Polaroids

The city always sounded quieter after midnight.

Not because Seoul actually slept. It never really did. Somewhere outside the tinted windows of the van, tires still rolled over rain-dark roads, convenience store doors still chimed open, and apartment lights still flickered against the skyline like distant stars that refused to disappear. But quieter still existed. Especially after days like this.

Yeji rested her temple against the cool glass window, half-watching the reflections of passing streetlights smear across the surface beside her face. Her phone buzzed again somewhere inside her hoodie pocket.

Another birthday message. Another notification. Another clipped video from fans singing for her somewhere across the world.

She smiled faintly anyway. Professional instinct.

“Unnie, are you actually awake?” Ryujin’s voice crackled lazily through the speaker from the back row of the van. Yeji hummed. “Barely.”

“That means yes.” A tired laugh moved through the van. Chaeryeong was already half-asleep against the seatbelt beside her, mouth slightly open in a way she’d definitely deny later. Lia quietly scrolled through her phone while Yuna aggressively stole fries from the paper bag balanced on Ryujin’s lap.

This was ITZY to her, warm, normal, familiar. Yeji loved them for it. She really did. But exhaustion sat strangely in her chest tonight. Not heavy enough to hurt, but enough to dull everything around it slightly. Like the entire day had happened through a pane of glass she couldn’t fully reach through. Schedules. Cakes. Livestreams. Candles. Flowers.

Staff singing loudly backstage. JYP himself sending a message. Hundreds of thousands of strangers telling her they loved her. And somehow, all she could think about now was how badly she wanted to take her makeup off and sit in silence for an hour.

The van slowed outside her apartment building. Finally. “Birthday girl escapes,” Ryujin muttered dramatically as Yeji reached for the door handle. Yeji snorted softly “You’re acting like you won’t see me tomorrow”.

“That’s future Ryujin’s problem.”
“Heartless.”
“Get home safe,” Lia murmured quietly.

The softness in her voice almost made Yeji smile for real this time. “Text us when you’re inside,” Chaeryeong added without opening her eyes “I will.” Yuna pointed at her accusingly. “And don’t start crying alone because you’re old now.”

“Yah.”

The girls laughed. Yeji shook her head under her hood before stepping out into the cool night air. The silence hit almost immediately after the van pulled away. Her footsteps echoed quietly through the apartment lobby as she adjusted the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder. The elevator ride up felt longer than usual somehow, fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead while she stared blankly at the glowing floor numbers.

Twenty-four. The doors slid open. Her apartment greeted her exactly the way she left it that morning dim, quiet, still. Yeji exhaled slowly. Then immediately kicked her shoes off halfway across the floor with significantly less grace than the public would probably expect from Hwang Yeji “Finally…” the hoodie came next. Then the rings. Then the earrings dumped carelessly into a ceramic dish beside the kitchen counter.

Her birthday flowers sat piled near the dining table like colorful evidence of a life she hadn’t fully caught up to yet. For a while, she just stood there in silence. No cameras. No staff. No members yelling at her for sitting weirdly— just the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic beyond the windows. Her phone buzzed again. Yeji ignored it.

Instead, she wandered toward the kitchen with slow tired steps, pulling open the fridge and staring blankly inside like the contents might magically reorganize themselves into something emotionally fulfilling. Yogurt she forgot about nearing expiration, water bottles, half-finished fruit, questionable leftovers.

“…Amazing.”

She eventually settled for instant noodles. While waiting for the water to boil, she finally noticed the package sitting near the counter. Plain brown cardboard. No delivery label she recognized. Her brows furrowed slightly “That wasn’t there earlier…” she crouched down slowly, turning it over once before peeling the tape back. Inside sat an old disposable camera. Beside it a small box of thin white birthday candles and beneath both of them— a folded note. Yeji opened it carefully. For the moments you haven’t lived yet.

“…What?”

She stared at the sentence for several quiet seconds. No name. No explanation. No indication whether this was a fan gift, a prank, or something one of the members arranged while drunk and emotional. Honestly, Ryujin felt statistically possible.

