INTERLUDE: Me Know Me Love Me

Fifty-eight ways to shine - For you who will meet your most perfect time - Not, not, not yet, but 

Yuna's alarm blared at exactly 7 AM, her own voice cutting through the villa bedroom in that specific breathy tone she'd perfected, and for a solid ten seconds her brain couldn't process why the fuck she was hearing herself sing before she'd even opened her eyes.

Oh. Right. Her unreleased solo. 'Yet, But'.

She'd set it as her alarm three weeks ago when the demo had finally been approved, back when she'd still been riding the high of hearing the finished track for the first time and thinking holy shit I sound hot in this. Which she did. The breathiness in the chorus, the way her voice caught on certain syllables, that whole sexy-confident-vulnerable thing the producers had helped her nail - she'd listened to it on repeat for two days straight and decided she needed to wake up to that energy every morning.

Also, technically, it was practicing. If anyone asked why she had her own unreleased solo as her ringtone and alarm, she could say she was memorizing the phrasing, getting familiar with the rhythm, being professional and prepared for the eventual comeback. Very responsible. Very idol-like.

The fact that she mostly just liked hearing herself sound that good was irrelevant.

The downside - and she was realizing this now as she fumbled for her phone with one hand, eyes still closed - was that she'd completely forgotten to turn off her alarms for vacation. Which meant this was going to keep happening every morning at 7 AM sharp until she remembered to fix it, which, knowing her, would be approximately never.

Also, having her own unreleased solo as her ringtone had led to... a lot of missed calls. Like, a concerning amount. Because when someone called and her phone started blasting flawless, that's what you are in her own breathy voice, she'd just... let it play. She'd be standing in front of her mirror practicing angles for the upcoming MV shoot, checking if her waistline looked sharp enough during the chorus, making sure the crop top she'd picked for the comeback stage would show the right amount of abs and hips and ass when she did that body roll, and suddenly her ringtone would interrupt and she'd just... keep going. Let the call go to voicemail. She needed to verify that she looked as hot as she sounded.

The solo was dropping in two months - she had to make sure her body matched the energy of that breathy vocal, had to confirm that when she lip-synced in the mirror her expressions were sexy enough, confident enough, flawless enough to justify the song's whole vibe. She'd already been checking theqoo and Instiz religiously, monitoring what Korean netizens were saying about her recent performances, screenshotting the "Yuna's body is insane" posts from Nate Pann, saving the fancam compilations that guys she'd friendzoned kept DMing her with captions like "unnie you looked so pretty here ㅠㅠ" because yeah, she knew, she'd rewatched that particular stage fourteen times already.

Totally professional. Completely valid comeback preparation.

The fact that this meant she'd missed approximately sixty percent of her calls over the past three weeks was, again, a future-Yuna problem.

She swiped the alarm off and let her phone drop back onto the sheets, already drifting back toward sleep, back toward whatever she'd been dreaming about before her own voice had dragged her into consciousness.

Right. The dream.

The dream had been silly - something about gelato melting on her skin, strawberry or maybe champagne, one of those expensive flavors that tasted like summer and bad decisions - and she'd been half-awake, mid-stretch, when the alarm had interrupted. Now, settling back into the silk sheets, she registered what her body had been trying to tell her: thighs pressed together, wetness already pooling between them like her body had decided to start the party without consulting her brain first.

Which, okay, fine, she wasn't mad about it.

Morning. Wet. Iconic.

This was literally just how hot girls woke up, she decided, staring at the ceiling of her claimed bedroom while her fingers traced lazy circles over her stomach. The early morning light filtered through sheer curtains she'd hung yesterday - pink, obviously, because she had TASTE - and hit the silk sheets she'd brought from home at just the right angle to make everything look like a goddamn Barbie Dream House had exploded in here. Throw pillows everywhere. Her makeup scattered across the vanity in what she'd call "artful chaos" if anyone asked. That mirror she'd angled specifically so she could see herself from the bed because, like, why not?

She'd had this room for exactly one day and it already looked like Shin Yuna's Personal Territory: Do Not Enter Unless You're Hot.

Future me is going to look back at this villa and think: yes, THAT was the moment I became a woman.

She'd been saying that for three years, but whatever, this time she really meant it.

Yuna stretched again, arching her back off the mattress, and her sleep shirt - one of those oversized band tees she'd stolen from some guy whose name she'd already forgotten - rode up to expose her stomach, her ribs, the underside of her breasts. She watched herself in the mirror, tilted her head, adjusted the angle of her arm above her head. Better. More aesthetic. The kind of pose you'd screenshot if this were a movie about your life.

