Gowon shows up at midnight in stage clothes and soju on her breath. She didn't come here to celebrate the end of promotions — she came to say everything she's been pretending she doesn't feel.
Late Evening
Your phone buzzed at 11:47 PM.
Gowon
I’m outside your building.
Read: 11:47PM
You stared at the message. No preamble, no “…don’t misunderstand,” no pretending Hyeju had asked her to relay something. Just five words and the intercom ringing.
You buzzed her up.
When the elevator opened, the first thing you noticed was the smell—soju and something sweeter, peach, maybe from one of those flavored bottles Yeojin always bought. The second thing was her outfit. She was still in her stage clothes from today’s schedule—a white graphic crop top, the text on it in red and blue, tied in a knot at the front that showed a strip of stomach. White skirt. A choker necklace tight around her throat. Her hair was down now but you could see the ghost of twin buns at the top, like she’d pulled them out in the car on the way over. Long brown waves falling past her shoulders, slightly messy from a full day of promotions.
“I was in the area,” she said, which was a lie. Her dorm was forty minutes from here.
“Come in.”
She walked past you, slightly unsteady in her sneakers. The crop top rode up when she moved, showing more skin. She’d come straight from something—an after-schedule dinner with the members, maybe, one that had turned into drinks.
“Were you out with the others?”
“Wrap up dinner. End of TTYL promotions.” She dropped her bag on the kitchen counter, leaned against it. Swayed slightly. “Everyone was celebrating. I left early.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t feel like celebrating.” She looked at you, and the composure cracked for just a second. “We just finished our last comeback and nobody’s said it out loud yet but we all know. The contract discussion is coming. The company can barely keep the lights on. And the five of us just sat there drinking and pretending everything’s fine.”
“How much did you drink?”
“Enough.” Her eyes found yours. “Not enough.”
“Water first.”
“I don’t want water.”
“Gowon—”
“Stop trying to manage me.” Her voice was sharp, but her chin was trembling. “I didn’t come here to be managed. I came here because—” She stopped. Clenched her jaw. The reflex kicking in, sealing her back up.
You waited.
“None of them have a plan,” she said. “Hyunjin doesn’t know what she’s doing next. Yeojin doesn’t know. Hyeju just plays games and pretends nothing matters. Vivi smiles through everything.” A pause. “And I sit there at fan events where men tell me I have a nice face and think—is this it? Is this all I’m good for?”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Do I?” She looked at you, and the mask slipped further. “I’m twenty-three. My group is probably dead. I have no plans because I don’t even know what I’d do. And the person I think about constantly doesn’t even notice I exist unless Hyeju tells him to look.”
The air changed.
“What did you just say?”
“Nothing.” The reflex, instantaneous. “I didn’t say anything. I should go.”
She reached for her bag but you were already there, hand on hers, stopping her.
“Say it again.”
“Let go of me.”
“Gowon. Say it again.”
Her eyes were wet and furious. “I think about you constantly. There. Happy? I think about you when I wake up and when I fall asleep and when I’m at those events where fans compliment my face and I just keep thinking about how none of them see me. Not really. Not the way you—”
She stopped herself again. Swallowed hard.
“Not the way I what?”
“You looked at me,” she whispered. “That night. The game night. When they stripped me and put me on your lap and I was saying no the whole time. You looked at me like I was a person. Not an idol. Not a face for a brand campaign. You actually saw something there.”
“I did.”
“No, you didn’t. You saw what Hyeju set up. What Yeojin engineered. Nobody ever just… wants me. On their own. Without someone else pushing them into it.”
“That’s not—”
“It is true.” She was crying now, openly, the alcohol dissolving every defense she had. “I’m the one people forget about. Pretty enough to put on a poster but not memorable enough to miss. Even in the arrangement—I was last. Dead fucking last. You had everyone else first.”
“Gowon—”
“And I can’t even be angry because it’s my fault. I pushed you away. I push everyone away. Because if I’m the one leaving, it doesn’t hurt as much as being the one who gets left.”
She was shaking. Her hands, her shoulders, her voice.
You took her face in your hands. She tried to pull away. You didn’t let her.
“Look at me.”
“I don’t want to—”
“Look at me.”
Her eyes found yours. Dark, wet, terrified.
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