Yeji let out a quiet breath through her nose before picking up the camera. Old-fashioned. Slightly worn around the edges. The kind people used for nostalgia now more than practicality. Strangely enough, it already had fewer exposures left. Someone had used it before. That should’ve felt creepy. Instead, it just made her weirdly curious.

The glossy surface caught faint reflections from the apartment lights as Yeji turned the polaroid carefully between her fingers. The image quality wasn’t perfect. Slight grain.
Soft blur around the edges. Warm lighting bleeding unevenly into the darker corners of the frame. Like an actual memory instead of a photograph. Somehow, that made it worse. Or maybe better, she couldn’t tell.

Because the longer she stared at it, the stranger the image felt. Not because of the man sitting across from her. Honestly, she barely noticed him at first. Only fragments of him existed in the frame, a dark sleeve pushed lazily past his wrist, fingers curled loosely around the handle of a beer mug, the faint edge of a smile caught near the corner like whoever took the photo moved slightly at the last second. No.

What unsettled her was herself. The version of Hwang Yeji sitting inside that tiny restaurant looked… unguarded. Not idol pretty. Not camera aware. Not professionally charming. Just warm. Like someone had said something stupid enough to make her laugh before she could stop herself. Yeji swallowed slowly. Because she couldn’t remember the last time someone had photographed her like that.

Not for promotion. Not for fans. Not because cameras happened to be nearby. But because someone wanted to remember the moment. Her thumb brushed lightly against the corner of the polaroid. And for some reason, the realization made her chest ache quietly.

The noodles on the coffee table had long gone cold. Outside, distant headlights drifted silently past her apartment windows while the city carried on beneath the dark blue haze of early morning.

2:24 AM.

Yeji leaned back against the couch cushions slowly, still staring at the photograph “…This is creepy,” she murmured softly. Then after another pause— “Why does it feel real?” Silence answered her. The disposable camera remained where she left it beside the candles, quiet beneath the dim apartment lighting. For several seconds, Yeji simply looked at it.

Then finally— against her better judgment she reached over and picked it up again. The exposure counter stared back at her. 19 remaining. Her brows furrowed “…Nineteen?”

Which meant someone had already taken five photos. A strange chill crawled lightly across the back of her neck. Because if this photo already existed then where were the others?

The exposure counter stared back at her quietly. 19 remaining. Yeji frowned harder this time. That didn’t make sense. Disposable cameras didn’t magically print photographs in the middle of the night. And they definitely didn’t develop pictures no one remembered taking. Still, the polaroid remained warm between her fingers.

Her eyes drifted back toward the image again almost involuntarily. The tiny restaurant looked familiar somehow. Not enough for recognition, but enough to feel possible. Warm wood-paneled walls. Condensation running down the beer mug near the bottom corner of the frame. A cramped little table clearly too small for two people trying to fit too much food onto it. It looked lived-in. Not staged.

Yeji’s gaze lowered slightly. There, near the edge of the photograph— another detail. A second bowl. It was half-empty. Something about that tiny detail made her stomach twist strangely. Because whoever took the picture hadn’t photographed her— they photographed the moment. And that felt infinitely more intimate.

Yeji leaned forward slowly, elbows resting against her knees while the city lights stretched dimly across the apartment around her “…Okay,” she murmured quietly to herself. “Either I’m losing my mind, or Ryujin finally snapped completely.” Silence. Then— her eyes flicked back toward the disposable camera again. The apartment suddenly felt smaller somehow. Not dangerous. Just… aware like the room itself was waiting for her to do something. Yeji hated how curious she felt. Because rationally, this should’ve ended already. Take photo, call members and accuse Ryujin, or go to sleep.

It could have been done, instead— she found herself reaching for the small box of birthday candles. Thin white candles shifted softly against cardboard as she opened the lid.

Twenty-six. One for each year.

Her brows pinched together “…You’re kidding.” The note. For the moments you haven’t lived yet. Yeji stared at the candles for several quiet seconds before letting out a tired laugh under her breath “This is exactly the kind of thing Chaeryeong would cry over at three in the morning”. Still… her fingers eventually pulled one candle free. Just one.