Always Have, Always Will Part 2

A few years later…

You sway sideways in your seat as the train lurches forward. The cool air entering through the open window compliments your surroundings: sterile and unnecessarily bright.

It’s not as crowded as it is in the morning. One of the few good things about working late into the night. You look around. Someone’s asleep across from you, another is bouncing their knees, clutching their bag tightly. Another man sighs, loosening his tie.

You do the same.

Your laptop bag rest heavily on your thighs. Your head gently falls back onto the window behind, a gentle thud echoing through the carriage. You close your eyes and let the music hum quietly through your headphones.

Her voice fills your ears.

Warm and familiar.

You can’t help the smile creeping on your face.

You haven’t seen Park Minju in years. In person at least. You watched and voted for her constantly on that survival show she participated in a year or so back. And now you hear her almost everyday since her debut.

Your middle and index fingers tap your bag absentmindedly in time with the instrumental. They alternate, a rhythmic walk across an imaginary E-string. Slow at first. Faster when you get fully immersed in it. Whoever did this arrangement is good. Very good.

It’s catchy and addictive. Something that would make people repeat the song again and again.

Your smile grows wider when you hear her voice again. It’s clear and dreamy, almost honey-like in the way she hits her high notes.

She used to go red when you asked her to sing, and she kept making excuses, stuttering, waving her hands in front of her face like it’s the last thing she wanted to do. You told her it was for your timing—the festival performance, you needed someone to play off. She couldn’t say no after that. You played slower than normal that day. Slower than you needed to.

Back when your hands were callused and smelt faintly of metal strings instead of printer ink and cheap, office coffee.

The thought makes you let out a quiet breath out your nose.

The music is suddenly interrupted by a notification ping. Your eyes open briefly—HYBE Entertainment, subject line: Regarding an anonymous cover. You close your eyes again. Some promotional spam. If it’s important, they can find some other way to contact you.

The music resumes just as the chorus swells louder in your ears, layered vocals wrapping around the infectious beat underneath it. You can make out all the members now, but your favourite is still Minju. Soft and angelic and has an inexplicable way of soothing you.

Your fingers tap harder against your bag, loud enough that the woman beside you glances over briefly before returning her gaze to her phone.

You don’t notice it. Instead, you tap your headphone cup three times, replaying the song. Again and again because you can never grow tired of it.

Your eyes scrunch when you hear your favourite part. The bass here is exquisite, loud enough to feel its impact but it won’t overpower their vocals. It’s subtle. People won’t think twice about it.

Around the fifth play, your phone rings, ruining the experience. You slowly open your eyes, lifting your phone to your eyes.

It’s her brother.

You forcefully exhale, staring at his name for a second before answering.

“What?” The passengers stare at you, looks of disbelief as you answered your phone on the train. You bow your head in apology, cupping your hand over your mouth to continue talking. “Make this quick. I’m on the train.”

“Wow,” your best friend says immediately. “Hello to you too. Didn’t work end like three hours ago?”

You snort softly despite yourself. “Yeah… well… we’re busy these days.”

“When aren’t you?”

You ignore that comment.

The line goes quiet for a moment before he speaks again, more carefully this time.

“Minju was here today. Had dinner with us.”

You freeze.

Minju sitting at the dining table, her elbow resting on the surface with her chin propped up. Her eyes on you as you cut up fruit for her to eat. You knew she was staring, could see her through the reflection on the window. So when you turned, and saw her elbow slip, her eyes forced to look down as her face grew a brighter shade of red, you wanted to laugh. Instead, you gently pushed the tray of fruit in front of her, held out a fork, and waited for her to take a bite.

The speaker announces the upcoming station, muffled beneath your headphones as people are getting up ready to leave. You stay there though, not moving, eyes staring blankly ahead of you.

You swallow thickly before answering. “How is she?”

“Good. Just finished her promotions for the new comeback. You’ve been listening?”

You make a noncommittal sound.

“Anyway, she mentioned they’re going on a tour soon.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm. Everything’s pretty hectic for her right now. Apparently their tour director is obssessed with this instrumental cover of their debut song. Is looking for the person behind it.”

Your eyes immediately go to the notification still sitting unread at the top of your screen. You open it, read through it quickly, eyes widening and thumb scrolling faster until you reach the end of the message. You lower the phone slowly.

You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It’s so cold in the underground, you can see your breath escape you. “That’s nice.”

“It is. Can you imagine being so good that they want you touring with the group?”

“I—I can’t.”

He stays quiet for a beat before whispering. “They’re asking about you again.”

“W—why?”

You hear an exasperated sigh from the other end. “Look—mom and dad miss you, are worried about you. I keep giving them lame excuses like how you’re busy—”

“I am busy.”

“So busy you can’t even visit?”

Silence.

You exhale, caving first. “I’m sorry. There’s no excuse.” The train halts at your station. You get up, check you didn’t leave anything before exiting and making your way off the platform. “I’ll find the time.”

“Just message them every now and then okay? It’s annoying having to answer all their questions about you.”

He hangs up.

The music starts playing through your headphones again. Her voice fills your ears again, soft and familiar, and now you can’t hear it the same way.

Your eyes drop to the notification still sitting open on your screen.

You step out into the streets, pulling your coat tighter against the cold. It’s empty, different from the mornings where people rush around to catch the train or flag down taxis but you’re used to this by now.

Your headphones starts beeping before dying.

“Dammit.”

You pull them off your head, letting it rest loosely against your neck. It’s quiet, something you’re not quite used to, always with your headphones on. Without them, the city feels eerie, like it’s been deserted.

You continue towards your apartment—until a familiar melody drifts through the steam of a nearby red tent food stall.

It’s her voice, stripped of its crisp sound you usually hear in your ears, mixing with the smell of tteokbokki and seeping through the red tent walls. You stop, your heart doing a strange, slow roll in your chest, and for the first time in years, you realise that you aren’t just listening to her, but you’re standing in the world she conquered.

You stay just outside of the tent, hidden from the owners , listening to her songs accompanied by loud food orders, and the clink of soju bottles against each other. A small smile tugs at your lips.

When she started auditioning, she always came to you after. Despite telling you she didn’t want you waiting outside, her face would light up seeing you there. She’d talk with her hands when she was excited, gesturing wildly about what she’d fix next time, barely pausing for breath. You never had to say much. Just listen while she figured it out herself.

You start walking again, the city feeling a lot smaller now.

You eventually make it to the crosswalk, pausing at the red light. Sixty seconds until you can cross. A bright light catches your attention and you look up to the advertisement board 30 feet in the air to see… her. Minju. Posing for an internationally recognisable clothing brand.

Warmth spreads across your chest.

She’s so different from a few years ago. Light makeup across her features and someone’s taught her how to pose for the camera. The clothes look expensive on her. Or she makes them look expensive, you’re not sure. They look good on her, better than good. The accessories—earrings, rings, bracelets—look like they’re worth more than your annual salary.

