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Chapter Text

Minjeong

Minjeong woke up to the sound of her alarm, its shrill tone slicing through the early morning silence. Another day, another shoot. She reached for her phone, still half-asleep—until a message from their department head lit up her screen.

Mr. Hwang:
STELLAR Entertainment reached out to our studio. Kindly check your email.

Her heart skipped. STELLAR Entertainment. Of all companies.

There were countless artists under that name. It doesn’t have to be her, she told herself as she sat up, fingers already reaching for her laptop. But even as the rational part of her tried to reassure her, her hands trembled slightly.

The email was waiting.

Subject: Campaign Collaboration Request
From: STELLAR Entertainment

She clicked it open.

Dear Ms. Kim,

We are reaching out to invite you to collaborate on an upcoming promotional campaign. Your previous work with magazine features and billboard shoots has greatly impressed our team.

We believe your creative direction and photographic style are the perfect fit for this project. Your involvement is crucial to its success.

Looking forward to working with you.

Best regards,
STELLAR Entertainment

Her brows furrowed. Why didn’t they include the name of the artist?

Still, she kept her expression composed as she began to type.

To: STELLAR Entertainment
Subject: Re: Campaign Collaboration Request

Dear STELLAR Team,

Thank you for considering both our studio and myself for this project. It would be an honor to collaborate with your company.

However, I noticed that some details in your message seem to be incomplete—particularly regarding the artist involved. Could you kindly provide further clarification?

Looking forward to your response.

Best regards,
Kim Minjeong

Minjeong decided to get ready. Instead of sitting around and waiting for STELLAR’s reply, she headed straight to the bathroom.

The warm water cascaded down her skin, but it did little to ease the tightness building in her stomach. That familiar knot of anxiety—she hated it. No. It can’t be. She closed her eyes. Tried to focus on the heat. On the present. Not on the possibility quietly gnawing at the back of her mind.

When she was done, she wrapped herself in a towel and padded back to her laptop. One new email. She clicked it.

To: Ms. Kim
Subject: Re: Campaign Collaboration Request

Dear Ms. Kim,

We apologize for not providing further details in our previous email.

We have already contacted the studio regarding the concept, which involves a fresh campaign shoot for an upcoming billboard.

However, the identity of the artist must remain confidential for now, as this project is tied to an unannounced release. We assure you that full client information will be disclosed on the day of the shoot.

We look forward to your participation.

Best regards,
STELLAR Entertainment

Minjeong stared at the screen.

Of course they wouldn’t say who it was. Of course it had to be confidential.

But somehow, that only made her more certain.

She closed the laptop with a soft click. And sat there, towel still wrapped around her, staring at nothing—while her chest quietly braced for a name she already knew.

Despite the anxiety of not knowing who the artist was, Minjeong accepted the offer.

Who in their right mind would reject STELLAR Entertainment? Collaborating with them would open more doors than she could afford to close—not just for her, but for the studio as well. She reminded herself of that. Over and over. Besides, Mr. Hwang was clearly expecting her to say yes.

This wasn’t just a personal opportunity. It was a professional responsibility.

She could handle it. She had to.

Tomorrow, she will find out.

And whatever—or whoever —was waiting on the other side of that lens… she’d be ready.

***

Minjeong got up early and headed straight to the office.

As soon as she walked in, Mr. Hwang handed her an envelope without a word. She opened it and scanned the client sheet inside.

Subject: Karina
Agency: STELLAR Entertainment
Schedule: 10:00 AM – 3:00 PM

Her hands stilled. Just for a second.

She didn’t let herself react—not outwardly, at least.

Mr. Hwang’s voice pulled her back to the present. “The team’s already at the studio. Still setting up, I suppose. You should head over to assist.”

Minjeong nodded, steadying herself. “Of course. I’ll be on my way, Sir.”

She gathered her gear. Her camera, charger, and extra batteries—anything to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied.

She had to do this.

When she arrived, the studio was buzzing. Stylists pulled hangers from packed racks, the rustle of fabric mixing with the low hum of studio lights warming up. Laptops were open, equipment being adjusted, soft commands being exchanged between assistants.

It felt like every other shoot—until it didn’t.

The moment Karina’s manager spotted her, she walked over with a bright smile. “Hi! I’m glad you agreed to collaborate with us. I’m Aeri, by the way.”

Minjeong adjusted the strap of her camera bag and met her halfway, extending a hand. “Minjeong,” she replied, her voice even.

They shook hands—brief, formal, and controlled.

She hadn’t even asked where the artist was. She didn’t want to know, not yet.

Aeri had disappeared somewhere near the back of the studio, where the dressing rooms were—where the artist was probably getting last-minute touch-ups, makeup, hair, styling—the door opened.

Minjeong didn’t even look at first. Not until the low sound of heels echoed across the studio floor.

Then, instinctively, her eyes lifted.

And there she was.

Jimin.

No—Karina.

Same sharp jawline, gaze, and presence that effortlessly swallowed the room whole.

But everything else felt... different. What can change in two years? 

A lot.

Her hair was sleek and darker now. Her walk was steady. The outfit sharp and clean—her entire look screamed unreachable.

Minjeong didn’t move. She couldn’t. Not as Karina stepped into the light, flanked by her stylist adjusting her sleeve. Her gaze drifted casually over the set—until it landed on her. And then... stopped. As if no time had passed, she offered a smile—soft, familiar, and devastating.

Minjeong stayed rooted, feigning calm as Jimin walked toward her—until she paused just close enough.

“You cut your hair.” 

And the first thing she says to Minjeong, after YEARS. 

Jimin’s smile lingered, just for a second, before she turned away smoothly and headed toward Aeri, who had just returned from the other side of the studio.

“Did you introduce yourself?” Aeri asked. She’d been too far to hear what Jimin said.

She simply glanced in Minjeong’s direction. “Yeah, I did.”

Chapter Text

Jimin | Karina

The moment the company announced a collaboration with a top-tier studio, she had a feeling. A quiet, sinking certainty. But knowing didn’t prepare her for the reality—for how it would feel when it was Minjeong behind the lens.

Two years. That’s how long it had been.

And now, Minjeong was standing behind the lens, professional and poised, looking at her not like someone she once loved, but like someone she had to photograph.

The first click of the shutter echoed through the studio.

She tried not to flinch every time it went off. Not because of the sound, but because of what it meant: Minjeong was looking at her.

Through glass. Through distance.

Like she was a subject. A stranger.

“Tilt your head a little,” Minjeong instructed, her tone calm.

Karina did as she was told. Chin down, look left, shift your shoulder. Her body moved with the ease of experience, but every command chipped away at the wall she was trying to keep up.

And then—

“Still your best angle,” Minjeong said, so softly it was almost a breath.

But she heard it, clear as day. And for a moment, her heart forgot how to stay guarded. She wasn’t sure how she’d be able to hold it all in—the grief, the aching familiarity of standing this close and feeling so far.

She straightened her posture, placed her chin exactly where it needed to be, and waited for the next click. She knew how to pose. She'd done this hundreds of times. But this—this wasn’t just another photoshoot.

This was Minjeong.

Minjeong didn’t say anything else for a while.

But Karina could still feel her eyes.

“Karina, can you turn a bit to this side, please?” Minjeong’s voice was steady, professional, and careful.

And that was the problem.

Minjeong was calling her Karina.

She felt something tighten in her chest, slow and sharp.

Minjeong hadn’t used her name once. Not since the shoot started. Not even in passing. Just Karina, over and over again, like it was some polite distance they both had to agree on.

She smiled faintly—just enough for the camera, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

God, she never thought she’d hate being called that name.

For two years, she had trained herself to become Karina.

The brand. The performer. The version of herself who could walk into any room, wear any look, and never let the cracks show.

But here—under this lighting, in this silence, under Minjeong’s gaze?

She wasn’t Karina anymore.

She was just Jimin again.

***

The head of the team clapped once, loud enough for the entire team to hear. “Alright, break time. We’ll reset for the next look,” he said, already turning toward the monitors.

Aeri and the rest of the team had stepped out to review the first batch of shots with the agency reps. The stylist had gone to steam the next set of outfits. The studio—usually buzzing with voices, footsteps, the click of the shutter—was quiet now.

Empty, except for her and Minjeong.

Karina sat on a stool near the edge of the set, sipping from a water bottle. She kept her eyes on the floor, but she could feel Minjeong in the periphery—checking camera batteries, scrolling through previews, doing anything but looking at her.

She glanced up. Their eyes met for just a second. It was almost laughable, how careful they were being.

She didn’t move. Just watched as Minjeong fiddled with her camera—something she’d seen a hundred times before. After all, she’d been her muse for four years.

Back when Minjeong photographed her not because she had to, but because she wanted to.

Two years and some change, isn’t it strange?

“You still hold your camera like it might break if you breathe too hard.”

She hadn’t meant to say it out loud—not loud enough for anyone else to hear, just enough for Minjeong. The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Karina didn’t expect her to say anything in return. Not really.

Minjeong had always mastered silence, far better than Jimin ever could. Hers was the kind of silence that felt intentional, like a door softly closing behind you, final and unyielding.

She was pulled back to the present when Aeri walked up beside her.

“What do you want for lunch?”

“I’ll skip it today.”

That’s when she felt it—Minjeong’s eyes on her.

She took another sip of water.

“Okay. But let’s head back to the dressing room, yeah? You need to get ready for your new look,” Aeri said, voice light. She didn’t push—she never did. By now, she was used to Jimin skipping meals, knew how to read the quiet signs.

“Yeah, sure.”

Jimin fell into step behind her, the weight of Minjeong’s gaze still lingering.

***

Back on set. Lights ready. Everyone in position.

Minjeong behind the camera, again—calm and unreadable.

Karina in front of it, again—but this time?

She was going to perform.

If Minjeong wanted to pretend nothing happened, she’d give her a show.

The way Minjeong treated her like any other artist—it got under her skin.

“Next look,” Aeri said, handing her a blazer to throw over the fitted top. “More attitude on this set, okay? Chic, bold, a little sharp.”

She stepped onto the mark. The second she met Minjeong’s gaze through the lens, she tilted her head and let the smallest smirk tug at the corner of her lips.

Shoulders pulled back and aligned, chin up, and eyes straight into the lens. Like she was daring Minjeong to look away.

She gave them pose after pose—sharp angles, soft gazes, and a smile that wasn’t meant to be sweet. She was on, and everyone in the room knew it.

Except this wasn’t for them.

It never was.

It was for the girl behind the lens. The one who hadn’t said her name once today. The one who was pretending Karina wasn’t slowly  peeling away every wall she’d built in two years.

“Angle your face to the left,” Minjeong said from behind the camera, voice even.

Her hand hovered near her collarbone, deliberate and calculated. She knew exactly what she was doing. A slight tilt of her head to catch the light just right—highlighting the curve of her jaw, the mole beside her lips.

The one Minjeong used to trace with her eyes when she thought Jimin wasn’t looking.

A pose Minjeong had once called too distracting when they were still together.

“Like this?” she asked, voice light, laced with something not-so-innocent. 

Then, after another round of shots, Minjeong lowered the camera, just briefly.

Her brow furrowed. “Ji—”

She stopped herself.

Too late.

Jimin looked up, sharp and sudden, eyes locking onto hers.

Minjeong blinked. Her lips parted, like she wanted to take it back. Like saying Jimin’s name had broken some silent contract they were both pretending not to feel.

But it was done. That name—soft, real, hers—hung between them, louder than any shutter ever could.

Minjeong looked away first. “Sorry,” she murmured, barely a whisper. “Yeah. Stay like that, Karina,” she added, voice firmer now.

She smiled again, but this time it was sharp—almost cruel.

Minjeong’s fingers curled around her camera just a bit tighter. She didn’t say much after that. Only gave directions when necessary. Adjusted lighting, composition, framing—but never her expression.  

***

“It’s a wrap everyone!” the head shouted.

The set clapped. Compliments flew around like confetti—“Karina, you looked amazing as always,” “Perfect shots,” “Thank you for your hard work!”

Karina smiled, nodded, bowed politely. She knew how to exit a room gracefully. She’d perfected it.

But even as stylists moved in to help her out of the sweater, even as Aeri returned to confirm the schedule for billboard previews, even as the world buzzed around her—

Minjeong stayed still. She was reviewing the last few shots, her brows drawn together in focus, lips pursed the same way they always were when she was deep in thought.

Karina watched her from the dressing mirror, eyes flicking toward the reflection every few seconds. Just to see if Minjeong would glance up.

She didn’t.

Of course not.

Aeri waved. “We’ll send the final shots for approval later this week. Thank you again, Minjeong!”

Minjeong just nodded. “Thank you.”

People began leaving. One by one. Studio lights dimmed. The energy shifted from a production to an ending.

Karina moved slower.

Maybe on purpose.

Ten minutes passed. Then five more. The room was almost empty.

Almost.

Only she and Minjeong remained now.

Karina stood near the changing curtain, her jacket draped over one arm, her phone in the other. She didn’t speak. She didn’t move and just watched her. She should’ve looked away, should’ve fixed her hair or checked her reflection, but instead, she stared.

At the way Minjeong’s hair fell across her cheek.

At the way her fingers hovered above the screen like she was still deciding if something was good enough.

Like nothing had changed.

And then, without thinking, without meaning to—she said softly, “You still do that thing with your mouth when you’re focused.”

The studio went quiet again, as if it were holding its breath with them.

Karina cleared her throat, forcing a small laugh. “Sorry. That was... random.”

Minjeong didn’t answer right away. She just looked at her—for real this time—and Jimin hated the way her heart picked up speed under that gaze.

“Why are you still here?” Minjeong asked, finally. Her voice was calm, distant. “Aren’t they waiting for you?” Then she turned, casually, and began packing up her things: camera, cables and battery packs. 

Jimin let out a softer laugh this time. Not forced. Not really amused.

More like something she couldn’t stop.

“Two years,” Jimin said, voice low, a bitter smile in her lips, “and all I get is lighting instructions and shutter clicks?”

Minjeong didn’t answer.

But that was an answer, too.

She zipped up her gear bag. Clicked something shut. Still silent.

Jimin stared at the floor for a second. Then looked back up, eyes a little tired, voice a little too honest.

“I didn’t come here to make things harder. But you made it feel like I was never even here.” She turned, the words catching in her throat, but she didn’t take them back. “You win, Minjeong. I’ll go.”

She made it halfway to the door. 

And then she heard it—soft, barely audible, like it wasn’t meant to be said out loud.

“You were never not here.”

Jimin froze.

She didn’t turn around. She just stood there. And for the first time all day—she didn’t know what to do next.

Minjeong slipped her bag over one shoulder and walked toward the door. She didn’t look back. But just before she stepped out of the studio, she paused.

“Don’t work yourself too hard.”

It was casual and gentle. Almost cruel in how kind it was. 

Because that was the thing with Minjeong. Even when she was hurting, even when she was done—she never stopped caring.

That line wasn’t meant to start a fight. It was meant to leave Jimin with nothing to fight back against.

It was closure wrapped in kindness.

And it hurt more than any silence could have.

Jimin stayed where she was, jacket still hanging off her arm, motionless as she watched Minjeong walk away.

She laughed—quiet, bitter. It was like reliving that day all over again.

Only this time—it was Minjeong who walked away.

Chapter Text

Minjeong

A month had passed, yet Minjeong couldn’t help but still remember how they acted towards each other. She felt guilty at how she treated Jimin— Karina. She treated her like some sort of a stranger—a stranger she knows everything about—at least before. But that’s how they are supposed to be right now, aren’t they?

After the release of their campaign, Karina’s face is everywhere, her billboard up in the city, glowing under every streetlight. Minjeong can’t escape her, even if she wanted to. Every corner she turns, Karina’s eyes meet hers—smiling, untouchable, perfect.

Minjeong scrolls past another post, another picture of Karina on set, Karina laughing, Karina glowing under that impossible kind of light. The kind of light that never quite reached Minjeong, no matter how close she stood.

A part of her wants to reach out. Something to bridge the silence that stretched longer each day. But another part—the louder, more cautious part, tells her to let it be. They made their choice. They had to. Right?

Minjeong finds herself whispering her name. Just once.

“Jimin.”

Not Karina.

Just Jimin.

***

Minjeong didn’t expect her name to come up again.

Not after that.

But here she was.

Sitting across from Mr. Hwang with coffee in hand, client sheet in front of her. She barely glanced at it—just another project, another meeting—until her eyes caught the logo.

STELLAR Entertainment

Her fingers curled slightly around the paper.

“A music video,” Mr. Hwang said, flipping through his tablet like it was nothing. “They want our studio to handle it. Requested you specifically. Yizhou’s directing.”

Minjeong skimmed the sheet, scanning for the basics—location, shoot dates, concept. Then she stopped.

Her eyes lingered on the names.

Karina.

“Karina’s the lead,” Mr. Hwang added, almost absently.

Minjeong blinked. “Did they say why they wanted me?”

He shrugged, “Said they liked how you handled the last shoot.”

She let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “I’ve never done a music video.”

Mr. Hwang looked up at that, smiling like it was no big deal. “There’s a first time for everything.” He paused, then added, “They sent you an email.”

Minjeong turned toward her screen, her breath hitching as she opened the message. Her eyes caught on one line, the words tightening something in her chest:

We’d love to work with you again.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected something like this. After the billboard campaign, her name was starting to circulate in the industry again. Her photos had made waves, especially with Karina’s iconic look.

But a music video? With Karina at the center of it all? The one person she’d tried to bury in the back of her mind? Her hand hovered over the keyboard, fingers trembling just a bit. She let out a deep breath. It was just work. Right? 

Just another project.

