Red Flavor

The waiting room smelled like coffee and anxiety, a particular combination that seemed to permeate every music show backstage in existence. You stood in the corner of TWICE's dressing room, trying to be invisible, trying to be staff, while nine women transformed themselves into idols around you. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows that makeup artists fought to eliminate with powders and highlighters, creating masks that would hold up under the unforgiving gaze of cameras and crowds.

Jihyo was at the mirror, having her makeup touched up by a professional who chatted about nothing important—the weather, traffic, a new restaurant in Gangnam. Her eyes met yours in the reflection, and you saw the weight of leadership there, the constant calculation of risk and reward. She was having her lips painted a soft coral, the color of spring mornings, and you remembered how those lips had tasted against yours in the darkness of the emergency apartment, how they had whispered devotion and desperation in equal measure.

Nayeon was on her phone, scrolling through fan comments with a practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes. Every few seconds, her gaze would flick to you, checking, confirming you were still there, still hers even in this public space where she couldn't claim you. Her fingers moved restlessly, tapping against her thigh a rhythm that matched her heartbeat, faster than it should be, betraying her calm exterior.

Sana sat cross-legged on the floor, stretching her dancer's muscles with mechanical precision, but her eyes kept finding you, dark and knowing. She was wearing shorts that rode up her thighs, and she made no move to adjust them, enjoying the way your gaze lingered before you remembered yourself, remembered where you were, and looked away. Her smile was secret, private, meant only for you.

Momo and Jeongyeon were running through choreography in the corner, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization, muscle memory guiding them through steps they had performed hundreds of times. But Momo's attention was divided, her eyes tracking you even as her body executed perfect turns and isolations. Jeongyeon was more focused, her brow furrowed in concentration, but every time she completed a sequence, she would glance at you too, checking for approval, for attention, for love.

Dahyun and Chaeyoung were huddled together on the couch, sharing a pair of earbuds, Dahyun's head resting on Chaeyoung's shoulder. They looked innocent, youthful, the picture of idol friendship that fans loved to see. But you knew the truth of them—the way Dahyun's fingers would trace patterns on Chaeyoung's palm when they thought no one was looking, the way Chaeyoung would sketch Dahyun's sleeping form in the early hours of the morning.

Mina was reading in the far corner, her book held close to her face, but she wasn't turning pages. She was watching you over the top of the novel, her gentle eyes filled with a quiet intensity that spoke of devotion and fear in equal measure. She was the one who felt things most deeply, who worried most about losing what they had built.

Tzuyu was at the vanity, having her hair styled into the elaborate creation the performance demanded, but her eyes were closed, and you knew she was meditating, centering herself, finding the strength to perform when her heart wanted something else entirely. Her hand moved slightly, reaching toward where you stood, a gesture so small it might have been imagination.

"Red Velvet's in the next room," Dahyun said casually, not looking up from her phone. But you caught the subtle shift in her posture, the way her eyes flicked to you and then away. The way Chaeyoung's hand found Dahyun's knee, squeezing. "They're performing today too."

You nodded, not understanding the relevance, until Jihyo met your eyes in the mirror. Her expression was carefully neutral, but there was something calculating in her gaze—the leader thinking, planning, strategizing. She thanked the makeup artist with a smile that didn't reach her eyes and stood, moving toward you with a grace that belied the tension in her shoulders.

"Irene's been asking about you," Jihyo said, her voice light, conversational, designed to blend with the room's ambient noise. But you heard the undercurrent there, the slight tremor that spoke of insecurity despite her words. "Seems she's noticed you at the last few events. The mysterious staff member who's always around TWICE."

Your stomach tightened. "Noticed me how?"

"Noticed you," Sana repeated, and there was something in her tone—not jealousy exactly, but awareness. Competition, perhaps, or the recognition of potential complication. She rose from her stretching position and moved to your side, her hand finding your arm, her fingers wrapping around your bicep in a gesture that was subtly possessive. "Irene doesn't notice people. She's... guarded. Careful. The Ice Princess, they call her. But she's been asking."