She’s thinner than you remember, paler too. Your heart aches at the thought of her overworking herself.

Underneath all that though, you still see glimpses of the girl from high school. The small part of her lips, like she’s halfway between a wide smile and a pout. And her ears. Almost elf-like. Protruding in such a way it’s become her most distinct feature.

Her eyes were puffy, the last time you saw her. Her head was down, like she was afraid to look at you. She would swing on the heels of her feet, occasionally brushing her hair to hide her ears that grew more and more red the longer you stared. Her hands were tight behind her back, like she was gripping something tightly. You never asked what it was.

The crosswalk light turning green breaks you out of your reverie. You look down, and see people walking towards you, and when you look back up to the screen above, she’s gone, replaced by a watch advert you don’t care for.

You shove your hands in your pockets, crossing the road, your mind racing with the email from earlier.

A familiar scent hits you. Citrus. Your head snaps back immediately… it’s not her. Just someone with the same shampoo as her.

Of course it wasn’t her. Why would it be? But the mere thought of her here hurts you more than you realise.

You could see her again.

You pull out your phone, opening the email again, thumb hovering over it.

The chair squeaks whenever you adjust your position, your bass rests on your thigh, and your hands are a bit sweaty as you continue tuning and plucking at the strings to get your calluses back. The other musicians tuning their own instruments, assistants running back and forth with items and clipboards, the rehearsal room already humid despite the AC running.

The door behind clicks open and the girls walk in, all casual and bare-faced. The scent reaches you first before anything else. Citrus. You look up from your bass, your eyes finding Minju. She’s the last to enter, dragging her feet along the polished floor, dropping her bag unceremoniously at her seat and heads to the snack bar at the far wall. You watch as her pale hand reaches out for a bottle before turning to her members.

“Does anyone want a bottle?”

All their hands shoot up. She grabs them one at a time, cradling them against her chest. Your eyes stay on her as she waddles her way to her position, the sound of tuning, the AC and the conversations between assistants fading out into a muffled blur. She yawns as she slowly hands them out, her eyelashes bright with tears. Your eyes travel lower, watching how the skin over her throat pulls tight, and the tendons in her neck flex as her mouth opens wide.

You’re so focused on Minju, watching as she flops onto her chair, that you don’t notice that you’re being watched. Your eyes follow the bottle as she hands it to Yunah. Your eyes connect with Yunah’s. There’s a knowing smirk on her face.

Your breath hitches, face flushing red as you look at anything but them, eyes going back to your bass, hands fiddling with the tuning pegs.

In your peripheral, you see Yunah shuffle on her chair, closer to Minju, the bottle covering her mouth as she leans over and whispers something, pointing with her eyes. Minju casually looks over. And her whole body goes rigid. You can’t look at her. Even when she abruptly stands from her chair, chair scraping back. Even when her mouth opens and closes without anything coming out. Your eyes stay on your bass.

Everything stills around you, her manager confused at her behaviour while Yunah laughs, legs lifting off the floor, hands clutching at her stomach.

Minju’s face burns a furious, bright red, bowing in apology to everyone before awkwardly sitting back down. She takes her bottle and unscrews the cap, taking huge gulps as the flush spreads to her ears. She gasps as half the bottle empties and her free hand goes to her hair, fingers threading them, combing them to cover her elf-like ears.

“You’re blushing,” Yunah says, delighted. “Already?”

Minju smacks her arm. Hard.

The rest of the girls start looking at you, giggling, and pushing her shoulders, making fun of her. Even your band members start looking, and you can’t help the flush darkening on your cheeks.

“Alright! Let’s get this rehearsal started!”

The director’s voice booms out of the speaker, his breathing caught by the microphone pressed against his lips.

You steal one more look at Minju, catching her looking back at you. Your eyes soften, mouth curling into a quiet, familiar smile. She smiles too, small and shy, as her eyes fall to her lap, playing with the bottle in her hands.

Her heart is loud, hammering against her ears, muffling the instructions from the director. Only when Yunah softly shoves her shoulder does the spell break. She grabs the microphone angling it closer to her mouth just as the rehearsal officially begins.

The high-octane energy from the start of the rehearsal dwindles to a slow, almost lethargic vibe. Your fingers are red and raw from the constant strumming and chord progressions, and sweat falls into your eyes and the nonstop action. Mistakes have become commonplace, from both sides. The crisp and professional backing from the band becomes dragging and lazy, and the girls are missing their timings or pitching wrong.

The fluorescent lights above become blinding, the incessant hum of the AC a nuisance especially due to its ineffectiveness. You pull on your shirt a couple times, to get air flowing across your body but it’s no use. You look around and everyone is in the same state. Yunah is falling asleep, and Wonhee is leaning up against Moka.

A heavy sigh from the speakers above turns your head towards the director, pinching at their nose bridge. “Alright. Let’s call it a day. Good work everyone.”

The second the microphone switches off, Minju slumps off the chair, collapsing onto the floor, resting her head heavily on Yunah’s leg. She lays there, a big yawn escaping her before she had time to cover her mouth with her hand. Her nose wrinkles, and her eyes squeeze into crescent shapes as she buries her face into Yunah’s thigh.

When she opens her eyes again, she sees you, your face soft and calm despite the matted hair on your forehead. Neither of you break eye contact, her breathing slowly becoming laboured just as her hands start fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt. Her eyes travel lower, stopping at your fingers and how red they are, the calluses she’s used to seeing in high school gone.

Their manager enters the room, clapping her hands, ushering them up on their feet. “Let’s go! The van’s waiting.”

You stay seated, even as the other members begin unplugging their instruments, putting them in their cases, rolling the cables into a tight spool before handing them to the assistants. Your eyes stay on Minju, as she’s pulled to her feet by Yunah, clumsily falling into her. You smile despite yourself, one hand moving to grab your guitar case beside you. Your fingers flip the latch up just as a band member pats your shoulder on their way out, gently placing your bass inside.

You look up as people begin filtering out, saying their goodbyes as you bow to each and everyone of them. The room grows quieter and emptier with every second. Until it’s just you and Minju, who stayed back, tying shoelaces that didn’t need to be tied. You look back down to your case, pushing the latches down, securing the case. You stand, eyes closed, hands at the small of your back as you stretch for a few seconds.

Your eyes open just as Minju finishes tying her shoelaces. She stands, dusting her knees off before hurriedly walking to you before her manager sees. You glance at her from the corner of your eye. She’s not looking at you, eyes trained on the floor as she makes her way over to you. There’s something in her hand, white and torn. Her fingers graze your palm before you can register it, leaving behind a small, torn corner of the lyric sheet.

Your head turns, following her as she walks to the exit, stopping briefly to look back at you. Her eyes intensely gaze back at you, cheeks flushed pink. There’s no smile on her face, her lips a thin, tight line, and her jaw is set.

