chanel hoodie to her chest as if shielding it from betrayal. “i raised you.”
“and you did a great job,” ivory said smoothly, then nodded toward the closet. “now, do you have any dior, or should i start making some calls?”
jennie let out a sharp, disbelieving laugh, tossing the hoodie onto her bed before pointing a stern finger at her daughter. "you are not calling dior for pajamas."
jane didn’t say anything but she heard her mother rumbling something about “disrespect in her own home” while storming back toward the closet. begrudgingly, she yanked out an oversized sweatshirt—the most brandless one she could find—and practically threw it at her daughter’s face.
"here. no labels. just fabric. happy now?"
the younger girl caught it with ease, holding it up to inspect it like she was checking for hidden chanel embroidery. with a thoughtful nod, she conceded, "acceptable."
jennie shot her an unimpressed look before spinning back toward the drawers for sweatpants. “unbelievable. my own daughter. a traitor.” she huffed, grabbing a pair and holding them up to her daughter's waist, eyes squinting in assessment. then she shook her head and grabbed another. then another. ivory stood there, arms flopped at her sides, letting her mother go full mom-mode as she sized her up like a store mannequin.
finally, after the fourth switch, jennie shoved a pair into her daughter's arms. "here. they should fit. but if they don’t, i don’t wanna hear it."
“you will hear it.”
jennie narrowed her eyes, a response already on the tip of her tongue. “and you will go to bed cold.”
ivory just snorted, already walking towards her mother’s bathroom. "this is why i like dior."
jennie just threw a balled-up sock at her head.
“why do you have six different light switches and not one of them is for the actual bathroom?” jane’s voice echoed off the bathroom tiles, followed by a series of random clicks as she desperately tried to figure out which switch did what. the hallway light flicked on, then off. the closet light blinked twice. the fan whirred to life, then immediately stopped.
jennie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “it’s the second one from the left.”
a pause. more clicking.
“the other left.”
ivory groaned, but finally, the correct light turned on. "this is a design flaw," she muttered, stepping inside. her mother smirked a little, crossing her arms. “says the girl who can’t even figure out a light switch but somehow thinks she’s too good for chanel pajamas.”
the sound of running water was the only response she got.
jennie shook her head with a quiet chuckle, turning back toward her own room. she barely had a second of peace before ivory’s voice rang out again.
“wait, why is your shower so complicated?”
her mother let out an exasperated sigh, already making her way back to the bathroom like she had a toddler instead of an eighteen-year-old. “what are you talking about?”
“there are, like, four knobs in here.”
the older woman rolled her eyes lightly, leaning against the wall with her back while she listened to her daughter on the other side. “the left one is temperature, the right one is the pressure.”
“this seems unsafe. and very overcomplicated. is this what you do with your money?”
jennie only smirked a little and pushed off the wall to leave her bedroom. “i’ll be downstairs for your official height measuring when you’re done.” she called out before leaving.
ivory finished rinsing off quickly, still grumbling to herself as she fumbled with the knobs again, making sure she wasn’t going to drown herself in another surprise burst of cold water. she stayed there for a little while, just allowing herself to exist under the warm water before she began cleaning herself off. with a final sigh of relief, she turned the water off, stepping out of the shower and wrapping herself in one of her mother’s oversized towels. she quickly dressed in the set of clothes her mother had given her, leaving her hair damp but feeling surprisingly refreshed.
she stepped out of the bathroom and toward the stairs when she heard a soft whimper, followed by the familiar sound of paws skittering across the floor.
ivory froze mid-step.
kuma.
she hadn’t seen the fluffy dog in ages. the brown pomeranian, now a little sluggish and slower in his movements, was sitting at the top of his mother’s bed.
“hi kuma,” jane whispered softly, rubbing his ears and kissing his forehead lightly. he was her dog before he was her mother’s. she stayed there for a few moments, her hand gently resting on kuma’s soft fur as he snuggled into her touch. he tilted his head up toward her, his eyes blinking sleepily, recognizing her scent almost immediately—drenched in the fresh, lingering smell of her mother’s shower products, but still unmistakably her. his tail wagged slowly, a tired but unmistakable recognition flashing through his eyes.
“good boy,” ivory whispered softly, her voice low and warm as she ran her fingers through his thick, soft fur. she could feel the slight tremor in his old body as he nuzzled into her, seeking comfort. and she couldn’t help but smile at the affection in his eyes. she stayed by his side, sitting down gently beside him, leaning her back against the bed. a quiet sigh escaped her lips as she stroked kuma’s fur, and within minutes, the little pomeranian’s eyelids fluttered closed. his breathing slowed, the gentle rise and fall of his chest indicating that he had finally drifted back into sleep. ivory smiled softly, her heart tugging a little.
there was something profound about the way kuma trusted her so easily, like no time had passed at all. she always loved that about him.
after a while, the young girl stood up slowly, carefully moving the small dog back down on the bed where he curled up in a tiny, warm ball. she kissed the top of his head one last time before quietly heading downstairs.
when she reached the bottom of the stairs, she hesitated for a moment, unsure if her mother was still in the kitchen. but as she turned the corner into the living room, she found her sitting on the couch on her laptop. jennie looked up as ivory entered, but it was in a way that made the younger girl pause.
for just a second, jennie looked at her daughter with something in her eyes that ivory couldn’t quite place. it was an expression that made her chest feel tight, but not in a bad way. jennie didn’t say anything at first, but her gaze softened as she took in her daughter standing in the doorway, a faint smile playing at her lips.
and in that moment, it was almost like looking into a mirror.
jennie saw the same eyes, the same nose, the same smile that had once been so familiar to her. it was a bit surreal, how much ivory looked like her. but there was something else too, something she hadn’t realized until now: how she looked almost nothing like him.
almost.
ivory still had his same moles, his same aura of quiet confidence, the kind that settled into a room rather than demanded attention. it was subtle, but jennie saw it now, the faintest remnants of him woven into her daughter’s features like threads she’d tried so hard to ignore. it was in the way ivory held herself, in the way she tilted her chin ever so slightly when she was thinking, in the way her eyes flickered with a sharpness that felt both foreign and familiar.
jennie hated it.
not because she hated her—never her—but because it reminded her of a past she had long since buried, one she had clawed her way out of only to be faced with it again in the form of her daughter. a daughter who had grown up without her. a daughter she could never fully claim as just hers, no matter how much she wanted to.
she exhaled, forcing the thoughts away before they could take root.
