Chapter Text
“I heard a funny rumor,” Yizhuo starts, pearly whites showing like it would hide the edge of her tone, “about Jimin.”
“No, I don’t think she’s dating that Jaemin dude,” Minjeong drawls, eyes closed to catch some sleep during the filming. “I caught him making out with another guy last week.”
“No, not that kind of rumor.”
Minjeong peeks an eye open to look at Yizhuo. Menace rests in her wide eyes, almost bursting through her seams.
It’s a bait. Minjeong’s mind immediately alerts, do not engage, but unfortunately Yizhuo knows what piques her attention immediately. Drama loves Yizhuo and Yizhuo loves messy drama even more; the network of gossip from the staff runs into her hands, and she’s more than generous handing morsels of information out. And Minjeong is only human — everything about Yu Jimin is a story to hear.
“Then what?”
“I heard,” she starts, lowering her voice so that Sieun, the supporting actress sitting in the tent, waiting for her next scene, wouldn’t overhear them, “Jimin is willing to go out with anyone for a month. You just have to ask. Then, after the month finishes, she would break it off with some bullshit excuse of a different variety of it’s-not-you-it’s-me about not being able to fall in love.”
“Excuse me if I don’t believe you,” Minjeong scoffs. After a second, she narrows her eyes at Yizhuo. “Are you trying to prank me?”
Glancing down at her wristwatch, Yizhuo stifles a yawn. “You’re so boring, Minjeong. Why would I be making this up?”
“You tell me. To embarrass me in front of Yu Freaking Jimin? To ask her out expecting she’d entertain me for a month just for her to look at me weirdly and ban me from working with her? Maybe get shunned from the whole industry for making weird moves on, and I repeat, Yu Freaking Jimin?” Minjeong folds her arms in front of her chest, shaking her head. “You just like to watch the whole world burn.”
Yizhuo gapes and a rebuttal is sitting on her lips.
Sieun clears her throat.
“I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” she says, round eyes moving between them with slight judgment. For a budding actress, she could’ve hidden it better. “And it’s true. I’m friends with Sumin. You know her right? She actually asked Jimin out and dated her for a month. She broke up with Sumin exactly the way you said.”
Something about the lilt of her voice and the bubblegum pink of her mouth pulling into a grin tell that she’s happy with how things turned out. From the corner of her eye, she catches Yizhuo perking up, smelling another gossip like a hounddog between the lines. Sieun, unaware, continues listing names, holding up manicured fingers to count the soldiers fallen for Jimin’s charms.
“And Sumin was not the only one. Kim Chaewon, too. And Na Jaemin — that, though, did not last for a full month. Even Jeon Heejin.” Sieun sighs. She looks at her reflection, fluffing up her blonde hair. “And also a lot of non-celebrity too. If you choose the right time, you can book yourself a month.”
Minjeong sucks on her lower lip and bites on it hard.
“Are you planning to? Ask her out, I mean.”
“Me? Gosh, no.” Sieun shakes her head violently. “I prefer my relationships without a deadline. However tempting it sounds.”
And it is tempting — who wouldn’t like to spend a month dating Yu Jimin?
Minjeong is a fan. A big fan. She counts herself lucky to be one of the makeup artists on set, where she can blend into the background and watch Jimin from afar. Sometimes she would get assigned to her; touching up her otherwise perfect makeup during breaks as Jimin focuses on her script, mouthing words over and over again.
“See? I’m not lying.” Yizhuo asks, straightening her back a little. “And she did date Jaemin.”
Sieun looks at them with a little told-you-so expression and a shrug.
It doesn’t mean anything. Minjeong pulls her beanie a little lower on her forehead, to signal Yizhuo that the conversation is over and she’s going back to her nap. But it really doesn’t mean anything — Jimin accepts anyone who asks her out on a date? And what? It’s not like Minjeong would sacrifice the fragile work-relationship they have with the occasional greetings and small talks. It’s not like she wanted anything more from Jimin than for her to continue building her admirable catalog of movies.
And yet.
“You are so thinking about it,” Yizhuo chirps too loudly in the silence of the tent. A teasing smile curls on her lips as she sticks one bony elbow between Minjeong’s ribs. She groans, scooting away from Yizhuo on the battered couch.