Your hand tightens its grip on the piece of paper.

She turns back to the door and exits without another word.

You bring your hand with the paper up, slowly unfurling your fist and the paper inside. Scrawled in her rushed, yet familiar handwriting is a phone number. Her new phone number. And underneath that, a single time.

Your thumb gently traces the ink.

11:30PM

The bedroom door slams heavily shut. One hand grabs one end of the towel draped over your shoulders, rubbing the back of your head furiously. Your room is dark, save for the warm, yellow light from your bedside lamp and the cold, blue light from your phone as it vibrates awake on your desk. You pull the towel from your shoulders, throwing it into the hamper before making your way to grab your phone from its charger.

You glance at your phone. 11:25PM. Five minutes left. You’re pacing back and forth, going through what you’re going to say.

How have you been?

No. You’ve been following her since her debut, got updates from her brother. That wouldn’t work.

Your heart rate starts picking up, your phone slightly slipping from your grip with how clammy it’s gotten. You’re still scripting the conversation in your head, but every option feels forced or awkward. Like you’re strangers.

Your eyes travel back to your nightstand as your alarm clock flips from 11:25 to 11:26. Four minutes left. The silence in your room is heavy, suffocating, and is measured by the agonising slow crawl of the seconds ticking along.

The overhead departure board. The 5:45PM train to Seoul, already pulling in.

Her small shoes enter your vision. You look up. She’s bundled up in a new thick coat from her parents and a red, woolly scarf you bought her last year. You look at her face, at the small tears threatening to fall from the corner of her eyes, to her nose and her ears, both red from the cold winds.

You took one step forward, gently taking hold of the scarf, pulling it off her before adjusting its length.

“Seoul can be very cold. Make sure you dress warmly.”

You loop the scarf around her neck, your knuckles brushing her skin beneath her jaw—a touch that left her skin burning.

“And make sure you eat properly. Call me if you need any money.”

You don’t rush. Your fingers expertly tuck the loose ends over her chest, smoothing the fabric down until she’s bundled against the cold air.

“I’ll answer the phone. No matter what.”

Your eyes travel to hers. She hasn’t said anything but she’s staring at you intensely, as if she’s trying to memorise every little feature of your face: where your dimples are when you smile or your laugh lines around your mouth. Your hands and your eyes travel down her arms. You see her hands, hidden behind her back, her knuckles gripped so tightly around an envelope that they’re turning white. You squeeze her arms, your eyes finding her face again. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, just as she averts her gaze elsewhere.

The alarm on your phone rings violently in your hands. 11:30PM. You take a seat on the edge of your bed, clearing your throat.

You hit dial.

And she answers the phone on the very first ring.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

The silence stretches. Everything you had scripted evaporates at her first word.

“So—”

“How—”

You both pause mid-sentence, both cutting yourselves off. You feel your ears go red as you stare at the blank wall ahead of you.

She’s moving. You can hear rustling from the other end of the phone before she speaks again. “You go first.”

“Uh…”

What do you say?

“Y—Yunah… she was staring at me a lot during rehearsal.”

A muffled, embarrassed groan comes through the speaker.

“Th—that’s just how she is. She likes to tease me all the time.”

“Ah… okay.” You lean back until your shoulders hit your mattress. “So… are you two close?”

A pause.

She pulls the blanket over her head, phone sandwiched between her pillow and her ear in the dark. “Yeah… really close.”

“What did she whisper to you to make you stand straight up like that anyway?”

Minju freezes, remembering Yunah’s teasing comments about you. She tucks her legs closer to her chest, pulling more of the blanket over her. She forces her voice to sound casual whilst hiding her racing heart. “I… rather not talk about it.”

You smile softly. You want to probe further, but you’ll let it go. For now.

You spin on your bed until your head falls on the foot of the bed and your feet plant themselves on the wall just above the headboard. You close your eyes, breathing deeply before opening them again at the ceiling. It’s really white.

“Are they taking care of you? Properly?”

She doesn’t answer for a beat.

“Yes… we’re fine.” She hesitates, a small crack in her voice tells you she’s exhausted. “I have them. And the other groups. We all take care of each other.”

Her thumb moves to her mouth as she starts biting her fingernail. You’re quiet on the other end. She’s not sure if you believe her.

She turns again in her bed, lying on her front, head poking out of the blanket and her feet swinging in the air.

“Your hands… they were really red today. The calluses are gone.”

A self-deprecating chuckle filters through the phone. “Typing on keyboards isn’t the same as plucking strings.”

Another stretch of silence. Minju bites her lip, and an uncomfortable ache hits her chest when she realises you’re hurting yourself to be here.

“It’s okay. A few more rehearsals and they’ll get better.”

“R—right.”

The door to her room swings open, banging against the wall. “Unnie.”

Minju’s eyes widen underneath the blanket, her feet stop swinging, and her heart rate picks up. Panicking, she covers the microphone, whispering frantically, and breathlessly.

“I have to go. Someone’s here.”

“Okay. Goodn—”

The call abruptly disconnects with a dull click. You let the phone fall onto the mattress beside you as her voice echoes in your ear, a sharp contrast to the absolute silence in your dark room.

You push the door open to the now familiar rehearsal room. It’s early, barely 2:00PM. You hope to get some practice done before the session begins.

You’re wrong.

Minju and the others are already here, an hour early before the start time of 3:00PM, huddled together in a small circle on the floor. Your eyes find her instantly, just as she covers her mouth, laughing at something Moka said. The corners of your mouth curve upwards at how carefree she looks. Grey pullover hoodie, hood up, the fabric bunching behind her ears.

You walk to your seat, bowing to those who caught your eye, swinging the case onto the chair before unclasping the buckles. You pull your bass out, and when you look up, she’s already looking back at you. Her eyes soften, a small, quiet smile on her face.

You go to give her a subtle nod, but before you can, your peripheral vision catches Yunah, leaning back on her hands with a sly, knowing smile plastered across her face.

You look away instantly, clearing your throat while pretending to adjust your amp. Walking off to grab a stand from the corner of the room. Pulling the music sheet from your case. Flipping through the pages to find where you left off the day before.

Minju watches your head drop, fixated on the sheet music as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. She bites the inside of her cheek. Even from here, even with her glasses, she can see the light, pink flush crawling up the back of your neck.

“Minju, you’re not even listening,” Moka nudges her shoulder, breaking her concentration, returning her to the circle.

“I am,” Minju lies softly. Both her hands move inside the kangaroo pocket, to the small packet of flesh-coloured band-aids and the small tube of ointment. Her fingers play with them, turning them over as she figures out the best way to give them to you. Her heart hammers against her ribs, loud enough that the girls might hear. She glances at Yunah, who still sports that insufferable, knowing smirk.

Her eyes return to you as she gathers a breath, and pushes herself off the floor.

