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Jihyo has always told them to never feel small.
But the thing is, something that she hasn’t admitted out loud, she already is.
She didn’t have to learn French to understand the murmurs that overshadowed the heartfelt screams that welcomed her. Jihyo kept her posture straight, her gaze level, the way years of experience had trained her to. The flashes were relentless, a wall of white light forcing her to keep her expression poised.
This was her first Parisian appearance. Jihyo’s already feeling grateful for the opportunity. And yet—
Qui?
Quelle chanteuse?
Quel groupe?
The voices weren’t just hushed; some were openly confused, the uncertainty cutting through the clicking of camera shutters. Objective photography queries meant to label and categorize.
"C'est qui?" Someone muttered close enough for her to hear. Who is she?
"Twice." A voice hesitated. It wasn’t even confident.
Jihyo quietly sighs through her best smile. She kept walking, kept smiling. It’s okay, they don’t know me. You got this, Jihyo.
She kept reiterating the mantra in her head until suddenly it struck like a double-edged sword. They don’t know her. They don’t know her. Her heart drummed in her ears, the nerves of a rookie threatening to surface. But she wasn’t a rookie. She is Park Jihyo, their leader. A soloist. A stadium headliner.
And yet, none of that mattered if the right people weren’t looking.
More murmurs trailed behind her, slipping through the stiff Parisian air like smoke.
"Ah, K-pop?"
"Pas Blackpink?"
"Elles existent encore?"
She could take the idea of almost twenty years of her life just being boxed in a file folder under the parent AMI folder, than the idea of these media people not doing their homework. All these questions. How annoying.
Had it been any other circumstances, she would have enunciated Twice with all her might. What’s the point of being in this industry if you are uninformed? Or maybe…
"Ah, je me souviens... Fancy?"
Her lip twitched, then quivered. Fancy is five years ago. Five fucking years ago.
But of course, she’d take that over the alternative that most people from home say. Oh Twice. Cheer Up?
She grounds herself through another wave of flashes before striding the red carpet. In the corner of her eye, she spots the lights that made everything easier for her. Seeing them as oceans always makes Jihyo’s heart burst into joy, but something about just a handful of their lightstick in the sea of strangers who didn’t know her name brings Jihyo a sense of relief.
The candy lights darted through the crowd, and instantly Jihyo felt herself grounded.
These people came to see her.
Jihyo remembered reminding herself that this wasn’t any ordinary pavement. She wanted to grin and holler back at them. Shout Hey, Once! Hyping them up has always always made her personally happy too, but unfortunately, professionalism prevailed.
She could only wave at the people who anchored her against the waves, hoping it would reach them. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
And then from the corner of her eye, she sees someone holding her blood, sweat, and tears over their head. Like a small banner of love. And they even brought her favorite album version, aw .
Through the tight security and pace, Jihyo willed herself over to sign the Zone album that made its way across the globe. Asia to Europe, from Korea to France.
Thankfully, hearing herself say thank you in French was silly enough that made her tears go back up. Maybe, it’s all worth it still is. Maybe, she’d done something right in the end.
Jihyo looked up at the pack of tens of Onces dispersed in the crowd. Her heart fluttered, and a genuinely warm smile appeared on her face, and then she could almost hear Minatozaki Sana’s quiet laughter and courteous greetings. And in a passing second, Jihyo softly sighed. Ah, Sana, I miss you.
Sana, Sana, Sana.
Jihyo finally felt beautiful on the Paris pavement. How unbearably cringe. Looking down at her feet, shyly shaking off the image of Sana’s face in her head.
Even in the crowd of people and flashes of camera, Jihyo’s thoughts jump to Sana. Sometimes profound thoughts about her princess and her laughter, sometimes nothing specific, like right now.
She surged ahead, head held high. Humming a song she’s excited to sing on stage with her. Catch me before I ever hit the ground, and I'd do the same for you .
Paris Fashion Week had finally become a little bit dreamy again for Jihyo until she passed the last set of flashing cameras, a familiar language cut through the noise. Louder this time.
“Jihyo-shi! When’s the next comeback?”
Jihyo turned instinctively, half-expecting warmth in the question, an ounce of familiarity, since this one knows her name. But it came from a reporter already looking past her, mic lowered, eyes scanning for the next big moment.
“Will it do well this time?”
It was a question, not a statement. A doubt, not an expectation.
Jihyo barely faltered, barely let the sting reach the surface. She lifted her chin, let the flashing lights reflect off her gold earrings, and kept walking. Had Sana been beside her, she’d take Jihyo’s hand and smiled at the reporter.
Twice is making a comeback.
And of course, it'll be just as strong. Just as beautiful…
Just as...
Jihyo straightened her shoulders and smiled through the crowd.
It would be enough. Wouldn't it?
Five years ago seems unfair.