"She's beautiful," Momo added, matter-of-fact, as if commenting on the weather. She had stopped dancing and now stood with her hands on her hips, her chest heaving slightly from exertion, her eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin warm. "The original visual. The standard against which all others are measured. When she debuted, the whole industry changed. Everyone wanted to look like Irene."

"And she's lonely," Mina said softly, looking up from her unread book. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. "We all know what that's like. The isolation. The inability to trust. But..." She paused, her lower lip catching between her teeth. "But she's also... captivating. When she decides to focus on someone, it's hard to look away."

"Are you saying she's dangerous?" Nayeon asked, her voice elegant and controlled, but you heard the edge there, the sharpness of jealousy she was trying to hide. She stood, moving to join the circle that was forming around you, her hand finding your other arm, opposite Sana. "That she might take what's ours?"

"I'm saying she's hungry," Mina replied, her eyes sad. "And hunger makes people take risks. Makes them... determined."

Jihyo stepped closer then, invading the space that Sana and Nayeon had marked as theirs, and reached up to adjust your collar, her fingers lingering against your throat. You felt her touch like a brand, like a claim, and you saw the way the others watched, the way their bodies leaned in, unwilling to let her have this moment alone.

"She's coming here," Jihyo whispered, her breath warm against your ear, her words meant only for you but spoken loudly enough that the others could hear. "To borrow a charger, supposedly. But she's coming to see you. She's... curious. Interested. And Irene doesn't get curious about people. She observes them from a distance. She maintains her perfect image. But for you..." Jihyo's fingers pressed harder against your pulse point, feeling your heartbeat accelerate. "For you, she's willing to step closer."

"Jihyo," you started, uncertain, overwhelmed by the weight of their attention, the intensity of their gazes.

"We talked about it," she continued, her voice barely audible, her eyes searching yours for reassurance she wouldn't ask for directly. "All of us. Last night, while you were sleeping in the emergency apartment between Mina and Tzuyu. We agreed... we're not enough for you. Not in the way the world demands." She glanced at the others, and you saw nods, saw acceptance and fear mingled in their expressions. "You need cover. You need legitimacy. You need someone who can be seen with you, publicly, without scandal. Someone the company would approve of. Someone... like her."

"You're suggesting I date Irene?" you asked, your voice rough. "That I use her?"

"No," Jihyo said sharply, her eyes flashing. "Never that. We're suggesting..." She softened, her hand moving from your throat to your cheek, cupping your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. "We're suggesting that you let her in. Let her close. Let her be your cover story, your public relationship, while we remain your secret. And maybe... maybe she becomes more than cover. Maybe she becomes real. Because you have enough love," her voice broke slightly, "you have enough love for all of us. And maybe for her too."

"And if she falls for you?" Jeongyeon asked, her voice steady but her hands clasped tight in front of her. "If she falls for you and wants you only for herself? What then?"

"Then we trust him," Tzuyu said quietly, her eyes still closed, her meditation complete. "We trust that what we built in Jeju is stronger than a pretty face. We trust that love multiplies, it doesn't divide."

"Pretty face?" Joy's voice came from the doorway, rich and amused, and every head turned. She stood there in all her statuesque glory, her red hair catching the light, her smile knowing and sharp. "Are we talking about someone in particular, or just making general observations about my leader?"

Behind her, Seulgi peeked in, her expression curious and cautious, her dancer's body coiled with energy even in stillness. Wendy followed, humming softly to herself, her eyes bright and assessing as they swept the room and landed on you with a knowing look that suggested she saw more than she let on. And Yeri brought up the rear, the youngest, her phone in her hand, looking up with wide, innocent eyes that missed nothing.

But it was Irene who commanded attention, who seemed to fill the doorway even as she hung back, letting her members enter first. She was dressed simply—black jeans, a white sweater, minimal makeup—and yet she looked like royalty slumming it with commoners. Her eyes found you immediately, and you saw the hunger Mina had described, the loneliness, the desperate hope that you might be different from everyone else who had ever approached her.