The laughter in the circle dies instantly. Four pairs of eyes track her as she slowly makes her way to you with an awkward, exaggerated gait, lifting her hip just to drag her unresponsive foot forward. She doesn’t look at them but the heavy weight of their silence feels suffocating. Her eyes stay fixed on you the whole way.

Her sneakers squeak against the polished floor, the noise tearing your eyes away from the sheet music and towards her approaching form. She watches as you smile that smile that gets her heart beating and her brain dizzy, your dimples softly coming out.

You stand just as she reaches you. Her hands, still in her pocket, pull out the ointment and band-aids, holding them out to you with outstretched arms. You look down at them before looking back at her face, bright and pink, and her eyes, stuck on you.

“For—for your hands. Your fingers. Tips.” She takes a deep breath, face hotter than before. “For your fingertips.”

You open your palm and stare at your fingers. Still red but the pain is mostly gone now. The calluses are starting to form.

“You—you need to take care of yourself. Your fingers aren’t used to the bass strings yet.”

You reach out to take them. Your fingers slide against hers. Her skin is soft. Yours aren’t. Your hands completely overlap hers, your palm pressed flat against her knuckles, fingertips gently grazing at her wrist. Her breath hitches, throat closing up as she stands there, frozen, eyes locked on your joined hands.

You don’t say anything. Staring at your hands, you tighten your grip on her ever so slightly, your thumb unconsciously caressing her fingers. Her hands are small and thin and pale compared to yours.

A sharp cough catches your attention. You look past Minju’s shoulder. At Yunah staring dead at them, eyes wide and alert and pointing to the small group of staff in the corner of the room, still oblivious at what’s happening.

Your eyes return to Minju, completely entranced by the sight of her hands in yours, not blinking the whole time. You gently kick her shoe.

“Hey,” you whisper, voice low and urgent. “Go back. They’re looking.”

Minju blinks once. Twice. Three times before nodding frantically, the flush reaching her ears as she reluctantly slips her hands out of yours, leaving the ointment and band-aids, and hurrying back to the circle.

The second she takes a seat, the other four girls swarm around her instantly, shoulders pressed together, forming a wall against the curious eyes of their manager. They whisper-hiss, bombarding her with frantic questions.

“What was that? You looked like you were about to faint.” Moka whispers.

Yunah smiles knowingly. “You got him a gift already? That’s bold. Even for you.”

Her head turns to each and every member as they ask their questions or make their statements. She pulls her hood down, hiding her red ears and crimson cheeks.

“You got it all wrong! He’s… he’s my brother’s friend. I’ve known him since I was young. That’s it.”

They all go quiet, exchanging looks between each other before they all turn to you, blowing on your fingers as you apply ointment to them.

“Alright everyone! Good job! See you next week.”

You all collectively release a sigh of relief.

The jitters from the first rehearsal sessions are gone, the pain in your fingers fade thanks in large to the band-aids. The rehearsal was much better. You smile whenever they hit their runs, laugh quietly with the band when one of them makes a mistake before nailing it with the next attempt. You’re more in sync now, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe.

You unplug your bass from the amp, laying it gently into its case. When you look up, they’re all staring at you, whispering into Minju’s ears as her face gets redder and redder.

They were staring at you a lot during the session. You wouldn’t have known if your shoulder wasn’t nudged by the guitarist beside you. He pointed with his chin to the other side of the room, to Yunah staring at you like a hawk, a small smirk plastered on her face. Or to Moka, who would turn smiling as soon as your eyes lock on hers.

“I think they like you.”

You laugh it off, looking back down at your bass. When you look up discreetly at Minju, she’s never looking at you, always at the floor or the director or the lyric sheets. You notice, however, throughout the session how her face burns bright, and the amount of empty water bottles scattered around her feet.

You lock the case, closing the clasps before rising to your feet, looking towards her. They’re all still looking at you, heads tilted, mouths parted like they want to ask you something.

“Good luck. See you at the next session.” You bow before them, turning and walking out the room.

The heavy, rehearsal room door clicks shut behind you, cutting the low murmur from the studio. You sling your bass case over your shoulder before making your way towards the elevators. You roll your shoulders, stiff after the 3 hour session, your fingers throbbing slightly under the band-aids, but as you ride the elevator down, the tension in your chest begins to subside. You smile at your reflection in the elevator doors. The rehearsal went well. The music finally working.

The door chimes open to the cafeteria level. You’re greeted by a vast, orange-bathed space from the setting sun. It’s early enough that you’ve managed to beat the usual dinner rush. The tables are mostly empty, and there’s no queue in front of you.

You hoist your case higher on your shoulder before pulling out a plastic tray from the stack. You step up to the first food counter when the distinct, sharp squeak of sneakers echoes around you, followed by a sudden rustling sound and Minju whispering.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

You turn your head just as she stumbles beside you, hands slamming on the stack of trays. She doesn’t look at you, instead turning to look behind her shoulders, eyes widening at the sight. You follow her gaze, to her members hiding behind a plant a few feet back. You see Yunah’s head peeking out, flashing a thumbs up before ducking out of sight, giggling with the others.

Minju turns toward you, eyes wide and throat dry as she tries to speak. “I—”

“You came to eat, right?”

She blinks a couple of times. “Huh? Y—yeah…”

She grabs a tray from the stack and begins to follow you as you slide yours along the rail. You lean over, grabbing stainless steel chopsticks, placing them gently on her tray and yours. You move along, thanking the staff when they hand you the food.

“I—”

You turn your head slightly, your hand reaching for her tray, sliding them both along as you wait for her to continue.

“I had to tell them about you… they wouldn’t stop asking. I’m sorry.”

You snort, grabbing two side dishes, one for each of them. “That explains why they were staring at me.”

She looks up, worried, her hands toying with the hem of her sleeves. “Is that okay? I—I can tell them to leave you alone—”

“I’m more worried about you.” You stop in place, and she bumps into you. “They’re going to ask you about me all the time now. Are you going to be okay with that?”

She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, both hands gripping her sleeves. Her knuckles turn white, and for a brief moment, you’re reminded of that day on the train platform. She looks up at you again, glasses slightly askew on her face, chin tucked slightly.

“Yes.” It slips out from under her breath, soft and airy but you hear it anyway.

You nod once, dragging both trays along, grabbing everything she loves without asking: kimchi, pickled radishes, beansprouts. Minju stares down at her tray as you work, a hot blush crawling up her neck as she watches your bandaged hand take care of her. The sleek, modern cafeteria dissolves, and for a split second, she’s back in high school, inside the noisy and suffocating cafeteria with questionable food, watching you do the same thing.

The pair of you finally reach the cashier and as you reach for your wallet, Minju reaches out, tapping her card against the reader. “My meals are already covered. This is my treat, Oppa.”

You narrow your eyes playfully at her before jerking your head towards the table. “Lead the way, sunbae.”

“Don’t say that again. Please. That was so weird.”

