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rosachae · 1 month ago

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existentialism | karina x reader

⁍ song: bleed - malcom todd, omar apollo ⁍ requested: yes-- thank you anon! ⁍ genre: AU! angsty, fluffy. idol!reader x fansite!karina ⁍ a/n: i hope this is what you were looking for, anon <3 ⁍ wc: 11.3k ⁍ warnings: none that i can think of. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n is an idol in a struggling group from a nearly forgotten company. karina, an amateur photographer, accidentally captures her most unguarded moment onstage. as their lives begin to intersect through late-night messages and fleeting encounters, both must confront what it means to be seen. not as a persona, but as a person beneath the facade.

karina hadn’t meant to become anyone’s favorite fansite. that kind of attention belonged to people with ring lights in their backpacks and watermark signatures they spent hours perfecting. she didn’t even think of herself as that kind of photographer. she just liked the way light hit things. how it caught on collarbones, glinted off earrings, poured over a stage like it was part of the performance.

it started quietly, the way most important things in her life did. it was her 22nd birthday. the restaurant had closed early, not because her parents had time to spare, but because they loved her. aeri had shown up late, out of breath, hair messy from the subway, holding a perfectly wrapped box like it was fragile.

“don’t say i never give you anything,” she’d said, plopping it onto karina’s lap as they sat in the backroom, legs curled on crates of radish and flour.

karina peeled the wrapping slowly, careful with the tape, as if savoring the moment might stretch it out a little longer. inside was a fujifilm x-t4, sleek and unreasonably beautiful. she blinked at it, then looked at aeri, who just shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

“you’re always noticing things,” aeri said. “figured you should have something that keeps up.”

karina didn’t touch the camera again for a week. it sat in its box under her bed while she sliced scallions and restocked soy sauce bottles and worked double shifts on weekends. but sometimes, when the dining room was empty and sunlight crept in through the windows just right, she’d find herself picturing how it would look through the viewfinder.

the first real photo she took was of her mother rolling out dough in the morning, flour dusting her hands, her expression somewhere between focused and serene. the shot was imperfect—slightly overexposed—but karina stared at it for longer than she meant to. it didn’t just look like her mother. it felt like her. solid. enduring. full of quiet strength.

after that, she started carrying the camera everywhere. tucked into her tote bag beside chopsticks and gum and receipts she never threw away. she shot alleys and rain puddles, foggy bus windows, the backs of people’s heads on the subway. it wasn’t about creating art. it was about holding onto moments before they passed.

and then one night, aeri dragged her to a music showcase in hongdae. a half-basement space with sticky floors and too many bodies, where the speakers were too loud and the lighting was an assault of reds and blues. karina wasn’t planning on shooting. she almost didn’t bring the camera at all.

but when the first group stepped onto the stage, something shifted. the lights flared, the bass rolled through her ribs, and the girl in the center smiled like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had. karina reached into her bag before she even knew what she was doing. the lens cap came off, the camera powered on, and her fingers moved on instinct. framing, adjusting, snapping, again and again.

later, when she uploaded a few shots—just a handful, raw and unedited, she thought maybe a few friends would see them. maybe aeri would leave a sarcastic comment. instead, her inbox filled up overnight. reblogs. retweets. strangers asking for more. someone called her “the eye behind the moment.”

she didn’t know what to do with that. she wasn’t trying to be known. she just didn’t know how else to look at the world.

but that was only part of it. there was the camera, sure, but karina’s life didn’t revolve around it—not completely. not yet.

the restaurant kept her grounded. a narrow two-story space tucked between a laundry shop and a bike repair store, with faded signage and the smell of grilled mackerel permanently baked into the walls. it used to belong to her parents, but they’d stepped back a few years ago, retiring with the quiet relief of people who had worked too long and too hard. now it was hers, even if she didn’t say that out loud too often. it felt strange, being twenty-something and responsible for payroll and supplier invoices, but she was doing okay. the regulars still came. the lights still turned on every morning.

ningning and minjeong, her best friends since high school, worked the evening shifts. both were juggling classes and internships, trying to survive off iced americanos and convenience store triangle kimbap. working at the restaurant was supposed to be temporary, but it never really felt like work. they were here, together, and that was enough reason to stay.

aeri didn’t work there, but she might as well have. she spent most of her afternoons at one of the corner tables, sketchbook open, doodling commissions or drawing whatever her brain felt like spitting out that day. she said it was the atmosphere. the way the place smelled, the sounds, the way the light fell through the front window. “and also,” she’d added once, “because you feed me for free.”

on nights like this, after hours, the place felt like theirs. dishes cleaned. chairs stacked. lights dimmed. the doors locked, but no one really ready to leave yet.