***

Three weeks later, a meeting was called. There were updates to the location. Adjustments to the script. Quiet notes passed down from the artist herself—Yunjin.

The conference room was already filled with the soft shuffle of papers and the low, rhythmic tap of laptop keys. Minjeong stepped in a few minutes early. Her eyes moved across the table instinctively, calculating who was already there, who had yet to arrive. Familiar faces—and there, seated near the end of the table, was Jimin.

Minjeong sat still, back straight, one leg crossed neatly over the other. She could feel Jimin's presence across the table.

On the screen at the front of the room, the title of the project sat in bold letters:

When Winter Ends — Music Video

Yunjin, standing at the head of the table, looked up and grinned. “Minjeong! Good. I was just walking everyone through some of the script revisions. Nothing too major—just a little more… weight, emotionally.” She tapped the screen. “For example—scene 2B, café flashback. Originally, we had the character order a hot Americano. But we switched it to iced. In winter. Though it is something subtle about… I don’t know, habits you don’t grow out of.”

There was a soft chuckle from someone across the room. Minjeong didn’t laugh. She blinked once, slowly, and stared at the note on the slide:

"Iced Americano. Even in December."

Her stomach tightened.

Yunjin continued, “Also, the dinner scene is revised, new location. We were thinking something more familiar, less polished—Jimin suggested swapping the restaurant scene for a home-style table spread. LA galbi and kong guksu. There’s a place just outside the city that fits.”

Minjeong stared at the screen, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Galbi and kong guksu. That was theirs. Summer nights, old takeout bags, laughter echoing through half-empty rooms.

Mr. Hwang looked over. “Minjeong, you good with the changes?”

She finally looked up, her voice a little lower than usual, “Yeah. I’m good.”

Across the table, Jimin didn’t react. Just sat still, eyes down, as if she hadn’t said anything at all. But Minjeong could see the slightest flicker of something at the edge of her jaw.  No one else in the room would’ve caught it.

But she did.

A panoramic view of cliffs rising above the sea, green hills sloping gently into mist. The caption read: Option for Scene 3 — New Zealand coastline.

Yunjin stood by the monitor, pointing to a still from a location scout. “We’ll swap the third location for somethinig more reflective, where the character lets go. New Zealand, perhaps?”

The room murmured with interest. Beautiful scenery, cinematic, and emotional—it made perfect sense.

Except— Minjeong’s heart stopped.

New Zealand.

That wasn’t just a location.

That was their place. The one they’d circled on maps, late into the night. Shared Pinterest boards, sent links to hotels, imagined lazy mornings and blue skies. They never got to go. It was a dream she’d folded away carefully, like an old photograph. Something sacred.

And now it was going to be a backdrop. A set.

Minjeong sat still, pen frozen between her fingers. The room buzzed around her with soft nods and easy agreement. But something in her wouldn’t let it slide.

“Isn’t that too far?” she said, tone sharper than she meant.

A few heads turned.

Yunjin looked up from her tablet, blinking. “Too far?”

“For a shoot,” Minjeong clarified. “The location. We’ve already locked sets locally. Isn’t this... excessive?”

Jimin didn’t speak. She kept her eyes low, jaw still, like the question wasn’t meant for her.

But Yunjin, unaware, lifted her chin slightly, confident. “I think it’s the perfect location for it. The way I envisioned it. After all,” she added with a small shrug, “it’s my song.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

“And our scheduled shoots?” She turned to Mr. Hwang, needing something to ground her.

He cleared his throat, “The other team will handle it. I’ll just talk to them about timelines.”

Yunjin nodded, her tone clipped, “The entertainment will provide everything. Flights, permits, backup crew. It’s all covered.” Then she turned to Yizhou, “Are the changes fine with you, Director?”

Yizhou leaned back slightly and arms crossed with the faintest smile at her lips, “Of course. No problem at all. I like the details.”

That was it. As if that ended the conversation. And maybe for everyone else in the room, it did.

The nods came easily after that. A few muttered agreements, someone tapping a note into their phone. No one questioned the cost. 

And Jimin, silent across the table—was letting it happen. Letting her carry the weight of it alone while keeping her hands clean.

Minjeong didn’t argue again. Didn’t speak.

But when the meeting moved on, her notebook stayed closed. Her coffee went untouched. And for the first time since she walked into that room, she didn’t look at Jimin.

Not even once.

Chapter Text

Jimin | Karina

The conference ended. It was Minjeong who walked out of the room first. She never looked at her once after retorting with the location change. She knew it hit a nerve.

Well, Minjeong never argued. She was the type to stay silent. Let things pass. Absorb the blow and keep walking. But Karina knew—God, she knew—that something had cracked in her today. It was the first time Minjeong reacted. The first time her composure faltered. 

Karina sat still as the room emptied out, the low scrape of chairs and clipped conversation fading into the background hum of fluorescent lights. Her fingers were curled too tightly around her pen. Well, it wasn’t part of the plan—Yunjin mentioning her name. She’d suggested it on instinct. She told herself it was about the song. About the vision. About giving Yunjin what she asked for. Something beautiful, something reflective, something true.

She hadn’t just chosen scenes. She’d pulled from things she didn’t have the right to touch anymore. But she did it anyway, quietly and carefully—like no one would notice.

Karina exhaled slowly, then pushed her chair back. She glanced at the screen still glowing at the front of the room. When Winter Ends.

Right.

Maybe it was about endings after all.

Or maybe it never ended.

***

Seven months ago, Yunjin invited her out for dinner. They weren’t close yet, but they were getting there—quickly. Yunjin was one of the few artists Jimin had bonded with after transferring to STELLAR Entertainment. They picked a place on a quiet side street—grilled pork, ramyeon, kimchi jjigae still bubbling in the stone pot. Yunjin told stories that made Jimin laugh until her shoulders relaxed for the first time all week.

They lost track of time. Ended up wandering through the city afterward, past shuttered storefronts and flickering signs, the cold sharp against their cheeks but not unpleasant. When they reached the edge of an intersection, Yunjin glanced at her phone, “You should just stay over,” she said. “It’s late.”

Karina hesitated.  She didn’t have a shoot tomorrow. No real excuse to say no. And Yunjin was kind, familiar, and easy to be around.

So she nodded. “Of course. Thanks.”

Later, they found themselves curled on opposite ends of Yunjin’s couch, a blanket between them and Normal People playing quietly on her laptop. The room was dim, lit only by the screen and the soft glow from the kitchen light.

Karina’s voice cut through the silence, “Do you ever get the feeling of suffocating in a love that feels too perfect and too right, but still isn’t enough to hold on to?” She didn’t look at Yunjin when she said it.

Yunjin didn’t answer right away. She blinked, eyes still on the screen, where Marianne was lying in Connell’s arms, unspeaking.  Outside, the world moved quietly—traffic, wind, life continuing in the way it always did. But inside, it was quiet.

She thought maybe Yunjin hadn’t heard her.

Then Yunjin spoke, her voice quieter than usual, “Not yet, I guess. But I think it’s the form of love that demands sacrifices—a painful one.” She paused the video, finally turning to look at Karina, “Have you ever felt that?”

She didn’t answer right away either. Instead, she reached for the blanket, pulled it tighter around her legs. The room suddenly felt colder, though the heating was still on. Her fingers toyed with the corner of the fabric, folding it in on itself, again and again.

“It’s been more than a year. I should be over it. But it lingers.” 

The kind of truth that doesn’t need names or details. 

“Maybe because… she never really knew the truth.” 

Because some love exists in what’s left unsaid—the long silences and goodbyes that don’t sound final, but feel like it anyway.

Yunjin just nodded, slowly, and leaned back into the cushions. Her eyes never left Karina, though. There was a softness there—one that didn’t ask for more, didn’t demand explanation, but offered space if Karina ever wanted to fill it.

Karina shifted slightly, pulling her knees up under the blanket. Her voice came softer this time, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be heard or not.

“Say…Yunjin, would you want to write a song?” Yunjin looked over, eyebrows lifting just a little. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, just thick with the weight of things unspoken. Yunjin’s expression didn’t change, not much, but something in her eyes sharpened. Not suspicion. Not confusion. Just curiosity edged with something careful.

“Of course,” she said. “What kind of song?”

She hesitated, searching for the words, as if they’d been sitting in her mouth for weeks and still didn’t taste right.

“Something that says the things I couldn’t.”

“To her?”

Jimin nodded once.

Yunjin’s lips parted slightly, then closed again. She seemed to get it. Or maybe she just understood enough not to ask more than what was offered.

“Okay,” she said simply. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

Later, when Yunjin had fallen asleep and her soft, even breaths filled the room, Jimin lay awake on the couch, staring at the ceiling. The glow from the hallway spilled in, just enough to catch the edge of a picture frame. The song they will write still echoed faintly in her chest.

She couldn’t help but wonder.

Can she do it?

***

Yunjin was already seated, guitar resting on her knee, her notebook open beside her.

“You don’t have to know what it is yet,” she said quietly. “We can find it together.”

Jimin nodded and sat across from her. “I just want it to be honest,” she said.

Yunjin strummed a few chords—soft, searching. Nothing set in stone. Just the beginning of something.

“Okay. Start with a word.”

“Truth.”

They worked in fragments—Jimin tossing out phrases like half-finished thoughts, Yunjin grounding them in melody, shaping them into something whole. It wasn’t always smooth. Sometimes they’d sit in silence for minutes, letting the weight of a single line settle between them.

“You were the truth I never gave a name.”

Jimin hummed a melody under her breath, not even sure it could be called one. But Yunjin caught it. Picked it up, refined it, looped it on the guitar until it turned into something fragile and warm.

They didn’t say much, but something passed between them each time their eyes met—a quiet understanding that this wasn’t just about a song anymore. It was about the process of pulling grief out of silence and giving it form.

***

Months after the song was finished, they met again. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to be part of the production or take credit for the song?” Yunjin said, watching her carefully.

Jimin shook her head, “No.” Quiet, but final.

“So, what’s the plan?” Yunjin asked.

Jimin took a breath. “We know that the song is about the quiet unraveling of something that could’ve lasted, if only life or timing or dreams hadn’t pulled them apart. It’s not dramatic. It’s confused, tender … aching,” Jimin replied. “That’s what the lyrics are doing—telling the emotional truth. ” 

Yunjin nodded slowly, “And the video?”

She continued, “Then the music video should match that feeling. It will be dreamlike, still, and intimate. A visual goodbye. Not dramatic or theatrical, but achingly quiet. Just long takes, soft scenery, warm, nostalgic color grading.” She paused. “Like you already lost them. But you’re remembering them in the softest way.”

Yunjin took a sip of coffee. Her voice came quiet, “Damn. That hurts.”

“Don’t worry,” Jimin said, grabbing her iced americano. “I’m getting the lead in the music video.”

Yunjin squinted at her, “Confident, are we?”

“I don’t even have to act,” Jimin replied, leaning back dramatically. “I am the heartbreak.”

Yunjin snorted, “You’re the drama, that’s for sure.”

“Please. I’m the emotional arc,” She flipped her hair like it deserved its own credit roll.

Yunjin rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered. “Just don’t cry on cue and make the cameraman fall in love with you again.”

“No promises.”

* **

“You dummy! You should’ve just said it was Minjeong!” Yunjin huffed, throwing an empty water bottle at Jimin across the table. The conference room was empty now, just the two of them and quiet sound of the AC.

Jimin caught it with one hand, unfazed. “And ruin the suspense?” She grinned. “Where’s the art in that?”

“The way she tensed?” Yunjin scoffed, eyes wide with mock offense. “She was the only one dead serious about the coffee scene. And New Zealand? Really? That was your subtle choice?” She pointed accusingly. “I knew she was MAD mad. I should’ve known—that’s why you asked for those revisions, huh? To get under her skin?”

But that wasn’t it. It was never about getting under her skin. It was about reliving those moments through the only way left to her: with Minjeong behind the lens instead of beside her in the frame. It was about going to their place, even if they weren’t theirs anymore. Even if Minjeong didn’t see it the same way.

Because maybe… Maybe this was the only way to keep the promise they made. To go there, someday.

Together.

But of course, Jimin didn’t say any of that.

“Well,” Jimin leaned back in her chair, smirking. “She said more words to you in five minutes than she said to me during my entire campaign shoot.”

Yunjin stared, “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” Jimin teased. “Didn’t you say, months ago, 'just don’t cry on cue and make the cameraman fall in love with you again’?” She raised an eyebrow. “I guess it will work out now that she’s mad.”

Yunjin covered her face with both hands, groaning. “God, we’re so doomed.”

“Speak for yourself,” Jimin said, tossing the bottle back at her. 

Chapter Text

Minjeong

Scene 2 — Interior, Café — Morning

It was the first day of the shoot.

The lighting crew adjusted the overheads to mimic early morning sun. Minjeong stood at her mark, camera adjusted, next to the monitor beside her. The café had been dressed like memory: slightly worn seats, moisture on the windows, and hum of morning conversation piped in just loud enough to feel real.

“You good?” Yizhou asked from her side. “First music video, right?”

Minjeong gave a short nod. “Yeah.”

Yizhou smiled, easy and encouraging. “You’ve got this.”

“Rolling,” someone called. A clap of the slate. Scene 2A, take one.

Jimin stepped onto the set, the bell above the café door chiming faintly, rigged to sound just right. She looked... small, somehow. Not in size, but in presence. Her hair was loose, the sleeves of her sweater slightly covering her hands. Jimin entered like she belonged there. Not like a celebrity stepping onto set, but like someone stepping into a place she’d been before. Like someone remembering.

She made her way to the counter. “One iced americano, please,” she said, then hesitated, as if remembering something that didn’t quite fit. “Sorry, it should be hot.”

The words fell into the air, hanging for a second. Like she was remembering a detail that had slipped away. With a quiet breath, she turned and slowly crossed the café. Her steps were measured, like she was unsure whether the seat across from her would still be warm. 

“Cut!” Yizhou called, her voice cutting through the stillness of the set.

Jimin straightened and looked over at the director with a slight frown. “Sorry, that wasn’t part of the script.”

Yizhou gave an approving nod. “No, I like it. It adds more depth. We’re keeping it.”

Jimin blinked, unsure of whether to feel relieved or nervous, but before she could process it, the door to the café opened with a soft jingle. Jeno walked in, stepping into the scene as the male lead for the music video. His presence immediately shifted the energy.

“Alright, let’s go again,” Yizhou said, clapping her hands. “Second clip, same scene. This is where the memory gets... relived.”

Minjeong adjusted her camera, her eyes briefly catching Jimin’s as she stood next to the counter, waiting for the next take. 

“Rolling!” someone called from the side.

Jeno approached the counter. “Iced Americano, please?” he ordered, his voice light and playful.

Jimin turned to him, a small furrow appearing between her brows. “It’s December?” she asked, almost teasing.

Jeno’s smile was easy, effortless, his tone playful, “Even in December.”

Jimin hesitated for a moment before she nodded, the script’s words falling back into place. “Make it two, please?” she added, her voice just a little quieter, her gaze briefly flickering away.

The camera felt steady in her hands, but her chest didn’t. Minjeong took a slow breath. It was her job to stay behind the scenes, to watch without reacting, to frame emotions without letting them spill over into her own. Minjeong’s fingers tightened around the camera, focusing in on the scene in front of her. It wasn’t just a moment between Jimin and Jeno. It was the quiet weight of a history that still lingered.  

***

Scene 3 — Interior, Apartment — Night

Warm lighting cast a golden hue over the dining room—a softness that made everything feel a little slower, a little more fragile. The shelves in the background were cluttered, a stack of books, and framed photos slightly tilted.

“Sound rolling.”

“Camera rolling.”

“Scene 3A, take one.”

Clap.

Minjeong adjusted the focus, breath steady. Her fingers curled slightly around the handle of the camera as she framed the shot.

Jimin sat at the table, alone. The silence in the room was intentional. No music, just the quiet hum of an air purifier in the background, the subtle creak of a chair as she shifted her weight.

There was a knock at the door and Jimin rose. She didn’t rush, just walked—barefoot, sweater sleeves, as if this was the hundredth time she’d done this. She opened the door off-camera, accepted the delivery bag with a quiet “thank you,” and returned to the table.

Minjeong followed her through the lens, capturing how her eyes flicked to the empty seat across from her.

She set the bag down, unwrapped the takeouts: kimchi jjigae, tonkatsu, and kong guksu. Food for two, but there was only one set of chopsticks on the table. She didn’t eat—just looked at the steam rising from the soup she made. Her hands curled around the bowl like she was trying to hold warmth that wouldn’t stay.

From behind the lens, Minjeong’s breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t acting. Or maybe it was. But it was too close—too honest .

“Cut,” Yizhou said gently.

But Jimin didn’t move right away. She stayed seated, hands still resting on the bowl like she didn’t want to let go of the moment just yet.

They reset the scene with quiet efficiency, the hum of crew chatter fading as the room fell back into place—same table, same light, different weight.

Scene 3B.

“Rolling!” Someone at the side called.

Minjeong adjusted the lens, her fingers steady, though her pulse betrayed her. She framed the kitchen and dining room in a wide, intimate shot—warm lights, soft shadows, corners softened just enough to look like memory, not cinema.

From the monitor, she saw Jeno by the stove. The steam rising from the pot curled toward the light. Jimin sat already at the table, sleeves pushed up, hands resting in her lap like she didn’t quite know what to do with them.

“Did you prepare all this?” she asked.

Jeno nodded, still focused on plating. “I know you’re tired,” he said. “When you’re preoccupied with work, you sometimes forget to eat.”

She smiled, quiet and genuine, “You remembered.”

Then she looked at him.

Just for a second.

And Minjeong, through the lens, felt it land like a weight in her chest. 

