Chapter Text
The fourth week hits harder than all the others combined.
Mina has never been the type to get upset easily. She can outlast most things - bad days, missed calls, empty promises. She thought she was built for this kind of waiting. So, Mina doesn’t understand why this is driving her to the verge of insanity.
People come and go, Mina knows that.
She’s known it since she was young enough to understand that sometimes, no matter how tightly you cling on, people slip through your fingers like water anyway.
But Nayeon wasn’t supposed to be like that, or so Mina had thought.
Nayeon, who crashed into her life with laughter too loud for small spaces.
Nayeon, with hands too gentle for her own good.
Nayeon, who kissed Kookeu’s head like a prayer, who grumbled over barley tea but always finished her cup.
Sure. Mina can handle if Nayeon didn’t… feel the same.
But this?
Silence. Severance. Complete abandonment.
The unbearable, rising knowledge that something is wrong presses at the base of her throat, a deep ache Mina cannot simply exhale. The ache coils, and it tastes like betrayal.
Nayeon must have a reason. But fury has no need for reason or rationality. It thrums in her veins, low and hot, setting her insides alight. Because at the end of the day, it’s not just about Mina, is it?
She can take the unopened texts.
The untouched triangle kimbap sitting forgotten on her counter.
The half-built promises Nayeon made without words, simply by staying.
Mina can take that.
But leaving Kookeu behind?
Mina can forgive a lot of things, but not that.
Three times, maybe four, Mina walked Kookeu to Nayeon’s apartment, her leash wrapped tight in her hand and her heart heavier each time.
Three times, maybe four, she knocked.
Waited.
Left.
Every time, Kookeu pulls harder, scratches at the door, and noses at the seams like he can slip through if he just tries hard enough.
And every time, Mina kneels and whispers, "She’s not ready," even though she’s unsure if she believes it anymore.
At home, Kookeu noses into the corner of the living room where Mina has stupidly and stubbornly, left Nayeon’s old hoodie. The one Nayeon forgot, or maybe left on purpose, the last time she crashed at Mina’s.
It still smells like her. Like soap and street food and something brighter.
Mina should have thrown it out. Burned it. Anything but what she did, leaving that damn hoodie there, pretending it didn’t hurt every time she caught a glimpse of it. Kookei drags it out every night, curling up in a sad, tangled ball on top of it, waiting.
Why does it feel like a breakup?
Except for the fact that they weren’t even together. They were just…
Friends?
Training partners?
Two idiots pretending they didn’t know exactly what was happening between them?
They only knew each other for a few months. Barely enough time to build a life out of someone.
So why does it feel like she’s losing something bigger than anything she's ever dared to hold?
On the floor of Momo’s living room, bottles of soju surround them, as Kookeu snores against the sofa.
Momo pours her cup without asking, sliding it across the floor.
Mina downs it in one go.
“You’re reckless,” says Momo, but refills the cup anyway.
Mina stares at the shot, expecting it to magically tell her what the hell is wrong with, well, everything.
“I think I messed up,” says Mina.
Momo leans back, resting her weight on her hands, patient.
"I thought I was giving her space," Mina mumbles. "But maybe I made it worse. Maybe she didn’t want me around in the first place."
Momo snorts. "Yeah. That’s why she basically carved your name into the studio floor with how she kept orbiting you."
Mina shakes her head, hair falling into her eyes.
"I keep thinking... maybe if I didn’t push. Maybe if I wasn’t..." she trails off, scrubbing a hand over her face. "Too much."
"You’re not too much," says Momo, pouring a shot for herself. “I think you loved her in a way she wasn’t ready for.”
Mina holds up her hands. “Woah, woah, who’s saying anything about love here?”
Momo raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, then pours Mina another shot without comment.
Mina downs it. The liquor burns against her throat, yet it is still not numbing enough.
"I just-" Mina starts, then stops and drags her sleeve across her mouth. "I just... miss her."
The words crack.
"You know," says Momo casually, as if discussing the weather, "missing someone that much? That’s usually a sign."
Mina flips her off without heat.
"Charming," Momo rolls her eyes, taking her shot with one smooth tilt of her wrist. "No wonder she fell for you."