“minjeong, you missed a whole-ass table,” ningning called out, balancing a wet rag in one hand and dramatically pointing with the other. “again.”

“do you ever shut up?” minjeong deadpanned, wiping in increasingly aggressive circles. “it’s a water ring, not a war crime.”

“i’m just saying, the health inspector would have a field day with your laziness.”

“and yet,” minjeong replied, tossing the rag at ningning’s face with perfect aim, “i’m the one who passed organic chem senior year. unlike somebody.”

ningning shrieked and ducked behind a chair. “low blow! low blow! i was sick with a broken heart!”

“girl, he ghosted you after three dates and a noraebang session,” aeri chimed in without looking up from her sketchpad. “that’s not heartbreak, that’s natural selection.”

karina didn’t laugh, though she probably should have. she didn’t even look up. she was sitting at the far end of the dining room, camera resting on her knees, flicking through photos from a small showcase she’d wandered into last night. it wasn’t a big deal. just a filler show at a lesser-known venue, one of those lineups with too many groups and not enough lighting. but she’d gone anyway. she’d been bored. curious. sometimes the smaller acts surprised her.

and then there was you.

you weren’t even the headliner. she didn’t know your name, didn’t know your group. maybe she wasn’t even supposed to be filming by that point. but you’d stepped into the spotlight and something about the way you moved made her pause. not because it was clean or polished. not because it was loud. there was just something there. something raw and sharp and almost too real to be coming from a stage performance. it wasn’t the choreography. it was your eyes.

she hadn’t even intended to take more photos, but her fingers had moved on instinct. she zoomed in. framed. captured. the moment felt urgent, like it would disappear if she blinked too long. and now, in the quiet hum of the closed restaurant, she was staring at a still image of you mid-chorus, mouth open in song, hair clinging to your cheek with sweat. your expression was unreadable. eyes wide, almost desperate, like you were trying to claw your way out of the screen.

there was something beautiful about that. not in the traditional sense. not the curated kind of beauty fans expected from fancams and photobooks. no, this was different. you looked like you were trying to survive something.

karina liked photos like that. more than she ever admitted. she posted the clean ones, the ones where idols looked like perfection incarnate, frozen in joy and light. she knew that’s what fans wanted. but sometimes, she kept the others for herself. the moments when an idol’s smile didn’t quite reach their eyes. when their shoulders sagged between movements. when their mask cracked.

once, she’d used a photo of a male idol for her university thesis on existentialism. in the picture he was smiling for the crowd, full teeth, perfect posture. but his fists were clenched at his sides, and his knuckles were white. the angle of his body betrayed exhaustion. slightly hunched, like he was about to fold. the essay argued that idols existed in a liminal space between personhood and persona, between being seen and being known. her professor called the photo “haunting.” karina just thought it was honest.

you looked honest, too.

“karina,” aeri called from across the room, pencil tucked behind her ear. “if you don’t stop spacing out and come look at this cursed drawing of ningning with cat ears, i’m going to print it on a t-shirt and wear it to your funeral.”

karina didn’t answer. her thumb hovered over the save button, eyes still fixed on the image of you. something inside her twisted. not unpleasantly. not quite.

maybe she’d go to your next show. maybe she’d take more photos. maybe, this time, she’d take a video.

there was just something about you that she couldn’t shake, even as the night shifted to morning.

y/n was tired in the way that didn’t show on her face, but lived somewhere in her bones. another performance day. another barely promoted showcase in a cramped venue where the dressing room was just a partition and a folding table, and the smell of sweat and floor cleaner clung to every surface.