Minjeong catches Sieun watching them again from the corner of her eyes.
“Are you crazy? I’m certainly not.”
Yizhuo tilts her head. “If you’re not, I might be. Isn’t this a once in a lifetime opportunity?”
“You don’t even like her that much,” Minjeong retorts, suddenly growing defensive. “You walked out of the cinema because you, quote unquote, couldn’t understand why every character was crying so much when Jimin appeared on the screen.”
Sieun clicks her tongue, slowly shaking her head. “Yizhuo, baby… Because she died. She was a ghost.”
“But—”
“And aren’t you having an situationship with that writer girl? Song Yuqi, isn’t it? Even though that might not exactly work out judging by your stories.”
Yizhuo’s eyes narrow; Minjeong overshot the target level of embarrassment for Yizhuo and now she will flip the story around.
“Why do you care if you’re not planning to ask her out?”
With a groan, Minjeong climbs out from between the soft cushions of the couch and starts walking towards Sieun. Every movement of hers is followed through Sieun’s reflection, awfully nosy for someone whose dad is already in the industry for decades now. But Minjeong likes her, despite the lack of self-awareness, and respects that she actively chooses smaller roles to build her career slowly and not rushing into the noose of nepotism too quickly.
Minjeong flashes a quick grin towards Yizhuo. “I care because I think she deserves better. Maybe someone with media literacy.”
“Oh?” Yizhuo quirks her eyebrows. “But what if she just needs someone who’s not a coward?”
She thinks about it as she curls Sieun’s lashes later when her call-time is nearing. Thinks about it as she loiters around behind the cameras, waiting for the director to yell ‘Cut!’ so she can fix minor flaws on celebrities who don’t pay any attention to her.
But — it would be safe. Sieun said she wouldn’t want a relationship with a deadline, but the deadline is what makes it more grounding. A chance to date the actress Minjeong has an embarrassing amount of pictures saved in her phone, her movies being continuously on her watchlist, and whose lines she could quote any moment on demand. As a winner of three consecutive trivia nights only with her sheer knowledge of movies Jimin played in and movies Jimin was fan casted for, the answer seems almost obvious.
Except.
Except this feels a lot like stepping into quicksand. An opportunity hitting too close to home; with embarrassing knowledge about her, isn’t it overstepping? Is she being an obsessive fan if she tried her luck with Jimin?
Autopiloting through the motions of dolling up celebrities, she keeps an eye out for Jimin between the scenes — the drooping line of her shoulders, the constantly steaming coffee between her hands. Jimin is charming even when she’s not acting on it; the polite smiles she sends towards the staff members, the neverending moving of her lips as she goes through pages of highlighted scripts, the way she leans back with a long sigh leaving her cherry lips. The last one is half of Minjeong's work — highlighting the cold-cut of her beauty but not overbearing it. Sculpting her face to be hollowed out, to come alive; Minjeong leaned in to paint her lips to that cherry red, solely focusing on the way Jimin moved her mouth and shaped her words while talking to the director on the side.
Some decisions are easier to make when not thought too deeply.
“Have you made up your mind?” Yizhuo asks as she’s disinfecting their makeup brushes. Usually she’s the first one out of the door, but now she lingers behind, probably to further torment Minjeong. With a meaningful look, she adds, “Tomorrow’s the first of the month.”
“Who is she dating right now, anyway?”
“According to Sieun, she’s dating Yeji now.” She checks her wristwatch. “At least for the next 6 and a half hours.”
The thought of million-seller idol singer Hwang Yeji and best in her generation actress Yu Jimin dating almost gives her a whiplash. Dispatch would have a field-day knowing about all of this; the hush money from Jimin’s company must be hitting the roof for not releasing anything about her serial dater status. But she keeps it in the downlow, wrapping her partners up in a suffocating little box for not even Minjeong who interacts with her daily — and maybe, who reads her texts over her shoulder from time to time — hasn’t noticed.
If Minjeong was in the place of either of them, she would be having a hard time shutting up. But that’s maybe just Minjeong. Maybe idol-pop singers with more songs sitting on the top of the charts than Minjeong has fingers are different — maybe they are just there to have some fun. Kiss pretty girls. Enjoy the experience and the expiry date.