Oddly enough, whenever she thinks of Fancy, her heart aches. Not because of any other thing she has pushed back to the back of her brain, but because Jihyo can still hear Dahyun’s innocent birthday wish from two years ago. Wishing their song would be a hit.
She grits her teeth and shakes her head. For a moment, hating herself for coming up with such a downer. It has been months since they last had their sky open for fireworks for this very song. She should be happy, excited, elated. Alright, Park Jihyo. Time to adjust your perspective.
Indeed, time to get your head in the game. Foro Sol, here we come. Game on.
Sana, in her own way, helps bring Jihyo back to the present, when she shamelessly shoved Momo off her plane seat just with her high-pitched complaining.
“Hey!” Jihyo bit her tongue, looking over her shoulder, wondering where Momo was going now that… You know what. She’ll think about Hirai Momo and Im Nayeon tomorrow when they land. Today’s her day after all.
Sana laughs, plopping down beside her like she owns the whole cabin.
Grinning at her princess, “Where’s my birthday gift?”
“I didn’t know we’re flying first class.”
“What’s wrong?” Jihyo and her urge to fix things,
“Business class seats are closer to each other.” Sana pouted, and Jihyo snorted.
But that was the end of them being friends first, kissing-each-other-every-night-they-could second. The familiarity of knowing each other, and being bonded as friends and groupmates will always have a hold on Jihyo. And it’s not just Sana, it’s everyone on this very flight. She knows Sana could get physically clingy, but now that they’ve surpassed being friends, Jihyo finds Sana’s preference for business class seats sweet.
Sana just hammered a soft fist against her bicep as an adorable retort. Jihyo had no business laughing at her girlfriend, indeed. She takes Sana’s hand, in broad plane daylight, and together they both hold each other’s hands on top of the annoying seat divider.
The thing is.
Sana has changed her, too. Because no way did Jihyo ever think she would be a type of girl who would watch drama series episodes with intertwined fingers all throughout. Not even exaggerating when she first learned Sana has no intention of dropping her hand while they ate together. What a tough feat.
So, of course, Jihyo isn’t backing down either. That and this little sweet obsession has grown on her, too.
It has been what, four hours? Five episodes in. They’re still holding hands.
Jihyo had lost track of time until Sana softly turned to her, face adorably tipped on her shoulder and said, “Happy birthday, my sexy watermelon.”
Um,
What the—
She grinned so hard, her jaw hurt.
“Sana,” Those eyes whispering happy birthday to her, soft thumbs brushing her palm. Jihyo, are we okay? “Thank you.”
Okay, but why is this Jihyo’s favorite birthday celebration already? Just why?
In all of the mental hurdles Jihyo had to face, she decided to surrender and not bother about why she wasn’t offended by being called a watermelon, a sexy one to top all of that, or that she just turned 27. The dissociation will have to wait then,
“Can I kiss you?” Sana’s eyes whispered, childishly yet intently. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
Oh, please. Please .
The engines of the plane hummed, cabin lights fuzzed around them. Jihyo can see two heads from her peripheral; slumbering, leaning together, that of Mina and Jeongyeon. Her heart hammered screaming yes, but she brushed it off. Her forearm, getting numb, but her heart was full. “Here?”
Sana laughed in Japanese hums, and then, without any warning, brought Jihyo’s hand to her lips. “Hm, I can smell myself.”
“Shh! Shh!” The panic in Jihyo’s lungs. Why must Sana torture her like this?
Her princess, clearly, enjoyed every second of it. Sinking into her own reclined seat for the night, she finally lets Jihyo’s hand go. The empty hand now fell flat on the armrest between them, Jihyo stared at her now throbbing arm.
No, come back. She ached.
“Thank you for spending your first hour at the age of 27 with me,” Sana added, before shutting her eyes. “Even when you’re too much of a pussy to let me kiss you.”
Jihyo isn’t a pussy. Everybody knows that.
Because when Sana did in fact put up a show, there was nothing else that she wanted but to make it real.
All that before they fought about it.
Suddenly, she forgot how disappointed she was with the production set not being up to par. Earlier today, she couldn’t grasp the idea of why their concert stage wasn’t completely built. She knows everyone in the team worked hard, but something is eating away at her. Finding accountability, finding the root cause. She almost barged into the tent and into the production process just to ask, “Where’s the stage arc?”
How could something so basic, so integral to their stage, be overlooked? Bad logistics? Budget cuts?
A human error? At this point in the tour? Could have been better.
Could have been fucking better.
She feels this so much anger inside her at the time when she was doing her hair and makeup. The stylists hovered nervously as Jihyo sat stiffly in her chair, her jaw locked so tight it hurt. Her scowl deepened with every tug of the hairdryer, every brush of powder against her cheeks.
"I’m fine," Jihyo lied, even as her heart slammed against her ribs.