It was subtle—the shift in Jimin’s expression, the flicker of something softer. Nostalgic, maybe. Or something she didn’t mean to show. She picked up her chopsticks and took a bite. Jeno watched her, like he was still trying to learn her, even now.

From the monitor, Minjeong captured every second. The way Jimin’s hand hesitated above the bowl before pulling away. The pause before the first mouthful. The look that almost reached him—but didn’t. The way the room felt occupied, but not entirely shared. It wasn’t dramatic. But it ached.

“Cut,” Yizhou called, softer this time.

Jimin let her shoulders drop slightly as she stepped back, her fingers brushing the edge of the table before releasing it. Minjeong stepped away from the monitor. She didn’t say anything. Just reviewed the footage as Yizhou approached her.

“That felt good,” Yizhou murmured beside her. “You caught it—the way she was holding something back. I could feel it.” Minjeong gave a small nod, but her gaze stayed on the screen where Jimin's face was caught in that moment between remembering and letting go.

And Minjeong could feel it too.

Because she was holding something back, too.

***

Scene 4 — Interior, Dining Place — Afternoon

It was their last set before flying out to New Zealand. The light through the restaurant windows was warm, casting soft afternoon shadows across the table. The space buzzed with gentle clatter—forks, glass, and laughter quite reaching the edges of the room.

"Rolling!" 

Jimin’s car door  opened as Yeji knocked lightly on the window, her smile wide and knowing. She stepped out, the sunlight catching her hair as Yeji immediately looped her arm through Jimin’s, leading her into the bustling dining place. The warm, inviting scent of grilled meat and broths filled the air as they approached their friends’ table. 

Jimin offered her friends a smile, polite but distant, before sliding into the seat next to Yeji. The table was filled with platters of LA galbi, bowls of kong guksu, and small dishes of banchan. The conversation flowed around her, light and easy, about this and that, all the usual chatter of old friends catching up. Jimin nodded at the right moments, let out soft chuckles. She even leaned in when someone said her name.

She tried to keep up, her eyes flickering from face to face, but it was clear her mind wasn’t fully present. The words around her seemed to blur as her thoughts drifted elsewhere—past the laughter, past the plates of shared food. She stared at nothing for seconds.

One of her friends spoke louder, snapping Jimin out of her haze. She blinked and refocused, trying to anchor herself in the present. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I asked if you’re okay?"

Jimin hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering around the table before she forced herself to meet their eyes. "Yeah," she replied, her voice gentle but distant. "Just tired, I guess."

Even here, at the heart of this gathering, it felt like something was missing. As the conversation resumed, Jimin’s gaze drifted to the window, her thoughts slipping further away.

Minjeong adjusted the lens, her hands moving with precision. It was time for the next shot, her focus sharpened. Jimin, sitting across from Jeno, was about to relive another moment of something shared. Minjeong felt the weight of it—a moment not just for Jimin, but for the memory they were trying to capture. She tilted the camera slightly, ensuring both Jimin and Jeno were in the frame. The light filtered through the windows, bathing them in a warm and soft glow.

“You know what?" Jeno’s voice broke through the stillness, a bit too enthusiastic for the setting. "The multiverse exists. There’s a parallel universe out there somewhere.”

Jimin blinked, there was a flicker of curiosity in her gaze. “How are you sure they exist?” she teased lightly.

Jeno leaned forward, his tone turning playful yet earnest. “Well, I’m not sure, but think about it. The gravitational waves from the Big Bang point to the birth of multiple universes. Ours isn’t the only one. There’s a whole multiverse, different universes with different laws of physics—quantum mechanics, you know?”

Jimin’s smile deepened, “So, you’re saying there’s a universe out there where I’m not sitting here with you?”

Jeno grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes, “Maybe. But there’s one thing I know for sure…” He grabbed his chopsticks and fed her a piece of galbi, a gesture so familiar. “In every single one of them, I love you.”

Minjeong’s grip on the camera tightened. It felt too familiar, too close. As if the lens weren’t the only thing focusing in on the scene, but her own emotions too. It was like Jimin wasn’t the only one reliving moments on this set—Minjeong could feel herself pulled into it, in ways she hadn’t expected. Her breath caught in her throat. It wasn’t just Jimin she was capturing anymore: it was the space between them, the things unsaid, the delicate fray at the edges of everything that had once been. There were moments between the two of them that never made it into the script—moments that no one else could see, but that Minjeong felt, just out of reach.

“Cut!” Yizhou’s voice broke the silence, soft yet clear.

Minjeong didn’t move. She stayed behind the lens, unwilling to pull away just yet. And then, for the first time, Jimin’s gaze met the camera. She was looking at her. Not through her—at her.

At that moment, Jimin’s expression softened—just enough for Minjeong to feel it.  There was something there. Maybe it was a flicker of warmth, or the glimmer of something long buried, or the echo of a past that refused to let go. And for the briefest of moments, Jimin let herself stay there. In the present. With Minjeong. But only for a moment.

She knew something had shifted between them, and for that fleeting instant, it felt like both of them had allowed themselves to remember.

Chapter Text

Minjeong

Minjeong stood in her unit, staring at the mess. She had just finished packing, but clothes, camera lenses, and spare batteries still lay scattered across the floor. It was past midnight, their flight will be in the morning.

Instead of sleeping, she started cleaning. After the shoot two days ago, she'd done everything she could to keep her mind off it. Tonight would be no different. She folded the hoodie draped over the chair, slipped memory cards into a zippered pouch, and unplugged the charger that had stayed warm for days. Her hands moved without thought, sorting cables, tossing out old receipts, clearing away the wrappers she’d meant to throw out a week ago.

It was nearly five in the morning when Minjeong finally stopped moving. The room was clean now, different from the chaos it held hours earlier. She sat on the edge of her bed for a moment, staring at nothing, her body heavy with the exhaustion of days spent pushing herself too hard. Every muscle aches, and her head throbbed with the dull weight from sleep deprivation.

But with only three hours left before their flight, she knew it would be pointless to rest now. Closing her eyes would only make it harder to get up. She’d just sleep on the plane.

Dragging herself to the bathroom, she took off her clothes and stepped into the shower. The water was warm and did little to wake her. Afterward, she dressed in a loose hoodie and a pair of soft shorts, just something comfortable for the long trip ahead.

Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten, the air was cool and quiet as she rolled her suitcase to the curb and climbed into the cab. Her thoughts drifted but she tried so hard not to fall asleep. By the time she reached the airport, the terminal buzzed with early travelers, footsteps echoing through the halls. She moved on autopilot—check-in, security, gate. Her body remembered what her mind couldn’t focus on.

She arrived just as boarding began. Her seat was next to Yizhou. A small part of her registered the familiar shape of her friend’s profile, the quiet nod of acknowledgment between them. But there was no energy left for words. Minjeong slumped into her seat, her body sinking into it.  As the plane began to move, her eyelids grew heavy, then closed without resistance. Sleep took her quickly—swift and consuming.

***

She didn’t know how long she’d been asleep. Time felt distant, warped by the kind of sleep that clings too tightly. Minjeong wanted to wake, but her body resisted—every part of her still heavy with exhaustion. Half-asleep, she shifted in her seat, eyes barely open, and leaned toward Yizhou, searching for comfort without thinking. Her head found a shoulder, and her consciousness began to slip away again.

But just before the pull of sleep took her under, one thought drifted in: When did Yizhou get this tall?

***

Her body finally felt like it had rested enough. The ache had dulled, replaced by a quiet stillness. Minjeong's eyes fluttered open, slow and unfocused, blinking against the soft cabin light. She reached for her phone, fingers sluggish, and checked the time: past four in the afternoon.

“Sorry, did I wake you up?” a voice asked gently beside her.

Minjeong paused. That voice... it was soft, familiar, but something about it had changed—deeper, warmer somehow. She is sure that’s not how Yizhou sounded. Her brows furrowed slightly as she turned toward the source. 

She blinked once.

Then again.

What?

Her brain scrambled to catch up.

Why is Jimin sitting beside her?

Jimin paused whatever she was watching and pulled out one earbud. “About an hour after you fell asleep, I switched seats with Yizhou,” she said, as if reading Minjeong’s thoughts.

Minjeong just stared, still blinking off sleep and confusion.

Jimin offered a small shrug. “Well, technically, it was Aeri who asked me to. You know… with everything going on between them.” She added, “Yizhou wanted to wake you up to ask if it was okay, but…” she gave a soft laugh, “You looked dead tired. I figured it’d be cruel to disturb you—thought you might not be able to fall back asleep if we did.”

Minjeong let out a breath, “Yeah… I probably wouldn’t have.” She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to remove the last brink of drowsiness from her system. “Thanks for not waking me up, I didn’t realize how out I was.”

Jimin smiled, “No problem. You didn’t even flinch when Yizhou tried to move. You always looked like you’d been knocked out by tranquilizers whenever you sleep.”

Minjeong gave a small smile in return, but her face flushed slightly as realization crept in—she’d been leaning on Jimin for hours.

No wonder her shoulder had felt warm. No wonder the scent of Jimin’s perfume had made its way into her dreams. Yeah… she probably wasn’t getting any more sleep on this trip.

***

That turned out to be their last conversation. Minjeong was quietly grateful when Jimin fell asleep after finishing whatever she’d been watching.

Nearly five hours later, they finally landed.

Minjeong reached out and gently tapped Jimin’s arm. Her voice was soft, “We’re here.”

Jimin’s eyes blinked open slowly, still clouded with sleep. But Minjeong didn’t wait for her reaction. She turned away almost immediately, already reaching for her bag and straightening her hoodie. Her hands moved with purpose, like she needed something to focus on.

When they finally arrived at their room, Yizhou turned to her almost immediately. “Hey… sorry for not waking you up on the flight,” she said. “Karina—well, she suggested we let you rest.” Her voice was gentle, almost hesitant, like she wasn’t sure if Minjeong would be upset or relieved.

“It’s alright,” Minjeong said, brushing it off with a small smile. “Let’s just settle in so we can rest. We’ve got another shoot tomorrow.”

***

Scene 6 — Exterior, Coastline — Afternoon

Minjeong stood by the bay, hands in her jacket pockets as she watched the tide roll in. The waves moved steadily, brushing the shore. A few crew members walked past behind her, their voices low, equipment slung over their shoulders. The sun was just above the horizon now, casting a soft orange light across the water. 

They had already filmed some montage shots earlier—walking, turning, the usual filler—but this was different. Something about the way the sky looked made her feel like things were slowing down, as if the day itself knew they were wrapping up. She wasn’t sure if it was relief or something else, but her chest felt lighter.

She turned and made her way back to the prep tents set up just past the beach. Inside, the light was dimmer, the space buzzing quietly with last-minute adjustments. Jimin was seated near the back, surrounded by stylists. She was getting a light retouch—just powder and a bit of hair work. Her earlier solo shoot had been in the midday, but she looked composed now, tired maybe, but focused. 

Minjeong gave a small nod to one of the staff and moved toward her gear bag. There wasn’t much to say. Everyone was just getting through the final stretch.

Until she saw what Jimin was reading.

She held it loosely in one hand, the other resting on her lap as a stylist adjusted a strand of hair near her temple. The dark green cover was worn at the edges, the spine slightly bent. The Midnight Library.

Minjeong recognized it instantly. It was the same copy she’d handed Jimin on a random Thursday years ago—no explanation, just a quiet “I think you’d like this”. Minjeong hadn’t expected her to actually read it. She stood still for a second, Jimin hadn’t seen her yet. She was on the same page for a while, eyes steady, like she was actually taking it in—not just flipping through to kill time.

“Time to shoot Scene 6D,” a staff member called from outside the tent, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Their eyes met for just a second. Jimin closed the book slowly, slipping a receipt between the pages as a bookmark. She didn’t smile, but her expression softened. She stood as the stylists stepped back, giving her space. Minjeong adjusted her bag, brushing a few strands of hair out of her face. They stepped out of the tent together. The sky had dimmed further, casting everything in blue and gold. Crew members were already in place, cameras being positioned, the ocean waves in the background.

“Rolling.”

The camera hummed quietly, catching the last blush of light across the horizon. Dusk settled over the coastline, a fragile in-between where everything felt suspended. Jimin stood there, barefoot and the hem of her dress tugged by the wind. It was as if she were trying to feel everything all at once—every buried memory and grief, every fraying edge of herself. The waves moved the sand in rhythm, calm and steady. 

And then the tears came. Not sudden, not dramatic—just slow, quiet, and honest. They weren’t the kind of tears meant for the camera, these were raw, silent sobs that didn’t ask for attention. She wasn’t acting anymore.

Minjeong tightened her grip on the camera. A chill ran down her spine. She knew that look on Jimin’s face. It wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t rehearsed. This was something else—something deeper.

She wanted to cut. She almost did.

But she didn’t.

Maybe, she told herself, Jimin was just that good. So good it hurt to watch.

But she knew. Jimin had slipped—no, fallen out of character. Or maybe she had never been in character to begin with. She kept the camera rolling, even as a knot formed in her stomach. 

And then—Jeno entered the frame without cue or script, his steps soft in the sand. He didn’t speak right away. He just came to stand beside her, close but not imposing, watching her with a quiet concern that felt too intimate to be staged.

“Hey,” Jeno said softly, leaning in a little closer. “You okay?”

Jimin didn’t immediately respond. “I’m fine,” she muttered, but there was an unmistakable crack in her voice.

Jeno could see through it. He’d been around enough actors, enough artists, to know when someone was actually fine. “You know, you don’t have to do this alone,” Jeno continued, voice quiet but sincere. “If something’s wrong, you can talk about it. You know I’ve got your back, right?”

It was hard to ignore the gravity of it all. This wasn’t just a shoot anymore. Minjeong’s job had gone from capturing Jimin’s image to capturing something more real. More raw. More painful. 

But the shoot was going well. The chemistry was there. The tension was almost unbearable.

It was a moment that no one planned, but no one could look away from. Minjeong’s lens was still rolling, she didn’t know when she started holding her breath. Or why her hands had gone cold. Behind the camera, she could feel Jimin. Not in front of the lens anymore, but behind her—looming in her memory, in her chest. Close enough to touch. Close enough to break her.

“Everyone…” Yizhou’s voice broke the silence, calm but decisive. “We’re going to keep that last moment in the cut.”

Minjeong  felt her stomach tighten at the words.

They were going to use it. That moment— that Jimin —captured in golden light and unraveling silence.

What they got was something that couldn’t be written.

Chapter Text

Jimin | Karina

The shoot was going smoothly, the team was in their rhythm, but Karina? She had slipped away from the character. The camera was still on her, the lights still bright, but her gaze kept shifting, her expression slowly slipping into something deeper than the role she was supposed to be playing.

Karina blinked, and for a moment, the walls she had built around herself seemed to falter. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. The feeling of being exposed, of being vulnerable, hit her like a wave.

The truth was, Karina wasn’t just acting anymore. She wasn’t pretending to be this strong, confident person. Not for the camera, not for the people around her, not even for herself. She was feeling everything—the loss, the regret, the ache of what she could never have again.

Later, when the shoot was over and the crew had packed up, Karina stood alone in front of a mirror, staring at her reflection. It was a good thing there was comfort room near the coast. The weight of everything—the music, the video, the emotions—crushed her. The music still echoed faintly in the distance, each note pressing against the walls of her chest. She touched the edge of the vanity like it might steady her, but nothing could.

She hadn’t realized how deep the wound still was.

She hadn’t realized how much she had poured into forgetting—and how little had worked.

Her thoughts drifted again. Always, inevitably, to Minjeong. She closed her eyes. There was no bringing her back. She knew that. But maybe, just maybe, there was something sacred in remembering. In letting the ache stay, not to be punished by it, but to preserve what had been.

And so, in the quiet, Karina let herself cry—not as the character, not for the camera, but for everything that had slipped through her fingers.

For everything she never got to say.

***

Back in their room, Karina sat curled up on the couch, the TV flickering with some muted drama she wasn’t really watching. Just something to fill the quietness. An empty bottle of water  on her hand, fingers toyed with the cap absentmindedly, twisting and untwisting it. The door creaked open, and Aeri stepped inside, her presence gentle but sure.

“Hey…” Aeri’s voice broke the silence softly. She sat beside Karina, her body angled slightly, watching. “Are you okay?”

Karina adjusted her position, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugged it. “Yeah. I just got carried away,” she said, forcing a smile. “Happens a lot, right?”

Aeri didn’t respond immediately. She studied her, eyes full of concern. “Sure,” Aeri finally said, not unkindly. “But it felt different today.”

Karina looked away. Her gaze drifted toward the muted TV, “I guess some scenes just hit harder.”

That was true enough. But not the whole truth.

There was a quiet between them. Aeri didn’t fill it with questions, and Karina appreciated that more than she could say.

Eventually, Aeri leaned back against the cushions and changed the subject gently. “There’s dinner later. For the team. A little celebration for the shoot.”

Karina exhaled slowly. “I think I’ll skip. I’m dead tired.”

“I figured. You didn’t even touch your lunch.”

Karina didn’t answer. She hadn’t even noticed. Hunger hadn’t crossed her mind once all day.

“I’ll let them know,” Aeri added.

“Thanks.”

Aeri stood up but lingered, her eyes still fixed on Karina like she was searching for something beneath the surface.

“You know…” she said, softer now, “You can talk to me. If you ever want to. About anything.”

Karina nodded automatically. “Yeah…”

Aeri gave a small, understanding smile and started toward the door. But halfway there, she stopped—hesitated, like she was debating whether to say something.

“By the way, is it okay if I switch with Minjeong just for tonight?”