Mina presses her forehead against the table with a low groan.
"I'm an idiot," she mumbles into the wood.
Momo grins, wide and fond. She gently pats Kookeu’s head. "Yeah. But you're our idiot.
The next day, Mina can’t do it anymore.
Outside, rain pours down in heavy, unrelenting sheets, battering against the windows. It’s depressing and angry. Touché.
She pulls out an old duffel bag and packs Nayeon’s things into it. The accursed hoodie, a spare set of hair ties looped around a pen, and at the very bottom of the pile, buried where Mina had half-pretended it didn’t exist, is the penguin plushie.
It’s still wearing the tiny paper crown Nayeon had folded for it on the subway ride home.
Beady eyes stare back at Mina, stupid and hopeful, just like Mina. Her hands shake as she packs it into the bag, tucking it between the folds of fabric like something that could still be protected. It feels as if she is trying to bury a part of her.
Mina zips the bag shut. It makes a final, ugly sound. Then, she steps into the storm.
Someone has already beaten Mina to it.
The familiar bomber jackets. Cheap fabric, shiny under the streetlights. The same ones she saw outside the studio, once. The same ones she caught a glimpse of in the corner of Nayeon’s haunted dreams.
They’re leaning against the wall of Nayeon’s building, laughing, like hyenas picking clean what’s left behind.
Everything clicks.
The silence.
The unopened messages.
The ache in Nayeon's voice when she said it’s totally fine.
The way she wouldn’t meet Mina’s eyes that last night.
The way she disappeared, not because she wanted to, but because she thought she had to.
Rain pours in relentless sheets, but Mina heeds no mind. She only stands there, frozen, feeling it all crash over her.
How dare they?
Mina drops the duffel bag onto the pavement with a dull thud. The fabric soaks instantly, sagging into the puddle. Mina steps forward until she’s standing a little too close, until the three girls, so cocky a second ago, instinctively stiffen.
The blonde twirls her keychain, water dripping off her sleeves. “Well, well,” she drawls. “If it isn’t the backup dancer looking for her girlfriend.”
"She dumped your ass, didn’t she?" another taunts, elbowing the third, who snickers. “Once a traitor, always a traitor.”
The words snap something inside Mina that was already hanging by a thread. She stares at them as Kookeu growls beside her, as rain washes over his yellow rain jacket.
"You think you're scary?" the blonde scoffs, stepping forward like she’s daring Mina to do something. "You think you can scare us?"
“I think you should walk away,” says Mina.
Slow and measured. Almost kind, if one is twisted enough to read into it.
“Or what?” the blonde steps closer, leaning down to Mina’s face.
Mina’s hand shoots out, grabbing the front of her jacket, and slams her backwards into the rain-slick wall.
That’s the thing about bullies. The only language they’d understand is violence. They always mistake kindness for permission and patience for weakness. To them, violence is a currency. Bullies spend it cheaply and expect change back. They never expect the quiet ones to know the price better than they do.
The blonde gasps, scrambling.
“Jennie!” the one with split-dyed hair blurts out, can’t quite believe what just happened.
Jennie snarls, shoving Mina’s hand off her jacket, but she stumbles doing it.
Mina steps back. No rush. Let her have that small, desperate victory.
It’s not that Mina is stronger. Not exactly. She’s a dancer at the end of the day. High endurance. High pain tolerance. Momo dragged her to a self-defence class once, years ago. "Just in case," Momo’d said, laughing. And, out of habit, Mina stayed until she could move through the drills without thinking.
It had never come up in conversation, or something Mina donned like armour. It was just another language she learned to speak quietly, if necessary.
And tonight, it’s necessary.
Jennie recovers fast and swings.
The fist clips the side of her jaw, a sharp jolt that rattles her teeth.
Pain blooms across her face.
Fine.
She wears a mask for her videos, anyway.
Mina rolls her shoulder back, tasting rain and blood together.
The split-dyed one lunges at her. Sloppy aim, even sloppier blows.
Mina lets her weight do the work. She drives her elbow into the girl’s ribs with all her might, knocking the wind out of the girl.
The third one is rooted in fear. Probably the one who does camera work when the bullies have their way. Not this time.
