Truth Or Dare

The day has already begun. The studio hums with that particular kind of chaos that looks effortless only from far away. Lights warm the air, stylists drift around Nayeon like a flock of birds, and you stand at the edge of it all with your eyes set on her.

Then your attention drifts outward. You count the staff without seeming to, cataloging faces you’ve seen before and a few you haven’t. You look relaxed, almost bored, but you catch everything. Nayeon’s gaze flicks toward you between takes and studies the slight tilt of your head. She tries to guess who you’re tracking, what you’re thinking, what’s hidden behind the sunglasses you refuse to take off.

“Oppa,” she calls for you as the stylists finishes what they were doing before taking a step back to give you and Nayeon some space.

You calmly walk up to her seated on the chair. “Yes, Nayeon?”

“You can take off your sunglasses now, you know? We’re inside.”

“I have it on for a reason.”

“Oh,” she says under her breath, lips folding tight as her eyes stay on you. Nayeon tries to keep her composure, but the laugh breaks through anyways. You don’t quite understand the reason, only the way the air shifts, how nearby conversations thin out as a few curious glances drift your way from anyone nearby.

“What are you laughing about?” you ask, brows pulling together slightly.

“Nothing, it’s just kind of funny that you’re wearing sunglasses inside.”

You didn’t find it funny enough to be something worth laughing about, but she did for whatever reason.

“Okay?”

“Sorry,” she says, the laughter fading into something lighter as you meet her gaze through your sunglasses. “You look bored though. I just wanted some small talk.”

“Okay?” you repeat, a touch flatter the second time. You can be blunt on the job, and it isn’t like Nayeon is unfamiliar with that. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“No,” she replies. The pause that follows stretches just long enough to be felt, then she laughs again, openly this time, at your expense, while the stylists return and begin working through her hair in front of you.

“What are you laughing about?” the stylist asked Nayeon.

“Oh, don’t you think Oppa’s a little quiet today?”

The stylist looks over to your unfazed figure leaning against the wall, then back to Nayeon. “A little. But it’s nothing new. Why are you trying to annoy him? Just leave him be.”

“Exactly,” you murmur.

“Exactly,” Nayeon copies, turning your tone into a mockery of itself before she laughs again.

This is where impulse slips past your restraint. The instant she mocks you, a quiet plan starts forming at the back of your mind.

“Sorry. May I have a word with Nayeon in private?” you ask the stylist. Your voice stays low, even, edged with the kind of authority you only use when it matters. The request alone is enough to shift the air. You almost never ask for privacy. When you do, it is never casual, but this time, you intend to play with the moment a little.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” the stylist says calmly, setting the brush on the dresser before stepping away.

“What’s wrong, Oppa?” Nayeon says like she’s in trouble.

“Come over tonight,” you quietly say. And neither was it a question.

“For?”

You have something up your sleeve that she can’t say no to. “Let’s drink together. Just you and me. Jihyo bought me an expensive wine bottle. I want you to try it out.”

What Nayeon doesn’t know is, you and Jihyo finished the wine already. You’re just setting the bait for her to bite.

“Is it good?” she ask.

“It’s smooth. I think you’ll like it.”

Nayeon thinks it over, “Hmm, okay, I could go for some wine.”

She easily gave in. You expected that. Nothing new.

She studies you for a moment, then asks, “But what do you plan on doing after?” There’s an edge beneath the question, the sense that she thinks she already knows the answer. You aren't exactly hiding that you want to sleep with her, and maybe she senses the honesty in it, which unsettles her more than any lie could. The sunglasses stay on, and she cannot read the look in your eyes. That absence becomes its own kind of presence. The longer she keeps talking, the more her words knot together, until even she seems to lose the thread of what she was trying to ask.

“Whatever’s on your mind, Nayeon.”

“Huh?” she laughs.

You wonder, briefly, if she’ll still be laughing later, if that brightness will soften into something quieter once she’s alone with you. Whether the lights are on or off hardly matters. The thought of her moans comes easily uninvited in your mind. You’ve always wondered what she’s like in bed. Yet, you stand there with your eyes on her, calm, professional, your face arranged in that careful neutrality as if the idea has never crossed your mind before.

You crave her. So bad.

“If you want to go home after, I won’t stop you. I’m not expecting anything,” you say, calmly.

It is a quiet gamble. You pretend to step back just enough to make the space noticeable. By giving her room to leave, you make staying feel like something she chooses for herself. You remove the pressure and let restraint do the persuading.

Or in simplicity, it’s reverse psychology that you didn’t really intended, but if it works, it works.

She thinks quietly, and the longer she does, the heavier her thoughts become. Nayeon knows you are not asking her to stay, not really, yet the space you leave feels intentional, almost persuasive in its restraint. That absence begins to pull at her.

“I guess I’ll stay a little longer,” she promises. “Probably sober up if we do drink more than intended. You’ll have to take me home anyways.”

“Yeah, I can drop you off,” you say, cool and even, turning away to signal the stylist back to their work, already certain you won’t need to insist on anything else. There’s still hope that she’ll decide to stay the night.

“Oppa, can you stay near?” she says, assuming that you’ll walk away and go back to where you positioned yourself.

“Okay. Understood.”

“Alright!” the director speaks up to get everyone’s attention, “Let’s be ready in five minutes to take the final pictures and wrap it up for today!”

——

As the photoshoot drifts toward its end, your attention settles on Nayeon from behind the dark cover of your sunglasses. You let yourself look at Nayeon longer than you should. It wasn’t why you put them on, but they serve their purpose well enough. No one can track your eyes. Her legs are long and bare, and the thought of feeling those gorgeous thighs of hers refuses to leave your mind.

You imagine what Nayeon has to offer. Her hair is immaculate, styled within an inch of perfection, and you linger on the moment it would come undone, fingers in it, strands clinging to her face by the time the night settles in. Beneath your restraint, the thought is simple and almost crude in its honesty. She’s pretty. Soft at the edges, disarming, yet warm in a way that pulls at you, innocent enough to make you wonder how much would it take to ruin that innocent vibe. It’s impossible not to picture the side of her no one else gets to see.

Even that smile makes you want to be gentle, though your mind is still full of the reckless thoughts. You want to trace the line of her jaw gently, linger on her lips without touching them, let her feel seen rather than used. And yet, every part of you still aches with the selfish desire you can’t fully deny, the urge to pull her close and let the heat of the moment take over. It’s a careful balancing act, watching her, wanting her, wanting to be more than what your instincts are screaming for. And somehow letting both of you to coexist in your bed, in your arms, in your very own tempo.

“Sir,” Nayeon’s manager calls out while you’re in thought.