"you look just like me, you know," jennie murmured, her voice softer than usual, almost like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
ivory blinked, caught off guard by the comment. she hadn’t expected that. it wasn’t the first time she’d heard it—plenty of people had told her before. but somehow, hearing it from her mother, in this quiet moment, felt different.
“i’ve been told,” she said after a beat, her tone light, almost indifferent, like she was brushing it off. but the slight twitch in her fingers, the way her gaze flickered down for just a second before meeting jennie’s again—it gave her away. she wasn’t brushing it off. she was absorbing it, tucking the words somewhere deep where they wouldn’t easily be forgotten.
“can you measure me now so i can sleep?” the taller girl interrupted quietly, eager to not be stared at like an exhibit. jennie retrieved the tape measure from the counter, her fingers fidgeting with it nervously.
wordlessly, jennie stepped closer, the tape measure unspooling in her hands with a faint whisper of fabric against metal. ivory stood still, shoulders slightly tense, as her mother reached up to press the edge of the tape against the top of her head.
"stand straight," jennie murmured, her voice quieter now, more focused.
"i am standing straight," ivory mumbled, though she subtly adjusted her posture, lifting her chin just a little.
jennie smirked, shaking her head, but didn’t say anything. instead, she placed a hand lightly on the top of her daughter's head to keep the tape steady. her touch was gentle but firm, like she was grounding ivory in place—not just physically, but in a way that neither of them could quite name.
for a moment, the only sound was the faint scratch of the measuring tape sliding between jennie’s fingers. ivory’s eyes darted away, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were, how her mother’s gaze flickered between the tape and her face, studying her like she was something fragile.
“let’s see,” jennie said aloud, adjusting the tape slightly, before raising her eyebrows. “165 centimeters. so, you’ve got a whole two centimeters on me.”
her daughter’s lips twitched in a small, teasing smile. “good.” her mother stepped back, the tension between them lifting just a little. "you’ve grown," she murmured, her voice unexpectedly tender.
ivory didn’t respond right away, a slight discomfort settling in her chest. she could feel her mother’s eyes on her, studying her, and it was both too much and not enough. there were so many things she wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure how to begin.
all she did know was that she didn't want to deal with it right now.
"well, i'm done now. can i go to bed?" ivory decided on, her tone a little more blunt than necessary. jennie smiled softly, though there was a touch of wistfulness in her gaze. "of course.
“um,” the younger girl cleared her throat awkwardly. “where am i sleeping?”
ever since her mother moved houses, she never thought she’d have the opportunity to stay over at jennie’s new house. let alone even have a space in it.
ivory had never really thought about it before—where she would sleep if she ever ended up here. it just never seemed like an option, like something she was supposed to consider. her mother had moved into this house long after they stopped living together, after things had settled into the rhythm of separate lives. and for some reason, ivory had just assumed there wouldn’t be a place for her here.
jennie’s expression shifted, something knowing flickering behind her eyes. she stood up from the couch, smoothing down her sweatshirt, and motioned for ivory to follow. “come on,” she said simply.
ivory hesitated for a second before trailing after her mother through the hallway. the house was quiet, the kind of late-night stillness that made everything feel heavier, like every sound or movement carried more weight.
jennie stopped in front of a door near the end of the hall, resting her hand on the doorknob. for a second, she just looked at it, exhaling softly before turning back to her daughter.
"you'll be in here."
the moment ivory stepped inside, and her breath caught in her throat. the room wasn’t just any guest room.
it was hers.
she could tell immediately from the color scheme to the little personal touches that screamed familiarity. the bookshelf was stocked with books she had loved as a child, some she had long since forgotten. a plush couch sat by the window, draped with the blanket she used to carry around when she was younger. even the vanity had her favorite candle positioned neatly next to a few boxes of her favorite skincare brands, as if someone had been waiting for her to use them.
slowly, the taller girl turned around to face her mother. “you kept a room for me?”
jennie leaned against the doorway, her expression unreadable for a second before softening. “always.”
jane’s throat tightened, a maelstrom of emotions warring inside her. “but you had that rule,” she whispered, referencing the rule jennie had set when she was younger—the rule that said she couldn’t stay with her overnight, that she had to return to jieun’s house no matter what.
jennie nodded, stepping closer. “i did. and i hated it every single day. but just because i couldn’t have you here physically didn’t mean i wasn’t hoping for the day you’d walk through that door.” she paused, eyes flickering around the room before settling back on her daughter. “so i kept it ready for you. in case you ever needed to come home.”
home.
it wasn’t a word ivory had ever associated with this house. not even once. but now, standing in the doorway of this room—her room—she couldn’t deny the way the air shifted around her, settling heavy in her chest, thick with something unspoken.
her fingers curled slightly at her sides, nails pressing into her palms as she took another step into the room. it felt untouched yet lived-in, like time had been waiting for her to fill the space. she traced the edge of the desk, eyes catching on the faint scratches along the wood—marks left behind by restless hands, old notebooks, or maybe nothing at all. but it felt like hers. it felt kept.