it wasn’t that she didn’t love performing, because she did. she really did. but lately, it felt like the love was one sided. her group had been active for long enough that the silence felt personal. comebacks with no traction. practice videos with barely any views. they trained like everyone else, starved like everyone else, cried in stairwells like everyone else. but they weren’t getting anywhere. not really.

their company was small. generous with promises, stingy with everything else. they’d been wearing the same reworked stage outfits for three promotions now, and their stylists had long since stopped showing up to these smaller events. today, they’d done their own makeup in a bathroom mirror with cracked lighting, blending eyeshadow with their fingers and praying no one would notice the frayed edge of a hem or the glue dot holding an earring in place.

“they’ve only got handhelds,” their manager said on the way in. “no headsets. sorry.”

y/n hadn’t answered. she just nodded and adjusted the strap on her mic pack that she now didn’t need.

the group before them was finishing up. another act from another no-name company, probably in the same situation as them. bright smiles, tight formations, doing their absolute best for a crowd of maybe fifty people and a camera crew that would forget their name by morning. they were solid. enthusiastic. the kind of performance that reminded y/n just how replaceable she might be.

she took a breath and let it out slowly, gripping the mic in both hands, the weight of it heavier than usual. it wasn’t nerves exactly. it was something deeper. a slow, crawling ache in her chest that whispered to her long into the quiet hours of the night. every night.

what if this is it? what if this is all there ever is?

“you okay?”

the voice pulled her back. she blinked and asa was suddenly next to her, fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket, eyes darting between her and the edge of the curtain.

“you look like you’re about to throw up,” asa added, laughing, but it was tight. nervous. she was trying to be casual but the crack in her voice gave her away.

y/n forced a small smile. “thanks. that’s reassuring.”

asa shrugged, tugging at the hem of her sleeve like she always did when she was anxious. “sorry. i just… i dunno. i can’t tell if this venue is hotter than usual or if i’m overheating from impending doom.”

“maybe both.”

asa snorted, then paused. “you think people will actually cheer this time?”

y/n didn’t answer right away. she looked out past the curtain where a small crowd was gathering. half of them probably friends or staff, maybe a few real fans, maybe none at all. she could hear the muffled bass from the group on stage before them, feel it thrumming through the floor.

“i think,” y/n said slowly, “we do what we can. and we make it count. even if no one claps.”

asa nodded, quiet. then she sighed. “i swear to god, if my mic cuts out again mid chorus, i’m quitting and becoming a barista.”

“you can’t even drink coffee.”

“exactly. motivation to keep going.”

y/n huffed a laugh despite herself, and for a second, the ache in her chest eased. not gone. just quieter.

the stage manager gave them the nod. tight, brisk, all business. asa straightened beside her, tugging her jacket into place one last time. their other members fell into formation like instinct, like ritual. y/n felt her feet move before her mind caught up, boots scuffing slightly against the edge of the raised platform. the mic was cold in her hand, heart knocking against her ribs in a rhythm too fast, too loud.

the lights hit first. hot, blinding, a poor imitation of grandeur. and then the music, tinny through the speakers but familiar in a way that wrapped itself around her spine. she stepped into position, found her mark, breathed.

and then she was performing. no room left for doubt, for fear, for aching questions about whether anyone out there even knew her name. there was only the music, the motion, the echo of their voices layered imperfectly through handheld mics and trembling breath.

she didn’t know if anyone would remember it.

but she would give them something they could.

karina, embarrassingly enough, had spent most of the night deep in the trenches of the internet. the kind of rabbit hole where time folded in on itself and the only light came from a glowing screen and the blurry reflection of her own dumb, obsessed face. she wasn’t proud of it. but she also wasn’t stopping.

she’d found the smallest of leads. a screenshot from a barely active kakao chatroom used by venue staff. a schedule list, blurry and cropped, buried in a thread about broken light fixtures. in the corner was a group photo of five girls, clearly snapped on someone’s phone with zero artistic intention. the lighting was bad, the focus worse. but one face stood out.

y/n.