The question landed like a stone in her chest. The weight behind Minjeong’s name was unbearable, even when spoken so lightly. But she knew she couldn’t blame Aeri. Not when she has no idea about their past. 

Karina blinked, masking her reaction, forcing her voice into something steady. 

“Yeah,” she managed. “If she wants to.”

But inside, her whole body screamed: No.

Not tonight. Not when she was barely holding it together.

But she said nothing—because Minjeong wouldn’t say yes anyway.

So she told herself it didn’t matter.

She told herself it was fine.

Karina looked down at her hands, still holding that empty bottle. Her knuckles were white from how tightly she gripped it.

Aeri lingered at the door for a moment longer. Maybe she felt it too—but she didn’t press. She just nodded once, then slipped out of the room.

And Karina was alone again.

***

It had been over an hour since Aeri left. The room had grown dim in her absence, lit only by the muted flicker of the TV. The drama she’d been watching had ended, its plot a blur she couldn’t begin to recall. Karina hadn’t moved much—just sat there for who knows how long. Eventually, the heaviness became too much. She rose quietly and made her way to the bathroom.

She turned on the shower, letting the water run warm. As it hit her bare shoulders, something in her slowly unraveled. She tilted her head back, eyes closing, and let herself feel. The warmth wasn’t just physical—it wrapped around her like an embrace. It was quiet here. Just the sound of water, steady and constant.

She stayed under the stream for a while, trying not to think. Letting the steam blur the mirror and her mind alike.

Then—quiet, but unmistakable—the sound of the room door opening.

Already? Karina blinked against the water, listening. The door clicked shut, followed by the soft rustle of movement. Footsteps across the floor, slow and soft. A bag set down. Then, the metallic clink of the stove knob turning.

She frowned.

Dinner ended fast. Or maybe she’d lost more time than she realized. But why was Aeri cooking? Hadn’t they just come from a celebration dinner? She pressed her hand against the cool tile, grounding herself. Then sighed—why was she even minding Aeri’s business?

She leaned back into the stream, letting it run over her once more.

If Aeri wanted to cook, let her.

Karina closed her eyes again, letting her thoughts drift with the steam. Maybe she’d stay a little longer. An hour, maybe more. Long enough to lose track of time again.

***

She got out of the bathroom after nearly an hour, skin warm and flushed from the steam, hair dry after using the hair blower for minutes, and towel clinging softly to her neck. The room was dim, lit only by the stove’s glow and the faint ambient light filtering through the windows.

“Dinner ended early?” she asked, her voice was low, barely interested. She didn’t look up, already moving toward her luggage, towel wrapped loosely around her shoulders.

No response.

Karina paused for a second, one hand on the zipper of her luggage. Then, brushing it off, she pulled it open and rifled through it, eventually pulling out a pair of soft gray sweatpants and a black tank top. She dressed quietly, a towel still looped around her neck. The silence felt strange, but not enough to alarm her—just… different. Normally, Aeri would have said something by now—a joke, a complaint, even just a vague answer.

She glanced up briefly as she tied her hair, eyes drifting to the figure at the stove.

Her hands froze.

The person standing there wasn’t Aeri.

Her breath caught.

The woman turned, slowly, gently.

It was Minjeong—sleeves rolled and stirring something on the stove like it was the most natural thing in the world to be there.

Their eyes met. For a second, Karina didn’t move. Karina’s throat tightened. She felt her body tense as if bracing for something.

But Minjeong just offered the smallest, gentlest smile.

“I thought you might be hungry,” she said quietly. Her voice was softer than Karina remembered. “You skipped dinner. Aeri mentioned you didn’t eat your lunch either.” She turned back to the stove, turning it off and picking up a bowl. “Ramyeon’s ready. I finished cooking tonkatsu earlier.”

Karina didn't respond right away.

Minjeong moved with a quiet ease, setting down a pair of chopsticks beside the bowl. Karina slowly walked over. She stopped in front of the small table where the food was laid out. Steam curled softly from the bowl of ramyeon. Tonkatsu, perfectly crisp, sat beside it. It felt unreal.

Minjeong sat across from her, arms resting lightly on her knees. She didn’t touch her own bowl. She was watching Karina—in that quiet way she used to. The way she always did, back then. Like she was trying to see through whatever mask Karina wore today.

“How did you get in here?” Karina finally asked. Not angry, just... dazed.

Minjeong tilted her head slightly, “Aeri gave me the key.”

Of course she did.

Silence again.

Minjeong looked down for a moment, “I’m not here to reopen anything. Or make things harder. I just…” She paused then looked back up, “You looked like you needed someone. And I— I still recognize that look on your face. ”

Karina blinked, her hands trembled slightly as she picked up the chopsticks. She took a bite, chewed in silence. The taste hit her like a memory she’d been trying to starve. 

Karina set her chopsticks down and leaned back in her chair, eyes closing for a long second. 

“I don’t know what to say to you,” she admitted.

“You don’t have to,” Minjeong said quickly. “Really. I didn’t come here expecting anything.”

“Then why?” Karina’s eyes opened, and this time she looked directly at her.

Minjeong looked at her, eyes filled with tenderness. “Because even after everything… you still matter,” she said. 

Karina sat in that silence, her chest rising and falling slowly. Then she looked down again, picking up the chopsticks once more. The food was still warm, the steam rising in soft curls, but her thoughts had drifted far from it.

Maybe it was time.

Maybe it was time to finally face Minjeong—to let her know the truth—messy, painful, unfinished.

And maybe Minjeong, of all people, deserved to hear it.

Chapter Text

Jimin  | Karina

They sat quietly at the table. The room felt heavy, like the silence between them had texture—soft, but dense. Karina took another bite of the tonkatsu, chewing slowly, as if giving herself more time.

“Wait,” Minjeong said suddenly, rising from her seat.

She moved to the fridge and pulled out a plastic bag filled with canned sodas. She returned and placed it gently on the table.

“I don’t know if you still prefer Sprite over the others… so I just bought them all.”

Karina stared at the cans. Her lips parted slightly, but it took her a moment to speak. “You still remember.”

“Of course I did.”

Karina reached for the Sprite, “Thank you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

She took a slow breath before continuing. “I haven’t been honest with you.”

Minjeong didn’t react immediately. Her expression stayed calm, unreadable—but her eyes never left Karina’s.

“The song…” Karina hesitated. “I took part in the production.”

Silence—but Minjeong nodded. “I know.”

Karina blinked. “You do?”

“Well… the details felt too familiar. At first, I told myself the coffee shop and the apartment scene were just coincidences. But the dining place? The multiverse thing?” Minjeong smiled faintly then continued, “You know how obsessed I’ve always been with that. And New Zealand… it wasn’t even subtle anymore.”

Karina smiled bitterly, “I guess you can still see right through me.”

Minjeong gave a small shrug, like she wasn’t sure if that was a comfort or a wound. 

Karina looked down, running her finger along the edge of the soda can. “About that day…” Her voice faltered. “The last one.”

“I told you,” Minjeong interrupted gently. “I didn’t come here to reopen anything. You don’t have to explain anything.” 

“But I want to,” Karina said, her voice firmer now. “And I will.”

She paused, gathering the weight of her words and the past.

***

Jimin was twelve when her mother, Yu Joohyun—a celebrated actress—had her first known gambling episode. She fell deep into debt, millions lost to a high-stakes casino.

She remembered the silence in their apartment when her mother didn’t come home for two nights. The phone calls from unknown numbers. The tabloid whispers. Her mother had taken out millions in credit, rehabilitation followed. The debt was paid through her mother’s own account. It never reached the public.

But it didn’t end there.

When it happened again, Jimin’s father stepped in. He paid off the debt, but something in him changed. A wall went up. He stopped talking to Joohyun unless necessary. He became distant with his daughter. Jimin felt the chill settle in their home, a kind of emptiness colder than anger. 

The third time, Jimin was fourteen, and the yelling was loud enough for the neighbors to hear. Her father wired the money again—but this time he looked her in the eyes and said, “One more time, and I’m done.”

At sixteen, her father meant what he said. Jimin remembered the slam of the front door, the quiet afterward more violent than the argument itself. Her mother relapsed again.

Jimin stayed behind.

She cleaned up the mess—made excuses and hid the trembling in her hands when the doorbell rang. She kept her mother’s secret like it was her own. And the world never knew—kept loving Yu Joohyun.

At seventeen, she entered the entertainment industry. Her mother’s name gave her an edge, but her own talent carried her the rest of the way. She starred in commercials and landed film roles. 

Her mother, now in remission, was cast in a breakout project, and Jimin—carrying both a legacy and a shadow—rose quickly as a new star. Everyone called her “Yu Joohyun’s daughter,” and she smiled through it.

At nineteen, Jimin quietly shattered. The pressure cracked her ribs. She took a break from the industry, vanishing from screens and scripts. She met Minjeong during that silence. Minjeong with her quiet warmth. Minjeong didn’t ask about the headlines or the legacy. She didn’t want the daughter of someone famous—she just wanted Jimin. It wasn’t public. But it was theirs. Jimin thought: This is enough. This is mine. 

Their relationship, kept quiet from the world, was everything Jimin had never known: steady, private, hers. They shared an apartment. Laughed in grocery aisles. Held hands in the dark. Never ending photoshoots with Minjeong.

For three years, she let herself believe in quiet happiness. When she returned to acting at twenty, it was different. She no longer owed the world her entire self. She worked with limits. She set her own pace.

Months later, rain tapped against the windows, soft and steady. The living room glowed faintly under a single floor lamp, casting golden light over the couch where Minjeong sat, editing footage. Her laptop keys clicked in a quiet rhythm, matching the rain.

The front door clicked open.

Minjeong looked up. Jimin stepped in, her hoodie damp, shoulders slumped slightly like she’d been holding herself together. She didn’t speak—just closed the door gently behind her and took off her shoes without looking up.

“You’re late,” Minjeong said softly, not accusing—just noticing.

Jimin nodded and crossed the room slowly, her bag sliding off her shoulder. She collapsed onto the couch beside Minjeong, eyes closed. Her hand found Minjeong’s without needing to look for it.

Minjeong shut the laptop. “Hey… what's wrong?”

Silence stretched between them for a few seconds before Jimin whispered, “My mom... she relapsed.”

Minjeong froze for just a second. Her eyes softened. She didn’t speak—just squeezed her hand.

Jimin’s voice cracked, barely audible. “She’s in deep debt—again. I didn’t even know until the company called me.”

Her lips trembled, but she didn’t cry. Not yet.

Minjeong’s hold tightened. “Are they going to help?”

“They covered it,” she said, bitterly. “No scandal, just silence. But now I owe them. Every debt, every favor. Projects, appearances, everything they throw at me—I can’t say no. I don’t get to say no.”

To repay what had been done for her family, Jimin was thrown back into the spotlight. Every project came her way—films, ads, endorsements, photo shoots. She took everything. She had to. Not just to pay off the millions, but to cover the psychiatric facility that admitted her mother for long-term care.

No sleep. No breaks. The schedule was relentless. The only thing more exhausting than the work was the pretending.

Minjeong’s thumb brushed against the back of her hand. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“I didn’t want you to look at me like this.” Jimin finally turned to face her, eyes tired. “Like I’m falling apart. I’m trying so hard to hold it together, Minjeong. I’m doing everything right, and it’s still not enough. I feel like I’m living my mother’s mistakes,” she said. 

Minjeong reached up and cupped her cheek. “You’re not your mom.”

“I know,” her voice cracked. “But I don’t want to be Yu Jimin anymore either. And I don’t even know who I am anymore. ”

Minjeong leaned in. “Then be whoever you need to be. I will always be here.”

Jimin didn’t respond. Just closed her eyes and held on tighter.

And somewhere deep in her chest, she already knew that wasn’t true—not because Minjeong would leave.

But because she would.

It took a year.

Twelve months of projects she didn’t choose, schedules she couldn’t control, and silence that felt deafening. When it was over—when the debt was cleared and her mother stabilized in long-term care—the company called her in.

They spoke gently—professionally. Said things like “fresh start”. What they meant was: You’ve paid your dues. Or we want to cut ties with you.

It was a clean break.

And for Jimin, it felt like a door cracking open.

Weeks later, STELLAR Entertainment reached out. They’d been watching her—quietly and patiently. Waiting for the right time. When they finally called, they didn’t ask about her mother. They didn’t mention the past nor anything about her personal life.

“We want you,” they said. “Not your name. Not your story. Just your work.”

She told them she was seeing someone.

“You do you,” they replied. “We’re here for your talent, not your image.”

And for the first time in her life, Jimin considered something impossible: being someone else. A new name. A new story. A life not built on legacy or damage control—but on choice.

But to do that, she had to leave Jimin behind.

And the thing that hurt the most?

Minjeong was the only thing in her life that had ever truly felt like it was hers.

It was late. Minjeong stood in the kitchen, rinsing two mugs from the coffee they'd shared hours earlier. The silence between them had stretched for days, filled only with the clinking of dishes, the sound of doors opening and closing, and sleep that never felt restful.

Jimin leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “You’re always the last to sleep,” she said quietly.

Jimin stepped in. Her hands trembled slightly, tucked into her sleeves. “I need to tell you something,” she began. “About the new contract.”

Minjeong looked over her shoulder. “What about it?”

“They added a condition,” Jimin said carefully. “No dating. No public or private relationships during the rebranding period.”

Silence.

Minjeong stepped forward. “Then let me wait.”

Jimin shook her head, eyes filling. “That’s the thing. I don’t want you to.”

A pause.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, “about… space.”

Minjeong's brow furrowed. “Space?”

“I think we need it.”

Silence.

Minjeong looked at her, really looked. “You’re leaving.”

It wasn’t a question.

Jimin looked away. “I love you,” Minjeong said, reaching for her instinctively.

Jimin stepped forward and held her tightly, like she was trying to memorize the feel of her. “I love you too.”

Minjeong’s tears broke free. “Then don’t do this.”

Jimin pressed her forehead against hers, voice shaking. “If I don’t go now, I never will. And I’ll take everything down with me.”

The words hung there, helpless.

“I’ll have my things out by morning.”

She pulled away slowly, like unthreading herself from something she wasn’t ready to lose.

And just like that, the quiet became unbearable.

Minjeong didn’t stop her. She just stood there, frozen in place, watching Jimin walk away.

That was the night the apartment stopped being home.

***

“I didn’t leave just because of my mom,” Karina said, her voice low, almost careful. “And it wasn’t the company either. The truth is…” she hesitated, then looked up. “I lied.”

Minjeong’s brow furrowed slightly.

“There was no non-dating condition,” Karina confessed. “They didn’t care if I was in a relationship or not.”

The silence was immediate—but not surprised, just still.

“I was drowning,” she admitted, the words fragile in her mouth. “I couldn’t breathe. Not from you—never from you. But from everything else." Jimin swallowed hard. “It felt like I was dragging you down with me. Like every time you look at me, you’re trying to figure out how to carry both of us.”

Minjeong’s gaze softened, her hands on her lap, unmoving.

“I was scared,” Karina continued. “Scared of what loving me was doing to you. I was breaking, every day."

Minjeong’s voice, when it came, was quiet but unwavering. “You should’ve trusted me. To make decision for myself.”

Karina looked at Minjeong, eyes teary. “You loved Jimin. But I wasn’t her anymore. I didn’t even know who she was. So I chose the one thing I knew I could still control—leaving.”

Minjeong’s voice cracked. “So instead of asking me to stay, you chose to walk away?”

“I chose to survive.”

Minjeong nodded slowly. “And now?”

Karina hesitated. “Now… I live with it.”

Minjeong’s eyes met hers. “I waited, you know. At first, I thought—maybe you needed space. But then months passed, and silence became the only answer.”

A long pause settled between them, soft but unrelenting. The kind of silence that said everything too heavy to speak.

“So what now?” Minjeong asked as she took a sip on her cola.

“I don’t know,” Karina admitted. “I didn't talk about it to undo what’s already done. I just needed you to know... I didn’t leave because I stopped loving you.”

Chapter Text

Minjeong

She had a hunch. But hearing it from Jimin’s lips—no, Karina’s lips—was different.

Minjeong knew. The lyrics felt too precise, like the verses had been folded out of their memories. She’d replayed the song late at night, certain it was a message she was meant to hear. At first, she was angry—at the audacity, the intimacy. But now? She just wanted to understand.

“Why didn’t you reach out?”

Karina looked down. “I didn’t want you to wait for me. Because you would’ve. And I would’ve come back without thinking—without doing the hard part first.” She took a deep breath and continued. “I needed to fix myself. To figure out who I was when I wasn’t surviving. What if you waited and I still couldn’t come back? What if I failed again? I couldn’t chain you to that kind of uncertainty.”

"You know I’d rather live with the possibility of you than the certainty of someone else.”

Karina looked at her and smiled bitterly. “And that’s exactly what I was scared of.”

Silence fell between them again.

Minjeong swallowed. “I kept wondering if loving you wasn’t enough. Or if I made it harder somehow.”

Karina shook her head slowly. “You didn’t. You were the only place I ever felt safe.”

Minjeong blinked through the ache in her chest. “Then why wasn’t that enough?”

Karina’s breath was caught, as if she didn’t have the answer.

“Because sometimes love isn’t the problem. It’s everything else.”

And Minjeong knew she was right.

Their relationship had its cracks—late nights, unspoken worries, the weight of too much silence—but it was never hollow. It had been real. They weren’t just in love; they had built a shelter inside each other. A home that didn’t resemble the ones they came from. Something they chose, day after day, even in the hard moments.

“After everything… I went to therapy.”

Minjeong's eyes lingered on her.

“Of course it helped,” Karina continued. “I cope better now. I understand myself in ways I never could before.”