jennie watched her quietly, her presence lingering near the door but not intruding. she had always been like this, even when ivory was little—close enough to catch her if she fell but never forcing her to take the step.
ivory turned back, gripping the hem of her sweater between her fingers. “why?” her voice wasn’t accusatory, just quiet. curious.
her mother’s lips parted slightly before she exhaled, her gaze flickering to the bookshelf, to the neatly folded blanket, to the little things she had never been able to let go of. “because you were always supposed to have a place here,” she said finally. “even when i couldn’t have you the way i wanted.”
the admission sat heavy between them, unspoken things threading through the spaces in jennie’s voice.
ivory swallowed, her throat dry. the years between them stretched long, filled with days where she had wondered, did she even want me there? she had told herself she was fine without the answer. she had convinced herself it didn’t matter.
but it did.
she shifted, glancing toward the bed. the comforter was tucked in the way she liked—smooth, precise, but not too stiff—just the way she used to fix it when she was younger. the pillows were fluffed to the perfect degree of overstuffed, the kind she could sink into after a long day. it was almost unsettling how well her mother had remembered the details, how effortlessly she had preserved something ivory didn’t even know still existed.
her gaze flickered toward the couch, where a familiar blanket lay draped over the armrest. the second she picked it up, her fingers brushing against the worn fabric, the scent hit her—something warm, something familiar. a mix of faint detergent, a trace of something floral, and a whisper of her past itself. it smelled like childhood. like late nights curled up on the couch, like small hands gripping the edges while she fought off sleep waiting for her mother to come home late at night.
her chest ached. a slow, creeping kind of feeling that settled in her ribs, spreading through her like a quiet realization she wasn’t quite ready to name.
jennie must have noticed the shift in her expression because she took a careful step forward, her voice softer than before. “valentine—”
“i’m tired,” the younger girl murmured, cutting her off. the words weren’t sharp, but they left no room for anything more. not tonight.
jennie stilled, eyes lingering on her as if she wanted to say something else. to explain. to reach out. but she didn’t. instead, she nodded, stepping back with quiet understanding.
“alright,” she said gently. “get some rest.”
ivory didn’t watch her leave, didn’t wait for the door to click shut before she sat down on the bed, the blanket still clutched in her hands. the room felt heavy—not suffocating, but full. full of things unsaid, full of time lost and time kept, full of something that made her throat tighten and her fingers grip the fabric just a little harder.
she wasn’t sure what to do with all of this; the room, the words, the weight in her chest.
but for the first time in her life, home didn’t feel like a foreign concept.
there are many universal things that strike fear into a person. the unknown. the dark. the things that lurk just beyond the reach of reason. but maternal fear—true maternal fear—is something else entirely.
it doesn’t creep up on someone like ordinary fear. it doesn’t prickle at the back of one’s neck or settle in someone’s gut like a bad feeling you can shake off. no, maternal fear is an all-consuming thing. it is a force that swallows you whole, claws its way into your ribs, wraps around your lungs like a vice until you forget how to breathe.
it is the fear of losing a child.
and jennie feels it now, more than ever.
she feels it more than the cold of the floor as she runs down the staircase of her home, more than the sting of the wind as she throws open the front door. she isn’t thinking about grabbing a coat or her keys or even her phone. all that matters is getting to her car, getting to her daughter.
her pulse is a war drum, her heartbeat erratic as she moves on autopilot. fear is not just in her chest—it is in her bones, her bloodstream, her every breath. it is primal. it is instinct. it is the sharp, gut-wrenching kind of terror that unravels a person from the inside out.
jennie doesn’t remember getting in the driver’s seat. one moment, she’s sprinting across the driveway, her vision blurred, her hands trembling. the next, she’s gripping the steering wheel, slamming her foot on the gas, tearing through the streets as if sheer momentum could erase the distance between them.
the city blurs past her, streetlights and headlights merging into one long, dizzying smear of color. rain smacks against the windshield, but she barely registers it. her fingers are clenched too tightly around the wheel, her breath coming too fast, her mind screaming too loudly.
too late, too late, too late.
she shakes her head. no. she won’t allow it.
she’s gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t notice. the world outside her car is nothing but streaks of red and white, traffic lights bleeding into one another as she weaves through the roads. she doesn’t care about the speed limit. doesn’t care about the rain slicking the asphalt or the way her heartbeat pounds like a war drum in her ears.
all she can think about is ivory.
she has lived through many versions of fear before. the fear of failure. the fear of heartbreak. the fear of standing on stage with her voice catching in her throat. but nothing—not a single thing—has ever come close to this.
because this isn’t about her. this isn’t about a reputation to protect or an audience to impress.
this is about her daughter.
and when it came to jane, jennie would do anything for her.
so she presses her foot against the gas pedal. tightens her grip. she ignores the way her hands shake, the way her throat burns, the way her mind keeps whispering too late, too late, too late.
she won’t let it be too late. she can’t.
because if there’s one thing stronger than fear, it’s a mother’s love.
the speed limit in the city was a meaningless number on a sign jennie didn’t bother to read. it was irrelevant—just another rule designed for people who weren’t mothers racing against time.
her car tore through the streets, tires screeching as she took a turn too fast. the rain made the roads slick, but she didn’t slow down. she couldn’t.
hotel dandelion was located just outside of the jongno district. a quiet, unassuming place, tucked between neon-lit convenience stores and aging office buildings. it wasn’t anywhere near luxury, but it was safe—or as safe as anywhere could be for someone trying to disappear.
ivory had been smart. careful. she hadn’t checked in under her own name. it was a cruel twist of irony that made jennie’s stomach turn. it was a silent message. a desperate one.
she swerved into a nearby lot, barely registering the jolt as her tires hit the curb. the engine was still running when she threw open the door before she quickly scrambled to turn it off, stepping out into the downpour. rain soaked through her hoodie in an instant, cold and unrelenting, but she didn’t stop. hood up and head down, she moved quickly, her pulse a frantic rhythm beneath her skin.
the lobby was dim, almost sepia-toned, with an old chandelier casting fractured light across the floor. the front desk clerk, a man in his late fifties, glanced up from his screen as she approached. his gaze lingered a second too long, and jennie forced herself to stay calm, to keep her voice even.