karina didn’t know her name at the time. didn’t know the group’s name either, not really. just a half readable hangul tag someone typed without bothering to correct the spelling. it didn’t matter. the only thing that did matter was that the photo didn’t do her justice. not even close.

karina stared at the screen, frustrated. not with y/n, but with the way the world had failed to capture her properly. if it had been her behind the lens, she would’ve framed her with softness and sharp light. she would’ve caught the way her expression shifted between verses, the fire tucked behind her eyes. maybe it was bias. or maybe it was just that she saw what others didn’t. and once she saw it, she couldn’t not see it.

so of course she had to go. of course she had to try. and somehow, by some divine combination of manipulation, bribery, and guilt—she managed to convince aeri, minjeong, and ningning to come with her.

“we closed early for this?” ningning groaned, arms folded as she eyed the neon-lit venue like it had personally offended her.

“my eyeliner is melting,” minjeong added flatly. “you said this was a cultural experience. you didn’t say it would be humid and depressing.”

karina ignored them, already scanning the crowd near the entrance with laser focus.

“do we even know the name of the group?” aeri asked, squinting at the flyer taped to a post. “because i’m not gonna lie, i’m seeing at least three acts with glitter names and vaguely tragic-sounding concepts.”

“we’ll know when we see her,” karina muttered, tightening her grip on her camera like it might help her focus.

“so just to recap,” ningning said, deadpan, “we abandoned paying customers to follow our emotionally repressed friend across the city to chase down a girl she doesn’t know, whose name she doesn’t know, in a group she also doesn’t know, all because she took one blurry photo of her looking vaguely ethereal.”

karina didn’t even flinch. her eyes were locked on the stage entrance like a hunter waiting for a sign. “when she comes out,” she murmured, “you’ll understand.”

“that’s what you said about the tofu place in yongsan,” minjeong replied. “we all got food poisoning.”

“and the time you dragged us to that underground film screening in itaewon,” ningning added, crossing her arms. “you know, the one where the director made us sit on the floor and watch three hours of interpretive dancing and crying in slow motion.”

“art is subjective,” karina said, without looking away from the stage.

“i hate it here,” minjeong cried, but she didn’t move. none of them did. despite all the complaints, the three of them stood beside karina. tucked just inside the dim edge of the crowd, the air heavy with stage fog and cheap hairspray.

the music had dipped into transition mode. those awkward ten seconds where the next act lined up and the audience collectively held their breath.

karina leaned forward slightly, camera already raised. “shut up,” she whispered. “this is it.”

ningning sighed. “if she’s not the reincarnation of venus i swear to god—”

then the lights came up, and karina pressed the shutter.

the rest of the world collapsed into static. the chatter of the crowd, the sharp whine of a speaker adjusting, even her friends bickering a few steps away. it all blurred into the background. karina didn’t hear a thing. didn’t want to. her camera was already in place, viewfinder pressed to her eye like a second heartbeat.

and then, there you were.

center stage, swallowed in too-bright lights and haze that clung like mist. not even fully in frame yet, but karina felt it in her chest, low and sharp, the same way she sometimes did when stumbling across a perfect shot at golden hour. your movements weren’t perfect, not polished like bigger groups, but there was something in the way you carried the weight of the song. the way your body snapped from choreography into raw instinct. your expression wasn’t just practiced. rather, it looked like it meant something.

like you were clawing your way out of anonymity with every verse, like every beat might be the last chance you’d get to be seen.

karina adjusted the focus, breath shallow. it wasn’t just technical skill, though you had that, too. it was presence. the kind of magnetism that cracked through cheap lighting and echoed off concrete walls. something unruly and honest. like pain, or hope, or both tangled together.

she didn’t realize how tightly she was gripping the camera until the shutter clicked—soft, barely audible under the music. she filmed. slowly, reverently. tracking you through the chorus, through that sharp turn of your chin, that flicker of emotion in your eyes that felt earnest.

the music cut out on a final, echoing note, and the lights dimmed just a beat too late—just enough for karina to catch the way y/n’s chest rose and fell, quick and uneven from exertion. and then y/n bowed with the rest of her group and slipped backstage like a ghost.

the crowd gave polite applause. not wild, not dead, just that middle ground kind of lukewarm appreciation that stung more than silence. but karina wasn’t paying attention to them. she let her camera fall against its strap, her fingers still tingling.