A quiet pause.

“But grief…” She swallowed. “Grief lingers.”

Minjeong looked down at her hands. “Is it grief… or guilt?”

Karina’s gaze softened, and she nodded—once, slowly. Her silence was the only answer she could offer.

Because it was both.

And they both knew it.

“I guess the space was the thing I needed.”

Minjeong didn’t argue. She wasn’t angry—not anymore. Maybe a part of her had been, once. But now, watching Karina speak with such honesty, she could see it clearly.

Karina was still healing. She had stopped blaming herself for all of it. She had begun acknowledging the difference between what was in her control and what wasn’t. And in that awareness, she was learning to give herself the one thing she had denied for years—compassion.

They didn’t speak for a while. The silence that settled wasn’t heavy or strange. It was the kind that holds something sacred. A kind of reverence. They were here, in the same room, still choosing to listen.

After a moment, Karina rose to her feet and quietly offered, “I’ll wash the dishes.”

Minjeong only nodded, her eyes following Karina as she headed to the sink and turned on the faucet.

There was something achingly familiar about the sound of running water, their domestic routine—it echoed like muscle memory.

Like old times.

Karina dried the last plate, slow and steady, like she needed a reason to stay rooted in place. When she turned off the faucet, her eyes flicked toward the couch.

Minjeong was already watching her. Legs folded, arms crossed, and calm.

Karina looked away instantly.

Minjeong caught it. And she found herself smiling—not mockingly, but with quite amusement.

This was new—Karina avoiding eye contact? She used to hold it like it was a challenge. During the campaign, it had always been Karina who spoke first. Who broke the ice. Who met awkward silences. But now? 

Now she looked like she didn’t know where to put herself.

“You can take a seat,” Minjeong said, tone light and teasing. “You’re not a guest.”

Karina hesitated. “Wouldn’t they—” she stopped, correcting herself, “Wouldn’t someone look for you?”

Minjeong tilted her head. “Do you want me to go?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Karina said quickly as she stepped forward.

Minjeong stood, slowly, just to test the air between them. “Alright, I’ll get going, then.”

Karina stepped forward instinctively, blocking her path. Close now—too close. Taller, still. Her presence filling the space between them.

“No,” Karina said, voice low. “Stay.”

Minjeong could feel her breath, could smell the faint trace of that same perfume—earthy and tart. Fresh blackberry, crushed bay leaves, and the ghost of something green.

Karina’s gaze dropped to her lips for a second.

Their eyes locked.

Karina didn’t move.

Minjeong didn’t either.

Karina’s eyes searched Minjeong’s, like she was looking for permission. Or forgiveness. Or maybe just a reason to stay standing so close.

But Minjeong didn’t give her anything. Not yet.

So Karina stayed still. Her hand twitched at her side. Minjeong noticed—she almost reached for it.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she turned slowly, walked back to the couch, and sat—leaving enough space between them.

Karina followed a few seconds later.

She didn’t speak. Just sat beside her.

***

When they were halfway through the film, Karina stood up, “I’m going to take a walk. Get some air, maybe clear my head.”

Minjeong looked over. “I’ll come with you.”

Karina paused mid-step, glancing back in surprise. “You will?”

A small smile tugged at Minjeong’s lips. “Yeah. We’re in New Zealand, after all.”

Karina blinked, and something unspoken flickered in her eyes—surprise, warmth, maybe even guilt.

Minjeong stood, slipping into her jacket. “You always said if we ever came here, we’d take a walk under a sky so big it made your problems feel small.”

Karina let out a breath—almost a laugh, but not quite. “I was so dramatic.”

Minjeong smiled gently. “No. You were just hoping.” 

Outside, the air was calm. The sky above stretched endlessly, stars beginning to blink awake. They walked in silence at first—shoulders almost brushing, their steps slow.

“You don’t have a hoodie or a cap to hide yourself?” Minjeong asked, eyeing Karina’s bare face under the open sky. Back then, they never stepped out without layers of anonymity—caps, masks, sunglasses.

Karina glanced at her, the wind catching strands of her hair. “Why would I?”

Minjeong blinked. “You’re… Karina.”

Karina just offered a small, almost wistful smile. She looked out at the open sky, the quiet street, the kind of freedom they used to only dream about. 

Minjeong studied her carefully—the way her shoulders seemed lighter, the way she let the world see her face. And for a moment, she saw the girl beneath the name. The one who once wanted a quiet life.

Minjeong didn’t say anything after. She just kept walking beside her.

When they reached the shore, Karina dropped onto the sand without hesitation. Minjeong hesitated, eyeing the ground.

“No mat?” she mumbled to herself before sighing and sitting beside her anyway.

Karina grinned. “Forgot I used to travel like an idol.”

“You still are,” Minjeong replied, brushing sand off her jeans.

The ocean stretched before them, vast and dark, the sound of waves steady and soothing. Above, the moon cast a silver glimmer over the water, and stars glittered like scattered salt.

“Look,” Karina pointed. “That’s Orion, right?”

Minjeong followed her gaze. “Yeah. The belt makes it easy to find. Plus, it has two of the brightest stars in the sky—Rigel and Betelgeuse.”

Karina grinned, nudging her shoulder. “Nerd.”

Minjeong laughed, and an idea popped up. “Did you know Bruhathkayosaurus probably never existed?”

Karina turned to her, as if she was offended. “They did. It’s just… Some paleontologists suggested that the fossils they had might’ve been petrified wood. Some estimates said they could rival a blue whale in size. But the fossils—what little they had—disintegrated before they even made it back to the institute. Nothing’s left of them.”

Minjeong smiled. Who's the nerd now?

“So technically, your giant dinosaur might’ve been a tree?” Minjeong asked with a playful tone.

Karina lifted a brow. “You did not just disrespect Bruhathkayosaurus like that.”

Minjeong leaned in with a smirk. “I’m just saying. Maybe you’ve been nerding out over a plant this whole time.”

Karina stared at her, mouth agape in mock offense. “That’s it. I’m walking back alone.”

Minjeong laughed, catching her wrist before she could stand. “Don’t tell me you mean it?”

Karina looked down at where their hands touched. “Apologize to Bruhathkayosaurus first.”

“You're impossible,” Minjeong said with fondness in her voice.

Silence fell between them—comfortable, deep. The stars kept shining, the waves kept moving, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had stilled just for the two of them.

Then Minjeong noticed something.

Karina still loved the same things she always had—canned drinks, dinosaurs, tonkatsu, books. She might've changed names, stepped away from life, but the pieces of her remained.

“You know what…” Minjeong looked up again. “A star, when it dies, doesn’t mourn its collapse.”

Karina turned to her, curious.

“It gently sheds its outer layers and becomes a planetary nebula—radiant, massive, filled with the seeds of new stars. And the core that’s left behind becomes a white dwarf. A new beginning.”

Minjeong met Karina’s gaze. “It made me think… about our existence. Just fragments of our old selves, dying and becoming something new.”

Part of her had feared this—seeing Karina again, hearing her voice, talking about dinosaurs and stars. Because she knew how easy it was to slip into old patterns. To remember how it felt to love her. To forget the years that came between.

She remembered what Karina had said—that she had loved Jimin, but she wasn’t Jimin anymore.

The next words slipped out softly, like something she'd been holding in for a long time.

“I loved Jimin. But I would’ve loved Karina, too.”

Chapter Text

Jimin | Karina 

Karina didn’t say anything right away. Minjeong didn’t press her. She let the moment stretch, trusting it to hold them both.

The sea breeze moved gently around them, brushing against her skin. She could feel the past lingering in the hush between their words, not haunting, but present. It wasn’t pain, not really. It was something softer. Ache, maybe. Longing dressed as calm—as if the waves weren’t crashing against the shore but inside her. And yet, in that moment, it didn’t hurt. It just was. 

She didn’t know what would happen after this night. But for now, under this sky, in the hush of salt air and moonlight, it was enough just to sit beside Minjeong. And hope.

***

After arriving at her place, Karina barely made it to the couch before collapsing onto it. The jet lag hit her all at once, weighing down her limbs and fogging her thoughts. She was exhausted—physically, emotionally.

She grabbed her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. She wanted to message Minjeong. Not for anything grand. Just to make sure she didn’t think it had all been a fleeting, one moment thing.

Their time by the shore had been cut short, abruptly, almost cruel. One moment, they were laughing softly under the quiet hush of waves, the next, a shutter clicked through the stillness. Then came the burst of light—harsh and blinding.

The paparazzi had found them.

Karina didn’t move at first—stunned, caught in that split second between peace and panic. She saw Minjeong’s expression falter. Security emerged quickly from the shadows and voices rising in urgency.

They were escorted back to the hotel without a word. There was no time to explain, no space to react. 

Inside, everything felt quieter than it should’ve.

Minjeong had barely looked at her. “I’ll take the couch,” she’d said softly, not waiting for Karina to protest. She didn't give room for argument, just grabbed a blanket from the closet and settled into the corner. Like it was easier this way—safer.

Karina had stood there for a few moments longer than she meant to, something tight and unspoken swelling in her chest. She wanted to say thank you. Or sorry. Or please don’t put space between us just because the world saw us.

She laid down on the bed, wide awake, that night. Every blink reminded her how unfinished the night felt. The sea had been calm. The stars had been kind. But reality was loud and fast, and now it had barged its way in.

Karina opened her contacts and scrolled. Fuck. Of course, she didn’t have her number anymore.

She tapped Aeri’s name and called.

“Hey,” Aeri answered, casual. “Already home?”

“Yeah.” Karina hesitated. “Do you… have Minjeong’s number?”

There was a pause, then Aeri’s tone turned teasing. “Wow. Interested after one night, huh?”

Karina sighed. “It’s not what you think.”

Aeri didn’t press. “I don’t have it. But Yizhou might. I’m with her—hold on.”

Karina waited, the pause dragged just long enough to let a knot form in her chest.

When Aeri came back, her tone was softer. “Yizhou says Minjeong doesn’t like her contacts being shared.”

Of course she didn’t. Minjeong had always been private—quiet in ways that Karina used to find grounding.

“I understand,” she said. “Thanks, Aeri.”

“Enjoy your break, Karina. Seriously, you need to rest.”

The call ended.

Karina sat for a long moment and stared at the ceiling. Then she opened Instagram. Found Yizhou’s account. Karina scrolled through the feed—behind-the-scenes candids, rehearsal stills, black-and-white frames. Then she found it. A promotional post. The official movie poster, sunlit and striking. Minjeong's photography. 

In the corner, a tag.

@kminminj_

She tapped it. The profile was clean. Just glimpses of her work. But it was her.

Karina hesitated, then clicked the message icon.

She began typing.

hey! are you home?

She deleted it.

hi. just wanted to know if you got back safe.

Deleted.

last night meant a lot to me. i hope you know that.

Deleted.

i wish we’d had more time before it all got interrupted.

Deleted.

i missed you. i still do.

Deleted. Way too much.

She stared at the blank screen for a long time.

Then she finally typed:

hi. i just got home. thank you for last night :)

She hit send before she could second guess it.

Then she placed the phone face down on the coffee table.

***

She awaken, eyelids heavy and reluctant to open. Something weighed softly on her chest. Still half-lost in sleep, she blinked against the dim light until her vision adjusted.

Cheese.

The ginger tabby she had adopted during her hiatus was laying on her, purring softly, his weight warm. He stretched slightly, one paw pressing against her collarbone.

She smiled, gently running her fingers through his fur. God, he grew so fast. It was hard to believe it had already been six years. He’d been with her through so much.

“You’re already hungry, aren’t you?”

He blinked at her in what she swore was mocking.

She carried him up and headed to the kitchen. As soon as she set him down, he padded straight to his new food dispenser—his old one had finally broken last week after years.

She watched him eat for a second, then turned to make herself ramyeon. Too tired to cook anything, too hungry to wait for delivery.

The warmth of the kitchen made her realize how deeply the fatigue still clung to her. She ate quietly and Cheese’s occasional soft meow her only company.

Afterwards, she took a long shower, letting the hot water wash away the stiffness in her limbs. She’d fallen asleep in her airport clothes earlier, and now her skin finally felt clean, her senses reset.

Back in the living room, she toweled her hair dry and picked up her phone from the table.

Almost midnight.

She opened Instagram.

Still no reply.

Karina absentmindedly scrolled through her socials, just to kill time. The silence in her unit was thick, and she wasn’t in the mood to spiral—not tonight.

A new notification popped up.

Yunjin: 👋🏻

Yunjin: already home?

Yunjin: i was lurking on socials and saw what happened last night... so... are you back together? 👀

That was fast.

Everything spread like wildfire in this industry. Whispers turned into headlines in seconds.

She hadn’t heard from the company yet. Normally, they'd be flooding her inbox—damage control, press statements, fake narratives. But so far? Silence. Maybe they thought it wasn’t big enough to fuss over. Maybe they were waiting to see if it would blow over in a day or two.

Still staring at the screen, she typed her reply:

no. i told her the truth, that's all.

would you like to come over?

She barely had time to lock her phone before she heard a knock at the door.

Yunjin: OPEN UP. I'M SEATED.

Karina blinked. What the hell?

She got up, crossed the room, and opened the door. Sure enough, Yunjin stood there, masked and hooded, looking completely unbothered by the late hour—or the fact that she showed up unannounced.

“How did you—”

“I’ve been here for ten minutes,” Yunjin said, brushing past her like she owned the place. “As soon as I saw those photos online, I grabbed my keys and drove. I messaged you just to make sure you were actually here before I kicked your door down. You know, basic courtesy.”

Karina closed the door behind her, stunned but not surprised. Yunjin had always been like this—chaotic.

Yunjin settled herself down on the floor beside the couch, already toeing off her shoes like she planned to stay a while. Karina followed, too tired to question anything anymore.

“So?” Yunjin looked up at her expectantly. “Talk. I brought my ears and judgment-free support. Also, I want tea. Both herbal and verbal.”

Karina exhaled through a small laugh, brushing a hand through her damp hair. Maybe this was what she needed: someone to talk to.

“Suddenly I want to write a song about stars,” Yunjin said, idly playing the empty cup in her hands, the ceramic tapping soft against her palm as Karina finished talking.

Karina gave her a look. “Don’t use her words.”

“No promises,” Yunjin smirked. “It’s a good line. Could be about existence, or love, or… something falling apart and still glowing.” She shifted slightly, posture straightening. Her voice softened, more serious now. “But really—what are you planning to do?”

Karina shrugged and let out a sigh. “I thought I had it all figured out. But it hit different when I actually talked to Minjeong. I thought I was ready.”

Yunjin didn’t say anything right away. Her gaze lingered. “You want her back, don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Karina said, but her voice lacked conviction.

“You do.” Yunjin stood, brushing off her sweatpants. “Then you should sort it out. Before it’s too late. I mean… unless she’s already with someone.”

Oh.

Karina stilled. That part hadn’t fully sunk in. Minjeong hadn’t answered when she asked if someone would be looking for her. The ambiguity gnawed a little more now.

“I better head out,” Yunjin said casually, grabbing her keys. “Kazuha’s probably waiting.”

Karina blinked. “The dancer?”

Yunjin nodded nonchalantly.

“How long already?”

“Seven months, I think.”

“You sneaky woman.”

Yunjin just grinned on her way to the door. “You’re one to talk.”

***

Two days had passed. Still, no reply.

Karina kept checking, even when she told herself she wouldn’t. The message just sat there.

Maybe she should’ve deleted it. Maybe she shouldn’t have sent anything at all. She kept replaying it in her head: hi. i just got home. thank you for last night :) — so casual.

Maybe Minjeong’s inbox was flooded. Maybe she hadn’t seen it properly. Maybe she was busy. Maybe—

Maybe it meant nothing to her.

Maybe it wasn’t just a one time moment for Karina, but for Minjeong… it was.

That thought landed heavy in her chest. Not because she blamed Minjeong—but because she hadn’t realized just how much of herself she’d placed in that night. In that quiet walk, the banter about stars and dinosaurs, the kind of silence that feels like home.

She leaned back into her couch. Cheese stretched beside her, unaware of the ache growing in her chest.

Karina turned off her phone and set it face-down on the coffee table.

A buzz.

She ignored it. Probably Aeri, or Yunjin. Or the company, asking her to weigh in on some new headline.

For a long moment, she focused on Cheese instead—scratching gently under his chin, stroking the warm fur behind his ears. He purred, pushing into her hand. She smiled faintly.

She remembered it was Cheese’s monthly check-up today. They’d go in the afternoon. For now, she just wanted to stay like this, trying to get under his skin the way he’d unknowingly done under hers.

But then came the buzz again. This time, it didn’t stop. A second vibration followed. Then a third—three short pulses in a row.

Karina’s hand paused. Cheese nudged her palm, annoyed that she'd stopped, but her focus had already shifted.

She hesitated. Part of her wanted to leave it. But something in her chest fluttered, too fast to ignore.

She picked up the phone.

It wasn’t from Aeri. Or Yunjin. Or the company.

It was from @kminminj_.

Hi.

Sorry for the late reply, I was at grandma’s. I also don’t open my socials often.

Karina smiled, heart beating fast.

Don’t worry about it 😁 

She debated replying immediately or waiting—to seem less eager and more composed.

Another message arrived:

@kminminj_: Would you like to share contacts?

She immediately typed her number and hit send.

Cheese, sensing the shift in her energy, climbed into her lap. She took a quick photo of him. But instead of hitting “save,” her thumb slipped—send.

@kminminj_: Is that Cheese?

She sighed, typing quickly:

yeah. it’s his monthly checkup later.

would you like to come?

Her breath caught the moment she hit send. That second line wasn't supposed to go through. She hadn’t meant to ask. Seen.