"Sorry to interrupt," Irene said, her voice soft but carrying, that distinctive tone that had launched a thousand fan theories about her coldness. But you didn't hear coldness. You heard walls. You heard protection. You heard someone who had learned that distance was survival. "We were hoping to borrow a charger. Someone forgot to pack ours."

"Of course," Jihyo said, her leader's mask sliding into place with practiced ease. She moved away from you, creating space, creating distance that felt like a physical wound. "We have extras. Help yourself."

Seulgi moved first, entering the room with the confidence of someone who had known these women for years, who had shared the trenches of idol life with them. She was warm, approachable, the opposite of Irene's ice in every way. "Hey everyone," she said, her smile genuine. "You guys look great. New comeback?"

"Next month," Nayeon said, her voice smooth, controlled. "You?"

"Just promotions," Seulgi replied, moving to the counter where chargers were kept. She picked one up, examined it, but her eyes kept moving back to you, curious, assessing. "The usual grind."

Wendy had already spotted you, her perceptive gaze taking in your position in the corner, the way the TWICE members had arranged themselves around you like a protective barrier. She was the most openly friendly, the most likely to approach a stranger, and she did exactly that, crossing the room with her hand extended.

"Hi," she said, her voice warm and bright, her English pronunciation perfect. "I'm Wendy. I don't think we've met officially, but I've seen you around. You're with TWICE's team, right? Choreography?"

You shook her hand, surprised by the firmness of her grip, the way her eyes held yours with genuine interest. "Something like that," you said, your voice rough.

"Wendy," Irene said, and there was a warning there, subtle but present. "We should go. Practice room."

"There's time," Wendy replied, not turning around, her smile never wavering. "I want to meet the mysterious person who's been catching Irene's attention."

The room went silent. You felt the shift in the TWICE members, the way their bodies tightened, the way Sana's hand found yours and held on with a grip that was almost painful. Irene's face flushed, the faintest pink spreading across her cheeks, and for a moment the ice cracked, revealing the flustered woman beneath.

"Wendy," Irene said again, sharper now.

"What?" Wendy asked, all innocence, though her eyes were mischievous. "It's true. You've been asking about them for weeks. 'Who's that person with TWICE? What's their name? Do they always travel with them?'" She mimicked Irene's voice with affectionate teasing, and you saw the way Irene's hands clenched at her sides.

"You're embarrassing me," Irene said quietly, and the vulnerability in her voice made something in your chest tighten.

"Someone should," Joy said, moving fully into the room now, her presence commanding, her confidence absolute. She looked at you with frank appraisal, her eyes traveling from your face to your feet and back up again. "Irene spends too much time alone. Too much time being perfect. If someone has finally cracked that facade, I want to know who they are."

Yeri had been quiet, observing, her young face unreadable. But now she spoke, her voice clear and direct. "They look normal," she said, and there was no insult in it, just observation. "Not like an idol. Not like staff either. Just... a person."

"Just a person," Irene repeated, and her eyes met yours, and you saw the plea there, the desperate hope that you might understand, might accept, might want her despite the complications. "Isn't that what everyone wants? To be seen as just a person?"

The TWICE members were frozen around you, their earlier confidence evaporating in the face of this—of Irene standing in their doorway, vulnerable and hopeful, of her members surrounding her with protective affection, of the undeniable chemistry that sparked between you even across the room.

"You're the one," Irene said, and it was directed at you, only at you, the room's other occupants suddenly furniture, background, unimportant. Her voice was softer than you expected, husky and careful, stripped of the practiced control she usually maintained. "The one who makes them laugh. The one they look at when they think no one is watching."

"I—" you started, uncertain.

"Jihyo told me," Irene continued, stepping into the room fully now, accepting the offered charger from Seulgi with a nod of thanks but never breaking eye contact with you. "Told me you help with choreography. That you're... special. That you see people. Really see them."

The way she said it, you knew Jihyo had told her more. Much more. Or perhaps not enough. You glanced at Jihyo, at all of them, seeking permission, seeking guidance, and you saw the conflict there—the fear of losing you, the hope that this might work, the love that wanted your happiness even at the cost of their own security.