Because she knew what would happen. It wouldn't be the memories they made at Foro Sol that would go viral, not the ocean of light sticks, not the voices screaming every word back at them. It would be the shaky fan cams zooming in on the unfinished backdrop. The missing pieces. The cracks no one was supposed to see.
The bile rose in her throat at the thought; she almost burped.
Then a familiar weight dropped onto the counter in front of her.
Sana.
Hair unbrushed, still in sweats, clutching a Japanese energy drink like some feral princess.
“Am I wrong to care about it so much? I know the fans wouldn’t mind but,”
Sana, shamelessly, was sitting on the counter in front of Jihyo and the stylists. She woke up late and is waiting for her turn. “There’s nothing wrong with caring. I feel bad too, and scared. What if the LED boards fall off?”
Jihyo’s eyes went big, bigger in horror. “See, you’re right!”
She almost sprang to her feet to storm into the production tent again, but Sana hopped off the counter and planted herself firmly in Jihyo’s path. Close, steady, wearing that disarming Minatozaki Sana smile,
“I’ll do it. I’ll talk to the managers again.” Sana gently cupped her elbows, “Please focus on what’s more important. You getting ready.”
And just like that, Jihyo deflated. Not in defeat, but in wonder. What just happened.
“There’s nothing we can do about it now.” Sana returned after fifteen minutes, and Jihyo was just about done. Her princess took her seat, “I’m sorry, Jihyo.”
By seat, Sana sat on her lap. On Jihyo’s actual thighs, both hands on her shoulders. Her breath smelled like cilantro.
Shame on every other empty chair around the room.
The words, Jihyo has heard from countless people from the team, but it’s like she didn’t know why she felt like she needed to hear that from Sana.
The words shouldn’t have meant more coming from Sana. But they did.
They always did.
Feeling the tension on her spine and feeling the exhaustion from the early morning, she slumps forward, pressing her forehead down on Sana’s shoulder.
The hairstylist didn’t even flinch while she tugged and twisted at Jihyo’s undecided hair length with Sana straddling Jihyo’s lap.
Just an average day.
“Here comes the zoomed-in and slowed-down edits of our stage.” She cursed against Sana’s hoodie.
Jihyo could only brace herself for the certain fact that people online will make a fuss about their incomplete production set. They always do. No matter how much she pours her heart out on each song, it will always be things that are out of her control that people criticize them about.
Why do the criticisms bang louder than the cheers they'd fought so hard to earn?
Sana only chuckled while stroking the corner of Jihyo’s lips, "I wasted my money on this," she said dramatically, quoting the imaginary future comments. "When the stage matches the performance."
Her princess mocked what Jihyo’s head is anticipating; those edits and those captions, but—
“Feel better?” Sana cradled her head, cautiously not to ruin the hair.
Jihyo nodded, the tension finally easing from her spine.
Just like magic.
“Okay. So, I didn’t really talk to the managers.” Sana smiled sweetly, and then, completely unrepentant, said, “I went to grab breakfast.”
“What?” Jihyo pulled back. “Oh, I did smell it in your breath!”
“I just had eggs!” Squealing, whimpering in complaints. On her lap, with their hairstylist. Yeah, Minatozaki Sana. “You’re being so mean!”
Jihyo snorted. "Well, I’m not kissing you with cilantro breath."
This. With staff and members around.
Sana leaned closer anyway, eyes twinkling. "On the stage?"
“What?” And Jihyo panicked, “I’ll kiss you later when you’ve brushed your teeth.”
“On the stage?”
Panic. Professional panic. “On the stage.”
Within a split second, they locked eyes. As if both of them were considering that very scenario. Making it real. Sana only held Jihyo by the biceps, while Jihyo steadied Sana by the waist. Both of her legs going numb from Sana’s lightweight.
How crazy.
And how crazy is Jihyo’s heartbeat.
“You wanna kiss on stage?” Sana’s hands slid up to her biceps and to her neck, steady, almost possessive. Jihyo felt the soft weight of her thighs still draped over her own.
God.
The thought punched through her chest like a second heartbeat.
“All done.” The hairstylist’s still there. Another crazy thing. “Sana, you’re up.”
It physically hurt when they pulled away from each other. Crazy. Jihyo can feel this natural urge to hold Sana’s hand and even sit on her lap too. Like it was just right, and not being able to have this skin contact with Sana feels wrong.
Does that make sense? Crazy.
Jihyo wanted to grab Sana’s hand, pull her back onto her lap, stay tangled up just a little longer.
She hated how wrong it felt to have empty arms again. How wrong it felt not to be touching her.
Crazy.
Absolutely crazy.
