Backlash

You hit send on the last tweet and lean back, grinning at your phone screen.

"y'all really thought yunjin's high notes were good?? lmao the girl sounds like a dying cat. she should stick to looking pretty (barely) and let the real singers handle it"

The replies are already rolling in. Death threats, mostly. A few promises to plant a bomb in your mail. One person saying they're going to cut your brake lines.

The usual.

You scroll through them with satisfaction, occasionally quote-tweeting the most unhinged ones with a skull emoji or a simple "mad cause I'm right huh?"

It's been a good night. You've been at this for hours—Le Sserafim's performance at the awards show was a goldmine. Yunjin's voice cracked during the bridge, Sakura tripped while dancing, and Chaewon sneezed mid-note leading to a beautiful freeze frame. You've picked apart every second of it across multiple threads, each one racking up thousands of interactions.

Your follower count has jumped by three hundred. Your notifications are a never-ending stream of fury.

God, this is so easy.

You screenshot a particularly violent death threat—someone promising to find your address and "gut you like a fish"—and post it with the caption: "damn, lesserafim stans can't take some criticism nowadays"

You finally set your phone down around 2AM, still filled with the joy that comes from successfully pissing off thousands of people with no repercussions. Your mentions are a dumpster fire. Your DMs are full of threats.

You sleep like a baby.

You wake up to nothing.

No sound, no obvious reason. Just that animal-brain instinct that something is off.

Your room is dark. The only light comes from your phone charging on the nightstand, a faint glow that barely illuminates anything. You blink, disoriented, trying to figure out what woke you—

There's someone in your doorway.

Your heart drops into your stomach.

A figure, standing completely still. Just stanced up in the darkness like something out of a horror movie, silhouetted against the dim hallway light. Tall, slender, and unmoving.

You make a sound. Not words, just a confused grunt, and you're starting to sit up when the figure moves.

Fast.

She launches herself at you, (you barely have time to register it's a she), before the weight hits you, knocking you back down into the mattress. Hands grab your shirt, yank you upward, and then there's a fist connecting with your face.

Pain explodes across your cheek. Your head snaps to the side.

"You piece of shit—"

Another hit. This one catches your jaw and you taste copper, feel your teeth cut into the inside of your mouth. You're still trying to process what the fuck is happening when she hits you again, and this time survival instinct kicks in.

You shove. Hard. Catch her off-balance and she stumbles back off the bed, and in the split second of space you scramble up, hands raised.

The hallway light is just bright enough now that you can see her face.

Holy shit.

"Yunjin??"

"Yeah." She steadies herself, and even in the darkness you can feel the fury radiating off her. "Surprise, asshole."

This isn't real. This can't be real. You're still asleep, having some fucked up nightmare brought on by all those death threats—

She comes at you again and you dodge, barely, feeling her fist whistle past your ear. Your back hits the wall. She's fast, faster than you expected, and she's aiming for your face again but you duck and her knuckles crack against the wall behind you.

She swears—in English, then Korean—and you use the opening to shove past her, trying to get to the door, but she grabs the back of your shirt and yanks. You go down hard, knees hitting the floor, and then she's on top of you, trying to pin you down.

"You fucking—stay still—"

"Get off me you stupid—" You twist, manage to throw her off-balance enough to roll, and suddenly you're the one on top, straddling her, and you grab her wrists to stop her from hitting you again.

She bucks. Hard. Almost throws you off, and you have to use your weight to keep her pinned. But she's strong, core tight from years of dancing, and she's gets a leg up between you and kicks. 

You go flying backward, hit your dresser, and the impact knocks the air out of your lungs.

Can’t breathe. Can’t think. Just scramble to your feet as she gets up too, and you’re both standing there in your bedroom, breathing hard, and this is insane. This is fucking insane.

“How did you—”

“Shut up.” She spits blood—you must have gotten her mouth at some point—and wipes her lips with the back of her hand. “You’ve been running your mouth all night. Thought you were safe, huh? Thought you could just say whatever the fuck you wanted?”

“It’s just—it’s just Twitter—”

“Just Twitter?” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’ve been doing this for months. Every performance, every interview, every goddamn thing we do, you’re there talking shit. Making up lies. Calling me—”

She comes at you again and this time you’re ready. You catch her arm, use her momentum to swing her around, and she slams into the wall. Not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to stun her for a second.

You should run. You should be running right now, getting the hell out of your apartment, calling the cops—

But you don’t.

“You can’t just break into someone’s house—”

“Watch me.” She pushes off the wall, grabs you by the collar, and this time when she punches you, you feel something in your nose crack.

Blood. Immediate and hot, pouring down your face, and the pain is blinding. You swing wildly, more instinct than aim, and connect with something soft. She makes a sound—hurt or surprised, you can’t tell—and her grip loosens.

You shove her. She stumbles backward, trips over something on your floor, and goes down. You’re on her immediately, pinning her shoulders, and for a second you think you’ve won—

Then she gets her legs up, wraps them around your waist, and flips you.

You land hard on your back, all the air driven out of your lungs again, and then she’s straddling you. Sitting on your stomach, weight pressing down, and when you try to buck her off she leans forward, plants her hands on your chest, and puts all her weight on you.

Can’t move. Can’t breathe properly with her pressing down on your ribs.