You laugh, loud and carefree. The few staff that were there all turning to look. You don’t notice, focusing on following Minju to her table.

You gently place your tray across from her. Your bass case slides down your arms, settling beside your chair. Your hand finds the pitcher on the table, and you’re pouring water in a glass for her before she settles on the chair. After placing the glass on her side, you take her plate, cutting her food into manageable pieces without speaking.

She watches you, her shoulders relaxing as she remembers how you used to do the same thing before. Her blush deepens and her hand finds the glass of water, immediately bringing it to her mouth as she takes a gulp. And another. Until it’s empty and she has to refill it.

You just did it. Without her asking.

A sudden burst of giggling breaks the silence. You look up just as Minju slides down her chair, pulling on the chords of her hoodie. Your mouth twitches at the corner as your eyes move above her head, at her members spying on you as they make their way to the cafeteria line. They’re slapping each others’ arms, hopping in place, barely holding it together. Your eyes move to Yunah beside them, corralling them into the line as her eyes stay on you.

Your eyes stay locked onto each other for a couple of seconds. She looks away first.

Her eyes stay on the pitcher, her hands gripping the table as she hears a plate being laid gently onto her tray.

“Eat up.”

She sits up fully on her chair, grabs the chopsticks before taking a bite of her freshly cut food. “They’re really stupid,” she murmurs, her lips curling into a small, fraction of a smile. “I’m sorry.”

You smile, adding more of your food onto her plate. “Don’t be.”

Sound engineers and stylists run around you in controlled chaos, last minute checks to make sure everything is perfect for the first night of the tour in Seoul. You feel the roar of the crowd through the walls and floor of the arena, vibrating through the soles of your shoes. The sound eclipses anything you’ve heard before as they wait for the concert to start.

10 minutes to go.

You sit on a heavy travel case just off to the side of the stage, your knees bouncing in a tight, restless rhythm that you can’t seem to stop, your palms damp with sweat that you’re constantly drying with the towel beside you.

A sudden flurry of footsteps turns your head to their manager making last minute requests before moving to the side. You watch as they walk in a single file line, stopping right in front of you, eyes focused, faces set. The comfortable, oversized hoodies and the no makeup look is gone, replaced by pristine stage outfits, and accessories that complement them.

Minju turns her head, eyes finding yours before they travel down to your bouncing knees and your wringing hands. Your eyes never leave her face, at the small jewels adorning just beneath her eyes and her lips, pink and plump.

You had to remind yourself to breathe.

“Nervous, Oppa?”

You almost didn’t hear her, all soft and quiet, a sharp contrast to deafening rumble of the arena. You keep your eyes locked on hers for a couple of seconds, giving her a helpless smile and a small, inconspicuous nod.

She doesn’t hesitate. Reaching into a small, hidden pocket in her outfit, she pulls something small and presses it into your palm, wrapping your fingers around it. Her hands are small but they feel like they encompass yours whole. Minju lingers for a second longer than necessary. You hook your pinky finger around hers like an anchor.

She pulls away just as the director shouts for the band to make their way to the stage. You stand and open your palm to see her favourite sweet strawberry candy, the same ones she had in a jar on her desk back in high school.

A gentle nudge from the drummer has you moving towards the stairs to the stage and you hear sounds of encouragement from the members. You make your way to your position, unwrapping the sweet, popping it into your mouth before picking up your bass.

The sound of fifteen thousand people screaming hits you the moment the first note is played. It’s a thrilling yet terrifying energy that pumps directly into your veins, removing any leftover butterflies from your stomach. By the fourth song, you stop counting. Your fingers move of their own accord across the strings, and you no longer need to look at the sheet music, the chords already seared into your brain from all the rehearsals. You aren’t just playing music, you’re flowing with it, following the drums and being completely swept away in the electric energy of the arena.

But no matter how fast you move to a new song or how loud the crowd screams, your eyes always find their way to centre stage.

It’s one thing seeing Minju on your phone screen, dancing to choreo she’s worked on thousands of times or singing against a backing track. It’s another watching her in person, carefree, eyes bright watching the front rows waving their lightsticks and singing along. She sings louder than she ever did in rehearsal, dances harder than you’ve ever seen and you can’t help the eye-reaching smile plastered on your face.

Your eyes stay locked on her form from behind, even as they complete their first ment. The way she’s sipping her water like she’s dying of thirst, her throat bobbing in a rhythm, the water falling to about halfway. How her hands move to her hair, fixing it before adjusting her in-ear piece. You watch as sweat slides down her temple, down to her cheeks, reflecting the bright and heavy stage lights.

Your chest swells at the sight.

The two hours fly by like it's nothing and as they come out again, this time for the encore, wearing their tour merch, you feel the roaring crowd fade. She has little accessories—butterflies—in her hair, and her t-shirt—the same one you’re wearing—hangs off one shoulder, exposing her milky skin.

You don’t listen to what’s happening, you can’t but when she turns to you and starts running, your hand grips the neck of your bass just a little tighter.

“And on the bass!”

That’s your cue. You stand and start playing a riff, the one that got you noticed in the first place. Your eyes close and your head bobs as you feel the crowd roar at the way you play. When you feel a hand on your shoulder, you open your eyes to Minju… right next to you. Her eyes are wide and happy, watching how your hands glide along the strings as she brings her microphone closer. She jumps in front of you, just as a cameraman arrives to capture the moment. Your eyes find her as she begins strumming an air guitar in front of you, laughing and snorting like it was the funniest thing she’s ever done.

And you can’t help the grin that escapes.

You hear gasps and screams from the crowd, and you look behind you at the giant screen. You see yourself and Minju having fun in this little bubble you’ve made for yourself. She’s suddenly beside you again while you were distracted. You watch through the big screen as she makes a heart with your cheeks, much to the delight of her fans and her members.

Your hand slips, and misses a chord.

She’s laughing, doubling over at your mistake before she’s dragged away by Moka back to the centre of the stage.

Your eyes stay on her as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your ears feel warm and red as your heartbeat drowns everything out.

You look back down at your strings. Find your place. Keep playing.

But your eyes go straight back to her.

The noise from the newly arriving fans dull in this corridor just off the main stage. It’s quiet, no foot traffic whatsoever, a haven to get your bearings straight after slightly overdoing it during the soundcheck half an hour ago.

You jump up on one of the heavy cases pressed against the wall of the corridor, rolling one of your shoulders and stretching out your fingers. There’s a dull ache in your bones, a soreness in your muscles that wasn’t there during the first night at Seoul. You rub your neck with both hands as you hear the faint shouts of the tour coordinators.

The stop at Osaka has been a mess. A late arrival at the venue meant everyone is rushing. Gear has gone missing too, lost in transit from Korea. You feel the tension from the staff, the constant pacing around, the little arguments from the tour director and the managers.

You close your eyes momentarily before opening them at the sound of rushed footsteps.