Jennie curses and lunges again, but Mina meets her halfway. She grabs Jennie by the jacket again, yanks her off balance, and drives her back into the wall so hard the plaster cracks. Jennie gasps, stunned.
Another punch flies at her. Mina catches it, twisting hard enough that the girl yelps and drops to her knees.
“Still think this is a game? Cause I don’t like losing,” says Mina, catching her breath.
The third one is already running, bolting down the alleyway. Jennie follows, limping, cursing under her breath. The split-dyed girl scrambles after them, throwing one last wild, empty threat over her shoulder.
Mina doesn’t move until they’re gone. Blood slicks on her lip where the first punch caught her. She wipes it away with the back of her hand, tasting metal.
The storm rages on.
Now, onto more important matters.
-
Mina doesn’t knock this time.
She pounds her fist against the door, once, twice. Hard enough to make the frame rattle.
The rain has soaked through her clothes, running in rivulets down her spine. Her breath fogs in the cold. Her knuckles sting from the force and the cold and everything Mina’s been holding back.
No answer.
She slams her palm against the door again.
“I know about the bullies. Did you leave because you thought you were protecting me?”
Her voice cracks out into the hallway. Rough, furious, too loud for this hour, but she doesn’t care. Mina breathes hard through her nose, blood from her split lip still dripping down her chin.
"I took care of them," says Mina, her voice dropping. "You hear me, Nayeonnie? They're gone. I’m not scared. I’m not scared of anything when it comes to you."
She presses her forehead against the door.
"You can hate me. You can tell me you don’t want me in your life."
She pulls back, knocking again. Quieter this time, almost pleading.
"But you don’t get to leave Kookeu. You don’t get to leave me like we were nothing. You don’t get to vanish and pretend this doesn’t exist."
Mina bites down hard on the next wave of words, fighting to stay upright.
"I don’t care if you don’t feel the same," says Mina, voice hoarse. "I miss you."
The lock clicks.
Mina holds her breath.
The door creaks open just a crack, enough for Kookeu to wiggle his nose through, letting out a soft whine.
And there she is. Her Nayeonnie. Eyes red-rimmed and glassy, like she hasn’t slept for days. Her hair is a mess. Her sweater wrinkled. Those sunken eyes land on Mina’s lips - bruised, bloodied, still dripping rainwater.
Mina offers a wry, bloody half-smile.
“Hey,” she croaks.
Nayeon makes a strangled sound, and the door swings wide open. She grabs Mina by the jacket and pulls her in, crashing into her chest and sobbing. Mina melts into the hug, tucking her chin against the top of Nayeon’s head and wrapping her arms around Nayeon’s back without a second thought.
Water pools on the floor beneath them. Mina’s clothes stick to her skin. But she barely registers it.
How Mina has longed for this. Her Nayeonnie, not blazing with brilliance, but shimmers, fragile as mist caught in the first light of dawn. And Mina realises, if this is what it takes, she would endure it all over again and again.
For Mina has prayed for the burning days to pass, just so she can see Nayeon once more. What bliss, Mina thinks, to exist invisible to the world, and yet be stirred awake by nothing but Nayeon’s touch. To be the quiet flower that blooms only for her.
Hot, hiccupping sobs wracking her petite frame, fists still curled tightly in the damp fabric of Mina’s jacket like Nayeon is afraid that if she lets go, Mina will vanish.
"I’m sorry," Nayeon chokes out, voice muffled against Mina’s chest. "I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”
Mina squeezes her tighter, one hand patting the back of Nayeon’s head.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m here. Kookeu’s here.”
Nayeon shakes her head, smearing tears into Mina’s shirt. "You got hurt because of me," she gasps out between sobs. "You shouldn’t…”
“And I’d do it a thousand times over,” says Mina.
Nayeon sniffles hard, dragging her sleeve across her face, trying and failing to pull herself together. She pulls back to look at Mina properly and flinches.
The dried blood at the corner of Mina’s mouth.
The bruises blooming along her jaw.
The way Mina’s holding her side, stiff, hiding how much it hurts.
She grabs Mina’s hand, fingers clammy from rain and fear, and tugs her inside.