“I think you just need to let it all out.” Sana calmly said, when she took the seat. Jihyo almost felt offended by Sana being chill from the lack of physical contact while Jihyo’s already suffocating from withdrawal, “I feel like you know that there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“It’s just…” Jihyo couldn’t get mad even when she wanted to. Sana reassuringly smiling gently at her through the mirror, like she already knew where Jihyo’s mind was spiraling. “I don’t think we deserve this mediocrity.”
There. Ugly, selfish, small, shallow.
It wasn’t just about the stage, or the lighting, or the cameras that would zoom in mercilessly on whatever flaw they could find.
“It’s not just the missing arc on stage,” Jihyo muttered. “It’s not just that.”
She rubbed her temple, hard. Already having flashbacks of her ongoing stage nightmare. “I’ll bet one team dinner on Jeongyeon, my mic will fail again tonight. Or my in-ear.” What’s with her mic anyway? Always hers. The sound delay she has repeatedly flagged.
The glitches every show, or the annoying cut out when they're on the fucking main stage. She’s a pro, but really, it’s the pattern. The disregard.
“I hate it when my mic fails, Sana,” Her voice cracked. “I hate it. I spend entire choruses dreading if and when I’m singing into silence again. And I hate it when I can’t hear my own voice.”
Her chest heaved, the floodgates open now. “Do you know what that does to your head when you're standing in front of tens of thousands of people, and your only job is to sing, and the tech can’t even meet you halfway?”
Jihyo doesn’t care if people overhear. Especially, when Sana’s in front of her getting her immaculate face cleansed,
“I’m so fucking tired of pushing through,” She went on, quieter now but shaking. “Of smiling through mic malfunctions, through half-baked tech runs, through stages so small nine of us could barely dance, through everything. I won’t lip-sync. Ever again. So God help me if my mic dies while I’m on-stage giving every last breath I’ve got. What are we, rookies?”
Sana’s mouth twitched, like she might say something, but she waited. Let Jihyo keep going. She almost expected Sana to pull away, to look at her like she was being too much, too entitled, too ungrateful.
But her princess didn’t budge. Not an inch.
“I know I’m not supposed to complain. I know they’re all doing their jobs and we’re lucky and all that,” Jihyo scoffed, tears inbound. “But Sana, we’re Twice. We bring in the numbers. Merch, concerts, albums, partnerships, CFs, everything. Is it really so much to ask for things to just… work?”
And then it slipped out, the part she didn’t want to say.
“We don’t deserve this.”
There was something bitter in her tone now. Not at Sana. At the truth of it.
“We’re not the shiny new group anymore. I get that. I get it! We’re treated like a standard, and I am grateful, too. But like, why does it feel like people expect that we’ll just pull through no matter what? And maybe we will. But God, Sana. Why do I sometimes feel like we’re being taken for granted?”
Her breath hitched, feeling both the tightness and the weight off her lungs. And then Sana punched her in the gut, “This is about VCHA, isn’t it?”
Jihyo froze. Eyes wide open.
Sana just flashed her with a beamlight. All the while with her eyes closed, being prepped for makeup and hair.
“No, it’s not about them,” Okay, now Jihyo couldn’t decide whether that was the truth, but she kept going. “It’s not that. I’m happy they get to debut like this.”
Thankfully, Sana just listened. One hand extending to meet Jihyo’s halfway.
Then something cracked in Jihyo. Shame on her perfect eye make-up.
“It’s… It’s the fact that we didn’t. We were kids, Sana. Literal kids, handing out flyers. Flyers. Begging people on the street to watch us. No official stylists. No makeup. Just exhaustion. Do you remember those music video shoots we fought for? Five seconds. Five seconds of screen time, and we were grateful for it.”
She laughed bitterly. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea to be featured in GOT7!”
Her voice softened, almost disbelieving. “And now new groups open our shows. With full hair and makeup and stylists, and light tech tests and everything. And we’re still here hoping someone double-checked our mics.”
The room was quiet for a long moment.
It didn’t feel awkward though, just hot. Must be the Mexican weather. Should be.
“I’m not jealous,” Jihyo whispered, like it was a confession. Her face burned a little less. “I just… I wish it had been that gentle for us, too.”
“I have been with you guys since your debut,” Jungyo popped out of the mirror behind Sana. Their makeup artist never looked a day older since then. “You did have an official make-up artist then, and still do now.”
“Hehe.” Jihyo apologetically grinned. It’s not that they’ve forgotten about her. Jungyo have always been some sort of a friend for them too. And just like them, their makeup artist director started her journey with them.
Sana, on the other hand, didn’t offer any trite comfort. Just took and squeezed Jihyo’s hand, “You’re not wrong,”
And for the first time in a long time, Jihyo felt like there was nothing wrong with feeling angry.
“This must be so hard on you,” Sana’s voice, soft and knowing. “Especially you.”
Jihyo didn’t move, didn’t breathe. For the past hour, this make-up counter has held space for her roller coaster of feelings.