“…okay,” ningning said slowly. “i’ll give you that one.”

karina blinked, turning toward her.

“what?”

“you were right,” aeri continued for her, her tongue clicking against her cheek, a look of genuine surprise on her face. “she’s got something. i don’t know what it is exactly, but i wanna draw her like, fifty times and then write poetry about it.”

“i felt things,” minjeong muttered. “against my will.”

“you’re welcome,” karina said, dazed, still watching the empty stage like she expected you to come back out.

ningning raised an eyebrow. “you got the shot?”

karina nodded slowly. “i got something.”

a beat.

“so… what now?” aeri asked. “are we gonna become groupies? follow them around the country? make a fan club?”

karina didn’t answer. not right away. she was already thumbing through the footage, pausing on a frame where y/n’s expression looked too real to be staged.

“i don’t know,” she murmured. “but i’m not done.”

her friends exchanged a look.

“this is going to turn into another ‘project,’ isn’t it?” minjeong said.

“worse,” ningning sighed. “it’s gonna turn into a feelings thing.”

“i hate when she gets feelings,” aeri added.

karina didn’t bother defending herself. she just hit play again.

because something in her gut told her this wasn’t a one-time thing. this was the beginning of something she didn’t quite have words for yet. but she’d find them.

and when she did, you’d be in every frame.

when y/n stepped off stage, her chest was heaving, every breath thick with adrenaline and exhaustion. sweat clung to the back of her neck, her limbs heavy, the kind of heavy that only came after pouring yourself into something with no guarantee it mattered.

she gave it her all. she really did.

“you okay?” asa asked, brushing past her to grab a water bottle off the folding table in the corner of the backstage hallway. her voice was hushed, cautious.

y/n nodded, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “yeah. just… heart’s still racing.”

“mine too,” asa admitted, cracking the cap. “i thought my mic was gonna short out halfway through the bridge.”

“it might’ve,” y/n muttered, half-laughing, rubbing at her temples. “i think i was singing in the wrong key the entire chorus.”

“you were fine. we were fine,” asa said, then added more quietly, “better than we usually are.”

before y/n could respond, their manager rounded the corner with that frantic, harried look she always wore after a performance. clipboard in one hand, phone in the other, pressed between her shoulder and ear.

“come on, come on,” she barked, waving them forward. “wrap it up. van’s waiting out back. you guys did great. people clapped. that’s something.”

asa rolled her eyes and shoved her bottle into her bag. y/n followed, muscles aching, nerves still frayed. but there was something buzzing beneath it all. a strange energy she couldn’t place.

they stepped out into the back lot, the cool night air a welcome slap of relief. she was just about to pull her hoodie up over her head.

flash.

a camera went off. bright, sudden, close. too close.

y/n flinched, instinctively jerking back, hand half-raised in defense. she blinked hard, vision adjusting, and there—just a few steps away—was a girl.

not a fan, not press. she didn’t look like the others. she wasn’t shoving a phone in y/n’s face or shouting a name. she was just standing there, camera still in hand, eyes wide with guilt and something else. awe, maybe.

“shit,” the girl said quickly, lowering the camera. “sorry. that was… i didn’t mean to get in your face like that.”

y/n shook her head, still catching her breath. “it’s fine. just surprised me.”

the girl stepped back, hands slightly raised like she was trying to prove she meant no harm. her features were striking. she almost looked unreal. elegant, sharp around the edges, but softened by the way she kept worrying her bottom lip. probably the prettiest girl y/n had ever met. which was unfair, honestly, considering she had just finished a performance looking like she crawled out of a thunderstorm.

“i, um…” the girl hesitated, then gestured vaguely to her camera. “i like your music. i mean. tonight. you… stood out.”

y/n blinked. what? she let out a short laugh, soft and self-deprecating.