The adrenaline is crashing out of her system, heavy and aching her muscles. Mina sinks onto the worn-out couch without protest as it squeaks wetly under her weight.
The room tilts around her, exhaustion overtaking Mina. She takes a slow look around. It’s still how Mina remembers it: a tiny kitchenette, a battered bookshelf leaning sideways, a couple of secondhand posters taped to the wall. But it’s Nayeon’s. Mina breathes in the air; it smells like detergent, instant coffee, and something a little sweeter underneath.
From the corner of her eye, Nayeon returns, arms full of a battered first aid kit. Nayeon drops to her knees between Mina’s legs and pops open the kit.
Her hands tremble as she sorts through the mess of bandages and antiseptic wipes. A few things spill out. A roll of gauze and a tiny pair of rusted scissors. Nayeon curses under her breath, scrambling to gather them up.
Mina can say something. Tease her. Crack a joke about the state of the first aid kit or the battlefield of tissues gathering around them. But she refrains.
Nayeon swipes an alcohol wipe across Mina’s jaw first, barely brushing her skin. The touch is feather-light and ridiculously careful. How unlike her everyday Nayeon.
Mina leans into it, just a little.
The wipe stings where it touches the split lip. Mina breathes through it, tasting copper and something else she cannot quite name.
"You’re so stupid," Nayeon mutters under her breath. "So, so stupid."
“I don’t think they were going to let me get in without a fuss.”
Nayeon dabs carefully at the cut near Mina’s mouth. “You didn’t have to get involved,” she whispers.
Mina huffs a laugh. “Didn’t really have time to think about that.”
This feels familiar.
Mina sitting still, letting Nayeon fuss over her. Nayeon muttering under her breath, pretending she’s not about to cry. Like that night when Mina helped Nayeon, telling herself it meant nothing more.
But it’s also different this time.
Every brush of Nayeon’s fingers lingers longer.
Every glance is loaded, brittle, aching.
Their eyes meet.
Nayeon’s fingers tremble where they’re brushing Mina’s skin. She opens her mouth. For a second, Mina thinks she’s going to say something important, something that might tear the last pieces of her open. She doesn’t.
"I didn’t mean— I wasn’t— I just— I didn’t know what to do, and you were there and I didn’t want to lose you, but I didn’t know how to—"
“Would you please just shut up for one second?” asks Mina.
“What do you mean-”
Mina leans in and crashes their lips together.
Nayeon freezes, and for one terrible heartbeat, Mina thinks she’s ruined everything.
Then Nayeon surges back into her. Kissing Mina like she’s been holding her breath for weeks.
The kiss is clumsy, desperate.
Teeth knocking. Breaths stolen.
Neither of them is moving right, both of them moving too much, too fast, not enough.
Nayeon fists her hands in the back of Mina's jacket, pulling her closer. Mina tilts her head, deepens the kiss and feels Nayeon gasp softly against her.
It’s not neat.
It’s not gentle.
It’s messy and greedy and frantic.
Weeks of unsaid things crash out between them, spilling into the spaces their mouths can't reach fast enough. When they finally pull apart, it's only because they have to breathe.
Nayeon rests her forehead against Mina’s, breathing hard, her hands still tangled in the front of her jacket. Mina presses her nose against Nayeon’s temple, eyes fluttering shut, dizzy with it all.
"I hate you," Nayeon whispers, laughing and crying at once.
Mina smiles, wide and wrecked.
"Wanna try that again?" she whispers back.
Once Mina is all patched up with kisses and bandaids, Nayeon tugs gently at Mina’s sleeve.
A silent invitation.
Mina follows her without question, trailing her into the tiny bedroom, Kookeu trotting at their heels before curling up in his usual spot by the foot of the bed.
Nayeon sits on the edge of the mattress, pulling Mina between her knees, fingers sliding up under the hem of Mina’s jacket, not rushing, just touching, as if trying to convince herself Mina’s real.
Mina cups her face, thumbs brushing over the wetness still clinging to Nayeon’s cheeks, and kisses her again, slower this time.
They fall into bed. An inevitability.