“We didn’t have senior groups to look up to. No one around showed us how to handle the pressure, or how to stay soft when everything around us got loud.” Sana’s thumb rubbed slow circles into the back of Jihyo’s hand. “I see you and Nayeon-unnie with Lia and Yeji sometimes, and it makes me so happy.”
Jihyo wanted to sob. In Sana’s eyes, Jihyo saw the ruin of herself. Eyes that could flirt like a sin and soothe like a prayer, warm enough to unarm her, deep enough to drown in, and soft enough to make surrender feel like grace.
“Because you two… you’re becoming the sunbaes we never had. Well, I could never get a decent sit-down with Sullyoon, the girl keeps blushing around me.” A soft smile curved on Sana’s lips, but those eyes... “And maybe that’s why VCHA’s here with us right now. Not because anyone’s replacing us. But because we’re the kind of senior group we needed back then.”
Sana then stood up, all done with her makeup and hair. Eyes deadlier, supposedly deadlier, but now is speaking to the depths of Jihyo’s ugly feelings. It wasn’t fair, the way Sana looked at her. “And that’s not mediocrity, Jihyo-ya. That’s legacy.”
When it came out of Sana’s lips, it sounded all so sweet. Legacy, huh.
They’ve all talked about it during interviews, and those dorm nights spent too awake for sleep. What kind of legacy do they want to be remembered for? Their hit songs? Their energy? Their lasting relationship with their favorite people? Their love for each other? Funny enough, the answers they all shared now feel less like a declaration but rather like a process. A process towards… Or away from the spotlight?
Like they’re already writing the closing chapter, even if none of them are brave enough to say it out loud.
Is this acceptance?
What the hell. Jihyo always tells herself that as long as they did their best, it’s okay. But sometimes, it sounds like excuses in her head. Like a consolation prize. Something you say to make yourself feel better. And she hated that it did.
Whenever she’s alone, her head plays Russian Roulette with her. But whenever she’s in front of the sea of candy lights, all this torture goes away. And beside the eight people, she’s now certain she would do it all over again for? Jihyo’s in her element. She can feel it in her bones, her soul. She loves being on stage, beside her Twice, in front of these people.
She wishes she could do this forever.
The air at Foro Sol tasted like salt and starlight. Jihyo's encore hoodie was damp with the sheer weight of the night. Sweat, adrenaline, and the dizzying hum of sixty thousand voices lifting her.
She scanned the near horizon of the stadium top, and then the night sky. God, I hope I get to live this life a little longer. Please don’t let this end. Not just yet.
Their encore was a fever dream by now. This is what Sana meant by legacy.
Except she’s also keeping a close eye on her least favorite headache with the names Nayeon and Momo. It was a relief to know that both of them can keep it casually professional on stage. Yesterday, their eldest was all neutral smiles when Momo danced to Pop, and now she just saw the crazy attempt to flash Hirai Momo with her creamy soft shoulders.
So, what the fuck is going on with these two?
God forbid Jihyo finally gets absolved of the constant worry for her members.
She was singing into her mic, perched near the edge of the sprawling stage, heart thudding louder than the beat of Signal thrumming in her ears. Hair messy, lips chapped from smiling too much, Jihyo looked into the live camera feed, smiled, blew a kiss, and God, acted cute, caught in the wave of it all.
They made it.
The stage doesn’t look bad now. Drowned with all the love.
No matter what the outside world said. No matter how her own mind sometimes betrayed her. They were still here.
A flash of movement in the corner of her eye made her turn,
And suddenly, Sana.
Sana, with her hair tumbling down like a silk curtain, laced skirt bouncing on her thighs, rushing toward her like she had no second thoughts, no hesitations, no brakes.
In that split second, Jihyo didn’t even think.
Her body just knew.
The same way it knows how to catch her breathing through every note.
She opened her arms to welcome and catch her princess on stage.
Turning towards Sana instinctively, her heart was already on its knees. Her spine stiffened at the thought of having thousands of eyes on them, but one glance from Sana softened her ribs, her throat, her heart. Those eyes weren’t just looking at her…
Warm hands cupped her cheek and the side of her neck, rougher than rehearsed, more frantic than playful. Sana’s touch, always so eager, like she couldn't help herself.
The crowd roared, distant and blurred, but all Jihyo could focus on was the press of Sana's forehead against hers, the tilt of her face, the unspoken countdown vibrating between them.
Their noses brushed,
Their breaths mingled,
Jihyo leaned in. God, she tilted her face and leaned in. And the moment cracked wide open.
Few fucking seconds.
But it felt like more than just a moment. And underneath the weight of the moment, they were giggling. Tiny, stupid little bubbles of laughter stifled in their throats, shaking their shoulders where the fans couldn’t see.
Sana’s thumb stroked just once, featherlight, along the shell of Jihyo’s ear. Jihyo swears her body responded embarrassingly on stage.