Minju.

You notice the slight tiredness surrounding her, the slightly heavier layers of concealer under her eyes masking the bags underneath. She’s paler, skinnier too. You don’t remember the last time she or her members had a decent meal. When her eyes find yours, you watch her face relax, her shoulders drooping because she knows she doesn’t have to be the perfect idol in front of you.

You offer her a tired smile, your hand finding its way to your pocket, fiddling with a small box. “That bad, huh?”

She drags her feet as she makes her way towards you. “Some of the makeup has been lost, some of the outfits too.” She takes a deep breath. “The stylists put together something for us but the director isn’t happy about it.” She’s closer now. Just a couple inches away. She lifts her arms up like she’s asking for a hug.

“Uh…”

You hesitate for a moment, and her face contorts, as if she just realised what exactly she was asking. How bad it would’ve been for both of you if you were caught.

You don’t let her pull away.

“Come here.”

She takes the final few steps towards you, walks between your legs as she wraps her arms around your shoulders, yours finding their way to her waist. Your nose presses against the crown of her head. Citrus.

“This reminds me of when we were young.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, voice muffled against your shirt.

“Your mom always likes to tell this story. How you’d find me first before finding her. Or your dad.”

You feel a puff of air against your neck.

“I still do.”

You stop breathing for a second, your heart beating a mile a minute.

“You still do.”

The both of you could’ve stayed like this for five minutes or fifty. But eventually someone would come for her. And take her away.

“I got something for you.”

She lifts her head up, arms still surrounding you, fingers interlaced against the back of your neck. Your arms reluctantly leave her waist. You dig your hands into one of the pockets, pulling out a small box.

You open it for her to reveal a metallic pin in the shape of a duck. “I got it during my free time. It reminded me of you.”

“Because people say I look like a duck?”

It’s your turn to huff air. “Exactly.”

One of her hands leaves your neck, her fingers tracing the pin lightly like it would break.

“I love it. I—”

“Minju!”

You both turn to Yunah, standing there, hands on her waist.

Minju jumps back, her hand grabbing the pin but leaving the box in yours.

Yunah’s eyes travel between the two of you before landing on the box in your hand.

“Did you propose to her or something?”

“I—” You couldn’t get the words out fast enough.

“Whatever. Minju, they’re looking for you.”

“R—right.”

Yunah quickly interlaces her arms with Minju, dragging her off before either of you could explain.

Fukuoka. Or is it Manila? You don’t know anymore.

It’s late at night. The perfect time to haul a girl group to their next stop on the tour without the media getting involved. You’re walking briskly to your gate, gritting your teeth as your arm burns from lugging your bass case around. The airport is practically empty. It’s bright and sterile and it hurts your eyes.

You stare ahead of you, at Minju slowing down, separated from her group. You jog lightly to her, telling her to hop onto your suitcase. She hesitates for a few seconds before climbing on, legs wrapping around the handle. You squeeze your case onto her lap before pushing the suitcase towards the gate.

You don’t look at her, can’t look at her as she rests her head against your arm. “Get some rest on the plane.”

She can only hum in agreement, eyes closing as you continue pushing. By the time you reach the boarding queue, she slips off the suitcase and blends back in with her members before her manager can even turn around.

Forty-eight hours later and you’re back in another airport, jetting off to a new country just hours after finishing the concert. The exhaustion isn’t a dull ache anymore but a physical weight. Your eyes travel to Moka, asleep on Yunah’s lap, laying across the chairs in front of the boarding gate.

You see movement in the corner of your eye. Minju’s making her way towards you. Your eyes track her and the way her movements are sluggish, eyes barely open, you know she’s not far away from collapsing in exhaustion. She moves to sit next to you, and you turn away, her head landing softly against your back. Almost immediately she’s asleep, her breathing heavy and steady and you feel her face twitch every few minutes.

For a brief moment, you’re reminded of the bus ride back to her home.

You unfurl your jacket resting on the chair beside you, draping it over your back, covering her from prying eyes and blinding lights.

You don’t move even when your back is begging to be stretched, keen to let her get some rest before the next destination.

By the time the flight number crackles over the PA, she stirs with a quiet groan. She sits up, the tent covering her falling squarely on her shoulders. She wipes at her mouth, staring at your back.

“I drooled on you.”

You move to crouch in front of her, pulling your jacket tighter around her small frame, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“Don’t worry about it.”

You help her stand, pushing her gently to where her manager is and boards with the rest of the first class ticket holders.

London. The last stop.

The cabin is entirely dark, the heavy curtains drawn separating the first class idols from the staff and the band in economy. You look down at your watch. Three in the morning. Everyone is asleep.

Everyone except Minju.

You came back from the toilet to see her in your seat by the emergency exit, legs tucked underneath her with a blanket draped over her thighs. She’s staring blankly out into the night sky, only turning to you when she sees your shadow. She doesn’t tense up, just pats the seat beside her in a silent invitation.

You sit beside her, the sound of snoring and the hum of the plane engines the only thing you hear. She drapes the blanket over your legs before leaning her head against your shoulder. Her breathing begins to slow into that familiar rhythm, warm air blown onto your neck.

As she settles beside you, her hands clinging to your arm, the oversized cardigan shifts, exposing her shoulder and collarbone.

Your eyes track the movement, and as you reach out to return it to its position, your breath hitches.

Fastened securely on the shirt is the cheap, metallic duck pin from Osaka. She’s been wearing it all this time.

You look down at her face, soft and completely defenseless in the dim cabin light, and the lie you keep telling yourself shatters. You’re not doing this out of habit. Not doing this because you’re her overprotective friend from her childhood.

You are completely, dangerously in love with her.

You reach up to turn off the lights. Your hand grips the armrests hard as you listen to her soft snores along with your beating heart.

You don’t sleep the entire journey.

Your hand drags along the wall as you make your way back to your hotel room. It’s quiet except for the muffled sounds of your footsteps on the carpeted hallway.

It’s done. The final concert finished. The band wanted to celebrate so you found yourself at the hotel bar, drinking and laughing with more energy than during the concert itself. You’re not much of a drinker, only having one beer before calling it a night at 11:30PM.

You pull your wallet out of your back pocket, taking out your hotel key card before freezing as you round the corner. You hear your heart in your ears as you look at Minju, drowning in a hoodie, standing in front of your door, hand raised like she was about to knock.

She hesitates.

You slowly walk up to her, the soft crunch of your shoe against the carpet alerting her to your presence. You hear a sharp intake, her hand hiding behind her as she turns to face you, back pressed against the door. She watches as you get closer and closer until you’re crowding her, invading her space like you’ve never done before in all the time she’s known you. Minju inhales deeply, a faint scent of beer on your clothes and the heat coming off your body is suffocating.

You stare down at her, waiting for her eyes to meet yours, and when they do, you see it. Her face free of makeup, the heavy bags under her eyes, skin a sickly pale hidden under the hallway light. She’s breathing heavily and there’s a slight wobble in the way she stands.

