Muffin

If anyone asked you to describe Bona, you’d probably say something like: “Oh, she’s professional, polite, always composed.”

But if someone asked you to describe Jiyeon, though…you’d probably shrug and say: “She demands more hugs than a five-year-old.”

…And yes, they were the same person.

It’s lowkey amusing, really. Everyone else only knew Bona as the actress, the professional, the fortress. She’d been in the game longer than half the stylists had been working, and the rookie actors looked at her like she’d stepped straight out of a film reel. She carried herself with quiet authority, the kind that came with years of experience and the kind of polish one definitely couldn’t fake.

You often heard stylists whisper that she was a dream client: never complaining about rushed changes, never wrinkling her nose when something didn’t fit right. Sometimes the crew members stood behind you and admired how she listened carefully, gave nothing but steady focus, even when the shoot dragged deep into the night. Her co-stars — chatty and restless — eventually learned not to mistake her patience for softness (poor them, really). As for the seniors? They had nothing but respect for her discipline, which you were still amazed of to this day.

Firm, but never unkind. Always untouchable.

But you knew better along the road….way better.

Because the second you two stepped behind closed doors, whether it was her dressing room, her apartment, your apartment, or even the quiet backseat of the van, Bona disappeared, and Jiyeon, your girlfriend, appeared.

And she acted like you were the older one.

“Honey,” she’d say, dropping her bag on the couch as soon as you closed the door. You barely had time to take off your shoes before she was tugging at your sleeve, her cute pout already active. “Hug.”

You blinked. “Already?”

“Yes. Right now.” She crossed her arms but kept standing far too close, lips pressed together like she was trying to keep her composure.

“You literally hugged me before we left the set,” you reminded her, still very amused.

“That was a work hug,” she countered as if that explained everything. “This is a real hug. Totally different category.”

You sighed in mock defeat, but your arms opened. She collapsed into them without hesitation, burying her face and snuggled against your chest. And the fortress dissolved instantly. You felt it in the way her shoulders loosened, in the quiet sigh slipping past her lips. Hours ago, she’d been the picture of composure while the staff laughed about the vanishing cake at the wrap party. Someone had joked, “Whoever made that should open a bakery! That was some good cake!” and everyone agreed.

Jiyeon had only smiled politely, keeping her mask intact as usual. She just sipped her water, while keeping her expression unreadable. But when the two of you were back in the car, she leaned close and muttered under her breath, “You didn’t fool anyone, you know. I can always tell when it’s your cake.”

You blinked at her. “Annnnnddd how exactly do you know?”

Her lips curled into the warm smile she never showed anyone else. “Because it makes my heart flutter.” She turned away quickly after that, pretending to scroll her phone like nothing had happened.

That was Jiyeon. Your girlfriend who made you feel like the older one.

Sometimes she clung to you outright, even when it got in the way of your job.

“Jiyeon, I need to go unpack your bag.”

“No.” “Damn, but you’re heavy.”

“Good. Suffer.” “Wow. So much affection.”

She only tightened her grip, muttering into your back, “Can’t blame me when you smell like sugar and cream. Every time you bake, it sticks to your clothes. Do you know how distracting that is when I’m supposed to look serious on set?”

You ended up dragging her half across the room because she refused to let go.

And then there was the name. God, the name. You learned quickly that if you called her “Bona” in private, even by accident, she’d pout. Not dramatic, but just subtle enough: lips pressed forward, eyes dropping, her whole presence quietly sulking.

“Don’t call me that here,” she mumbled once, her voice muffled against your shirt.

“But everyone calls you Bona,” you teased.

“I’m not everyone’s.” Her fingers curled into your side. “I’m yours. So call me Jiyeon.”

It was such an uncharacteristic thing for her to say that you couldn’t resist laughing. She smacked your arm and demanded another hug to make up for it, cheeks pink even as she tried to look stern.

You sometimes wondered whenever you walked behind her. This girl, seriously, how the heck did she manage to keep the two sides of herself separate? During the day, she was this untouchable figure—accepting compliments from staff with a graceful nod, smiling politely when her co-stars teased her. You’d watch her, her assistant badge on your chest, pretending not to notice the glances that came her way.

But at night? Especially at your place?

“Honey, cut this apple for me,” she’d say, plopping herself onto the couch as if she owned the place (she does now, apparently, because she said so) and holding out the fruit like she didn’t know how knives worked.

“You have hands,” you’d deadpan.

“Yeah, but you do it better. Pleaseee?” She’d stretch the word out, batting her lashes in an exaggerated way.

And of course, you always gave in.

It was so funny when you think about it. To everyone else, you were her younger assistant—competent, sure, but still the kid in the room. But with Jiyeon, somehow, the roles flipped. She’d lean into you, cling to you, demand your attention until it felt like you feel like you were a single father, the one keeping her grounded.

And you never told her this, but you really adore it.

You liked being the only person who got to see this version of her. The only one who knew that beneath Bona’s perfectly crafted image was Jiyeon, who demanded hugs like they were oxygen and sulked when you teased her too much.

The world could keep their fortress for all you care. You’d happily keep your Jiyeon.

You first noticed something strange one night when you dropped her off after a long shoot. Normally, she would unlock the door, drag you inside like a kid, demand a hug, then complain she was starving until you found something in her kitchen.

But this time, just as you reached for the handle, her hand shot out and pressed flat against it. “You can’t come in.”

You blinked. “…Eh?”

Her eyes flickered, just for a second, before she smoothed her face into that same calm mask she always wore on set. “Not tonight. I have… things to do.”

“Things?” you echoed, amused. “At midnight?”

“Yes. Important things.” She crossed her arms and tilted her chin as if her usual sheer confidence could erase suspicion. “So just… go home. I’ll see you tomorrow. Listen to your elders.”

The way she said it almost made you laugh. Jiyeon never pulled the age card unless she was hiding something. You tilted your head, trying to peek past her shoulder, but she quickly leaned against the door, effectively blocking the view.

“Alright,” you said finally, raising your hands in surrender. “I should be respectful to my elders.”

Her expression softened a little at that, though she quickly covered it with a huff, giving you a light shove away from the door. “Good. Now go before I change my mind and make you organize my wardrobe.”

You left with a laugh, though you were genuinely dying to know what she was up to.