Their lips didn’t meet, not really.
Jihyo’s sure, all camera angles caught it just right to make it look real.
When Sana finally, finally pulled back, Jihyo had to bite her bottom lip hard just to stay sane.
She grinned at the camera. Guilty, breathless, wrecked. The kind of grin you wear when you get away with something you absolutely shouldn’t have.
Oh, it’s not even fanservice. Though Jihyo registered hundreds of girl fans shrilling while she held Sana’s waist. It’s really just how they all are. People should ask Jeongyeon.
But inside?
Inside, Jihyo was already building a little house out of this memory.
Four walls, a roof, a front door with Sana’s name scratched beside hers. Two opposing walk-in closet wardrobes, their shoe collection displayed on top of each other, and maybe her watch collection will go well with the perfume bottles Sana likes to display, too? Wow, all these in just a quick moment of fanservice. Yeah, happy birthday to me.
A place she could tuck herself into whenever the fear and noise got too loud. It wasn’t real, not on paper. It wasn’t real, not to anyone else. But to Jihyo? It was enough.
Until it wasn’t. Or maybe until she ruined it herself.
They were in Brazil now. A new hotel suite, slightly humid air filtering in from the cracked balcony door, the sounds of São Paulo nightlife just beginning to stir awake below. Jihyo could only picture the number of fans gathering as early as tonight to queue. The dedication hurts her heart in a way that is grateful, like she doesn’t deserve that.
In the same way, she sometimes feels like she doesn’t deserve this woman in her bed. Sana was sitting cross-legged, hair still damp from a rushed shower, scrolling through videos of their last show.
Jihyo stood at the vanity mirror, watching herself blink back her own reflection, after checking if Sana had left visible marks across her chest. “I think I’m good.”
“Check your underboob,” Sana casually pointed out, and yep. “Not sorry.”
“Anywhere else you would like to tell me about?” Jihyo couldn’t decide whether to act annoyed or giddy at this proof that someone adored her with their mouth last night. She shuts her eyes for a second, and recalls how Sana’s mouth didn’t even wanna let go. And God, that makes Jihyo certain that she doesn’t wanna cover them up. “You know, I need to cover these up.”
Sana teasingly brings her fingers to her oh so perfect nose, “How come you vaguely smell like coffee?” Her fingers hovered just beneath her nose, and she blinked, lips parting. Her eyes, sharp, teasing, and knowing.
Jihyo rolls her eyes, but her cheeks give her away, pink and warm. A little self-conscious and having this urge to check on herself down there once Sana falls asleep. She leans just far enough to tug Sana’s wrist down, gently guiding her hand away, before she even thinks of having a taste of it to confirm.
“Maybe because that’s all I've ever drunk the last couple of days?” Her voice holds no accusation, only amusement. She kisses Sana’s shoulder, and then, with that same leaderly composure she wears on stage, she adds with a mock-scolding smile, “Don’t go sniffing me on your fingers like that during a concert. I don’t want another trouble.”
“Stop being a T,” Sana whined, and just as quickly, caught herself. Quicker than Jihyo did, “ Another trouble?”
If there was a way to describe the cold sweat Jihyo felt on her scalp.
Sana turned to her, slowly. Very slowly. Brows questioning, but Jihyo already felt being on gunpoint.
“I just…” How do you even justify this dilemma to someone who is an F-type? “Okay, so not everyone liked our behavior from last night.”
Oh, Jihyo was careful with the words. She felt like she was in an interview talking about her type of guy. Just the right words. Don’t be stupid, Jihyo.
Three nights ago, Jihyo had been so sure. So dizzy with it, like something in her chest was going to burst. It was the kind of giddiness she hadn’t felt since they first won Song of the Year. No, maybe even more than that. In her head, they had kissed. In front of tens of thousands. In front of their fans. Her princess gave her a reckless, stupidly brave birthday kiss. Something unplanned. Something unforgettable. It had felt real.
Jihyo’s sure of it until she learned that she was mistaken. It wasn’t even their favorite people. It was people who didn’t know them. Or used to. The ones who throw stones from behind anonymous avatars.
Twice flops now, so they resort to queerbaiting.
Like that moment, their moment, was a strategy. A performance. Like it wasn’t the most honest her heart had been in months.
Sana’s tone dropped an octave, “Do you regret that we did?”
Those eyes, not asking but telling her that they did kiss. Jihyo already knew the answer, or maybe she feared it too.
The way Jihyo failed to answer within two seconds hurt. And it was misdirected, but too late now. “I’m angry.” Jihyo confessed, but her voice lacked the anger. This is Sana, her undoing. “We’re not desperate. That our legacy’s just… That we kissed for attention.”