“what room is ruby jane in?” she asked carefully to be neutral, but her stomach twisted with every syllable, the name like a knife in her chest.
the clerk looked at her, momentarily surprised by the urgency in her tone, but his practiced composure returned quickly. he scanned the computer screen in front of him, his fingers slow and deliberate. the seconds stretched longer than they should’ve, each one making jennie feel like her skin was too tight, suffocating.
“you’ll need to provide some form of identification, ma’am,” he said, his voice level but stiff, as if his mind was already starting to question the situation.
jennie’s breath hitched for a moment. she couldn’t use her real name. she couldn’t afford to have anyone connect her to this place, to ivory. instead she did something else.
jennie’s fingers trembled slightly as she pulled her hood back just enough for the front desk clerk to see her face. his eyes widened immediately, along with his jaw slacking slightly. she didn’t need to say anything—he knew exactly who she was.
the clerk's expression shifted, no longer rigid but now a little flustered, a bit starstruck, though he kept his professionalism intact. jennie could practically see the wheels turning in his head, the recognition finally hitting full force. jennie kim—the one and only. except right now she wanted to be nothing else but a mother.
“room 30,” he said quickly, almost stumbling over the words. he didn’t ask for identification. he didn’t ask any more questions. he simply handed her the keycard with a nervous smile and a slight bow of his head.
the idol nodded curtly, taking the keycard from him, her pulse barely registering the relief. the weight of the moment still hung on her shoulders. she had no time for niceties or any more distractions. without another word, she turned, making her way through the exit outside, her shoes slapping against the stone floor. the air in the hotel was heavy, but she didn’t notice. every step felt like a countdown, each one echoing louder than the last as she hurried toward the elevator.
the doors closed with a soft thud, and she spotted the door outside without hesitation. the stairs creaked beneath her as she ascended, each step taking her closer to the room, but it also felt like it was dragging her further away from the calm she was desperately trying to hold onto. the soft hum of the outdoor lamps flickered in the background, their yellow glow barely cutting through the haze of rain and mist that clung to the air. every sound seemed amplified, each one a harsh reminder of how little time she had.
she took deep breaths, forcing herself to steady her shaking hands, but it didn’t help. her pulse was too loud, too frantic, and it was the only thing she could hear. thoughts swirled in her mind like a storm—what was she going to say when ivory opened the door? did she want to see her? would this even help?
jennie squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to push the panic down. she couldn’t think about what-ifs. not now. not when everything depended on her moving forward.
finally, the door to room 30 appeared in front of her. it looked like any other door in the hotel—plain, with the same number stamped into the wood. her fingers hovered over the handle, trembling. and with a mother’s own strength, she slid the keycard into the door's lock, the small click sounding like a gunshot to her ears. the door swung open without resistance, revealing the dim, sparse room. her eyes scanned it quickly—the same faded carpet, the single bed with rumpled sheets, and the low light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows along the walls.
and then, there she was. ivory.
the older woman’s breath caught as her daughter stood in the far corner of the room, face half-hidden in the shadows, arms wrapped tightly around herself. she was smaller than jennie remembered, more fragile, but still so much like the girl she had once known.
jennie took a step inside, her shoes squishing softly on the floor, but she didn’t approach too quickly. she didn’t want to spook her or scare her. ivory’s face turned fully once her mother shut the door entirely behind her.
“valentine,” her mother whispered, her voice soft and tentative, as if testing the air, afraid of what her daughter might say, afraid of what the silence between them might become. “i’m here. it’s just me. i’m not going anywhere.”
the room felt smaller somehow, the air thick with the weight of everything unspoken. jane’s gaze was still fixed on her, distant yet searching, as if jennie was some stranger standing before her. there was something in the way she held herself—like she was afraid to let anyone in, afraid to show any kind of weakness.
jennie swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to stay calm, to keep her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging inside her. her eyes stayed on her daughter, every inch of her aching to reach out, to wrap her arms around her and hold her close.
but she knew she couldn’t. not yet. not until she was sure that’s what her child needed.
“i’ve been looking everywhere for you,” the idol hushed, the words escaping before she could stop them. “i—” she broke off, choking on the rest of the sentence, the weight of all the things she had never said before crashing down on her. “i’ve made mistakes. so many of them. but please, don’t shut me out.”
ivory didn’t move. didn’t speak.
jennie’s hands curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms. the silence between them was a sharp, painful thing. and then, out of nowhere, she heard it.
“mom.”
the word cracked through the air, so fragile, so quiet, but it hit jennie like a tidal wave, sweeping her off her feet. for a moment, everything in the room stilled. the noise in her head stopped. she didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she exhaled sharply, the sound jagged.
her heart stumbled in her chest, racing out of control, as tears began to well in her eyes. she could hardly believe it.
mom.
she hadn’t heard that word in so long—so long it had begun to feel like a dream. the last time ivory had said it, she was still a little girl, looking up at her with those wide, adoring and innocent eyes. but now it was different. there was so much weight in it, so much history.
jennie didn’t even notice the tears slipping down her cheeks until they hit her lips, salty and warm. and in that moment, all of the years of hurt, confusion, and separation collapsed in on her. all of the things she had done, or not done, all the mistakes and the silences and the regrets—they didn’t matter anymore.
without even realizing it, jennie moved before she could think otherwise. she surged forward, faster than she could think, desperate to close the space between them. she needed to touch her, needed to feel ivory in her arms like she used to years ago. and then jane was moving too—lunging toward her, her arms open, as if she couldn’t wait another second.
it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t graceful. it was raw. it was reckless. jennie’s body slammed against ivory’s, knocking the breath out of both of them, and they clung to each other like they were drowning in the same sea.
jennie felt her daughter’s arms wrap around her so tight, so fast—desperate. she was holding on as if she feared her mother would disappear again if she let go. ivory’s sobs broke through her, tearing at the older woman’s chest, and she pulled her closer, tighter, feeling the heat of her skin, the tremors in her hands as she held onto her daughter.