“you must’ve really low standards.”

the girl smiled, slow and a little crooked. “or really good taste.”

that pulled a quiet laugh out of y/n, one that surprised even her. there was something disarming about the way the girl looked at her. not in a dissecting, distant way, but like she saw something worth keeping.

“i’m karina,” she offered, finally.

y/n glanced over her shoulder at the van, her group piling in, her manager waving impatiently. then she looked back.

“y/n.”

karina nodded, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “i know.”

and somehow, that didn’t feel creepy. it felt… kind.

the flash didn’t seem so jarring anymore.

y/n lingered at the edge of the lot, hoodie bunched in her hands, still warm from the stage lights and not quite ready to disappear into the van’s flickering overhead bulbs and the smell of fast food wrappers. karina hadn’t moved either. camera still slung over one shoulder, fingers curled around the strap like she didn’t want to let go just yet.

“you always do this?” y/n asked, tilting her head slightly. “ambush tired performers in alleys with flashes and compliments?”

karina grinned, just a hint. “only the ones who make me feel something.”

y/n raised a brow, caught off guard by how sincere it sounded coming from someone with a smile that could cure all ailments. “you’re smooth. has anyone told you that?”

“no,” karina said, a little too quickly. “i mean. they have. but not like… seriously.”

y/n laughed, properly this time. it came up from her chest, unexpected, and when it slipped into the air, karina looked—well, proud. like she’d won something.

“i just wanted one more shot,” karina added, a bit softer now. “you had this moment on stage. just… I don’t know. you looked like you were carrying the whole song in your bones. like it was breaking you and holding you together at the same time.”

y/n’s smile faltered. not in a bad way. just… enough to let something real settle between them.

“you saw that?”

karina nodded. “yeah. and i got it. i think. i hope.”

a honk cut through the quiet. asa leaned out the van window, clearly fed up. “y/n! if we leave without you it’s not personal!”

y/n rolled her eyes but didn’t turn away just yet.

karina cleared her throat, suddenly shy. “i mean. if you want the photo, i could send it. or… whatever. if that’s weird, ignore me. this is probably weird.”

y/n held out her hand. “give me your phone.”

karina blinked. “what?”

“so i can put my number in it. for the photo,” she added, almost teasing. “and maybe because I owe you a proper thank you that doesn’t involve me looking like i’m about to collapse.”

karina handed it over without a word, eyes wide but amused. their fingers brushed.

and y/n, still riding the echo of a half-empty stage and a performance she’d nearly drowned in, thought—for the first time in a long while—that maybe someone had seen her after all.

not just the version she performed.

her.

y/n finished typing and handed the phone back, her thumb brushing lightly against karina’s as she did. the contact was brief, but it left something charged in the air, something that hummed between them like the aftermath of a too-good chorus.

“thanks,” y/n said, backing toward the van. “for the picture. and, you know… seeing me.”

karina offered a crooked smile, a little too honest. “i couldn’t not.”

y/n’s lips twitched. half amusement, half something softer. “you’re gonna make me regret not being more photogenic.”

“you’re already wrong about that,” karina said, voice barely above the sound of the idling engine behind them.

y/n shook her head, cheeks warm, and turned to leave.

asa opened the door from inside, leaning out dramatically. “did you just flirt with a fan?”

“you don’t even have fans,” one of the others chimed in from the back.

“shut up,” y/n muttered, ducking into the van as laughter erupted.

karina stood there for a moment longer, watching the van pull away until its tail lights blurred against the city’s glow. her hand was still wrapped loosely around her phone, like it hadn’t registered yet that she was holding more than just a contact. it was the beginning of something.

she wandered back toward where she left her friends, the girls loitering near the venue entrance just outside a half-shuttered convenience store, picking at bags of chips like they hadn’t been standing in the cold for twenty minutes.

“well that took forever,” ningning said as karina approached. “what’d she do, recite her entire discography?”

minjeong popped a chip in her mouth. “karina’s blushing.”

“i am not,” karina said, immediately.

“you so are,” aeri chimed. “girl, you’re one soft smile away from writing her poetry in your notes app.”

