INTERLUDE: Merry-Go-Round

2 NIGHTS AGO/day 1 - GOGI-JIB RESTAURANT, DOWNTOWN SEOGWIPO, JEJU ISLAND

Tomorrow didn't exist in Jeju, and that kind of freedom tasted like roasted garlic. It made you wear a dress that basically didn't exist either, and when you sat down across from a cinematographer, it meant you knew exactly how you were being framed.

The gogi-jib was buzzing with exactly that messy, humid intimacy. Steam from the table grills caught the amber overhead lights, blurring the arguing families and laughing couples into a perfect soft-focus background. Pork belly sizzled on hot iron, fat popping while the ventilation system fought the heavy summer heat and lost. The air tasted like garlic and sesame oil, like charred meat and summer nights that stretched longer than they should.

It was a beautiful shot, but Giselle wasn't watching the meat.

She was focused on watching Junho pretend he wasn't looking at her cleavage. She watched his hands, the way they moved when he talked, animated and unselfconscious. He was deep into an explanation about negative space in composition, gesturing with his chopsticks to illustrate some point about how most idol content failed to use environmental context effectively. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms that had definitely filled out since TIS. Clean white sneakers rested against the table leg. That watch - expensive but understated, only noticeable if you actually knew watches - caught the light every time he gestured. His film camera case hung off the back of his chair like a security blanket, worn leather strap suggesting years of use. Fujifilm X-Pro3 or something like that, if she had to guess. Film purist energy, which was exactly the kind of energy she liked.

He'd gotten hot.

Giselle had thought he was cute back in TIS, in that nerdy film kid way - but he was actually hot now. He’d filled out through the shoulders and learned how to dress like he gave a damn without trying too hard. Still had that cinematographer energy though, the way he looked at things like he was framing shots in his head, noticing light and shadow and negative space. When he talked about his work, his whole face changed - lit up from the inside, like he'd found the thing he was supposed to be doing and didn't take it for granted.

She'd looked him up three days ago, right after running into him at the hotel bar. Portfolio was solid. The ILLIT 'Magnetic' MV had that dreamlike quality that most cinematographers couldn't pull off without making it look cheap or overly filtered, like he actually understood the concept instead of just pointing cameras at pretty girls. Each member got framed differently too, which she'd noticed because most people didn't bother with that level of detail. Yunah's shots felt warm, Minju's elegant, Wonhee's ethereal. Good eye. Better than good.

Cute, she'd decided then. Let's see if he's good with his hands in other ways.

Anyway, the dress: the one that didn't apologize for anything.

Long-sleeved to make it look almost modest at first glance - until you noticed the neckline that practically plunged to her navel, revealing the dangerous curve where her tits met in a way that made people's eyes track downward involuntarily. The fabric clung like it had been painted on, following every line of her body with zero room for misinterpretation. Soft waist flaring to wide hips. Hemline that barely covered her ass when she was standing, absolutely didn't when she sat down. Every curve on display - the thick thighs that touched all the way down, the dimples of cellulite she'd never been embarrassed about because why the fuck should she be, the ass that baggy pants usually concealed but this dress announced like breaking news.

She'd spent years in oversized hoodies and distressed jeans. Comfortable. Effortless. The chill aespa member. Trilingual chaos in streetwear that never revealed the full picture.

This dress was the picture.

And Junho - give him credit - was trying so hard to maintain eye contact and failing in the most obvious ways. His gaze kept dropping, catching himself, jerking back up to her face, then sliding down again like it was pulled by gravity.

"- so I told them the lighting was wrong," he was saying, chopsticks emphasizing his point, "but they wanted that washed-out aesthetic, you know? Like everything's a dream sequence, like we're selling nostalgia instead of -"

"Mm." Giselle leaned forward to grab a piece of ssam, wrapping meat and rice and vegetables with the kind of casual precision that came from years of variety show training.

The movement made her neckline gape open.

The angle was everything. From where Junho sat, the black dress - already a structural nightmare - basically gave up. The neckline fell open with the inevitability of gravity, revealing leopard print stretched taut over soft curves that had nowhere to go but forward and together. The bra was working overtime, tan fabric with black spots distorted across flesh that shifted with her breathing, with the small movements of her reaching across the table.

