Work Text:
Jisung finds herself laughing at Renjun’s angry glare.
“What, sweetheart?” Jisung asks, tossing peach locks over her bare shoulder. It’s a part of her lean body that cuts out of an asymmetrical, vintage-styled slip dress, red like wine and flowing like a gracious river to her ankles. Swarming paparazzis behind the rope capture the moment in a series of flashing photos.
It’s a hot midsummer afternoon for an even hotter cast and crowd to gather at the red carpet splayed out in front of walls plastered in the same logo, over and over again: Clandestine by My Microphone. A highly anticipated throwback to film noir following the story of a glamorous bar singer working undercover as a spy.
The film’s beautiful and elusive protagonist is played by none other than Renjun Huang, a rising star in Hollywood and, as Jisung is immensely proud to declare, her loving fiancée of six months.
Six months flew by like six seconds after Jisung had proposed to her over a candlelit dinner on Valentine’s evening (which should’ve been a dead giveaway to her plan, looking back on it. She thought Renjun was sharp enough to catch onto the cliche romanticism as soon as she stepped on the floor laden in rose petals.
Then again, Renjun was noticeably nervous and mispronounced every dish she tried to order, despite the fact that they’d been to that restaurant hundreds of times by then.)
Renjun was a mystery to Jisung in the beginning. An enigmatic beauty—no, goddess—in Jisung’s eyes that took time and effort to fully unravel. Even today she can recall her shock when learning Renjun showed up to the Summer Olympics in Beijing, completely disregarding her busy schedule filming in Marrakech.
(Jisung became a gold medalist for the first time in her life that season.
There’s never usually much on her mind when she dives at the robotic countdown, whips her head above the surface for a gulp of air, announcer and cheering spectators drowned out by the splashing water. Her sheer black goggles were a screen that made everything dark as though the spotlights were experiencing a solar eclipse.
When she shot out of the water at the last touch of her 200 meter stride, seconds ahead of her competition, she could see Renjun at the benches hopping like an excitable little bunny. Her hair was dyed a ghostly platinum for her current role in a sci-fi film. The way she shone like a star, a real star seemed to defy physics.
Jisung’s head throbbed against the rubber strap under her swim cap in the rush of adrenaline and victory. There were a million crashing noises surrounding her, everything echoing in the massive arena.
Still, Renjun’s distant you did it, Jisungie! was the loudest of them all.)
Bit by bit Jisung has come to solve every puzzle that composes the melody that is Renjun. It’s a slow process but discovering certain quirks about her—like how she snores like a pig after exhausting days on set, or spends hours over wine complaining about her male coworkers until she literally rants herself to sleep—is a journey Jisung never thought she’d have in stardom.
It was a bumpy road at first but now it’s one wide, smooth stream. Now she knows Renjun like the back of her hand, knows what she hides behind the lithe figure and occasional dirty smiles, knows how she loves and likes to be loved.
And now she just has to figure out why Renjun is sending her an incredulous and bitter look.
Her teeth show in an offended frown.
“You.”
Jisung blinks. “Me.”
Renjun takes a step closer to Jisung, her indignation more palpable than ever. Even the summer heat couldn’t outdo her burning gaze—but Jisung is calm as ever. Tilting her head quizzically, patiently. Unintentionally, it feeds the fire.
“You. Are wearing. Heels,” Renjun says through gritted teeth, choppy. “Heels.”
Jisung laughs again, simply finding her angry, pouty face to be the cutest thing ever.
“Yes, I am. Is there a problem with that?”
Jisung glances down at her feet, tilting an accused heel through the slit of her dress. She is indeed wearing a pair of sleek stiletto heels—five inches, if she remembers correctly. It’s uncharacteristic of her. She normally prefers flats, only donning heels when her job as a model calls for it.
(Jisung barely even owns any herself. In that aspect she’s Renjun’s polar opposite. She’s proud to confess that she can recite the sections in which Renjun organizes her expansive collection of heels.
Kittens, platforms, wedge sandals, sling backs. Plus that one pair of boots she’d only worn once on a stormy night and grew terrified of ‘ruining’ ever since.)
Today is admittedly an exception. She’d heard this premiere was a major event for Renjun’s blossoming career so she wanted to look extra good for the cameras and for her fiancée. In her mind, there’s no reason for Renjun to be seething at the sight of her heels.
Renjun stammers a couple incomplete words. She’s trying her best to organize her thoughts until eventually it’s spat out from her cherry glossed lips, her tone unbelieving.