She wanted to be strong. She wanted to say she didn’t care. But she did. Because it wasn’t about the kiss. Not really. This time, she knows it wasn’t about their kiss. She’s not upset that Sana kissed her. Annoyingly, it’s something else…
“I just don’t want to tarnish our legacy.” Our legacy from five years ago. “I always tell everyone, everything we do, represents Twice.”
And maybe, deep down, it was never just about the kiss. It was what it represented. How easily the world could twist the most beautiful things into something ugly.
“It’s not just our legacy that you’re worried about, aren’t you?”
Jihyo’s eyes watered, “I’m scared.”
“I know.” Sana, her princess, her long-time friend, her Twice member. Of course, she knows.
“I’m scared that we don’t make hits the way we used to. I’m scared that we’ll stop making money. I mean for the whole company, and then…”
“And then?” Sana held her hand… And even if she knows already, she gracefully, patiently held on to Jihyo and waited for her to say it. To say her fears.
“We stop being Twice.” Jihyo had already tried to face it years ago, “We break apart, and then…one comeback turns into fewer, one member has a schedule, then two… then we’re soloists, there’s Misamo. Dahyun, too, and then we’re brands. Just not us anymore.”
She blinked hard, looking up at Sana. And whispering her birthday wish in her head. “I’m scared I’ll lose you. One member at a time.”
I wish to have more time being Twice. Being with my members.
And it wasn’t just about the music or the stage. It was their dorm lights being turned off and emptied. The inside jokes that would fade without someone to laugh at them. The birthdays celebrated through Instagram stories instead of noisy rooms and intimate green rooms. It was the family they built—slowly, clumsily, fiercely—being slowly packed up and archived into memory.
Of five years ago.
“Jihyo—”
“What if—” She couldn’t say it. The shame clogged her throat. But it spilled anyway. The way fear always does. The way her anger instantly does. “Nayeon-unnie did so well representing us with her solo. Like, like she bought us more time. She gave us wins. She represented us. And I—” She let out a shaky breath, fighting the tremor in her hands. There was shame. “What if I feel like I failed with mine…”
What if I’m the reason we start to slip?
It wasn’t about ego. It was about weight. About responsibility. About watching everything she’s ever loved move a little further out of reach.
It was about the creeping fear that they were slipping. That she was slipping. That someday, someone would say, Twice used to be something , and that it would be true. That the world would move on while she was still standing there, singing with everything she had, for an audience that had already started turning away.
Jihyo swallowed hard. She almost expected Sana to pull away from her. To nod with that too-understanding smile and let her sit in her shame. “We’re just household names now.”
But Sana, Minatozaki Sana, didn’t move an inch.
“People know us, knew us. They loved us, at some point. And that’s already something beautiful.” Sana embraced her from behind, reaching over to hook her pinky around Jihyo’s, the softest promise tucked inside the gesture.
“Can you… bear with me?” Jihyo’s heart hurt. Both in shame and this new feeling of being raw and open. This moment grounds her and reminds her of another perspective free from self-doubt, and it’s beautiful. Sana’s an F-type, maybe that’s why, or maybe because this is simply how Minatozaki Sana is. “Please be patient with me, Sana-shi.”
Because acceptance isn’t a switch you flip. It’s more like a dimmer, slow, uneven, sometimes flickering. No matter how many times you tell yourself you’ve made peace with something, a full shift in perspective doesn’t happen in one night. Like maybe she did her best with Zone, and that’s enough. Because sometimes, it feels like the opposite.
So, it’s a process. A mess. A back-and-forth. More chapters of feeling anger and disappointment.
Even Elsa didn’t really let go until the sequel. And that was after, like, two more full-power ballads.
“We’ll just have to keep making them fall in love with us again.” These eyes, Jihyo would fight for. “Maybe even more than twice if we can.”
Like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like Jihyo didn’t have to bear it all alone.
Jihyo exhaled a laugh and tightened her pinky around Sana’s in return. “You’re so corny.”
“Just admit that it gives you butterflies, too.” Sana kisses her jawline slowly with an open mouth, and Jihyo’s whole body zaps into attention even before Sana’s warm hands find their way to cup her breasts again. “That was fast.”
“Hey!” Jihyo instinctively covered herself. A futile effort for the girl playing with her boobs with adorable motorboat noises. “Stop. Stop! We need to sleep. At least four hours! No more sex.”
“You sure?” Sana dangerously tugged at her knobs, Jihyo hissed and almost fisted at Sana’s perfect hair. “Okay, then. Suit yourself. I need to check up on Momo tomorrow morning too so,”
“Let’s just watch YouTube until we fall asleep.” With an award-winning restraint, Jihyo finally decided. “How is Momo holding up, by the way?”
Sana, then pulled away, eyes popping with an idea. Filled with focused wonder. A subtle fuck-you to Hirai Momo, too.