God, she was so hot it was literally unfair.

Her phone buzzed somewhere in the tangle of sheets and she ignored it, too focused on the fact that she was horny and had nowhere to be and the villa was quiet, which meant everyone was either still sleeping or already gone, and that meant she could be as loud as she wanted -

Actually, scratch that, old habits and all. Six years in dorms trained you to be creative with silence.

She rolled onto her side, then her stomach, pressing her hips into the mattress just to feel the friction, and okay, yeah, this was happening. This was absolutely happening. Her body had decided: horny, now, immediate action required.

Yuna groaned into her pillow - a little dramatic, a little annoyed, mostly turned on - and pushed herself up. Her shirt rode higher as she stood, bunching around her ribs, and when she stumbled toward the bathroom the villa's marble floors felt cool and perfect against her bare feet, this whole aesthetic contrast thing happening between the heat under her skin and the expensive architecture surrounding her.

She flicked on the bathroom light.

Caught her reflection in the mirror.

And stopped.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Her hair was a disaster - all bedhead tangles and sleep-messed waves falling across her shoulders in a way that should've looked terrible, probably did look terrible by normal standards, except it also looked kind of... hot? Like that specific "I just got railed" aesthetic except she hadn't gotten railed, she'd just woken up, which was somehow even better because it meant she looked like this naturally.

Yuna tilted her head, studying herself. Traced one finger along her collarbone, down to where her shirt's neckline cut across her chest. Her nipples were hard beneath the thin fabric, visible as two perfect points, and when she brushed her thumb over one of them she gasped.

Wait.

Why is this turning me on?

She knew why. She absolutely knew why. This was pure narcissism, getting wet from her own reflection, except knowing that didn't make it stop, didn't make her hand stop trailing lower, slipping under the hem of her shirt to feel the flat plane of her stomach, the slight curve of her hip.

"God, I'm a disaster," she whispered to her reflection, but she was already hooking her thumbs into her sleep shorts, pushing them down to pool at her ankles.

The bathroom counter was the perfect height. Cool marble against her ass when she hopped up, legs spreading automatically, and she propped her left foot on the sink edge for better access, better angle, better view of what she was about to do to herself.

Her pussy was already wet. Had been since she woke up, maybe before, and when she slid two fingers between her folds the slick heat made her bite her lip hard enough to hurt.

God.

She looked so hot like this.

One hand braced on the counter behind her, the other between her legs, face flushed pink in the mirror, lips parted around shallow breaths. This was peak visual content. This was the kind of image she'd save if she were filming, except she wasn't filming, she was just watching herself, mesmerized by the way her own fingers disappeared inside, the way her hips rolled forward seeking more friction.

Yuna pumped slowly at first. Lazy circles with her thumb over her clit while two fingers curled inside, hitting that spot that made her thighs tremble. She watched her own face in the mirror - watched the way her eyebrows drew together, the way her mouth fell open, the way her free hand came up to squeeze her breast through her shirt.

"Fuck," she breathed, and even her voice sounded hot right now, all breathy and desperate.

She added a third finger. The stretch made her gasp, made her eyes flutter closed for a second before she forced them open again because she needed to watch, needed to see herself come undone by her own hand. Her reflection was flushed now, chest heaving, hair falling forward to frame her face in this perfectly messy way that looked calculated even though it absolutely wasn't.

Her hips were moving on their own now. Grinding forward, fucking herself on her fingers while her thumb worked her clit in tight circles. The wet sounds echoed in the bathroom - obscene, filthy, the soundtrack to her narcissistic spiral - and she couldn't look away from the mirror, from the image of Shin Yuna finger-fucking herself in a luxury villa bathroom at what, seven in the morning?

Peak hot girl behavior. Absolutely iconic.

The orgasm built fast. She was good at this, had years of practice, knew exactly how to angle her fingers, exactly how much pressure on her clit, exactly when to speed up. Her thighs were shaking now, stomach muscles clenching, and she watched her own face in the mirror as she got closer, closer, right fucking there -

"Oh god," she gasped, and came hard, hips jerking forward, fingers buried deep while her whole body went tight and then melted, pleasure washing through her in waves that made her toes curl against the marble.

She slumped back against the mirror, breathing hard, fingers still inside herself and twitching with aftershocks.