“shut up,” karina muttered, but she was smiling, and they knew it.

by the time they got back to the apartment, it was late and the city had settled into its usual lull. neon signs blinking slower, streets emptier, the hum of life still present but quieter now.

karina plugged in her camera the second she walked through the door, pushing past the chaos of their coat pile and ignored dinner dishes. she transferred the files with practiced ease, fingers flying across her keyboard, eyes scanning through each frame.

she didn’t post everything. just her favorites. the ones that mattered.

a still of y/n mid chorus, eyes wide, mouth open, hand outstretched like she was trying to grab something intangible.

a candid just before the final note, sweat glinting at her temple, expression cracked open with something raw.

a short clip from the bridge— shaky, imperfect, real—where y/n’s voice dipped low enough to sound like a confession.

she uploaded them to the fansite, quietly, without fanfare. no clickbait captions. just a few words.

“she deserves to be seen.”

and then she closed her laptop, let her head fall back against the couch, the hum of adrenaline slowly dying down.

she had no idea what she’d just done.

no idea that by morning, the photos would be everywhere. that hashtags would start trending. that the internet would do what it does best. amplify. echo. obsess.

no one knew yet, not even karina, that the post would change everything.

one day y/n’s group was scraping together performances at half lit venues with static ridden mics and lukewarm crowds. almost overnight, their company—which had long operated on the thinnest of margins, barely scraping together enough for rented rehearsal spaces and reused stage outfits—found itself overwhelmed. it started slowly, then all at once.

more likes on a performance clip, a few reposts from bigger accounts, a comment section that suddenly wasn’t empty. then, emails came in faster than they could answer them. variety show invitations, modeling inquiries, stylists offering racks of clothes they never would have dreamed of affording, choreographers who used to work exclusively with chart topping acts now asking if they had time to meet. people who once ignored them suddenly wanted a piece of them.

the difference was staggering. their managers were stunned, stumbling through new opportunities with wide eyes and open calendars. it wasn’t luck. it wasn’t a random viral moment.

everyone knew where it started. even if they didn’t say it out loud. it was the photos.

karina’s photos.

not just because they were beautiful, though they were. it was the way they captured something deeper. something true. the exhaustion behind a sharp smile. the fire behind a subtle glance. the quiet power of a girl mid performance, holding nothing back because she never had the luxury of half trying. and for the first time, everyone was finally paying attention. not the passive kind of attention, not the polite clapping or half hearted glances they had grown used to. this was real. eyes wide, breath held, curiosity turning into obsession.

karina had managed to benefit from it, too. her inbox was filled with requests from magazines, creative agencies, brand managers. people she once looked up to were asking her to shoot for them. she was getting job offers, collaboration deals, invitations to events where her camera had once only earned her sidelong glances. they weren’t just looking for any photographer. they wanted the one who saw what others missed. the one who told stories through still frames. the one who captured something real.

karina was no longer just another fansite admin with a good lens and a sharp eye, working nine to five in her parents old shop.

she was an artist. a name people remembered.

but even with all the momentum, all the noise and new beginnings, she never stopped being what she had been from the start.

your biggest fan.

she sent the photo late one night. for a moment as she sat in the closed restaurant, minjeong and ningning arguing about in their typical way, she stared down at the contact you put in her phone. she hesitated, at least for a moment. the memory of your kind smile, your soft spoken voice. her fingers glided across the screen in tandem with her beating heart. no fanfare, no filter. just a single image attached to a quiet message. it was the close up she took of you after the show. you were caught mid-step, your hoodie bunched loosely in your hands, the flash of her camera catching you off guard. there was no performance left in your face. no mask, no practiced smile. just fatigue and something softer beneath it. you weren’t posing. you didn’t even know she was watching. the message that came with it was short.

thought you might want this one. it felt like yours.

you stared at the photo longer than you meant to when the message chimed in your phone. not because of the lighting or the angle or the composition. it was the way it made you feel like someone had been paying attention, not to the version of you you put forward, but to the one you were seldom able to show.

you didn’t know what to say, so you kept it simple.

i don’t know how you did that. but thank you. really.