Minutes passed.

Then, a message from an unknown number:

Hey. This is Minjeong.

Sorry for the late reply again.

I had to think.

And I think... I want to see you again.

Karina read the words once. Then again. And again. Her vision blurred. She stayed still, like the world had pause.

Then another message arrived—this time, a photo.

Minjeong: I just got my old camera fixed yesterday. Found this photo of you and Cheese.

Karina stared at the screen. Her heart ached—but in the gentlest, softest way. That photo... it was from the day she met them both. She let out a quiet laugh, remembering how it all started.

Minjeong: What time is his check-up? It’s our CEO’s birthday and he invited us for lunch. Should I pick you and Cheese up?

She replied quickly:

hmm, we’re still getting ready. an hour or two?

and no, don’t pick us up

Minjeong: Oh. Okay 👍🏻

She smiled and added:

because we’ll pick you up :)

A pause.

Minjeong: Isn’t that troublesome? Did you forget that you’re Karina?

She typed again:

no worries. i want to.

Minjeong: Fine. I’ll send you the venue.

Karina stood up, a smile forming at her lips. She headed to the bathroom, lighter than she'd felt in days.

After showering, she dressed carefully—casual, but with intention. A fitted black tank top paired with a white bubble skirt that added playful contrast. Over her shoulders, she wore a lightweight white zip-up jacket, left open. Her long, wavy hair flowed from under a coral pink NY baseball cap.

She packed Cheese’s essentials into the side pockets of his carrier—a space capsule design he loved. Once everything was set, she opened the carrier, and Cheese padded in without hesitation.

“All good?” she asked softly.

He blinked up at her, tail flicking once.

She zipped the bag gently and checked her phone again.

Minjeong had sent the location.

It was happening.

will be there in 20, she typed.

Minjeong: Drive safely. What are you driving?

blue chevy camaro rs

Karina turned off her phone, tossed it lightly onto the passenger seat and started the engine. The low rustles of the Camaro matched her steady heartbeat.

Cheese was curled up in his space capsule carrier in the back seat. She glanced at him through the rearview mirror. “You good back there?”

She smiled and pulled onto the road.

When she arrived at the venue, she caught sight of Minjeong stepping out from the building, waving goodbye to someone near the door. Just in time.

She didn’t honk.

She just parked and watched.

Minjeong wore a sleeveless white dress with a flared, tennis-style skirt and black piping along the neckline and straps. Her dark hair fell naturally around her shoulders, framing her soft, makeup-enhanced features—light blush, defined brows, and a natural lip tint.

Karina let her eyes linger, just for a second longer than she should.

Then Cheese let out a little impatient meow from the back.

She smiled to herself. “Alright, alright,” she said under her breath, reaching for the handle. Karina turned to Cheese. “You ready to see her again?”

He blinked slowly in response.

Minjeong finally noticed the car and headed towards it. Karina watched through the window as Minjeong stood at the door, hand hesitating on the handle. Minjeong let out a sigh, unsure why it suddenly mattered so much. Maybe because the last time she was in Karina’s car, everything was simpler. 

Karina glanced at her, who was waiting behind the wheel, one hand on the steering wheel. She raised a brow playfully but didn’t rush her.

Minjeong made her choice.

She opened the back door and slipped into the seat beside Cheese. Something about the gesture caught Karina off guard.

Not in a bad way. Just… it felt like something different. Like Minjeong wasn’t ready to sit beside her yet, but still wanted to come along.

Karina tried not to read into it too much. But she couldn’t help the way her chest throbbed a little.

“He’s not the best at small talk, you know,” Karina said, keeping her tone light as she glanced at them through the rearview mirror.

Minjeong had her gaze on the capsule. “That’s okay. I think we understand each other.”

Karina smiled. That soft voice—God, how long had it been since she heard it this close?

Cheese bumped his nose against the dome, like he agreed.

Karina shook her head, smiling despite herself. Guess she'll have to fight for attention today.

She didn’t say anything for a while. Just started the car, eased into the street, let the silence fill the space between them—not heavy, not awkward, just… careful. 

Still, Minjeong was here.

That was already more than Karina expected.

“He hates the vet,” she broke the silence.

Minjeong turned slightly in her seat, glancing back. “He looks unbothered.”

“He’s just pretending.” 

The drive to the clinic wasn’t long, but it felt longer in the best way. The city passed by in streaks of daylight, and Cheese, as expected, began to meow halfway there.

“You weren’t kidding,” Minjeong said, peeking at him.

“He’s dramatic. I don’t know where he gets it from.”

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Geez, I wonder.”

They pulled into the vet’s parking lot. Karina parked with ease, used to the routine.

Minjeong reached for the carrier strap as soon as Karina got close.

“Let me help,” she said.

“I got it,” Karina replied, but didn’t pull away when Minjeong’s fingers brushed against hers.

Inside, the familiar antiseptic smell and classical music—maybe Vivaldi—greeted them. The receptionist smiled at Karina as she approached with the carrier.

“Cheese, right? Dr. Jung will be with you shortly.”

They sat down, side by side, on the little bench in the corner of the waiting room. Cheese had gone quiet now, ears twitching as he took in the smells.

“I missed this,” Minjeong said quietly.

Karina turned to look at her. “Me too.”

The door to the exam room opened, and a nurse called, “Cheese?”

Karina stood. “That’s our cue.”

And they walked in—together.

Dr. Jung gave Cheese a final pat on the head and smiled. “He’s doing great. Just keep an eye on his right eye, looks a little sensitive, but nothing alarming.”

Karina nodded, already reaching into her bag for Cheese’s treats. “Thank you, Doctor.”

As the checkup wrapped up, a young intern entered the room, clipboard in hand. She looked barely out of university—enthusiastic and clearly new to the job.

“I’ll walk you to the desk,” she offered with a cheerful tone. Her eyes briefly flicked to Karina, but then lingered on Minjeong longer than casual.

Karina noticed immediately.

As they exited the exam room, the intern struck up a light conversation.

“So… Minjeong, right?” She smiled a little too brightly. “That’s a really pretty name.”

Minjeong blinked, caught off guard. “Oh, thank you.”

“You must be a model or something? Or maybe an actress?” the intern continued, her tone half-flirtatious. “You’ve got that kind of face.”

Karina quietly handed Cheese’s carrier to Minjeong. “Hold him for a sec?”

Minjeong obliged, clearly amused now.

“I just take photos,” Minjeong replied.

The intern smiled again. “Well, if you ever need someone to model for you, I’d volunteer without second thoughts.”

“She’s booked,” Karina said, voice calm.

Minjeong tried not to laugh. The intern faltered, clearly unsure whether she’d overstepped.

“Oh! Got it. Totally.” She cleared her throat. “Well, um, have a great day.”

“You too,” Karina said, already turning away.

As they were about to leave, Dr. Jung called out, “Ms. Karina, would you mind stepping back in for a moment? I just need to confirm something in Cheese’s file—should only take a minute.”

Karina glanced at Minjeong, who nodded. “Go ahead. We’ll wait.”

Karina followed Dr. Jung back inside. The moment the door closed behind her, the intern reappeared—clipboard now mysteriously absent.

Karina stepped out of the room. She expected to see Minjeong scrolling through her phone or maybe talking to Cheese.

What she didn’t expect was the sound of laughter—Minjeong’s laughter. 

She looked up.

Minjeong was still standing near the waiting area, one hand resting lightly on Cheese’s carrier. Beside her stood the intern, now completely relaxed, a smile playing on her lips as she said something that made Minjeong laugh again.

Karina stopped for half a second.

Just long enough to feel it—that slight and stupid twinge. 

Minjeong noticed her then. Her posture subtly changed, straightening like she’d just remembered where she was. “All done?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Karina replied, walking over. “Cheese is cleared.”

The intern stepped back, offering a bright smile to Karina. “He’s a great cat. Really responsive. You both take really good care of him.”

Karina nodded, polite and kind. “Thanks.”

Minjeong gently took the carrier from the bench and glanced at Karina. “Ready?”

Karina just nodded. She didn’t ask what they were laughing about. She didn’t have to. She took Cheese’s carrier back from her. “Let’s go.”

The intern stepped aside, suddenly quiet. Karina didn’t say anything—but her silence felt louder than words.

As they walked toward the exit, Minjeong cast one last glance over her shoulder, then Karina said under her breath, “For someone booked, you seem to be getting a lot of offers.”

God, it's not just Cheese who hates this place now.

“You okay?” Minjeong asked as they reached the car.

Karina looked at her. “Yeah. Just hungry.”

Karina opened the door for Minjeong, still silent. She gently placed Cheese in the back seat, then turned to wait for Minjeong to follow.

But the sound of the passenger door closing caught her off guard.

Minjeong had already climbed in.

“She’s a fan of yours,” Minjeong said, settling into her seat and buckling up.

Karina circled to the driver’s side, her steps unhurried. “Lucky me.”

The words came out smooth, almost playful—but there was a flicker of something too uncertain to name.

“She didn’t know how to approach you,” Minjeong added, glancing out the window. “Said she was too nervous and wanted to keep things professional.”

Karina fastened her seatbelt. “You seemed to enjoy talking to her.”

For someone who's been in the industry for years, she was having a hard time acting like it didn't bother her.

“I did,” Minjeong replied. “Because we talked about you.”

Karina’s hand froze halfway.

Minjeong’s tone stayed even, but there was a smile in it. “She told me she was supposed to be reviewing for her boards but ended up binge-watching Live My Life instead. Almost failed a major exam because of you.”

Karina let out a laugh. “Not sure if I should feel guilty or flattered.”

“She said you made her cry on episode seven. Then again in thirteen. And sixteen.” Minjeong’s voice softened. “She remembered the names of all your characters. Even the ones from your early work.”

“You know what she said after?” Minjeong continued, not waiting for a response. “She said she used to think you were untouchable. But seeing you with Cheese—how gentle you were—she said it made you real.”

“Now that’s flattering.”

“She said she didn’t picture you as a cat person.”

“What, do I look more like a snake owner?”

Minjeong laughed quietly. “I told her you’re just full of contradictions.”

Karina finally turned to look at her. 

Minjeong’s voice dropped, gentler now. “I wasn’t flirting. I was remembering.”

Karina’s throat tightened.

“Don’t do that,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Minjeong blinked. “Do what?”

“Say things like that… like they don’t mean anything.”

Minjeong lowered her gaze. “I didn’t say it like it didn’t mean anything.”

Chapter Text

Minjeong

Minjeong stared out the window, biting the inside of her cheek. Maybe she shouldn’t have said it like that. Not yet. She hadn’t meant to sound careless. But saying I was remembering out loud felt safer than confessing how much of her still ached Karina’s presence.

She let out a sigh. “Do you have plans after this?”

Karina shrugged, one hand loosely on the wheel. “The company gave me a two-week break.”

Minjeong's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen. Almost four. Shit. Her eyes widened.

“Can you drop me at the studio? I have a schedule from 4:30 to 8:00.”

Karina’s brows lifted. “That late?”

“I’ve handled worse,” Minjeong replied, trying to sound breezy. “And it’s Minju.”

Karina blinked. “Like Minju Kim?”

“Yeah.”

“How was their wedding?”

Minjeong smiled faintly. “A paparazzi sneaked in, but Chaewon handled it pretty well. Calm even.”

Karina let out a quiet laugh. “Chaewon and calm will never sound right.”

“I know,” Minjeong said, a little softer now. “But they’ve been happier than ever.”

Her voice trailed off.

She didn’t mean to think about the ring—but she did. The one she’d kept in a drawer, the one that fit Karina’s finger perfectly. They never talked seriously about marriage, but four months before their relationship ended, she’d bought it anyway.

Just in case things got better.

But they didn’t.

And now, the ring lived in a box she hadn’t opened since.

She blinked hard, gaze fixed on the road ahead, her voice steady even if her heart wasn’t.

“They make it look easy, don’t they?” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Karina didn’t respond. She just kept driving, the sunlight filtering through the windshield, drawing soft patterns across her hands. But Minjeong noticed the small things—how her jaw had subtly tensed, how her fingers curled a little tighter around the steering wheel.

Minjeong’s stomach twisted. She shouldn’t have said that. She knew it the second it left her mouth. But it was too late.

And Karina—Karina had always been quiet when something hurt. Not angry nor cold, just... still. Still in a way that made silence feel heavier than words ever could.

So Minjeong stayed quiet too.

But the ache between them had already begun to stretch.

After a few minutes that felt like eternity, Karina finally spoke—her voice low and quiet.

“Do they allow visitors there?”

Minjeong glanced at her. “I guess so. Why?”

Karina kept her eyes on the road, but Minjeong could see the hesitation ripple through her, barely visible, but there.

“I want to see Minju again...” She paused. Her grip tightened on the wheel. Then, voice softer, almost like an afterthought she was afraid to admit:

“...and I want to see you work.”

The car fell into another stretch of silence, but this one felt different. Minjeong looked at her, studying the side of her face, the slight pull at the corner of her lips, the way her gaze stayed forward like she couldn’t bear to look at her just yet.

“You sure?” Minjeong finally asked, voice even but laced with something careful.

Karina only nodded. “Yeah. If it’s okay with you.”

And Minjeong, after everything, still felt that pull—quiet and constant, like gravity.

“Okay,” she said, almost a whisper. “I’d like that.”

“They don’t allow pets at the studio,” Minjeong said, eyes flicking toward the back seat where Cheese lay unbothered. “But there’s a nursery across the building. We can drop him there for a few hours.”

Karina nodded, eyes still on the road. “Alright. He’s used to new places anyway.”

Minjeong glanced at her. “Really?”

“Yeah. As long as I’m the one dropping him off, he’s fine. He pretends he doesn’t care, but he always looks back.

Minjeong leaned back in her seat, her expression softening. “Like someone else I know.”

Karina didn’t answer but the corner of her lips lifted. Just a little.

***

Karina pulled the car over quietly in front of the studio after dropping Cheese off at the nursery. The engine’s rustles faded into silence as she shifted into park.

She reached for her seatbelt, unfastening it with a soft click. Just as her hand touched the door handle, Minjeong’s voice cut in.

“I think… it’ll be a better idea if we don’t go in together.”

Karina paused, her fingers still resting on the handle. Her face didn’t fully change—but something in her eyes did. 

Minjeong caught it. The way Karina’s jaw slackened slightly, not in anger, but restraint. The way her breath came shallower, the narrowing of her eyes—not enough to call it hurt, but close. Like she had prepared herself for this possibility but still hoped it wouldn’t come.

Karina gave a short nod. “Right. I’ll be there at five?”

“Yeah,” Minjeong said, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Third floor. You can ask the floor coordinator. Say you're there for Minju Kim. You’re her guest. Or... emotional support, if that makes it easier.”

Minjeong looked away for a second. Just being careful.

Karina understood. After all, it hadn’t been long since the paparazzi flash cut their last moment short.

But understanding didn’t always soften the sting.

“Alright,” Karina said quietly, her hand retreating from the door. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Minjeong nodded and slipped out of the car.

Minjeong stepped into the studio, greeted by the lights buzzing, crew members shuffling, and distant clatters of equipment being moved.

“Everything set?” she asked one of the staff, slinging her camera bag over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” the crew member nodded, adjusting a light panel. “Just final touch-ups on Minju.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

As if on cue, Minju emerged from the dressing room.

She was wearing a sleeveless black dress with a structured flare, the silhouette sharp yet graceful. Sleek knee-high leather boots grounded the look, adding edge to the elegance. Her hair was left loose, falling effortlessly around her face—softening the boldness with something quieter, something more her.

“Minjeong!” Minju beamed, jogging over and throwing her arms around her.

Minjeong returned the hug, half-laughing. “Ready?”

Minju pulled back just enough to pout. “That’s it? You can’t even greet me properly after two months apart?”

Minjeong grinned. “Hello, Minju Kim, glamorous goddess of the lens. Now are you ready?”

Minju rolled her eyes but smiled, already shifting into work mode. “Always.”

As the shoot began, Minjeong moved with ease: adjusting lenses, angling lights, calling out cues. But between each shutter click, her eyes flicked toward the entrance.

“Did she get lost?” she muttered under her breath.

A few minutes passed.

Then the door creaked open.

Minjeong glanced over and froze.

In waddled a giant inflatable dinosaur.

The kind you’d see at kids’ parties or parades, its massive belly wobbling with each step. The crew paused, a mix of confusion and delight breaking through the room. Through the clear panel in the dinosaur's neck, meant for visibility, Minjeong spotted a familiar pair of eyes.

And then a paper. Held up with both hands, were scrawled words in uneven marker:

"For emotional support. Fighting, Minju!"

Karina was smiling inside the costume, her face just barely visible through the mesh.

Minjeong’s jaw dropped. A laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it, sudden and bright. The tension in her shoulders melted away.

Minju, mid-pose, blinked in disbelief. “What the hell?”

“Your emotional support dinosaur has arrived,” Minjeong said, covering her mouth to hide another laugh.

“Is that—”

“Yep.”

Minju burst out laughing. “She’s insane.”

Minjeong grinned, lifting her camera again. “She really is.”

And for the first time that day, the shoot no longer felt like work.

Halfway through the shoot, as Minjeong adjusted her lens and guided Minju into another pose, she heard a muffled grunt from beside her.

"It's hot in here," the dinosaur wheezed.

Minjeong bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to laugh. “Then take it off.”

“I can’t,” Karina’s voice came again, slightly panicked. “I think the zipper’s stuck.”

Minjeong finally lowered her camera and turned toward the dinosaur, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Five-minute break!” she called to the room.

The crew relaxed, some chuckling as they watched her step toward the inflatable T-rex. She placed her hand gently on the zipper near the neck, trying not to laugh at the way the head wobbled.

