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Everyone in TWICE agrees on one thing lately:
Nayeon is unbearable.
And somehow, somehow, Mina made it worse.
It starts small. It always does.
Nayeon is sitting cross-legged on the couch backstage, guarding a clear plastic container as if it holds classified information. Inside: freshly cut strawberries. Perfectly red. Suspiciously limited.
“Those are for everyone,” Jeongyeon says, already reaching.
Nayeon slaps her hand. “No.”
“Ouch! That wasn't a question.” Jeongyeon rubs her hand.
“Still no.”
Tzuyu squints. “Why are you acting like a dragon?”
“Because these are good strawberries,” Nayeon says. “Not the sour kind, not the watery kind. The good ones.”
Momo peers over the edge of the container. “Unnie, please. Can I just have one?”
“No.”
Jihyo sighs. “Unnie, you had five already.”
“And I deserve peace.”
Chaeyoung groans from the floor. “You’re gatekeeping fruit.”
Nayeon opens her mouth, clearly ready to argue that breathing is a form of fighting—
Then Mina walks in, and the argument dissolves mid-thought.
She doesn’t announce herself. She never does. Just slips into the room with her usual quiet grace, hair still a little damp, jacket hanging loose over her shoulders.
Nayeon straightens instantly.
“Mina,” she says, voice suddenly gentle, like she didn’t just commit fruit-related crimes. “Do you want the last strawberry?”
Mina blinks. “You like strawberries.”
Nayeon smiles, soft and unapologetic. “I like you more.”
Silence.
Jihyo slowly turns. “You just told Momo no.”
Chaeyoung lifts her head. “You told everyone no.”
Jeongyeon stares. “You slapped my hand.”
Nayeon shrugs, already holding the strawberry out like an offering. “Mina’s different.”
Mina hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
Mina takes it with a small nod. No fuss. No smugness, Just polite acceptance.
And just like that, Nayeon is on her feet, grabbing a napkin. “Careful, it might drip.”
Sana laughs and looks at Jeongyeon. “Wow. So this is your villain origin story.”
“This is favoritism," Jihyo says flatly.
Jeongyeon mutters, “Insufferable.”
Mina smiles politely,a strawberry between her fingers. Absolutely innocent. Absolutely guilty.
Nayeon watches her like the rest of the room has faded out entirely.
Worth it.
The stage manager gives them the signal.
“Two minutes.”
The room shifts instantly. Snacks forgotten. Jokes abandoned mid-sentence. Hair gets flipped, in-ears adjusted, microphones tested with quick practiced taps. The chaos titghtens into focus.
Nayeon rolls her shoulders once, bouncing lightly on her feet.
“Okay. Let’s kill it.”
Jihyo claps her hands together. “Energy up. Clean lines, have fun.”
Mina exhales slowly, grounding herself. When she looks up, she catches Nayeon staring.
“What?” Mina asks.
Nayeon blinks. “Nothing. Just—fighting!”
They line up in the tunnel, the bass from the opening VCR rumbling through the floor. Fans screaming on the other side like a living thing. Mina stands behind Nayeon, close enough that she can feel the warmth of her back.
Nayeon doesn’t move away.
The lights go out.
Then—
Explosion.
The opening hits, and TWICE pours onto the stage like they’ve done this a thousand times, muscle memory carrying them through sharp choreography and seamless formations. Nayeon is on. Bright smiles. Precise angles. Perfect breath control.
Mina is steady, elegant, lethal in her own quiet way.
Between songs, they banter. Joke. Tease the crowd. Nayeon throws hearts, blows kisses, and winks at cameras like it’s second nature.
But every once in a while, her eyes flick sideways.
Just to check.
Mina’s there. Always there.
By the time the main set winds down, sweat clings to their skin, hair slightly mussed, smiles softer but real. They line up for their final bow, hands linked.
“Thank you so much!” Jihyo calls out.
“We love you!” Dahyun adds.
They bow together, deep and in perfect synchronization.
The lights dim.
They run off stage to thunderous cheers, laughter spilling out the moment they’re clear of the cameras.
Momo fans herself. “I’m dying.”
Jeongyeon grabs a towel. “Worth it.”
They disappear backstage and reemerge in encore outfits.
Nayeon steps out and takes a breath, then freezes.
Mina walks back in.
Encore outfits are supposed to be fun.
Mina’s is lethal.
