Number One Girl // Rosè One Shot
Number One Girl
Rosé sat curled up on the couch, her gaze distant as soft music hummed from the speakers. You hated seeing her like this—her usual radiant energy dulled by the weight of her responsibilities. Her schedule had been relentless, and it was clear she needed a break, a reminder of how loved she was outside of the spotlight.
You leaned against the doorway, hands in your pockets, nervously toying with the plan you’d crafted in your head. It was bold, but she deserved it. And you were her best friend, after all—this was what you were meant to do, right? Even if your heart yearned for her in ways you couldn’t say out loud.
“Hey, Rosie,” you called softly. Her head turned, and she gave you a faint smile.
“Hey, Y/N.”
“I’m kidnapping you for the day,” you declared, earning a quizzical look.
“What?” she chuckled, her voice lighter for the first time in days.
“No arguments. You’ve been cooped up in here too long. We’re going out.”
She blinked at you, her lips curving into a genuine smile. “Okay. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” you teased, holding out your hand. She hesitated for a moment before slipping hers into yours, the warmth sending sparks up your arm.
The day unfolded like a dream.
First stop: brunch at her favorite café, where you insisted on ordering for her—her go-to latte and a stack of pancakes topped with strawberries and cream. You sat across from her, watching her eyes brighten with every bite.
“This is amazing,” she said, her cheeks puffed with food.
You grinned. “Only the best for my favorite girl.”
Her laughter was soft, but you caught the way her cheeks turned pink.
Next, you took her to an art gallery she’d mentioned in passing months ago. Her awe was palpable as she wandered the halls, her fingers ghosting over the information plaques. You stayed close, admiring her more than the paintings.
“You remembered,” she said quietly, glancing at you.
“Of course I did,” you replied, meeting her gaze.
The day ended with a walk through the city. You bought her a bouquet of sunflowers from a street vendor, declaring they suited her brightness. She held them close, her smile soft and shy.
Finally, as the sun dipped below the skyline, you brought her to a quiet spot overlooking the city lights. The two of you sat side by side, her head leaning on your shoulder.
“This was perfect, Y/N,” she murmured.
“Good. You deserve it,” you said, your voice catching. “You’re my number one girl, Rosé. Always.”
Her head lifted, her eyes locking with yours. Something unspoken flickered between you, and before you could process it, her lips were on yours—soft, warm, and utterly surprising.
Your heart stopped, then started racing. When she pulled back, her cheeks were flushed, and she looked at you nervously.
“I like you, Y/N,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve liked you for a long time. I didn’t know if you… if you’d feel the same.”
You stared at her, your heart swelling with a mix of shock and overwhelming joy. Then you laughed—a giddy, disbelieving laugh—as you reached for her hand.
“Rosé, I’ve been in love with you for years,” you admitted, grinning like an idiot.
Her eyes widened before a giggle escaped her lips, and soon, the two of you were laughing together, the tension melting away into the night.
As the laughter subsided, she leaned in again, her forehead resting against yours.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For making me feel like your number one girl.”
“You are my number one girl,” you replied, kissing her again, softer this time, savoring the moment.
In that quiet corner of the city, with the world bustling below, you held each other close, finally letting your hearts speak the words they’d kept hidden for so long.