“mom,” ivory whispered again, like she couldn’t say it enough, as if the sound of it in the air was enough to bring them both back to life. jennie buried her face in ivory’s hair, her hands tangled in her daughter’s clothes, her heart tearing with every muffled sob that echoed in her ears. ivory just shook in her arms, crying into her shoulder, and jennie could feel it—feel the pain and the absence they had both been carrying for so long, crashing together in a flood of desperate grief.
the years of silence. the years of longing. the broken promises. it was all too much, too overwhelming.
then came the litany of apologies from ivory. the guilt was still fresh in jane’s mind, tearing at her heart and lungs like thorns on a vine. “im sorry,” the younger kim hiccuped out, feeling the weight of each word crash over her like a wave she couldn’t escape. “i’m so sorry, mom. for everything. for making you feel like i didn’t need you, like i didn’t want you.” her voice trembled as she spoke, the guilt and shame she had carried for years spilling out in ragged breaths.
jennie immediately just hushed and rocked her daughter gently, doing her best to calm the storm of emotions crashing down around them. her hands, steady and gentle, ran through her hair and smoothing it back as if the simple gesture could somehow erase the years of pain between them. the older woman didn’t have any answers, didn’t know how to make everything right, but she knew one thing for certain: her daughter was finally here, safe in her arms, and that was all that mattered now.
"shh, it’s okay, baby. it’s okay," the idol whispered, her voice thick with emotion. she felt jane tremble against her, every sob wracking her daughter’s body. her heart broke anew, each sob like a needle pricking her soul. she wanted to take away the hurt, the guilt, the pain her child had carried all this time.
but for now, all she could do was hold her, let her cry, and let the years of distance between them fall away, piece by piece.
the sound of ivory’s sobs filled the room, raw and unrestrained, and jennie held her even tighter, as if she could shield her from the weight of everything she had been through. she didn’t need to speak; the silence between them was all-encompassing. it was the kind of silence that spoke volumes—of missed moments, of broken phone calls, of unspoken apologies that hung between them like a thick fog. but now, as the sound of jane’s grief filled the air, her mother understood that those words didn’t matter anymore. the past was the past.
jennie kept her voice soft, soothing as her daughter clung to her. "you don’t have to say sorry, sweet girl." she murmured, her heart aching as she spoke. ivory’s hands gripped jennie’s damp hoodie, her fingers digging into the fabric as if she was afraid of losing her again. the sheer desperation in her hold was overwhelming, and her mother wanted nothing more than to shield her from all of it. she could feel the tremors running through ivory’s body, could hear the ragged breaths she was trying to take between sobs.
"i wasn’t good enough for you," jane cried out between gasps, her voice breaking on each syllable. "i wasn’t a good daughter. but i was so angry, and i thought if i made the world believe you weren’t my mom you’d be better off.”
jennie felt her chest tighten at those words. she could feel the weight of them like a lead ball sinking deep into her heart. but she didn’t want to let her daughter spiral further. she didn’t want ivory to keep blaming herself for something that was beyond her control. because jennie knew she was responsible, too.
"jane," the idol whispered, pulling her child back just enough to look into her eyes. the sight of her daughter, still so fragile, still so broken, made jennie’s heart ache in ways she couldn’t put into words. "you were never a problem. never. you were hurt, and i failed to see that. i failed you, too. i should’ve never let you feel like you were alone. but i was scared too. i was scared you didn’t want me, that i wasn’t enough. i’m so sorry for that, valentine. i should’ve never let you think i wasn’t here for you."
ivory wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, her face flushed with the rawness of her emotions. her voice trembled, but she tried to speak, to explain herself, to justify the years of distance. jennie felt a lump form in her throat, and she fought to swallow it down. there was nothing else to say, no other way to make this moment better. all she could do was hold her daughter close and let her feel the warmth of her love. she kissed the top of ivory’s head, holding her as tightly as she could, never wanting to let go again.
there wasn’t any specific amount of time that passed, but it felt like a small eternity. the room was heavy with their shared grief, but it was also filled with the warmth of being together again. eventually, ivory’s sobs began to subside, her breath evening out as she rested against jennie, no longer crying but still holding onto her tightly, as if afraid to let go.
jennie, still gently rocking her, let the silence settle between them for a moment. she could feel the weight of the moment, but at the same time, she knew that they needed to find a way to breathe again. so, in her usual way, she broke the tension with something light, something to bring them back to the present, to remind them that, despite everything, they could still laugh.
pulling back just a little to look at her daughter, jennie wiped away a stray tear from ivory’s cheek, her lips curving into a small, teasing smile.
“using my name to check into a hotel,” jennie said softly, her tone playful despite the emotions still swirling around them, “that’s...very creative, i’ll give you that.”
jane blinked, a hint of confusion still in her eyes. and then, slowly, a small smile formed on her lips. the first real sign of lightness in the air between them. jennie’s heart soared at the action, even if it was just a tiny glimmer of relief in their otherwise tense situation.
“you know,” jennie added softly as she reached over to the nightstand and handed her daughter a tissue to blow her nose. “i almost named you ruby.”