He could see everything. The lace trim. The way the cups barely contained the swell of her breasts. The shadow of cleavage deep enough to lose things in and voluminous enough that even the shadow cast its own shadow. Physics didn't normally work like that, but Giselle's tits didn't give a shit.

This was the kind of view that made people forget what they were saying mid-sentence.

She was completely focused on wrapping the ssam, oblivious or - more likely - absolutely aware and choosing chaos.

Junho's sentence died mid-word.

His eyes dropped. Stayed there and completely forgot to come back up.

Even Ningning glanced over - brief, appreciative, a look that said damn, okay, I see you with that slight smirk that suggested she knew exactly what Giselle was doing and approved of the execution.

Ningning went back to eating methodically - grilled meat, kimchi, rice, repeat - like she was following a recipe, but her eyes tracked everything. She’d edited enough variety show footage to know when gold was happening.

She looked comfortable in that way that only Ningning could pull off - black sweats sitting so low on her hips that the lace waistband of her thong peeked above them (intentional, always intentional with her), black crop top showing miles of flat stomach, UGG platform boots because comfort and height weren't mutually exclusive, messy bun with her sunglasses shoved into it like an afterthought.

Cozy chaos. Strategic chaos.

Winter, meanwhile, had sauce on her cheek and was completely oblivious to all subterfuge occurring around her.

"This place is really good," Winter announced to the table at large, to the restaurant, possibly to Seogwipo itself. Her cheeks were full, making her look like a particularly satisfied hamster. She was already reaching for more meat with the single-minded focus of a golden retriever who'd discovered that treats did, in fact, exist and were available right now.

Black crop top, high-waisted jeans, entire midriff exposed - flat pale stomach, delicate ribs visible when she breathed - but somehow she made it look wholesome. Like she was just wearing comfortable summer clothes, not showing half her torso. Platform sneakers gave her maybe two extra inches of height. She needed every one of them.

"Unnie," Ningning said flatly, without looking up from her plate. "Pace yourself. We haven't even gotten to dessert yet."

"But the meat is so good." Winter's earnest protest came muffled by food.

Junho laughed, surprised and warm, and some of the nervous energy in his shoulders dissolved. "So you're all on vacation together? That's nice."

The conversation continued normally, with small talk, normal stuff you’d say at dinners like this.

Then Ningning struck.

"Mm." She turned a piece of meat with her tongs, keeping her eyes steady on the grill. The timing was surgical. "Aeri-unnie's been talking about running into you for three days."

Giselle froze mid-reach for her drink, hand suspended in air.

Junho's eyebrows rose. He looked pleased and uncertain at the same time. "Really?"

"I have NOT -" Giselle started, damage control instinct kicking in immediately.

"She asked me to look up your Instagram twice." Ningning placed a perfectly grilled piece of meat on her plate. Still wasn't making eye contact. She'd timed this bit perfectly and the delivery was flawless.

Junho was trying very hard not to smile, while failing comprehensively.

Giselle's foot shot out under the table and made sharp, satisfying contact with Ningning's shin.

The impact that should’ve made anyone yelp.

Except Ningning didn't even flinch. She looked up with the most innocent smile Giselle had ever seen, still chewing her meat like she hadn't just blown up Giselle's entire spot.

The meat kept sizzling on the grill. Junho coughed into his hand, trying to hide his laughter, while Giselle was mentally plotting Ningning's murder and making it look like an accident.

"So," Junho ventured, clearly trying to shift to safer ground, "you're shooting content soon, right? I saw aespa's been doing a lot of -"

"Did you shoot for ILLIT?" Winter interrupted, looking up mid-bite with sudden bright-eyed interest, cheeks still full.

"Their new comeback, yeah." Junho nodded, and his demeanor shifted when he talked about work, just like it used to back at TIS when he'd get excited about some film technique. "That was a fun shoot, actually. The director wanted everything to feel like a fever dream, you know? Like you're remembering summer vacation but can't tell if it actually happened or if you made it up."

"The 'Magnetic' MV, right?" Giselle examined her nails as if she was inspecting her manicure, keeping herself casual with herculean effort. "I saw your name in the credits."

Silence dropped over the table.