Clothes tugged off in clumsy movements, shirts tossed somewhere onto the floor, jeans half-kicked aside. Skin to skin, finally, and it’s dizzying, overwhelming. Mina breathing out Nayeon's name against her collarbone, Nayeon tangling a hand in Mina’s hair and tugging her closer.
Mina maps every scar, every breath, every tremor with her lips, and Nayeon clings back with an urgency that only makes Mina wants more.
Soft gasps.
Broken whimpers.
Kisses that taste like promises they’ll finally get the chance to keep.
When Nayeon finally arches under her, gasping Mina’s name like a prayer, Mina thinks maybe she understands what it means to be chosen at long last.
They don't rush.
They have nowhere else to be now.
No one else to run from.
Afterwards, they lie tangled in the sheets, a mess of limbs and heartbeats.
Nayeon’s breathing evens out first, her fingers still curled against Mina’s bare ribs. Mina watches Nayeon in the faint light bleeding through the window. How her lashes tremble even in sleep, the soft curve of her mouth, how her chest rises and falls in steady rhythms.
Outside, the storm beats against the windows, relentless and cruel. Doesn’t matter anymore, because now, Mina is here with Nayeon.
She presses a kiss to Nayeon’s forehead.
"I’m not going anywhere."
Mina closes her eyes and lets herself sleep for the first time in weeks.
The last to sleep and the first to awaken.
The first ray of sunlight touches the corner of Nayeon’s sleeping eyes, then slips away like silken robes, cradling her deeper into slumber’s tender embrace. Nayeon’s breathing is slow and even, her forehead tucked against Mina’s collarbone, arms still wrapped around her.
Mina presses her nose into Nayeon’s hair, breathing her in.
She can stay like this forever.
Even just as a breeze, tangled in the scent of Nayeon’s hair.
Or as the night itself, so Nayeon’s face may blaze with morning light.
Or, if fate would have it, as a single dewdrop clinging to her lashes.
Anything.
Everything.
So long as it meant being close to her.
Nayeon stirs after a while, mumbling something incoherent into Mina’s chest. Then, a little clearer: “You’re still here?”
Mina laughs. “Didn’t know you habitually kicked out your bedmate the day after.”
Nayeon grumbles something that might be shut up but curls tighter into her anyway, pressing her face against Mina’s skin like she can disappear into it. Mina wraps an arm around her shoulders, holding Nayeon there, feeling the steady thrum of Nayeon's heartbeat against her ribs.
Her breathing evens out again, drifting back into sleep. Mina smiles into the ceiling, her fingers tracing lazy circles against Nayeon’s back.
By lunchtime, they’re raiding what’s left in Nayeon’s fridge.
Spoiler: it’s not much.
Half a tub of yoghurt two days past expiration, a sad-looking head of lettuce, and three packs of kimchi that qualify as a biohazard.
Mina stabs a piece of soggy lettuce with a fork, squints at it, and says it. Casual. Almost offhand.
"You know, you should just stay at my place."
Nayeon, perched on the counter, eating instant noodles straight from the pot, and blinks at her.
“You’re inviting me to move in after one night. Wow, I must be really good, huh?"
Mina stabs the lettuce again, pretending she’s not flushing down to her collarbones.
"For safety," she mutters.
Nayeon grins, crooked and brilliant. “Sure, sure.”
"You’re the one with a target on your back," says Mina, glancing up. "I'm just... offering better housing options."
Nayeon hums thoughtfully, slurping up another mouthful of noodles.
"You got snacks?"
Mina raises an eyebrow. "Pantry full."
"A real bed?"
"King size."
Nayeon leans back against the counter, as if she's weighing a major life decision and not already halfway moved into Mina's closet.
"And you’ll let me steal your hoodies?"
"You already do," sighs Mina, rolling her eyes.
Nayeon beams at her, setting down the pot with a loud clatter. "Alright. Deal."
Mina looks away quickly, pretending to be very invested in the lettuce, because the truth is simple. Her heart may just burst right out of her chest. She stabs the lettuce again for good measure, scowling like it's personally responsible for all her feelings.
Nayeon hops off the counter and comes closer with a small, knowing smile.
Mina nudges the bowl away and leans back in her chair, arms crossed. “You’re not kissing me with cup-noodle soup on your lips.”