“that’s basic.” ivory commented before blowing her runny nose. her mother chuckled at the comment, the sound warm and full of affection. it was such a small moment, but it was everything. the tension in the air seemed to lift just a little, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through the stormy clouds.
“basic?” her mother repeated, raising an eyebrow. “i thought ruby had a nice ring to it, actually. a little vintage, a little timeless. you’d look good with it.”
her daughter shot her a sideways glance, a spark of her usual character returning to her eyes. “yeah, but jane is more unique. it’s original.”
“valentine, you do realize jane is still part of my name right?” jennie smirked a little. ivory blinked, then let out a soft laugh, realizing the irony. "oh, right. i guess you’re right. jane is technically unique, too. just not in the way i thought." she sniffed, wiping her nose one last time before tossing the tissue aside.
jennie’s smile widened, feeling that small but significant sense of comfort settle between them, the weight of the past slowly starting to lift. “well, there’s always a bit of me in you, whether you like it or not,” she teased, giving her daughter a playful nudge.
ivory rolled her eyes but didn’t fight the smile creeping onto her lips. "i guess that’s not the worst thing."
jennie smiled softly, pulling her daughter into a tight hug again. this time, there was no hesitation. no distance between them. just the warmth of a mother’s love and the quiet strength of someone who knew they’d do anything to make things right.
“don't worry about any of the other messes. i’ll take care of everything,” jennie whispered, her voice steady and filled with conviction. there wasn’t anything she could do to change the past, but she was determined to make sure their future would be different. now, more than ever, she was going to make sure of that.“i promise.”
and for the first time in a long time, jennie felt like she could keep that promise.
synopsis: ivory's vlog during her mother's first solo coachella performance.
a/n: just a little fun thing i wrote for ivory :) enjoy
BEFORE THE FLIGHT
the video opens in low, amber-toned lighting—clearly still dark outside. the frame is shaky, like it was grabbed in a hurry, and when it finally stills, it focuses on ivory, curled up in bed. her blanket is slipping off one shoulder, her hair a little mussed, eyes barely open. she blinks at the camera, squinting against the glow of the screen.
her voice is thick with sleep, low and mumbly. “it’s 4:37 in the morning,” she whispers, then flips the camera around to show her digital clock glowing on the nightstand in bold red numbers.
there’s a pause before she speaks again, the lens now pointed at the ceiling. “she said we’re leaving at ten,” ivory mutters. “and do you know what time she told me to be at her house?”
another beat of silence. then the camera flips back to her face. her expression is completely deadpan, eyes blank as she slowly drags a hand down her cheek in disbelief.
“six,” she says. then adds, in a monotone: “she’s not okay in the head.”
the video cuts in mid-slide—ivory gliding dramatically across the sleek hardwood floors of her mother’s foyer in fuzzy black socks, arms stretched out like a ballerina. the camera is angled downward, catching the satisfying sound as her socks skim the floor.
from somewhere off-camera, jennie’s voice rings out, sharp and very motherly.
“baby, stop sliding.”
ivory freezes mid-glide, one foot slightly lifted, her phone pointed toward the ceiling like she’s been caught in the middle of a crime.
“you’re gonna fall and break something,” jennie adds from the other room, tone casual but clearly not up for debate.
“i’m literally a trained dancer,” ivory says, panning the camera to her face, which is trying very hard not to laugh. “this is my art form. it’s called coachella floor choreo.”
“do that at coachella then, not in my house,” jennie calls back.
“so you’re saying…i am performing.”
“stop sliding.”
another cut—ivory tiptoeing down the hallway now, whispering dramatically into the camera. “she thinks i’m done. but i’m not done.” she pans to her socked feet again, crouches slightly, and then launches into a full-blown run-slide across the kitchen floor.
you can hear jennie sigh so hard it echoes.
“jane ivory!”
the video shakes as ivory bursts into laughter.
FLIGHT/POST FLIGHT
the video picks up mid-whisper, the camera pointed sneakily across the aisle. ivory zooms in on alison, who’s lounging in her first class cubicle with an eye mask pushed up on her head and a bag of haribo gummies in hand.
"alison, please," ivory begs, her voice laced with quiet desperation. "please, please, please."
alison grins and holds up the gummies like she’s dangling treasure. ivory lets out a dramatic gasp behind the camera, as if she’s been offered gold.
“mom told me i can't have any sugar until we land,” ivory murmurs, reaching forward from her seat like she’s in a wildlife documentary. “the contraband is now crossing the aisle—”
before her fingers can reach the bag, a soft thwack lands on her arm. the camera jolts as she squeals, catching a flash of a plush travel pillow being wielded like a weapon.
"valentine." jennie's voice is flat but so mother-coded. “what did i say about sugar?” the camera spins around to catch jennie leaning over from her cubicle, still in her cozy flight fit, looking unimpressed as she holds the pillow mid-air, clearly ready to strike again.
ivory shrinks into her seat dramatically. “how did you even see that?” jennie just taps her temples, a knowing expression on her face. “eyes everywhere.”
“okay freak,” ivory mutters, shoving the gummies into her hoodie like a raccoon hoarding food. “you’re supposed to be relaxing, not sniping me from seat 2A.”
alison’s trying not to laugh, covering her mouth with the bag as jennie gives her the you’re not helping look. ivory aims the camera at her again. “you saw her give it to me, right? this is entrapment.”
“you’re banned from the snacks until we land,” jennie says, settling back into her seat, still side-eyeing her daughter. “i’m literally an adult,” ivory protests, half-heartedly, mouth already full of one of the stolen gummies.
jennie doesn’t even look up as ivory shifts the camera back down to her gummies. but the idol’s voice is crystal clear before the video cuts again.