“Did they not work out?”
A noncommittal little shrug comes from Yizhuo. “They’re both busy.”
Minjeong purses her lips into a thin line. The answer sits wrong in her belly.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
***
She’s going to do this.
While Minjeong likes to think she’s above speed-dating her favorite actress, she is really not. She feels Yizhuo’s gaze boring holes in her back as the director yells ‘cut!’ and Minjeong plunges into the scene to re-adjust the smeared lipstick on Jimin’s mouth. It’s an easy task, Jimin being agreeable as ever, only leans away to sip from her iced coffee before she settles her face into careful neutrality as she skims through the script for the next scene.
It surprised Minjeong at first, how diligent Jimin is. With the way awards seem to fall into her hands, she expected her earnestness to slowly temper out into a serious case of princess disease. But Jimin seems to be only strict with herself; wardrobe malfunctions are met with a joke, less experienced supporting actors stumbling over lines for the hundredth of time with a gentle support. It’s interesting putting a personality to the celebrity Minjeong has in her head — somewhat cold with her otherworldly talent, deserving to hold her head high, and refusing to mingle with just anybody.
The Jimin she got to know, even from afar, is more human. Minjeong isn’t sure if this fact will help her in the long run.
The brush sweeps on her lips, and it is only for so long until Minjeong can push the gnawing nervousness away.
“I would like to ask you out,” Minjeong blurts out as she stares at Jimin’s mouth, reapplying the gloss on her lips, “if you’re still free for the month.”
The first thing she sees is great whites. Her hand freezes in the air, the brush threatening to tip over and fall from her fingers. Jimin has a nice smile, if a little condescending. The shape of her mouth pulls even tighter as time goes by, and Minjeong realizes she’s been staring at her lips a bit longer than socially acceptable. Meeting her eyes, the mirth glinting back at her, Minjeong busies herself shuffling things in her hand to exchange the brush for a powder puff. She starts tapping at Jimin’s nose but long fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling her hand aside gently.
“Is that so?” Jimin asks, tilting her head to the side. The ink of her hair ripples with each movement, and Minjeong can only stare. “Minjeong, right?”
She nods, stunned for a moment by Jimin remembering her name.
Jimin lets go of her hand and Minjeong refuses to break eye contact with her. That seems to entertain her, the honey of her gaze sticking to Minjeong like a second skin, deliberately unnerving but Minjeong is used to watching her from the shadows to know her tricks. The unnerving stare is the first hurdle Jimin throws at you before she turns a hundred and eighty. Minjeong wonders if she can jump high enough to get over it.
“So tell, Minjeong,” she starts, voice sweet as she leans closer like she’s sharing a secret. “Why would you like to go out with me?”
Minjeong almost asks if she wanted the answer in alphabetical order but swallows the thought as she already feels like she’s invading some kind of unspoken rule by engaging in this conversation. She opts to give a normal answer.
“I would just like to get to know you better. I really like your movies.”
The interested glint in Jimin’s eyes dim slightly, but she’s not the actress of her generation for nothing. But Minjeong is good at noticing small things, due to her work, and she doesn’t gloss over the smallest detail until the picture is perfect and the miniscule change in Jimin’s expression doesn't go unnoticed either.
“So you’re a fan?” she asks, tone gentler than Minjeong would've expected.
“Of course,” Minjeong sputters. “Everyone’s a fan.”
The slight curl of Jimin’s lips signals that she gave the right answer. If anything, this conversation reminded her of a game show more than anything. If she’s careful with her answers, she will win the main prize; if she fails to give a satisfying answer, the game is over. She can go back to pinning in the shadows like a loser.
“I know a person or two who aren't.”
“They are just in denial.”
Jimin chuckles and Minjeong finds herself smiling at the sound as well.
“Do you have your phone on you?” asks Jimin.
Minjeong manages another nod. A hand is held up in front of her, waiting. When she doesn’t receive what she wants, Jimin impatiently opens and closes her palm. Dazed and a little bit confused, Minjeong fishes her phone out of her back pocket, unlocks it and places it into Jimin’s hand.
With feigned exasperation, she taps away on the phone, before handing it back to Minjeong. When looking at her screen, the text app is open.