The skirt is barely there, short enough to make Nayeon’s brain short-circuit and short enough to become a belt. The tied shirt exposes her waist every time she moves, fabric shifting with every step. The heels straighten her posture, confidence sharpened into something intentional.
Nayeon swallows.
“Wow,” Sana says helpfully.
Chaeyoung snorts. “Someone check on Unnie.”
“I’m fine,” Nayeon says immediately. Too fast.
Mina meets her eyes, amused. “You’re not blinking.”
The crowd starts chanting.
Encore. Encore.
Nayeon feels it before she sees it, the shift in energy when they step back out. The cheers spike. Cameras zoom in. Phones rise like constellations.
Mina steps forward, smiling softly.
The reaction is instant.
Nayeon keeps her composure. She’s Im Nayeon. Professional. Veteran. Unbothered.
Except she keeps drifting closer.
Half a step. Then another.
She positions herself just slightly in front of Mina during formation changes. Turns her shoulders so her body blocks some of the more aggressive angles. It’s subtle. Instinctive.
Mina notices.
During a brief pause between songs, she leans in, voice low. “You’re hovering.”
Nayeon keeps smiling at the crowd. “Am not.”
“You are.”
“...A little.”
Mina tilts her head. “Why?”
Nayeon doesn’t answer.
The last song fades out.
The final note hangs for half a second longer than it should, suspended in the air, then the stadium erupts.
Cheers crash over the stage in waves. Confetti cannons fire all at once, loud pops followed by an explosion of color. Pink. Purple. Blue. Paper catching the light as it spirals downward like artificial snow.
Nayeon freezes.
She tilts her head back, eyes wide, mouth falling open just a little. Confetti lands in her hair, on her shoulders, sticks to the sweat on her skin.
“Oh,” she breathes, barely louder than the music still echoing in her ears. “It’s so pretty.”
It’s said like a secret. Like she’s forgotten there are thousands of people watching.
Mina notices instantly.
Always does.
The others were waving, bowing, and blowing kisses to different sections of the crowd. Jihyo’s already doing a full 360 run to make sure everyone feels seen. Sana, Momo, and Jeongyeon are crouching to throw confetti back into the air with theatrical flair.
Mina, instead, bends down.
She gathers a small handful of confetti from the stage floor—careful, deliberate. She straightens slowly, eyes never leaving Nayeon. Watches the way Nayeon spins once, laugh when a piece sticks to her lashes, brushes at it unsuccessfully.
Mina waits.
Times it.
Then—
She tossed the confetti gently upward.
It arcs just right.
And it rains directly over Nayeon.
Nayeon gasps, startles, then laughs. Full, bright, unguarded. She spins beneath it, arms lifting instinctively like she’s trying to catch snowflakes.
“Mina!” she calls, half-laughing, half-accusing.
Mina doesn't laugh out loud. She just smiles.
Soft. Fond. Unmistakably affectionate.
Tzuyu nudges Chaeyoung with her elbow. “She did that on purpose.”
Chaeyong squints, watching Mina’s expression. “She always does.”
Dahyun hums. “That’s insane behavior.”
Sana claps happily. “It’s cute!”
Nayeon finally looks at Mina, really looks—eyes shining, cheeks flushed, confetti tangled in her hair like a crown.
“You’re so—” she starts, then stops, searching for the word.
Mina mouths, I know.
Nayeon laughs again, shaking her head like she’s been defeated.
The fans go wild.
They don’t know why, exactly.
They just feel it.
Something in the way Nayeon forgets the cameras and the fans exist. In the way, Mina’s gaze never strays too far. In the way they drift back toward each other, close enough that their shoulders brush as the bow.
When they line up for the final goodbye and the crowd roars, Nayeon reaches back and lightly hooks her pinky around Mina’s.
The touch is tiny. Accidental-looking. Invisible to everyone else.
Mina’s breath catches.
She squeezes back.
Confetti keeps falling. The lights soften. The noise swells until it’s almost overwhelming.
Nayeon finally relaxes.
Mina stays right beside her.
When they bow one last time, hands linked, Mina’s thumb brushes against Nayeon’s knuckle—soft, deliberate.
The crowd screams.
After a moment. Just one, perfect moment. It feels like the world has narrowed to glitter, music, and the quiet certainty of someone who always knows where to stand so the magic falls exactly where it should.
Right beside her.