“you’re literally on my flight.”
the video cuts in with a gust of wind, the sound sharp and loud in the mic as the camera sways. they’re officially off the plane, walking down the stairs onto the tarmac, the sky bright and cloudless above lax. black-on-black suvs line up ahead like secret service and team members are already splitting off into groups, everyone looking important and exhausted.
ivory, meanwhile, is in full gremlin mode. the camera flips to her face—her hair windswept, sunglasses slightly crooked, lip gloss somehow still intact. “we have arrived,” she narrates. “hello, los angeles. i’m officially just emotional support now.”
she spins the camera toward her mom walking a few paces ahead, hood still up, sipping the same iced coffee like it never ended. ivory catches up in a little half-run, and her voice comes through loud and exaggerated.
“mommy, can i hold your hand?”
jennie, without missing a step, side-eyes her daughter. “aren’t you eighteen?”
“so?” ivory doesn’t even blink. she slides her hand into her mom’s like it’s a red carpet moment, and immediately starts swinging their arms. jennie tries to resist it at first. and fails. “you’re gonna pull my shoulder out.”
“you don’t need it,” ivory chirps. “you have stage presence.”
the camera briefly captures a member of jennie’s team turning around to hide their laugh, then cuts again. now they’re in the suv. it’s quiet, cool, the leather seats pristine. jennie’s settling in, reaching for her phone, when ivory suddenly gasps like there's a spider.
“um your seatbelt.” ivory's tone is dire. her camera is pointed dramatically at her mother, who freezes like she’s being scolded by tsa. “oh my god,” the idol mutters, laughing under her breath as she clicks it on. ivory nods solemnly from the passenger seat. “can’t lose you before weekend one. i have merch to buy.”
“you’re not getting any merch,” jennie warns, pulling out her phone. the younger girl, still filming, turns to the camera and whispers, “she’s lying. i will be getting merch.
COACHELLA DAY 1
the scene opens with alison's camera facing ivory, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. the music is blasting, the crowd is going wild, and she is clearly having fun—except for the fact that she keeps glancing at her mother, who’s standing and watching the stage with an intensity only a perfectionist could have. jennie’s arms are crossed, her face calm and analytical.
ivory holds up the camera to the manager, whispering dramatically, “can you believe this? it’s friday. not even the day she performs yet. and she is already acting like she’s about to go on stage! look at her.” she zooms in on the blackpink idol, who’s standing perfectly still, practically in full “monitoring” mode and completely unfazed by the crowd’s energy.
the younger girl sighs exaggeratedly, throwing her hands up. “this is supposed to be fun! people are dancing, and she’s out here thinking about random things when she doesn’t even go on until sunday!”
alison, barely holding back laughter, continues to record as ivory stands there, biting her lip in frustration. she pans back to jennie, who’s still completely engrossed in her phone, completely ignoring the chaos around her. “mom! MOM!” ivory shouts, but her mother doesn’t budge.
ivory gives the camera a look of complete exasperation, shock on her feline features. “she’s literally not even enjoying the festival, guys. what is wrong with her?” she spins the camera back to alison with an exaggerated shrug. “like, i get it, she’s a perfectionist, but this is coachella. there are dancing people over there, and my mom is analyzing things.” ivory shakes her head, her frustration mounting.
just as jennie looks up from her phone, ivory leaps in front of the camera, dramatically shaking her. “mom, you have to dance with me! it’s coachella!” she whines, trying to pull jennie away from her “work zone.”
the older woman, looking mildly annoyed but not phased at all, raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “baby, this is important. you don’t get it.”
ivory rolls her eyes and points to herself like she’s about to go on a whole tangent. “you’re too busy to have fun. well, this is supposed to be about fun, too. not just boring business.”
alison snickers quietly behind the camera as ivory turns it back on her face, dramatically shaking her head again. “mom, i’m telling you. you can’t just keep working when you’re literally at coachella. just...dance with me!” she pleads, and finally jennie looks up, slightly amused.
“no,” jennie deadpans, “i’ll dance when i feel like it.” ivory lets out an exaggerated gasp, her face in disbelief. “she won’t even dance with me!” she says to alison, wide-eyed in shock and almost mortification. “this is abuse.”
alison tries to keep it together as she zooms in on the younger woman’s face, and ivory dramatically flips her hair back. “i am officially traumatized by the lack of fun at this festival.” with that, ivory turns and runs off toward the crowd, yelling back to jennie, “i’m going to have fun whether you like it or not!”
alison, still filming, lets out a wheeze. jennie stands there for a moment, shaking her head with a half-smile, and mutters, “she’s dramatic.”
the last clip in the segment is a short shot of ivory and rosie jumping up and down together in the distance during lisa’s set, with the two absolutely shaking the life out of each other as they have fun.
PRE-PERFORMANCE
jennie’s in full glam now, standing in front of the mirror in her performance fit, looking like she’s ready for her set. her game face is on–calm, focused, commanding. meanwhile, her daughter is lounging on the couch behind her, sipping from a juice box like the world’s most unserious hypewoman.
trying to act casual, ivory throws out, “i'm excited for seoul city.” the younger woman is unable to fight the sneaky grin off her face from her own humor.
jennie freezes mid-hair-fluff. she turns around slowly, blinking at her daughter like she just confessed to a felony. "seoul city?" she asks in utter disbelief, not even looking at ivory’s phone camera but straight at her daughter. jennie then quickly narrows her eyes. “you’re messing with me.”
ivory shrugs innocently, sipping louder. “i mean it is a good song. i think a lot of people already like it, but they’ll like it more with your choreography.”
alison—seated nearby and going over last-minute run-throughs—starts wheezing. jennie looks at her, stone-faced. “cover her ears during seoul city. and her eyes. matter of fact, just get her out of the venue.”