Just as she was about to tug, someone slid between them.

“Hold up!” Minju announced. “I need a photo with my emotional support dinosaur first.”

She already had her phone out, grinning from ear to ear. “Come on, arms up, dino.”

Karina raised her stubby inflatable limbs with a theatrical groan.

Minju posed beside her, flashing a peace sign.

Minjeong stepped back, arms crossed, a soft smile at the corner of her mouth. “You two done with your little moment?”

Minju snapped one last shot before slipping her phone away. “Okay. You may now perform the surgery.”

Minjeong rolled her eyes, stepping back toward Karina with her fingers already working the zipper—still warm from the heat trapped inside. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered.

From inside the suit, Karina whispered back, “But did it make you laugh?”

Minjeong paused.

“Yeah. It did.”

And she kept unzipping, trying not to smile too wide.

The zipper finally came loose, and with a dramatic sigh of relief, Karina began wriggling her way out of the inflatable dinosaur suit. Her hair was tousled from the heat, cheeks a little flushed, and a sheen of sweat glistened on her temple. She stepped out fully, adjusting her tank top and brushing hair away from her face.

Minjeong blinked.

She really is something else.

Like a loser trapped in a hot woman’s body.

“Better?” Minjeong asked, handing her a bottle of water.

Karina took it gratefully. “I nearly passed out in there.”

“You did that to yourself.”

Karina grinned, taking a long sip. “Worth it.”

Minjeong didn’t answer right away. She just returned to her camera, trying to reset focus. But her hands paused for a moment longer than they should have.

She could still feel the heat of Karina’s presence beside her.

Still hear the heartbeat she thought she’d learned to ignore.

Still unsure if she wanted it to go away.

The crew—who had previously been too busy adjusting lights and reflectors—stared.

One of the younger assistants whispered, “Wait… is that Karina?”

The makeup artist nearly dropped her powder puff. Another crew member let out an audible, “No way.”

Someone from lighting laughed in disbelief. “I thought it was just some intern doing promo content!”

Minju, still holding her phone for selfies, proudly declared, “She’s mine. Emotional support dinosaur..." She then leaned closer to Minjeong as she whispered, "Courtesy of the ex-girlfriend department.”

The room was filled with quiet laughter and muffled whispers. Phones were discreetly raised, but Minjeong was quick to shoot a warning glance.

“No photos,” she said firmly. “Seriously.”

That was enough. The crew, trained professionals despite their surprise, returned to work—but the energy in the room had undeniably shifted.

And Karina?

Karina just stood there, flushed and smiling, like crashing a shoot in a dinosaur suit was something she did every day.

The shoot wrapped up an hour earlier than scheduled. The team gathered around the foldable tables for dinner—takeout boxes stacked and steaming. It was on Karina. She didn’t announce it, didn’t offer an explanation. She just tapped her card when the order came in, as if feeding a team of overworked creatives was the most natural thing in the world.

Minjeong sat in front of the monitor, her fingers shifting between frames as she reviewed the shots. Minju looked like she belonged in every frame. There was something about her. How the camera loved her. How she made minimal styling look editorial. But what impressed Minjeong more was how aware Minju was of her angles, her light, her presence. Every movement was intentional, but never forced.

“You’ve been staring at those like your life depends on it,” Karina said, crouching beside her.

Minjeong didn’t flinch. “Just checking.”

“Dinner’s getting cold,” Karina pressed. “Eat.”

“Just a few more,” Minjeong murmured, eyes still glued to the screen. “You should get Cheese. It’s already late.”

“Not until I make sure you eat.”

Minjeong’s brows lifted slightly at that—at the way her voice softened, like old habits hadn’t fully disappeared. She smiled faintly. “Fine.”

Karina reached for the takeout bag, deliberately brushing her shoulder against Minjeong’s as she stood. Neither of them moved away.

Minju watched them from across the table, eyes glinting with amusement. The quiet exchange, the way Karina leaned just a little too close, the way Minjeong noticed without looking—Minju took it all in.

"Are you back together?" she asked, voice low, meant only for the two of them.

Karina almost choked on her food. She reached for her drink with a startled cough, but Minjeong was already handing her a water bottle, her movements quick.

Their fingers brushed.

Karina took a long sip, buying time. Minjeong kept her gaze on her plate.

They both shrugged, almost in sync.

Minju laughed under her breath. “Is that a no?”

Karina gave her a look, still recovering. “You’re way too observant for someone who just wrapped a shoot.”

“And you two are way too obvious for people trying to be subtle,” Minju shot back with a teasing grin.

Something lingered in the silence that followed as Minju and Minjeong continued eating. Minjeong leaned back in her seat, eyes unfocused as she watched Karina speaking with one of the staff across the room.

She felt the weight of Minju’s question still hanging in the air, heavier than it should’ve been.

Are you back together?

She hadn’t asked herself that. Not directly. Not since that night by the shore. Not even when Karina messaged her again. Not even now, when they sat at the same table, like they hadn't spent years apart.

Her fingers tapped quietly against the water bottle.

What were they?

Not quite together. Not quite apart. Somewhere in between—a space filled with things unsaid and memories that still breathed beneath their skin.

Minjeong glanced sideways. Karina had looked over at the same time. Their eyes met.

Karina gave a small smile.

Minjeong returned it, softer.

Still, the question echoed inside her.

What are we?

Not strangers. Not lovers.

Not anymore.

But something.

Something that still mattered.

And she wasn’t sure if that scared her or made her hope.

Both Minju and Minjeong finished their meals as Karina approached the table, her phone already in hand, keys dangling from her fingers.

“I should go,” she said.

Minjeong nodded. Her instinct was to stand, to walk her to the parking lot. But she stayed seated, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. It wasn’t safe—not in the public sense, and not in the personal one either. Too many eyes, too many risks.

“Wait,” Minju thrown in, standing and brushing her hands off on her skirt. “I’ll just grab my things. We’ll head out with you.”

The look she gave Minjeong was quick but knowing, like she understood what was unsaid and chose to say it with her actions instead.

“Okay,” Karina replied, her gaze lingering on Minjeong.

Minjeong stood, beginning to tidy up the table: tossing napkins and collecting utensils. She also began packing her things. She felt Karina’s eyes on her the entire time. Not invasive. Just… there—watching and waiting.

Minju returned a moment later with her bag slung over her shoulder. “Let’s go?”

Karina stepped back to let them pass first. All three of them moved through the studio space, offering brief goodbyes to the crew. Smiles, bows, polite waves.

As they stepped into the night air, the parking lot was dim and quiet, lit only by overhead lamps casting long shadows across the pavement.

Minju turned to Karina with a small grin. “It’s nice to see you again, Karina. Can’t believe you treated the whole team.”

Karina rubbed the back of her neck. “Well… it’s compensation for not making it to your wedding.”

Minju rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t even that big of a deal.”

“It was,” Karina said, more serious this time. “To me.”

Minju’s expression softened. “Thanks.” And with that, she gave Karina a brief nod before hopping into the passenger seat of Minjeong’s car.

Minjeong lingered by the door, fingers brushing against the handle before turning to Karina. “Thank you for today,” she said gently. "Drive safely."

Karina nodded. “See you again?” Her voice had a quiet hope tucked in it.

Minjeong smiled just enough to make it ambiguous. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Karina groaned under her breath. “Can’t believe you’re pulling Schrödinger again.”

Minjeong let out a soft laugh. “I’m just kidding.”

She slid into the car, rolling the window down as she settled in. “Take care, okay?” she added, waving casually.

Before Karina could respond, Minju shouted across the seat, “Take care!”

Karina raised a hand in reply, watching them drive off until their tail lights disappeared into the night.

***

The early photoshoot had just wrapped. Minjeong stood near the monitor, flipping through the final shots with focus as the crew busied themselves: coiling wires, folding light reflectors, taking off the backdrop. It was for an endorsement.

She texted Mr. Hwang to let him know she couldn’t make it to lunch—she had to drop by her grandma’s to deliver groceries. She had bought them yesterday, but it was already late, and her night vision was terrible.

She tucked her phone into her bag and glanced once more around the studio. The crew offered casual waves, and she returned them with a polite smile. She packed up and said her goodbyes to the team.

Outside, she made her way to her car: a chiffon ivory Suzuki Jimny. She unlocked it, slid in, and exhaled as she rested her hands on the steering wheel. A quiet moment passed. Then she started the engine.

The drive to her grandma’s house was long, nearly three hours out of the city, but familiar. The kind of drive that gave her space to think, to breathe. She didn’t mind it. When she finally pulled up in front of the small bungalow, she stretched her arms above her head, easing out the stiffness.

Just as she unfastened her seatbelt, her phone buzzed.

Karina:

are u busy? 

Another message followed later.

Karina:

the premiere for Life’s Too Short is tonight. thought you might want to come? no pressure.

Minjeong stared at the screen for a moment, her fingers hovering above the keyboard.

Minjeong:

I'm at my grandma’s. But I’ll try. :)

She slid out of the car and opened the back door, reaching in to retrieve the grocery bags. They were heavier than she remembered. With a quiet grunt, she lowered them and shut the door. With a click of her key, the car locked behind her.

As she gathered the handles of the bags into her arms, the front door creaked open—almost like her grandmother had been waiting, or watching from the window.

“You always have good timing,” Minjeong muttered with a small smile.

Her grandmother stepped aside wordlessly to let her in.

“Here you go,” she said, carrying the groceries straight to the kitchen and setting them down on the counter.

“I told you, I still have plenty of stock,” her grandmother said, not unkindly, but with that hint of protest.

Minjeong opened the nearest cabinet, already knowing what she’d find. “You’re always saying that, but then next thing I know, you're calling because you ran out of soy sauce or you’re missing ginger for some recipe.”

She began unpacking, placing items into their proper places with ease born of habit: gochugaru into the spice shelf, tofu into the fridge, bananas in the ceramic bowl shaped like a flower. The greens were bundled up into a plastic drawer, while the sesame oil went to its usual spot above the stove.

“Have you eaten?” her grandma asked.

“Not yet. And I’m not planning to stay long,” she replied as she tucked a bag of mushrooms into the fridge door.

“At least eat something.”

“But—”

“I’m going to prepare Japchae.”

Minjeong exhaled through her nose, defeated. There was no point arguing. Her grandmother's kindness always came in the form of food, and refusal only made her worry more.

“Fine. Let me help, then.”

“No,” her grandmother said, waving her off. “You’ll wash the dishes. That’s enough.”

Minjeong let out a soft laugh, setting the empty bags aside. “Deal.”

She turned off the faucet and reached for the dish towel, wiping the last utensil dry. The warm scent of sesame oil still lingered in the kitchen. Japchae was good—of course it was. Her grandma always cooked like she was feeding someone she loved.

“Thanks for the meal, Grandma,” Minjeong said, her voice soft.

She walked over and wrapped her arms around her, briefly resting her chin on her shoulder. “I’ll get going. I’ll drop by again.”

Her grandma patted her back gently. “Take care, my Jeongie.”

The air outside had cooled. As Minjeong stepped off the porch, her steps slowed. A gray car was parked right outside the gate.

The door opened.

A figure stepped out.

That voice.

“Minjeong? Long time, no see.”

Her uncle.

She froze. Her heartbeat roared in her ears. No words came—only a sharp jolt through her chest like something collapsing inward. She turned on her heel and stormed past him, fists clenched, her breath already uneven.

She threw open her car door and got in. The seatbelt clicked. The key turned. She didn’t look back.

She didn’t even know where she was going—only that she had to move. Fast. The faster she drove, the further she’d be from him.

From the memories.

But distance did nothing when the past lived under your skin.

The further she drove, the more her vision narrowed, like a tunnel closing in. Her chest throbbed with each inhale. Her throat felt dry and tight. Memories spilled in without permission.

The sting of his hand against her cheek.

The hits she took for every mistake.

The quizzes she wasn’t allowed to fail.

The way he watched her, calculated and cold.

The constant demand to be more, do more—because she had to be their second chance at a child.

Her running away.

Choosing to stay with her grandma.

Choosing to survive.

Her hands trembled on the wheel.

Then something shifted.

No, no, no. Not now.

Her vision blurred with rage. Or was it fear?

She didn’t know when her breathing had turned shallow, but now her chest felt like it was collapsing inward. A knot pulled tight in her throat. Her hands were trembling. 

She reached for her bag, frantically searching—shoving receipts, lip balm, a pen aside.

Nothing.

Her heart dropped.

She hadn't brought her meds.

Because she thought she was past this. Her last episode was years ago. She thought she was fine.

Her limbs began to weaken. A strange numbness crawled across her face. She tried to press the brake. Her entire body was slipping out of her control.

She reached for her phone, hand blindly searching. She wasn’t sure if she tapped anything. Couldn’t feel anything.

But she heard it.

Just before the darkness swallowed her whole—

A voice.

Karina.

Calling her name.

Chapter Text

Karina's place was buzzing: low jazz playing from the speakers, garment bags across the couch, heels near the entrance, an open makeup kit on the coffee table. Her stylist had just left to grab hairpins she forgot. Her phone kept lighting up with group chat notifications: the PR team, the assistant director, the casts. All asking the same question: ETA?

In the middle of it all, Aeri sat cross-legged beside her on the rug, a bowl of grapes in her lap. She wasn’t helping, just present.

"It's trending,” Aeri said, scrolling on her phone. “Netizens are so excited about Live My Life."

Karina adjusted her necklace absentmindedly in the mirror. “Yeah?”

“Especially your fans. They’re already preparing themselves emotionally. One even tweeted, ‘If it’s Karina, I know it’s angst. I’m ready to cry like it’s my job.’”

Karina chuckled under her breath. “Well. They’re not wrong.”

Aeri popped a grape into her mouth. “You have a reputation.”

“Tragic women and unresolved longing?”

“Exactly.”

Karina shook her head, smiling. Then checked the clock. The premiere was in three hours. Just enough time to get there—if she could manage to keep her nerves from boiling over first.

***

The earthy scent of wet soil filled the air as Minjeong carefully poured water onto the garden bed. It was warm outside and her small hands were streaked with dirt.

Her grandmother knelt beside her, guiding her fingers. “Not too much water, Minmin. You’ll drown them.”

“But why not?” Minjeong pouted. “Doesn’t more water make them grow faster?”

Her grandmother chuckled softly, brushing sweat from her brow. “That’s not how it works. Growth takes time. To live means to wait.”

Minjeong tilted her head like she was trying to understand, but the words lingered, even if she didn’t fully grasp them yet. Just then, a gray car rolled into the driveway. Its tires crunched over gravel. Minjeong looked up, wiping her hands on her shorts.

A man stepped out, tall and familiar: Uncle Siwon.

Her father’s younger brother.

Despite his usual cold, distant air, Minjeong smiled brightly at him. He always treated her gently, almost like a father would. It made sense—he and his wife couldn’t have children of their own.

“Ahjumma,” he greeted, bowing politely toward her grandmother.

“Siwon,” her grandma said, standing with one hand on her lower back. “How are you?”

But something had shifted in his expression. His eyes didn’t meet theirs. His lips pressed tightly together, and for a moment he didn’t speak.

“They—” His voice cracked. “There was an accident.”

Her grandma took a step forward. “What accident?”

He swallowed hard. “A car crash. Both of them... your parents... they didn’t make it.”

Everything fell silent.

A high-pitched ringing filled Minjeong’s ears, as if the world had caved in around her. Her chest seized, breath catching. She couldn’t feel her hands anymore.

She stood frozen in the garden as her mind refused to understand.

Her parents.

Gone.

***

"You look gorgeous," Aeri commented, phone already in hand. "Can you tilt your head a little?"

Karina turned slightly, the soft overhead light catching the subtle shimmer of her gown. It was ivory, the corset bodice wrapped delicately close to her frame. The skirt flowed in sheer and weightless layers, catching air with every movement. Around her neck and ears, pearls shimmered—timeless and elegant. Her hair was swept loosely back, a few strands left free to frame her face in that artful way stylists worked hard to make look effortless.

Aeri adjusted the angle, snapping photos. “Okay, I’ll say this in advance—I’m not as good as Minjeong, so lower your expectations.”

Karina smiled as she tilted her head. “You’ve always been the one taking my photos since you became my manager, Aeri.”

“True, but have you seen the ones Minjeong took? There’s something… different with the way she captured you. Different from all your other photoshoots.”

Karina paused, eyes meeting Aeri’s reflection in the mirror. “Because she’s a professional, Aeri.”

“No,” Aeri said softly. “Because she wasn’t just looking at you through a lens.”

Karina’s breath caught for a second, like something brushing against an old bruise. She didn’t reply, just turned back to the mirror, running her fingers down the fabric of her gown to smooth it out again.

Her makeup artist walked by, holding a brush between her fingers and said, “You’re glowing tonight, Karina. Perfect for the premiere.”

She offered a smile. “Thank you.”

Every few minutes, another notification lit up Aeri’s phone: group chats, live updates, and promotional hashtags trending.

“’Live My Life’ is already number one on Twitter,” Aeri said, glancing at her screen. 

Karina hummed. She pulled her lips into a composed smile and looked down at her palms—steady. No sign of how fast her heart was beginning to beat. Not from being nervous. From something else she couldn't name.

She looked stunning. Everyone told her so. But something felt missing tonight. Like she was being dressed up for someone who wasn’t there to see it.

Aeri must have sensed it. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Karina.”

“I’m just… trying to stay focused. It’s a big night.”

Aeri didn’t push. She reached over and gave Karina’s shoulder a small squeeze. “I’m proud of you.”

Before Karina could respond, her phone buzzed.

Once.

Then again.