Yu Jimin
me: hi <3
It almost gives her a whiplash.
“I will text you later about the details of our first date,” Jimin concludes, going back to flip over her script, expressing the end of the conversation from her side. Minjeong blinks at her, waiting for the sudden twist of her lips into a snarl, taunting words flowing to mock Minjeong and her delusions — but they never come.
“Is it this easy?” she asks, still a little out of it.
Jimin lowers her scrips, arching an eyebrow.
“Did you want me to refuse you?”
“No,” Minjeong says too quickly. To soften her truth, she adds, “I don't know.”
“You were on time,” says Jimin with a shrug.
She nods, accepting the half answer. She goes back patting away invisible blemishes with powder on Jimin’s skin, and wonders if Jimin ever gives satisfying answers or she keeps on blaming unrelated things until people leave her alone.
***
Minjeong catches her own reflection in the windowpane and winces slightly. During work, she prefers comfort over anything — long hours spent rushing in and out of set to catch the stars, pat their cheeks rosy, reapply lipstick to their forever moving mouths have made her prefer sweatpants and hoodies over looks. Now, she regrets this decision as she’s nearing the address Jimin sent her alongside with a kissy emoji.
(After painstaking minutes, afraid Jimin would think Minjeong left her on seen, she sends a thumbs up. The emoji sits there, taunting her.)
Underdressed isn’t even the right word for what she is now. The golden ornaments of the doorknob as she pulls on the door, the taunting Michelin three stars painted on the glass and the slight disapproval in the eyes of the waiter who shows her their table all make her skittish. Minjeong rarely feels like a stranger in her own body — now, she does. Holding her head high, acting like it doesn’t affect her, she cannot help to think that Jimin is pulling a joke on her.
Jimin, in her little black dress and high heels, sips on a glass of wine just as red as her mouth. When she notices Minjeong, one corner of her mouth pulls into a half-smile.
“Sorry for being late,” Minjeong rushes to say as she arrives at the table. She offers a lopsided smile as an offer of peace. “Long day.”
“Not a problem. I’ve just arrived as well.”
The leg of the chair scraps on the floor as she pulls it out and she dumps her backpack unceremoniously on the floor. The candle between them flickers as Minjeong lets out a small puff of laughter.
“For an actress, you’re a terrible liar,” she says, teasing.
Jimin places her glass on the table, perfectly manicured nails drumming on the table. “How so?”
“Oh, just by the bottle of wine.” Minjeong nods towards it, missing a glass or two from the bottle. Also, Jimin is not yet wine-drunk, but the slight glitter of her eyes tells Minjeong she’s not that far off.
It’s Jimin’s turn to laugh. “I didn’t know I was having a date with a detective. This night promises a lot more fun than I first thought.”
“You thought I would be boring?”
“I thought you would be too starstruck to be entertaining.”
Minjeong prepares a retort but it dies in her throat as the waiter arrives with the menus. When the waiter moves to pour her some wine, she declines — afraid of sputtering nonsense with even one drop of alcohol in her system, even if the haze is tempting to calm the turning cogs of her mind, she decides to refrain from it. Opening the menu, foreign words lined up with criminally high prices, Minjeong bites her lips.
“I will go with the lamb and asparagus,” Jimin says without looking at the menu. She slips the little booklet to the waiter, and looks at Minjeong expectantly.
“Same as her.”
Once the waiter leaves, Jimin picks up her glass and sips away from the wine, while asking Minjeong rapid-fire questions. Family, hobbies, interests are all checked before the waiter arrives back with their steaming hot plates.
Too many knives, too many forks. Minjeong thinks about the metal chopsticks hidden in the table at the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant near her apartment, the ruddy face of the grandma who owns the place, the loud chatter of the regulars, the cacophony of scents in the air. Instead, Minjeong picks up the knife and fork that Jimin does, keeping in motion and in sync just to dress down the gnawing feeling of being an outsider.
And Jimin continues: questions about music taste, movies, childhood pets, fun facts. Minjeong answers each question but whenever she tries to raise one, Jimin shoots another. Chewing on the meat to buy herself time to come up with something interesting instead of yes, I do have friends, the fact that they are all my colleagues has no correlation, she wonders if Jimin enjoyed her company. She doesn’t look so — in some moments, Minjeong catches her dazed look slipping above her shoulder, staring past her. In others, the drum of her fingers on the table are a telltale sign that she has something else in mind than Minjeong.