ivory lets out the loudest laugh yet, nearly choking on her juice as the camera shakes from the force of her laughter. “i’ll sing every lyric—”
“stop.” jennie shrieks in embarrassment and grabs a throw pillow and hurls it directly at her daughter’s face. ivory, now dramatically sprawled across the couch like she’s been wounded, is laughing so hard she’s crying. she points her phone camera at her mother who is rubbing her temples in exasperation, while alison and ivory herself are still laughing. “this is so embarrassing for you.”
the next clip is a quick cut of the sun starting to dip below the desert skyline, casting golden rays across the coachella grounds. the camera’s shaking a bit as it follows ivory weaving her way through the backstage barriers, giggling and ignoring the fifteen texts her mother has probably sent her telling her to stay in the artist section.
ivory, naturally, is already pushing through toward the barricade of general admission. she flips the camera around to selfie-mode, beaming. “hi everyone!” she says into the lens, waving wildly. and then it's instant chaos.
phones are out in seconds, fans scream her name, and someone quite literally throws a capybara plush at her. ivory shrieks when it hits her shoulder, picks it up, holds it like simba, and dies laughing. “why do you guys always have these?” she yells over the crowd, holding up the capybara like a trophy.
someone hands her a handwritten note. another offers her a phone for a selfie. one girl starts crying. there’s glitter everywhere. ivory, both flattered and slightly overwhelmed, clutches the plushie to her chest and keeps yelling over the barrier, “okay but i literally have to go before my mom kills me!”
she turns to the camera again. “i’m not supposed to be here. she said to ‘stay with alison.’ that was the rule.” she holds the capybara up, showing the camera all its angles. “but would alison have given me this?? exactly.”
she blows one last kiss to the fans and sprints back toward the vip gate, screaming “bye” like she’s just committed a crime.
PERFORMANCE/POST PERFORMANCE
the screen opens to a wide shot of the coachella main stage glowing in deep violet and gold, the crowd pulsing with energy as the beat of jennie’s set kicks off. quick cuts follow—grainy, sparkly clips filmed on a phone from the vip area.
the first clip is where ivory’s phone swings around in dizzy excitement, landing on her face. “it’s startingggg,” she yells into the mic, grinning like a maniac. the camera tilts to show lisa beside her in dark sunglasses and a mesh top, blowing a kiss to the crowd. rosé is behind them, already doing little shoulder rolls in time with the music.
the next cut is a shot of the three dancing together—lisa doing exaggerated hip rolls, ivory jumping up and down like she’s never heard music before, rosé twirling dramatically with her arms in the air. jennie’s voice echoes from the stage, effortlessly cool and commanding, and all three scream like fangirls.
it shifts to ivory panning the camera to the sea of fans behind her, showing glowing lightsticks, flags and a few stuffed animals. she zooms in on one capybara plush someone is holding above their head. “its so cute,” she wheezes, voice half-lost to the music.
the clip following that is lisa with her arm around ivory’s shoulder now, both swaying with their heads knocked together, screaming lyrics as jennie sings “with the ie”. rosé is filming the two of them, laughing so hard she snorts.
the final clip is during the second verse of starlight. the camera stays on ivory, still dancing but suddenly very focused as she’s jumping around. it’s her favorite song—she’s grinning, mouthing along, ready for that line.
“so many after hours…”
ivory beams, mouthing the words—
“i just wanna make my mama prouder—”
but on stage, jennie sings:
“i just wanna make my daughter prouder—”
ivory freezes. the scream she lets out is immediate and primal. “WHAT—”
she nearly drops the phone as lisa grabs her shoulders and shakes her in disbelief. rosé’s mouth is fully open, gasping as she joins in with the shaking. ivory is literally screaming somehow louder than the actual live stage sounds. not words, just pure screams of emotion.
“MOMMYYY!” is the last thing heard, the camera shaking violently as ivory screams her lungs out at her mother on stage before the scene cuts into the next clip.
the next clip fades in with a shaky but clear shot—courtesy of alison—of jennie and ivory on a golf cart, slowly being driven through the backstage lot under soft festival lights. the sky is dark now, the stars barely peeking through the haze of stage smoke and camera flashes.
jennie’s still in full glam, mic pack wires tucked away, hair a little wind-blown, her stage outfit covered with a cozy jacket tossed over her shoulders. she’s clearly tired—but glowing. there’s something serene and proud in her eyes, even as she leans back on the cart’s seat.
ivory, however, is fully curled into her mother’s side like a sleepy koala.
she’s practically glued to her mom’s torso, legs draped over jennie’s lap and arms wrapped tightly around her middle, face hidden against her shoulder. jennie rests her chin on the top of ivory’s head, gently rubbing her daughter’s back as the cart hums along.
alison, seated opposite them, is clearly trying not to laugh as she records. “ivory,” she says, teasing. “you good? or are we still crying?”
ivory doesn’t lift her head. her voice is muffled but still sharp nonetheless. “don’t talk to me.”
jennie snorts, squeezing her daughter softly as the wind whips around them. “she’s been like this since i got off stage.”
“she’s like, part of you now,” alison laughs. “she might actually be fused to your ribcage.”
“i am,” ivory mumbles, still not looking up. “we’re one organism now.”
jennie grins and looks into the camera. “she’s mad i didn’t tell her about the lyric change.”
ivory finally peeks up, red-eyed and dramatic. “i wasn’t prepared for that!” alison laughs so hard the camera shakes. jennie kisses ivory’s forehead, cradling her like she’s five again. “okay, okay. next time, i’ll give you a heads-up. deal?”
ivory just tightens her grip again and hides her face again before speaking. “deal,” she mumbles. “but i’m still crying. and don’t do that next week, grandma’s coming. you have to keep the original lyrics for her.”
the cart bumps along in the background, the sounds of the festival fading behind them as the clip ends on jennie brushing her daughter’s hair gently with her fingers, looking down at her with all the pride in the world.