“I love watching your videos about travelling. Hey, why don’t you share those?” Something about the way Sana looked at her. Eyes that stripped her down literally and figuratively.
Maybe Sana was right. And this isn’t really a fight. But to Jihyo, it is. Almost a fight. She almost caused Sana to be upset too, and boy, that is a real deal of a fear.
“Yeah,” Jihyo’s eyes lit up, reflecting the brightness in Sana’s, “I’ve always wanted to visit and try out guesthouses around the continent. Maybe I would.”
Maybe the cameras would zoom in on the cracks.
But as long as Sana was here, holding onto her in the quiet spaces between all the noise, maybe she didn’t have to be so scared of being forgotten, too.
The YouTube video didn’t even make it up to five minutes. Blame the way Sana looked at her. There was something tender in it, almost holy, and something else beneath it, hungrier. Like she was the sweetest thing Sana had ever dared to want, and so fine, Jihyo wouldn’t be gentle about it tonight.
Sana’s fingers trailed up Jihyo’s quads. Fuck it, thighs . Her nails drew slow and aimless, innocent grazes. But then they curled, possessive, digging into Jihyo’s flesh there like she needed to anchor herself. Sana hummed at her ears, and Jihyo felt the smile on her neck before she heard it.
Oh, how she hated being spooned.
She could’ve been born the taller one, right?
“You’re warm and hard,” Sana whispered, her lips ghosting the back of Jihyo’s neck while she squeezed her shoulder and bicep muscles. “Everywhere.”
The blood pumping to Jihyo’s ears was dirty. Dirty and shameless for being turned on by the specific choices of words Sana whispered to her.
“I don’t think I like being spooned.” Jihyo refused to meet Sana halfway. Her hands found Sana’s wrists, catching them before Sana rounded up under her shirt, palm to skin. “Turn around, princess.”
She felt Sana pause, and her eyes now a mix of being amused and compliant when Jihyo faced her. Jihyo didn’t hesitate any further, grabbing Sana’s hips and turning her around. Hands cupping the underside of Sana’s chest, palms feeling the ribs through Sana’s skin, brushing through the goosebumps Jihyo caused.
“Is this okay?” Jihyo still had to ask, voice soft yet deep. At this point, she knows Sana likes it whenever Jihyo lets go of any inhibitions.
And Sana nodded, maybe a little too quickly. Whimpering in need, pressing her back against Jihyo’s body.
“Okay, come here.” Jihyo has forgone the fact that she had to move up the bed to be level with Sana before she reached over and kissed her princess. Breathless, dripping, and slow.
They weren’t rushing. Just shifting. Like gravity had pulled them closer, and the space between touches grew thinner by the second. Sana’s all whispers and whimpers, “Jihyo, you make me feel so…”
The innocence in her girlfriend's voice, made Jihyo go crazy, it doesn’t make any sense.
Especially when she watched Sana, under warm ambient lights of the hotel, got up and placed herself between her quads, fuck it, her thighs. Looking all gentle and yet dangerous. Sana’s fingers wandered again, this time under the band of Jihyo’s shorts, nails grazing her hipbone, playful but with intent. She didn’t dive in, not yet. Just stayed there, teasing, and she laughed when Jihyo jolted out of impatience.
Sana pulled back, straddling her with the kind of look that made Jihyo feel like she was being studied and worshiped all at once.
“I want to hear you say it, Hyo.” Sana’s eyes darkened, like she’s trying to unlock some part of Jihyo.
And Jihyo’s restraint finally shattered, “You’re not so innocent, aren’t you? Not some timid little virgin.”
Jihyo swears, Sana is her undoing. She has always wondered, wanting to confirm. The way she stripped down in front of Jihyo feels like the first time Jihyo felt the booze in her system. Hot, lightheaded, and excited. Long slender fingers throwing her shirt off the bed, going down on her before proving Jihyo’s point.
That this innocence is both a facade and part of hiding the truth.
“Sana, what the fuck. Fuck.” Jihyo grabbed the sheets tightly. When Sana dove in, holding out her boob, wetting them with her drool, and then rubbing Jihyo’s fold with her hard nipple. “Fuck. Not that innocent.”
“I thought you’ve always known.” Sana mewls, Jihyo’s whole body is already tensed from the stimulation. “You caught me playing with myself back in the dorms five years ago, remember?”
“Oh, God.” And the picture of it all from memory, didn’t help Jihyo’s self-image of not getting too needy. “Don’t remind me.”
“Go on, ask me.” Again, what the fuck, Sana.
Jihyo embarrassingly started to chase Sana’s touch, “You… you knew I would be there. You didn’t lock the door in purpose.”
Sana let out a dangerous chuckle before diving between Jihyo’s thighs. “Finally, you’ve caught up, about time.”
Fuck, it. They used to go to music shows with two hours of sleep when they were rookies. How bad can tomorrow be?