“You are so fucking tall in those,” Renjun exclaims in an exasperated exhale. Her hands are tossed midair, palms opening to Jisung’s figure. “Look at yourself! You’re… You’re stealing my spotlight, Jisung.”
Jisung supposes the first part is true—she has to physically tilt her chin in order to meet Renjun’s gaze. But that should’ve been a given, considering Jisung stands at a 177 to Renjun’s 162 centimeters.
The second part, though, that’s what she disagrees with.
“Huh?” Jisung innocently replies. “No I’m not? The cameras are focused on you.”
Here Jisung turns to the crowd for just a short moment, hoping to prove her own point. The camera lights flicker and there’s scattered shouting of her name. She winces, raises her arm to block the blinding flares.
“They sure are,” Renjun deadpans, unimpressed. “Because they’d totally ignore Olympic medalist and skyscraper supermodel Jisung Park just to photograph me. Which they totally haven’t been doing already while I walked down the carpet.”
“Babe, oh my god,” says Jisung with an airy chortle. She puts her hand to Renjun’s arm, the sleeve of her dress feeling silky in her touch. Her thumb does gentle rubs. “That doesn’t mean they’re ignoring you instead. You look so gorgeous today. You know that, right?”
It’s true, what Jisung is saying, especially now that she’s blessed with a close-up of Renjun’s whole premiere look.
The foxy outline of her eyes are drawn with thin eyeliner. Renjun’s not big on makeup but she obviously made an exception for today—mascara on her long lashes, silvery glitter on her lids, rosy hints on her cheeks and everything. And her lips.
Jisung remembers the cherry lip gloss; it used to be hers until she gave it away the second Renjun muttered how she’d always wanted a color like it. She can smell it, faintly. Almost makes her want to hold Renjun’s face and lean in for a kiss to taste its familiar artificial sweetness, if she didn’t know that Renjun hates public affection.
Jisung is in awe. Renjun pulls off these impossible charms: she’s a subdued ‘good’ girl with her shoulder-length bob and blunt bangs and sidelocks, naturally black. At the same time, she’s dangerously alluring with her midnight blue dress, the translucent chiffon hugging her skinny waist and flowering like a gown fit for a princess.
(That’s what she is—a pretty princess. My princess, Jisung muses with pride filling her chest to the brim.)
If Jisung were one of the sweaty paparazzis, snapping photos of the Renjun Huang, she might just throw her expensive camera to the ground so she can kneel and ask for her hand in marriage.
Except she’s already beat herself to that.
In typical Renjun fashion, the tip of her ears brighten and she averts her gaze.
“Shut up,” she grumbles quietly. Jisung merely smiles, patting her arm supportively.
“The others are waiting, right?” Jisung asks as she juts out her elbow. “I’ll walk you there.”
Renjun mutters her compliant okay, linking arms with Jisung. Together they stroll down the red carpet that stretches to the cinema entrance, where the rest of the cast and directors chat among their group. Camera shutters click loudly to their every step.
Jisung holds out her hand for Renjun to grasp when they reach the broad steps to the building.
“Careful.”
“Oh, stop.” Renjun rolls her eyes, though her creeping smile does tell Jisung she’s being bashful again. “You’re the one in the chopstick heels, dear. You be careful.”
“You’re saying you’d catch me if I trip on myself?” Jisung asks with a knowing grin. “Because I think you’d just let me fall on my face and have the cameras capture that.”
“You know me so well,” Renjun quips with an equal smirk.
The cast members barely glance at Renjun and Jisung, busy with their own hushed conversations (and potentially pre-party drunk, judging from their flushed faces). One man in a proper suit waves a friendly hello to them—to Jisung, specifically. At the elevated platform, he inserts himself into the couple’s space, standing between them.
“Hello, ladies!” he cheerily says, giving Jisung a terse hug. “You two look stunning as always. What a power couple, am I right?”
Lucas Wong is Renjun’s co-star and the go-to action star for every zombie apocalypse, alien invasion, world-ending earthquake movie that exists in the industry. He’s tall, handsome, burly, a master at pretending to use guns bigger than himself. Most importantly, Lucas is Renjun’s best friend.
He flashes a charming smile at the pair. “Real hot today, isn’t it? I can’t wait to get inside and sit my ass down.”
Jisung scrunches her face, just now noticing how Lucas is glistening under his coiffed hair from sweat. “It kinda fits you, though. Hot and sweaty. Like you usually are in your movies.”
Lucas shrugs at that. “Yeah. Did y’know that’s my actual sweat half the time?”