Nayeon lets out a scandalous gasp, pressing a hand to her chest. “I am offended,” says Nayeon dramatically. “I am devastated.”
“You’ll survive.”
Nayeon leans down anyway, crowding into her space, grinning like the troublemaker she absolutely is.
"You sure about that?" she murmurs, close enough that Mina can smell the faint trace of soup and mint gum.
And Mina, God help her, is anything but immune to the girl before her.
She tightens her arms across her chest, as if that might shield her from the fact that Nayeon is still leaning in, still smiling, and Mina is still entirely so, so in love with her.
"You’re impossible," Mina mutters, glancing away.
"And yet," says Nayeon, voice lilting with laughter, "here you are.”
Mina rolls her eyes, but it’s useless. She can feel the grin tugging at her mouth, traitorous and warm.
Nayeon bumps her forehead gently against Mina’s, their noses brushing.
"Don’t think I didn’t catch you staring," Nayeon whispers.
Mina scoffs. "I wasn’t staring."
"Sure," says Nayeon, sweet and vicious. "You were cataloguing the nutritional content of my ramen. Very intense stuff."
"Critical research," Mina deadpans.
Nayeon pulls back just enough to see her face properly, studying her with that infuriatingly fondness that makes Mina feel like she’s standing on the edge of something she’s already falling into.
Mina is doomed, sure, but she’s all too glad to embrace it if Nayeon is with her.
The next few days fall into a rhythm so easy, it almost startles Mina.
They wake up tangled together, half on top of each other and half buried under Kookeu, who has decided that no bed is complete without his immediate presence.
They debate about groceries and forget half the list anyway.
They steal each other’s hoodies, each pretending they don't notice.
They fall asleep to bad crime dramas, Nayeon’s head tucked under Mina’s chin, Mina’s fingers tangled lazily in Nayeon’s hair.
Mina hadn’t realised how much life one person could fill a space with, laughter, half-sung songs while cooking, the clatter of socked feet skidding across the wooden floors, until Nayeon was here.
And now that she is, Mina can’t imagine the place without her.
One evening, when a crime documentary consumes Nayeon and Kookeu is chewing his new toy loudly, Mina says it.
A quiet truth, slipping free between the spaces they’ve already made for each other.
“I love you,” says Mina, almost absentmindedly, as she leans back against the futon, her eyes half-lidded from sleep.
The screen continues to play, some serial killer’s mugshots flashing by.
Tender hands reach for her face, cupping her cheeks with a care that makes Mina's heart stutter.
Nayeon leans in and whispers. “Say it again.”
Mina smiles, slow and helpless.
"I love you."
Nayeon laughs, a little broken, a little breathless, like she’s been waiting to hear it her whole life.
"I know," she says. "Love you, too."
And Nayeon kisses her. A soft, lingering brush of lips. This is salvation, a river finding its way back to the sea, back to its home. It feels familiar, like they’ve done this before, have said these words a lifetime ago. Maybe they did. Perhaps it’s fate. The way the tide knows the moon or how flowers lean toward the sun without needing to be taught.
Mina lets herself fall into it, like remembering a language she was born speaking but somehow forgot along the way.
Not all good things are meant to be lost.
Not this.
Not her.
It’s a Sunday afternoon, rain tapping gently against the windows, when Mina finally finds the nerve.
They’re sprawled across the living room floor, Kookeu nestled between them, the last crumbs of a failed attempt at baking scattered around.
Mina taps Nayeon’s foot with hers.
Nayeon hums without opening her eyes. "I’m not making new batter, no."
"I have a project," says Mina.
Nayeon cracks one eye open. "Yeah?"
Mina fidgets with the hem of her sleeve. "For the channel. It’s a choreography I’ve been working on."
"Not the ‘sad interpretative wiggle’, I hope?”
Mina groans, throwing her head back against the floor. "I told you that was a rough sketch."
"It was rough, alright," Nayeon deadpans.
Mina nudges her foot harder this time, making Kookeu grumble in sleepy protest between them.
"Be serious for like, two seconds," says Mina, but she’s smiling, her voice too soft to sound truly annoyed.