It rubs her wrong; the feigned interest, the first round job interview-like first date. She stuffs some asparagus into her mouth, but it tastes like ash on her tongue.
Jimin barely eats from her meal, gently tapping her mouth with the napkin before placing it down and signaling to the waiter to take her plate. Minjeong catches a small crack in her shield and claws into it, sticking her feet in a closing door.
“So. I was always curious — why did you choose acting? You were an idol trainee before, right?” she asks, handing the waiter her own half-finished plate.
“I don’t talk business on the first date,” Jimin drawls, disarming charm turned on maximum. “This is a personal rule of mine.”
The waiter clears his throat. Minjeong glances at him, frustrated that he always ends up in-between tense moments and even more annoyed with him for making her feel like an outsider by only engaging in conversation with Jimin.
“The usual, Miss?” he asks.
Jimin nods, not even looking at the waiter. He turns towards Minjeong, waiting expectantly.
“Huh?”
“The dessert,” Jimin explains, slow like she’s spelling it out for a child. “Did you choose?”
Minjeong’s eye twitches. She says to the waiter, “Surprise me.”
Turning back to Jimin, she holds out her crystal glass.
“I changed my mind. I would like some wine.”
First dates are always awkward, Minjeong keeps repeating it in her head. But they are, to break the ice — yet. She feels like she had more chemistry with Jimin when she was curling her eyelashes, mouth shut in a trailer than now. Frosted over, Jimin is no help at all.
Yet, Jimin just chuckles, a sweet melody leaving her lips as she pours some wine. The small sound makes Minjeong’s cheeks turn a shade more red, embarrassment creeping up on her spine.
“If you don’t talk about yourself then what’s the point?” she grunts, raising the glass to her lips.
Jimin scoffs. “You’re a fan, you must know more of me than I do.”
“Aren’t you a little overconfident?”
“Fake it till you make it, baby.”
Minjeong lets herself imagine this date at the restaurant near her apartment. The kimchi jjigae sitting in front of them, their bowls of fluffy rice, side dishes and cans of cheap beer scattered on the table. Jimin, cheeks red from the inside heat, in her everyday clothes and tangled hair; in her easy glory and sharp smile. Maybe it’s too much to ask too quickly.
Yet, she feels like she’s placed in a glass box to be judged by her worth. A dog or a cat, judged whether she fits into the expectations, if she’s in line with her breed, if she’s not a defect. The wine tastes sour on her tongue, but she holds onto the stem of the glass just to do something with her hands.
“And what if I want something true?” Minjeong asks, just to be difficult.
“Maybe then you’re not at the right place.”
She hums. Jimin refuses to break eye contact.
“Maybe I am.”
“It is not my job to fit into your expectations,” Jimin says, leaning back in her chair, her voice slipping into a grittier tone. “I usually say no to anyone who claims to be my fan, just because of this reason.”
“Then why did you accept my proposal?”
“You seemed interesting.”
Minjeong tried to be careful, curating her image of Jimin in her head just for this reason. Never meet your heroes might be overused but true, is the first thing the staff members advise to the newcomers. Because you will be disappointed. Because they are human, born and raised in attention. Because they are already used to being the center of attention, the middle of their own little solar system. But Jimin — Minjeong wanted to reason with them — she paid attention to Jimin.
Perhaps other celebrities were flawed and vain, but not her. Not Jimin. With the pearl of her laughter, tender jokes and small talks; with the tiny gestures, the coffee trucks and the surprise lunches. She paid attention to Jimin and in turn, she paid attention to all of them.
(“You’re putting her on a high pedestal,” Yizhuo’s voice cruelly rings in her head. “But what are you going to do when she falls from there?”)
“I’m not your toy of the month.”
“And I’m not your idol.”
Despite the sweet roll of her tongue, Jimin’s shoulder line tenses. It might be sad, that Minjeong enjoys her effect on her, the small slip of her perfected facade. But she’s right — even if she thought she would be different; she came here with certain expectations. It is only fair to be called out on them.