She glanced down, expecting a message.

Aeri blinked. “Is that—?”

Minjeong was calling...

Karina didn’t wait. She answered instantly. “Hello?”

But no voice came.

Only the sound of shallow breathing. Uneven. Like someone struggling underwater.

Karina stood up. “Minjeong?”

Still nothing.

Just gasps, static, and what sounded like trembling fingers against the phone.

Her heart dropped. “Minjeong, where are you? Are you safe?”

Aeri straightened, alarmed now, watching her carefully.

Karina waited until she recognized those signs.

“Minjeong, listen to me. Can you hear me?” Karina was already moving, heels clicking against the marble floor as she paced toward the door. “I need you to breathe with me, okay? Slow. In and out. Like we practiced before.”

There was a sound—something fell in the background. Maybe her phone slipping. Maybe her trying to reach for something.

Aeri mouthed, "What’s going on?"

Karina covered the speaker and whispered, “Panic attack. I think she’s in her car.”

She turned back to the call. “Minjeong, can you tell me where you are? Grandma’s place? Are you driving?”

She could barely make out the garbled words, but it was enough. Alone. Can’t breathe. That’s all she needed to hear. 

Karina grabbed her clutch and nodded at Aeri. “Tell the team I’ll be late. Or that I might not be able to come at all. Emergency.”

“You’re not going to the premiere?”

“I’m going to her.”

She didn’t wait for anyone to stop her. She just ran.

***

As her uncle flipped through the test papers, Minjeong sat still, her palms damp against her thighs. Each turn of the page felt like it scraped against her skin. A smile curled on his lips. "You got an A+," he said.

For a second, she allowed herself to breathe.

Then he added, "But question seventeen is wrong. One mistake."

She looked down, barely nodding.

Uncle Siwon stood slowly, reaching for the stick propped against the wall. The sound of it scraping the floor made her stomach twist. "You know what that means," he said, his voice calm.

Without being told, Minjeong laid her hands flat on the table—her left trembling slightly. She clenched her jaw. The sting came sharp and immediate. She flinched, but didn’t cry out. Not anymore.

She told herself she should be used to this by now. It had been three years since she was adopted by him and his wife. Three years of being molded, tested, corrected.

But still, the pain—it never dulled.

Shouldn’t it have stopped stinging?

Shouldn’t she be numb by now?

And yet, every time, it still felt like something insi de her cracked open.

***

Karina pulled up outside a boutique. The place looked too delicate for the state she was in. She barely remembered parking properly. Her fingers were trembling as she pulled the keys out of the ignition.

She hadn’t changed. The ivory gown still clung to her, its sheer skirts catching the car’s light as she stepped out. The heels made every step uneven, the pearls felt too loud around her neck, and she hated that she still looked put together when Minjeong was falling apart.

The bell above the boutique door jingled softly as she entered. The cashier blinked at her. Karina didn’t even pretend not to notice. She headed straight to the nearest rack and grabbed the first hoodie and shorts that looked like they’d fit. Something black and loose.

She passed a small rack of flip-flops near the entrance and grabbed a plain beige pair in her size. The thought of wearing heels even a minute longer made her stomach turn.

She reached the counter.

"How much?"

"₩149890," the cashier said, still staring. Then, carefully, "Am I hallucinating or… are you Karina?"

Karina offered a polite smile as she slid her card across the counter. "I am."

The cashier's hands fumbled slightly while swiping. “Would you like… a paper bag?”

"Do you have a fitting room?"

"Yes, just down that hall to your right."

"Thank you."

She took the clothes and flip-flops, heels in one hand, and made her way toward the fitting room. Inside, she tugged off the gown and folded it neatly, set the pearls beside it, and exhaled. 

She pulled the hoodie over her head, slipped on the shorts, and stepped into the flip-flops. Then she walked out.

No more premieres tonight.

Only Minjeong.

Her hand tightened on the steering wheel as she dialed Minjeong's number for the seventh time.

Pick up.

God, please just pick up.

But the line kept ringing. 

She exhaled deeply, her other hand trembling against the wheel. She couldn’t afford to panic—not when she was already halfway there in her head.

She dropped the call and tapped Aeri’s contact.

Aeri picked up immediately. Karina’s other hand moved quickly to put it on speaker. She was already accelerating.

“Can you pick up my car at the KTX station?”

“What?!” Aeri’s voice shot up in alarm.

“Please.”

“Why at the KTX exactly?”

“Because it’s the quickest way to get there,” Karina said, her voice tight. “If I drive, it’ll take me almost five hours. And I’ll definitely lose it if I did.”

(She already was. Her heart was pounding like it was trying to break free from her ribs. Her breath shallow, legs tense, body in fight or flight, and it had already chosen flight.)

There was a pause on the other end. Then Aeri sighed. “Alright. Be careful, okay?”

“I will.”

“You got some explaining to do.”

“Yes. But for now, cover me up, please?”

“Fine. I’ll tell them your stomach hurts or something. You owe me.”

“I know.”

She hung up before she could change her mind. Hands still shaky, she turned toward the expressway; toward the only direction that mattered.

Toward Minjeong.

***

Minjeong crouched in the yard, eyes wide in quiet awe. A mantis stood frozen on the stem of a bush. There was something graceful about its stillness—an artistry in the way it waited for life to come to it.

She watched, holding her breath.

I need my camera.

She jumped up and ran inside, heart quick with excitement. The screen door clattered behind her as she stepped up the stairs two at a time. She headed straight to her cabinet—where she always kept it.

She opened the drawer.

Empty.

She checked again, frantic now. Under the bed. Behind the textbooks. She even opened her closet.

Gone.

“Are you looking for this?”

She froze.

Her uncle stood in the doorway, one hand gripping her camera. Minjeong’s heart sank. Her stomach twisted.

He looked at it for a moment, inspecting it like it was something foreign. “I always wondered why your parents allowed you to waste your time on things like this…” 

His tone wasn’t angry, it was worse: disappointed and almost mocking.

“Minho was the dreamer. The soft one. No discipline.” He looked up at her. “But you, Minjeong. You’ve got a mind. A real one. Sharp and practical. You're better than this.”

He paused, then added with a colder tone, “Or you should be.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

She knew what was coming.

He placed the camera into his work bag with finality. 

“I’m taking this.”

“That's—” she tried, almost a whisper.

He didn’t acknowledge her voice. “Focus on your studies. Numbers and science... things that matter. This,” he waved dismissively toward her drawings taped to the wall, “is a waste of time. A waste of potential.”

He turned to leave, the camera now hidden from view.

“You won’t get anywhere in life chasing pretty pictures.”

Just like that, the door closed behind him.

And with it, another piece of her was gone.

***

Karina had been dialing Minjeong's number for almost half an hour since boarding the train. The KTX sped through the countryside, but time felt excruciatingly slow. Her fingers, still trembling, adjusted her black cap lower, tucking loose strands of hair beneath it. She pulled her mask up higher.

Please, just pick up.

Her screen lit up: Connected.

Finally.

“Minjeong?”

But the voice on the other end wasn't Minjeong’s.

“Hello?” a calm and unfamiliar male voice said. “Are you perhaps related to Minjeong Kim?”

Her stomach dropped. “Where is she?”

“She’s been admitted to Daesung Medical Center. Emergency department.”

She froze.

No.

Karina sat upright. “How is she?”

“She’s unconscious and the doctors are running tests.”

“I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

She hung up before he could say anything else. The words were already echoing in her head.

Unconscious.

Emergency.

Minjeong.

Her hand dropped to her lap, her phone still in her grasp. She stared at nothing, the world around her muted and spinning. She hadn’t even realized she was crying until the tears slipped past her mask.

Karina looked out the train window, her own reflection pale. She pulled her cap lower, wiping her face quickly with the sleeve of the hoodie. No one was supposed to see her like this. But it didn’t matter now.

Just let me get to her. Let me hold her. Let her be okay. Please.

“Minjeong Kim?” she asked, breathless as she approached the front desk. Her hoodie stuck to her back with sweat, and her face mask barely hid the panic in her voice.

The nurse behind the counter glanced up. “Are you a relative?”

"I’m..." Karina hesitated, not knowing how to answer. "...I’m someone close to her.”

The nurse nodded, her expression softening. “She’s in Room 312. They’ve moved her from emergency to observation. She's stable now.”

Without a word, Karina bowed quickly and turned toward the elevators, nearly stumbling over her own feet as she rushed. Every step she took echoed louder in her chest. By the time she reached Room 312, she stood frozen outside the door. Her hand hovered over the handle.

Please be okay.

She opened the door slowly.

Minjeong lay on the hospital bed, pale against the white sheets. An IV was hooked to her arm, and a monitor beeped steadily beside her. Her hair was slightly disheveled because of the bandage, her breathing even but shallow.

Karina stepped inside.

The room was dim and quiet.

She walked to the side of the bed, her legs trembling beneath her. She reached out and gently took Minjeong’s hand.

It was warm. That was good, right?

“I’m here,” she whispered, her thumb brushing softly against Minjeong’s knuckles. “You scared the hell out of me.”

She sat down slowly beside the bed, never letting go of her hand.

“I’m here now. So please… just open your eyes,” she said, voice cracking.

Minjeong didn’t move.

Karina swallowed hard, leaning her forehead gently against the back of Minjeong’s hand, silently begging—

Stay. Wake up. Let me make this right.

***

It was the finals of a national math competition. The deciding problem flashed on the screen:

(3x²y-bX)dx+(x²+2y)dy=0

Minjeong missed it by a single point.

Her calculation had been close—painfully close—but she had chosen the wrong derivative step. The final result slipped just out of reach.

Still, her teachers smiled at her. Her competitors clapped and offered sincere congratulations. She even saw admiration in some of their eyes. But Minjeong’s gaze searched for only one person in the crowd.

Her uncle.

His expression was cold and detached. Like he was waiting for the moment everyone else would stop pretending this was good enough.

On the ride home, silence sat between them like fog. When they stepped inside, the moment the front door slammed shut, Minjeong flinched. Her heart raced.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, eyes fixed on the floor. The words tasted useless. They always were.

“You could’ve done better,” her uncle said flatly.

The weight of his disappointment pressed against her chest, heavier than the slap she was already bracing for. Her lip quivered, but she bit it hard—refusing to cry. Crying never made things better. It only made her weaker in his eyes.

Then, in one swift motion, he strikes her across the face. The sound cracked through the hallway. The sting of his slap lingers, the shock of it leaving her momentarily breathless. She didn’t cry out, but her breath caught. Her skin burned, a bright red mark already blooming. She recoiled slightly, instinctively stepping back, but he didn't soften. There was no regret in his eyes. Just silence.

She glanced at his wife, who stood nearby, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t look away. She didn’t intervene. 

Minjeong felt the whole world turned its back on her. How can they be so oblivious to the weight she carried all those years of trying to live up to their expectations?

She walked to her room without another word.

Inside, she stood in front of the mirror. Her cheek was still burning, bright and raw. But it was the ache behind her eyes, the hollow in her chest, that hurt more.

The worst kind of pain is the one that didn’t kill you—but somehow, you died anyway. 

Piece by piece. 

Quietly. 

Until the world kept turning and you barely recognized the person still standing.

As she locked herself in her room, something deep within her stirred. It was a quiet, burning ache—a desperate desire to break free from the weight of expectations that never truly belonged to her. She was tired of being molded into someone else's dream. A shadow. A symbol. An extension of a child who never existed—the daughter her uncle could never have.

Minjeong sat on the edge of her bed, breath shallow. Then, with trembling hands, she began to pack. She didn’t know exactly what to bring, only that she needed to leave. She had never traveled alone before. She had never even dared. But she would find a way.

Her grandmother lived in Busan. A few hours away. She could make it there by morning.

At past midnight, the house had fallen silent. No creaking floorboards. No muffled voices behind walls. She held her breath as she crept toward the front door, her bag slung over one shoulder. Her shoes were in her hand. Every step felt like it echoed.

She knew it wasn’t safe.

She didn’t care.

And when Minjeong stepped outside, when the cold air hit her face and the darkness wrapped around her like a second skin—

She ran.

She ran, barefoot down the street, past the gates, past the shame, past the years of being small and silent and not enough.

She ran until her lungs ached and her tears blurred the world.

She ran—

Until everything began to fade into light.

White.

Warm.

Too bright.

She stirred.

Eyes fluttering.

A voice.

"Minjeong?"

The light softened into shapes, shadows, and then—

***

“Am I dead,” Minjeong mumbled, “or am I actually seeing the Karina live performance?”

Karina stood immediately, her chair scraping against the floor. Her eyes narrowed, more shaken than angry. “Don’t joke like that.”

But Minjeong managed a weak smile. “That bad, huh?”

Karina didn’t smile back. “You hit your head hard. They said you managed to pull the car aside before blacking out. Someone called when they saw your car stalled in the middle of the road.” Her voice cracked slightly. “Do you even realize how lucky you are?”

Minjeong blinked slowly, not minding what she just said. Shouldn't she be at the premiere? 

“You came all the way here?”

Karina nodded. “Of course I did.”

“I was scared,” Minjeong confessed softly. “I didn’t know what was happening. My chest felt like it was closing in.”

“You don’t have to explain,” Karina said quickly, gently brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. “You don’t owe me anything. I just… I just need you to be okay.”

Minjeong's hand twitched, fingers curling slightly around Karina’s. “I’m okay now.”

“No,” Karina whispered, her voice thick. “You’re not. But you will be.”

This time, her voice softened.

“I’ll stay until you are.”

“You should go back,” Minjeong murmured, her eyes not quite meeting hers.

Karina frowned. “What?”

“The premiere.” Minjeong’s voice was steadier this time, though still quiet. “You’ve worked hard for it. People are waiting.”

Karina shook her head. “They’ll live. This matters more.”

“Don’t say that,” Minjeong said, finally locking eyes with her. “You’ve always put others first. This is something big. Don’t skip that for me.”

“I won’t be able to focus anyway,” Karina replied. “Not when I know you’re lying here.”

“I’m not dying,” Minjeong tried to joke, but Karina didn’t laugh. Her brows just pulled tighter.

Minjeong exhaled. “I’ll be fine. Aeri’s probably covering for you like a pro, and they’ll understand if you’re a little late. But if you don’t go at all…”

Karina stared at her, torn. The silence lingered.

“Don’t scare me like this again.”

“No promises.” Minjeong gave a faint smirk.

Karina rolled her eyes as she stood.

But she didn't move.

Minjeong watched her with a quiet kind of frustration. “You’re still here.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You’ll miss the premiere.”

“I don’t care.”

“Karina—”

“I don’t care,” she repeated, firmer this time. Her voice cracked slightly. “I know how it looks. I know how important it is. But right now? I need to be here.”

Minjeong fell silent.

“I thought I lost you,” Karina continued, her gaze fixed on the blanket covering Minjeong. “And that I wouldn’t even know until it was too late. I’d be somewhere far, smiling on camera, pretending everything was fine when it wasn’t.”

Minjeong’s expression softened. “But it is fine now. I’m fine.”

“You’re in a hospital bed,” Karina snapped, then immediately softened her voice. “You blacked out behind the wheel. I don’t even know how bad it could’ve been.”

Karina stepped forward. “I’ll survive missing one red carpet,” Karina said quietly. “But I won’t survive another call like that.”

Minjeong looked away, eyes wet. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“I hate that I don’t want you to leave either.”

“I know.”

Karina reached out and took her hand again, steady this time. 

“You should’ve changed out of that hoodie,” Minjeong mumbled.

Karina laughed softly. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Still not going?”

“No.”

Minjeong didn’t respond right away. There was nothing else to say, really. She could protest again, push harder. But instead, she just sat there, letting the weight of everything settle. 

At a very young age, she knew grief. She lost her parents—but she didn’t know she would lose herself too. That came later, in quiet ways. In the silence of rooms she didn’t feel safe in. She tried to rebuild herself. And she did. (But things are bound to fall apart, aren’t they?)

She stared at the ceiling. Don’t cry, she told herself. 

But Karina saw right through her anyway. She always did. The way Minjeong's lip trembled, teeth pressed so tightly it nearly bled. The way her fingers immediately clutched the hospital blanket, knuckles turning white, like she was holding on to something—anything—just to stay afloat. And the ceiling. Always the ceiling, because it was easier than looking at someone who saw too much.

It hurt Karina in a way she couldn’t name. Not just the bruises—the bandage on Minjeong’s head—it was the way she disappeared into herself, like she was apologizing for being broken.

So Karina moved before she could think better of it. She climbed into the narrow hospital bed, careful and quiet, and wrapped her arms around Minjeong from behind—like holding something fragile.

“I won’t look,” she whispered, close to her ear. “You can fall apart now, I’ll hold you together.”

Minjeong didn’t say anything. But her breath hitched, just once, and Karina felt the faintest shiver run through her. Like a dam cracking.

And still, she hugged her even tighter.

Minjeong felt the warmth of Karina’s embrace. It was steady and unshaking. God, she thought, this is what safety feels like.

And that was what undid her.

Because safety made her vulnerable. It pulled apart the walls she had built so carefully, so desperately. It left no place to hide.

Her chest tightened. Her throat closed up. And then, everything cracked. The tears came first, sliding down her cheeks in silence. But soon her body betrayed her. Her breath hitched. Her shoulders trembled. She tried—really, truly tried—not to cry out loud. Not to make a sound. But the sobs tore through her like waves breaking.

She pressed a fist to her mouth, as if that could stop the grief from pouring out.

But it was too late.

Karina didn’t speak. She just held her. Like she wasn’t afraid of the wreckage. Like she had already decided she would stay until the storm passed.

And for the first time in a long time, Minjeong let herself be held.