Nayeon turns her head, resting her cheek against the floorboards to look at Mina properly. "Okay, serious," she says, mock-solemn and crosses her heart with one finger, then props herself up on her elbows.
"I was thinking," Mina says, pulling the drawstring of her hoodie, "maybe... You could be in it with me."
A beat of silence. Then, Nayeon’s mouth stretches into a mischievous grin.
“Are you recruiting me for SharonChoreo domination?”
Mina rolls her eyes, cheeks colouring. "It’s not world domination. It's just... one video. Just us."
Nayeon hums thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "And what’s my pay?"
"You get to bask in my greatness," sighs Mina.
"Oh, wow," says Nayeon, pretending to be impressed. "Such benefits. Very tempting."
Mina shoves her lightly, and Nayeon laughs, catching Mina’s wrist and holding it.
"Hey," she says, squeezing gently. "I’d love to."
Something loosens in Mina’s chest.
"Yeah?" asks Mina, trying for casual, and failing completely.
Nayeon leans in and presses kisses all over Mina’s face before saying. "Yeah, just us."
They start rehearsing in the evenings, after hours.
The studio is empty by the time they arrive, lights dimmed, the mirrors fogged at the corners from the day's heat.
It’s just the two of them, a speaker, and the soft scuff of sneakers on hardwood.
At first, it's shaky.
Nayeon forgets half the counts, and Mina gets too in her head about pacing, correcting herself mid-step until they both end up laughing on the floor, breathless and tangled.
"You’re a menace," Mina groans as Nayeon spins too early and nearly crashes into her for the third time.
Nayeon, out of breath, blows her some air kisses as a reply.
But slowly, it settles.
Their steps start catching at the same time, and their shoulders tilt the same way without thinking. Mina doesn't have to look anymore to know where Nayeon will be. She's just there. Nayeon listens. With her body, with her eyes.
Always.
The night they film it, the air is quiet.
Nayeon takes it seriously. No jokes, nor distractions. Just them.
Mina sets the camera, double-checks the angles, and then steps back to where Nayeon is stretching.
"You ready?" asks Mina.
Nayeon reaches up, arms arcing above her head, then down to lace her fingers with Mina’s.
"I trust you," says Nayeon. "Let’s do it."
The music begins.
And they move together.
Bare feet whispering against the floor. Hands that find each other and release, again and again. Push and pull, tension and surrender, all written in rhythm and the ache of proximity.
There’s a part, near the end. An intentional pause, a stillness, where they stand face to face, only a breath apart.
Not touching.
Not yet.
Not with her mask on.
Mina hears the faint inhale from Nayeon and sees the barest flicker of a smile at the corner of her mouth. They hold still. Longer than the choreography calls for. Long enough to make it personal.
The beat pulls them apart, like they were never that close at all.
They upload the video late at night.
No countdown this time. Mina quietly hits the post button while Nayeon leans over her shoulder, chin hooked over her hoodie-clad shoulder like a cat staking claim.
Momo comes over with snacks. None of them admit it’s a celebration yet, but it’s SharonChoreo, and none of her videos have been a miss, always a hit.
Mina shuts her laptop after posting. The wait is always the best part.
By the time they finish demolishing a bag of crisps and half a box of chocopies, Mina’s phone won’t stop buzzing.
Momo glances over. “Uhh, Minari… you might wanna look at this.”
The screen is a mess of notifications. Comments, likes, reposts are piling up faster than she can swipe away. The usual. Another SharonChoreo video and the internet frothes at the mouth like clockwork. But this time, there are two dancers. One masked. One unmasked. Something SharonChoreo has never done before.
WHO IS THE NEW DANCER???
FACE REVEAL??
THEY’RE INSANE TOGETHER OMG
NEW OTPPPP
WHICH ONE IS THE REAL SHARONCHOREO I NEED TO KNOW
The comments fly so fast that Mina gives up trying to keep up.
Momo whoops, clapping her hands. "Knew it! Knew you two would break the internet."
Mina flushes, but she’s grinning. Can't help it.
Nayeon, cradling Kookeu on the futon, just laughs, easy and bright, and tosses a pillow at her.