“Thought so. I also didn’t really need you to confirm that.”
The two laugh together. It’s only the two of them because Renjun is struck by something inexplicable, something that knocks her eyes wide open and gapes her mouth.
“Renjun?” Jisung asks, cocking her head.
Confused, Lucas wipes the air in front of Renjun’s face. “Hello? Earth to lil Huang?”
Renjun’s darkened gaze suddenly shifts to Lucas, scaring the man in the process. “Piss off for a bit, Xuxi,” she whispers in Mandarin.
“Wha— Why?”
“Girl talk. Go, scram.”
“Jeez, alright.” Lucas sighs, rubbing his nape, then turns to the reasonably perplexed Jisung. “Talk to you later, I guess.”
As soon as Lucas drags himself away, called by some of his buddies to take a group photo, Jisung gives Renjun a lighthearted smile.
“What is it now, babe?”
In no time, Renjun’s back to her grumpy self, pursing her lips. “I can’t fucking believe this.”
“What?” Jisung asks. No answer; just more frowning. “Oh my goodness, Renjun. Just tell me.”
Renjun’s jaw visibly shifts. “You are taller than Lucas Fucking Wong in heels.”
“I mean… Yeah, I guess I am.”
Renjun says nothing more beyond that, which makes Jisung break out into giggles and tug her by the waist. Although Renjun lets it happen, lets Jisung snake an arm around her waist and plant a discreet peck on the crown of her head, she’s not pleased. Her furrowed brows don’t falter in the slightest.
“Darling, please.”
Jisung is having the time of her life. Renjun is just endlessly adorable when she makes her ‘scary’ faces—Jisung knows it’s a mask for her honest embarrassment.
“Don’t ‘darling’ me. I’m mad at you,” Renjun grouches with her cheeks puffed.
Despite the cranky attitude, Jisung can feel Renjun leaning into her taller shoulder. It generates Jisung’s biggest smile yet—one that earns a barrage of camera flashes.
“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t ask to be tall,” she says lightly, running her hand on the curve of Renjun’s outline.
Renjun huffs. She pretends she doesn’t relax at Jisung’s gentle hold. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask to be short either.”
“Renjun.”
Jisung juts her pink lips, brows tilted in a fond what am I going to do with you? manner. Reaching to Renjun’s sidelocks, she tucks them behind her ear. Her eyes twinkle at the crescent moon ring decorating her helix.
Jisung dazedly smiles. Sometimes she would worry if it was a lukewarm birthday gift compared to every other luxurious item fans and friends gave Renjun. But seeing that Renjun still wears it everyday no matter the occasion is more than enough of a reassurance for her confidence.
Even if it’s obscured by her hair. Even if it’s outshined by other iridescent jewels she hangs from her earlobes. Jisung will know it’s there and intends to stay where it belongs.
“How about I make it up to you later?” Jisung suggests, her voice soft. She leans close to Renjun so the cacophonous crowd doesn’t muffle her words. “I’ll get us a nice dinner at our usual place, rooftop and everything. We can just sneak out during the screening.”
Though Renjun’s sour gaze flits for a moment, she merely flicks her face away from Jisung’s compassionate smile.
“No. I don’t want that,” Renjun says, much like a stubborn child. At this point, Jisung’s well aware that she’s acting upset without harboring any real animosity towards her.
Jisung takes a pause of consideration. Her hand idly strokes Renjun’s satiny locks, threading fingers through the dark glossy ink.
“Mall Cop marathon, then?” she offers in a whisper. “With a plate of my famous tteokbokki’n’cheese?”
Renjun’s final attempt to act angry goes unsuccessful.
“Okay. Fine,” Renjun eventually mumbles, much to Jisung’s delight. Her arm curls around Jisung’s back, hand resting in the centermost dip, brushing against the velvety dress. “Come sit next to me. I don’t think I’m gonna survive around the guys’ cologne.”
“Oh, I have the perfect remedy for that.” With a satisfied chuckle, Jisung lifts her hand for Renjun to take. Renjun clutches her long fingers, brings her wrist towards her button nose for a curious sniff. “It’s the Aerin perfume you got me. Do you like it?”
There’s a quiet break as Renjun absentmindedly polishes Jisung’s diamond ring with her thumb.
“I do. Reminds me of a very pretty rose,” Renjun hums, the affectionate smile ghosting her uplifting cheeks. “My pretty rose.”
“I’m so close to kissing you right now.”
“Please don’t.” Renjun’s hand readjusts so they can interlock their fingers. “Not until we get in the theater.”