“Oppa… I’m tired.”

You look at her, really look at her and how she looks smaller than she did on stage. Your hand moves, cupping her cheek through the hoodie, and she stares up at you, releasing a heavy sigh as her glasses slightly lift, relaxing into your hand even as her legs wobble faintly.

Your free hand places the key card onto the scanner, hearing the audible click as you push down on the handle, opening the heavy hotel room door.

Her hands hold onto yours as she slowly steps backwards into the dark room, a sharp contrast from the bright hallway. You walk with her, turning when the door swings shut behind you to lock it. You kneel, untying your shoelaces, pulling off the shoes without any care. Your hands find her shoes as you spin on the spot, untied, no socks, like her coming here wasn’t planned. Her hands find your shoulders gripping them tightly as you lift one foot up, sliding the shoe, and placing her pale foot carefully onto the carpeted floor before doing the same to the other foot.

You slowly rise until you tower over her again. You reach out for her shoulder, your hand slowly sliding down her arm until it reaches her hand, covered by the sleeve of her oversized hoodie. Your other hand comes up, pulling the sleeve up her arm so you can hold her hand.

The room is too dark to see anything, save for the light coming from the streetlight just outside your window but the sharp intake of breath, the too tight grip on your fingers tells you everything you need to know.

You spin the both of you around, and slowly take steps backwards towards the bed, guiding her along. It’s only four or five steps and yet her feet drag along the carpet, and her knees buckling with every footstep. When the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you sit down, pulling her even closer until there is nothing but a couple of inches between you, her hands releasing yours, flying to your shoulders. She pushes off your shoulders and sits beside you, shoulders brushing together as the both of you instantly slouch.

Neither of you look at each other. Instead, you face the mirror in front of you, and as she starts speaking, you watch her through it—you take in her legs, skinny and pale, her glasses that are still crooked from when you held her cheek, and her face—gaunt, and completely unguarded.

She continues talking but you don’t hear anything, a painful ache in your chest as you stare at her exhausted frame. And yet, despite all that, she’s never been more beautiful.

You turn to face her, and when you do, her voice filters through your ears, tired and raspy.

“I wasn’t sure I would’ve made it without you.”

She turns to look at you, a small smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her wet eyes. Her mouth opens again but the words die in her throat as she spots your trembling hand, reaching out to cup her cheek under the hood. This is different. You’ve always been the strong one, the one she could hide behind when things got rough… and you’re trembling.

A single tear slips down her face. Your thumbs catches it, wiping it away slow and featherlight against her cheekbone as you let out a shaky, unraveled exhale.

Your eyes fall from her face, travels along her hoodie until it lands on the metallic duck pin. Your free, shaking hand reaches for it, your thumb rubbing over the metal, mesmerised. And she watches you do it in absolute silence, watches as your eyes soften further at the sight of your gift pinned proudly.

When you lift your gaze to meet hers again, your eyes so wide and deep. She peers into them, feeling herself tear up just at the sight, like everything she wanted was held there, staring right back at her.

The hand on her cheek moves, pushing her hood down, smoothing her hair before both hands gently take her glasses off, setting them somewhere safe. Your hand returns to her cheek as you descend slowly, eyes trained on her pale lips. She inhales deeply, and when you were just a breath away, her eyes close.

You close the distance quick, the kiss more forceful than you intended, moving her head back slightly as you pour everything into it. Her lips are soft against yours, and as she begins pushing back, as her hand fists your shirt tightly and as yours finds the back of her head, you wonder how her lips fits so perfectly with yours.

You pull away and she hiccups, the sound echoing around the room. You can’t help the adoring smile on your face, the dimples prominent on your cheeks. It was only for a few seconds before her hands grab your head, her thumbs digging into the dimples as she pulls you right back in.

You feel wetness on your cheeks. You’re not sure from who. She’s slowly falling backwards, leaning against the headboard as both your hands find themselves underneath her hoodie, your fingers trailing up her waist, finding the warmth of her skin underneath.

Your hands were like fire on her skin slowly pushing the fabric higher and higher until you both had to separate, her arms coming up to assist you in removing the offending item. You pull it off, tossing the hoodie onto the floor and when your gaze returns, her arms are already hiding herself, her eyes looking anywhere but at you.

“Minju…”

She takes a deep breath, her chest rising as she pulls her arms tighter around herself. The room is still dark save for the streetlights bathing her in a white light.

She looks ethereal.

Your thumbs find her wrists, gently caressing the bone before the rest of your fingers wrap themselves around them.

“Look at me, Minju.”

Her eyes slowly find your face. Her heart threatens to break her ribs and the flush on her skin travels everywhere. She feels you pulling her arms away from her chest and she lets you, without resistance.

You drop her arms by her side, taking hold of her waist and pulling her down until she lies flat on the mattress. You just… look at her. At the way her eyes stay trained on you, at her parted lips, releasing her warm breath in the space between you, at the goosebumps littered along her chest.

You carefully crawl above her, catching her lips in yours just as her arms go round your neck, pulling you flushed against her. She moans into your mouth as your tongue enters hers.

But your mouth doesn’t stay there long, moving lower, pressing featherlight kisses on her chin, down her neck. Your breath is warm. That’s the first thing she registers. Warm and unhurried and careful in a way that makes her throat tight, her breathing erratic and shallow, especially when your lips find the swell of her breasts. Her head falls back onto the pillows when you take a stiff peak into your mouth and her eyes shut tight, relishing in the pleasure.

Minju’s spent years imagining this and none of it prepared her for how gentle you are. How you move like you have all the time in the world. Like she is someone worth taking time for. The slow kisses on her ribs, down her stomach and her hipbone as you slowly peel her shorts down. It’s unexpected and expected at the same time. Her heart swells just like that time in the bakery. Except this time, you're reciprocating which is more than she could’ve ever hoped for.

She feels your breath before anything else.

Her hand finds your hair without deciding to.

You can’t help the smile on your face as you continue your work. At the way her hand grips your hair tighter, pulling you closer, at her breathy sighs, muffled by her thighs clamping around your ears. And when you push a finger inside, when her hips lift off the bed and your free hand holds her down, her stomach tensing underneath, something in your chest comes undone. Like a dam has been broken.

It doesn’t take long for her thighs to start trembling, for her moans to turn to whimpers, sharp and loud. The two fingers inside are coated with her, and the hand on her stomach? Moved to one of her breasts, held there by her own. The feeling is so overwhelming, she can’t think straight, can’t get her breathing in order, can’t loosen the grip on your hair no matter how hard she tries. It’s too much. Your fingers, your tongue, your—

“Minju…”

Without warning, she lets go. Her legs have stopped shaking, and the whimper is caught in her throat. Her eyes are wide, her mouth covered by both her hands as she cranes her neck to look at you, still working, still prolonging like you don’t want her to stop feeling this. And when you finally lift your head, and she sees herself around your mouth, she forgets every word.