Mina’s about to throw it back when her phone buzzes again. A new notification. From an official account of an idol agency.
Dear SharonChoreo,
We are representatives of JYP Entertainment. We would like to inquire about the unmasked dancer featured in SharonChoreo's recent video. We are extremely interested. Please contact us at your earliest convenience.
Mina stares at the screen, then reads it again, and again.
She shows the phone to Nayeon, who’s still laughing with Momo over some dumb jokes.
Nayeon squints at the screen and freezes.
Momo leans over to see, too, eyebrows shooting up. "Woah. That's... that's huge."
Nayeon blinks several times, like she’s trying to process it properly.
"JYP," she says slowly. "The JYP."
Mina nods, heart hammering. She waits for something. Excitement, fear, second thoughts. Anything.
Nayeon’s mouth parts in shock, and she squeals. Mina laughs, startled by it, a little breathless herself.
"You’re serious," says Nayeon, eyes wide. "This is real?!"
"As real as it gets," Mina nods. “Look.”
She scrolls through her work email inbox. Contact numbers, formal invitations, a clear, golden opportunity lay out in the waiting for Nayeon.
Nayeon stares at the screen a little longer, chewing her bottom lip.
"What if I screw it up?" asks Nayeon, voice low, half-laughing, half-terrified. "What if they don’t like me? What if it’s all just—" she gestures vaguely, "a fluke?"
Mina catches her hand. "You won’t," says Mina, simple as breathing. "And even if you do, which you won’t, you’ll still have me."
Nayeon squeezes her eyes shut, then opens them, and her mouth twists. "And if I do get in..." she says, picking at a loose thread on Mina’s sleeve. "You know how it is, right?"
Mina frowns, not following.
"No dating," says Nayeon. "No relationships. Image to maintain. All that fun stuff."
Nayeon has said it lightly, like a joke. But Mina hears the tremble in her voice, how her fingers tighten on her sleeve. She thinks about it. About the contracts, the fan culture, and the rules designed to box people into things.
And Mina shrugs.
"Let’s get through the audition first," she says, kissing Nayeon’s palm. "One day at a time. When we get there, we’ll figure it out. Together."
Before Nayeon can say anything, Momo pipes up from the futon, grinning.“Well, if I may interject-”
Mina groans. "Please don’t."
Momo ignores her, flourishing a half-eaten chocopie like it’s a microphone.
"If shit hits the fan," she declares, "Nayeon will be the hottest news on the internet. SharonChoreo's secret girlfriend. Boom. Scandal of the century."
Nayeon snorts, the tension breaking just like that.
"You’re not helping,” says Mina, shaking her head.
"I’m always helping," continues Momo, utterly shameless. "Just think yeah, star-crossed lovers. Forbidden romance. Fans would eat that shit up."
Mina buries her face in her hands.
Nayeon laughs. A real laugh, blithe and warm.
The fear becomes a little smaller, and the future, a little less terrifying.
They lounge around, half-watching an old dance performance video Momo insists on analysing, the room soft with laughter and bad jokes, and Kookeu snoring against someone's leg.
Mina's phone buzzes. Once. Twice.
She picks it up without thinking, thumb sliding over the screen. Probably more comments from fans fans guessing at the girl behind the mask.
But it's not.
It's a private message from an anonymous account. No profile picture. No name.
Enjoy your fifteen minutes, traitor.
You think you’re safe just because someone wants you now?
Cute.
Mina stares at it for a long moment.
Across the room, Nayeon is laughing at something Momo says, tossing her head back, so alive it almost hurts to look at her.
Mina turns the phone over, screen-down on the table. Not tonight. Tonight, Nayeon gets to have this.
Later, when the lights are dim and Kookeu is curled between them, Mina presses her forehead to the back of Nayeon's neck and breathes in.
The fight isn’t over. It waits for them, coiled in the shadows. Ugly and patient. But Mina will end this, personally, if she must. Because her Nayeonnie is not meant to live afraid or having to dim herself just to survive.
Her light, her life.
Nayeon is the haven Mina never thought she could have, and now refuses to lose.
This fragile, stubborn future that they are building with their own hands, and whatever it takes, Mina will protect this.
One day at a time, together.