“Okay,” Minjeong lets out a long exhale. “That’s fair.”
For a second, Jimin stops. Recalibrates into her usual self without fanfare, but Minjeong’s attention snags on it. A glimpse of honesty before it’s masqueraded behind well-practiced neutrality. Jimin is not the actress of her generation for nothing.
But that small piece, Minjeong clings to it. She’s not sure what Jimin’s playing at tonight, where the chilly edge of her serrated persona came from, but it feels too much like an attack than self-preservation. Somewhere along the line, Minjeong tapped into the heartline of the whole charade; the slip of surprise giving away a bigger thing.
“Were you hoping I would get angrier and leave? What? Are you trying to weed me out?” Minjeong half-jokes.
“Maybe?”
Minjeong blinks at her. “What about the 30 days?”
“It doesn’t always happen—”
Placing down the wine glass with more vehemence than she intended, she doesn’t even try to swallow her annoyance. Red wine stains the snow white tablecloth and Jimin only raises an eyebrow at her like she’s being bored by her antics.
“You do this with everyone,” Minjeong accuses slowly, realization crashing down on her like boulders, crushing down on her shoulders, making her infinitesimally small. “Do you think every single person you’ve dated is the same?”
“Does that bother you? It’s just a first date,” Jimin purrs, gaining an upper hand just by staying calm. She cocks her head to the side, feigning innocence. “I didn’t even know anything about you yet. This is a neutral zone.”
For you, Minjeong wants to say. Intimidation is not a nice opener to begin with.
“You claim not to fall in love — but do you even try? You play this game for what? Because it’s fun?”
That seems to spur up some of Jimin’s indifference. Dropping her hand from her chin, mouth tensing into a thin line, she stares at Minjeong.
“Has it occurred to you that maybe I’m just trying to make sure you won’t be airing out my secrets while I’m busy playing house with you?” Jimin asks, voice dropping lower. She’s strangely calm despite the clawing anger Minjeong feels in the back of her throat and it’s just pouring oil over her wakening flames. “Maybe I’m doing this because I have some bad experiences with trusting the wrong people right away? Do you even know anything, Minjeong?”
The undercurrent of her anger crashes against Jimin’s words, as she spits out Minjeong’s name like it’s a curse.
“What I know, Jimin, is that I expected nothing less from someone who's been invaded by Dispatch paparazzi all the time,” she spews, fingers gripping the table until her knuckles turn white. Her anger works against her; it’s an avalanche and Jimin is sitting right at the bottom, waiting for it to crash over her. “What I don’t know is why you are trying to sabotage the date from the very first second.”
“This is a nice place with nice food,” Jimin says, eyes skimming over the chandelier and the black-tied waiters flitting around. Her eyebrows knit together, genuine confusion taking over her features. “People love fancy.”
People. The faceless mass Jimin is used to dating; glittery eyes happy to swallow down Jimin’s prickliness so they would survive until the second date.
“Maybe it’s not me who doesn’t know anything.”
Jimin’s gaze darkens. “Pardon?”
“You are mine for the month. I am no one else.” Minjeong stands up, throwing the cloth napkin on the table, not caring if it landed right on the dessert. Heart beating in her throat, anger surging through her veins like molten gold — she needs to get out here. “This doesn’t count into the one month. Thank you for the food.”
When Minjeong storms out of the restaurant, anger still pumps through her and she doesn’t mind making a scene. Yet, as she’s waiting for her bus, the evening air grows way too chilly for the start of May, and the fresh scent of rain fills her nostrils — her anger subdues and crystallizes into embarrassment. The bus arrives before the rain starts again; the route is long until home. Laying the pads of her headphones over her ears, she watches the lights of the cars flashing past them, the neon signs blaring through the heavy rain, the people huddling together in the safe haven of the bus stops.
Minjeong wonders if she wanted too much just by asking Jimin out for her fluke of a relationship. If she’s brave enough to step out of her comfort zone; if Jimin is willing to do the same. If they are even able to meet in the middle.
But it’s still too early to judge.
TO: Yu Jimin
sorry for leaving you with the bill
next time is on me
how about a coffee on Sunday morning?
FROM: Yu Jimin
you bounce back quickly
sunday is good
after all, i’m yours for the month
;)