You pull the hem of your shirt—the merch from the first stop—and you wipe your mouth before pulling it over your head, carelessly thrown somewhere on the floor. The rest of your clothes follow without ceremony and before you know it, you’re over her again, cheeks flushed, sweat forming at her temple and her hair spread across the pillow.

You’re right there. She can feel the heat emanating and twitch as you inch closer and closer. Your rough, callused hand slides along her thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as you wrap her around your waist, her foot settled on the small of your back. She looks into your eyes, pupils dilated, like your focus is on her and only her. Not idol and bassist.

And not best friend’s little sister.

She nods faintly, giving you permission and as you slowly push in, as she gasps by your lips as you move deeper, you kiss her, catching her moans in your mouth. Your hand leaves her thighs, wiping away the tears as you push all the way in. You wait until she’s ready, watching as she tries to keep her breathing under control.

“Please…”

You start moving, your pace slow because you don’t want this to end. Her nails dig into your shoulders and the noises coming out of her mouth become more frequent and louder the longer you go. You lean your forehead on hers, both of you breathing heavily, mixing in the small space between you. Both your eyes refuse to look away from the other as if all the unspoken words finally have somewhere to live.

She’s getting close, you can feel the way she tightens around you, and you’re close too. You take her lips as you spill inside her and her nails dig deeper into your skin as she follows shortly after, clenching around you rhythmically, taking everything from you.

You lift your head to look at the alarm clock on the night stand opposite you.

4:30AM.

You lay your head back down onto the pillow beneath, pressing your nose against the back of Minju’s head, inhaling her scent. She’s pressed flush against you, back against your chest and your arm tightens its hold along her stomach, fingers tracing every inch there is. Her breathing is even, and her soft snores are the only noise you hear. The blanket is draped over both your waists, the room too hot after what happened.

You can’t believe what you did.

And yet.

Knock, knock, knock

The pair of you jolt upright, eyes wide and breathing heavily. You wait a few seconds, swallowing the lump in your throat before stepping out of bed. You pull on a pair of sweatpants before padding your way towards the door, opening it just a crack.

You shut your eyes against the bright light and find Yunah standing there, still in her pyjamas with a baseball cap on, covering her eyes. She tilts her head up, not once making eye contact with you as she speaks into the dark hotel room.

“Minju, you have to leave. Manager’s waking up soon to do room checks, to make sure we’re all here.”

You continue to look at Yunah and she keeps avoiding your eyes as you both hear Minju stumbling off the high mattress, scrambling to find her clothes tossed on the floor. You hear a bang, likely from Minju slamming her shoulder on the wardrobe as she pulls her shorts on, and just like that, she’s running to the door, legs still shaky and sore from the night, hands smoothing over her clothes as she tries to make herself look presentable.

As she reaches the door, Yunah immediately grabs her arm firmly, pulling her out into the bright hallway. You watch as she’s dragged to the elevator and just as she’s about to disappear behind a corner, she steals one last glance at you. Gone is the paleness in her cheeks, replaced by a warm pink flush.

“Oh! Oh, look at this!”

Minju’s parents gather around her chair as she shows them photos of everywhere they’ve been. Tourist attractions, the food she ate, even some behind the scene photos of the concerts. You look at the widening smiles from both her parents’ faces and you can’t help the one growing on your own, despite the fact you haven’t stopped wringing your hands since you got here.

It’s only been a week since London and not once have you ever been this nervous having dinner with practically your second family. Your eyes fall to the table at the sharing plate filled with cut up fruit from her mom. You grab a fork, stabbing a piece of pear before depositing it into your mouth, chewing it slow and methodical.

Eventually, you get up, the chair scraping backwards as you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. When you finish, opening the door to leave, Minju’s standing right there at the entrance. You jump back slightly, her hand finding and gripping your wrist firmly before dragging you into her childhood bedroom, only letting go to close the door behind you.

She turns around, watching you slowly making your way to sit on the edge of her bed like you always do, except you don’t have a bass in your hand and you’re not playing soft background music and she’s not doing homework on the desk by the opposite wall. Instead, you look at her intensely, making her squirm underneath and her face to flush and she pulls her hair in front of her face because everything is different now.

“Are you okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Minju doesn’t answer. Just starts moving, eyes on the floor, pacing the small length of her room, rambling underneath her breath. You had to strain your ears to catch only a few words of what she’s saying—comeback, new choreography, content filming. Her hands start waving around, her quiet steps become loud stomps and you know she’s heated. And she knows she can’t show this to anyone else.

You don’t interrupt. Don’t offer her solutions. Just tracking her with your eyes.

After a couple minutes, you stand, moving yourself into her path. Her eyes are still on the floor when she bumps into you, her forehead against your chest. You wait. Until her breathing evens out and her shoulders sag before wrapping her in your arms, one hand at the small of her back and the other cradling the back of her head against your chest. She’s still talking, muffled in your shirt but even that subsides eventually.

You rest your cheek on the top of her head when you notice it. On her bookshelf, leaning against her action figures is an envelope, worn at the edges, your name written in cursive writing. You lift your head, and she whines at the loss of contact, but you’re squinting to get a better look at it, taking one step and accidentally taking her with you.

“S—sorry.”

You release her head from your chest as she turns in your hold, following your gaze to the letter she’s kept all these years, not touched since the day she left for training.

She pulls your hand off her, walking to the bookshelf, fingers trembling as she reaches for it. She turns to you, back pressed against the shelf as her eyes stay on the letter, unopened.

“I didn’t know what to write so I’m just going to say it. I like you. For as long as I can remember.”

She takes a deep breath before continuing, voice shaky.

“You always made me feel like I was someone worth paying attention to. I just wanted you to know.”

She only looks up when your shadow covers the letter in her hands. You reach for her hand, holding the letter between the two of you.

“You should’ve given it to me.”

She doesn’t say anything, just clutches at the letter and your fingers tightly as she stares into your eyes. You lower your head until your lips are just inches from hers. She takes them in hers, eyes squeezed shut, her other hand finding its way onto your cheeks as you hold onto the bookshelf behind.

You both drop the letter between you, her now free hand finding your waist as you let her pull you closer.

You freeze, pulling your lips away from hers when you hear footsteps just outside her door. She’s still holding you flush against her and you’re still crowding her. You should step back. If they find you like this… but one look into her eyes and you know she doesn’t care if you’re caught.

When the footsteps recede back downstairs, you both huff out a laugh. She’s rubbing your cheek as you pepper her face with small pecks everywhere: nose, eyebrow, forehead.

You whisper against her lips. “Do you want to play LoL?”

She looks at you with wide eyes. “Do you even know how to play?”

You smile, pressing another kiss onto her forehead.

“No. But you can teach me.”