and that was how it started. not with fireworks, not with some grand confession or twist of fate. just a photo, a message, and the quiet, unmistakable feeling that someone out there understood something about you before you’d even found the words for it yourself.

there were late night messages, the kind that came unprompted but never unwelcome. blurry voice notes where laughter bled into silence. text threads that stretched past 2am, full of half-formed thoughts and gentle check ins. karina always said she was just doing what any fan would do, but it never felt like that—not to you. because when she spoke to you, she didn’t perform. she didn’t talk like someone trying to impress a name on a screen. she never asked for a selfie or a signature, never treated you like a symbol to collect or admire from a distance. instead, she asked about your day. she wondered if the stage lights ever gave you headaches, if you ever got tired of being seen all the time, but rarely looked at for real.

you told her things you hadn’t said out loud in months. about how much you missed home. about how your own voice made you wince when you heard it back in interviews. about how surreal it felt to be loved so loudly and still feel, somehow, invisible.

karina never rushed to reassure you. she didn’t offer pity or polished wisdom. she just listened, and when she answered, it was always with care. always in a way that made you feel solid again, like a person instead of a product.

and you gave that back, in your own way. you asked her about her photography, about her life. you asked about her best friends, the ones you started recognizing in the background of her instagram stories. ningning with the bright smile, minjeong with the dry wit, and aeri, the chaotic artist who seemed to live in bursts of color.

karina began sending you photos she never posted anywhere else. quiet moments. behind-the-scenes shots of a life unfolding in soft focus. unedited, warm, honest. glimpses of the world as she saw it, framed not for performance, but for truth.

and somewhere in those quiet, electric moments, something shifted. not all at once. not with drama or declarations. just a bond.

weeks later, your group found themselves sitting beneath the glare of studio lights, surrounded by producers, stylists, and a modest but buzzing live audience. it was your first real appearance on a major network talk show—an undeniable sign that something had shifted. the couches were too stiff, the air too cold, and you were suddenly aware of every camera angle, every eye trained on you.

and yet, when the host leaned forward with an easy smile and asked, “what do you think changed? what made things finally click for your group?”

you didn’t hesitate.

“a fan,” you said.

then, almost instinctively, you softened. your fingers fidgeted slightly in your lap, but your voice held steady.

“or… maybe not just a fan. she took this photo of me that kind of blew up online. it wasn’t, like, flattering in the usual sense. it wasn’t pretty-pretty. i looked tired. drained, even. but it felt real. like someone had caught something honest. i didn’t even realize how much i’d been holding in until i saw it.”

you paused, glancing down as if the words themselves carried weight.

“i guess it was the first time i looked at a photo and didn’t think, that’s what i’m supposed to look like. instead, i thought, yeah. that’s me. and somehow, that made me want to keep going. she didn’t glam me up. she gave me back to myself.”

the studio went quiet for a beat. not out of discomfort, but reverence. then the applause came. soft at first, then rising.

across the city karina sat in her apartment above the restaurant, laptop balanced on a stack of art books, camera lenses spread across the coffee table like instruments mid-performance. aeri was on the floor beside her, paint-splattered sweatpants and brush in hand, halfway through a bold, chaotic canvas.

minjeong was sprawled on the couch, bowl of popcorn in her lap. when the interview clip played and your voice filled the room, she didn’t even look up. she just tossed a handful of popcorn straight at karina’s head.

“you’re in love,” she said, deadpan.

karina didn’t blink. didn’t even react. her eyes were locked on the screen, on the way you smiled at the end of your sentence like you were thinking of someone specific.

“shut up,” she mumbled.

aeri snorted from the floor. “it’s giving muse energy.”

karina said nothing. she was already reaching for her camera bag.

the next day, she was at inkigayo. her press pass hung around her neck, laminated and slightly bent from use. her camera bag was snug against her hip, and her hands were calm, practiced, like they’d been made to hold that camera. the venue was a storm. fans crowding the barriers, chants echoing, lightsticks flashing like signals in a galaxy of movement.

but when you stepped on stage, something in the atmosphere changed.

karina found her place front left of the pit. she didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until your eyes found hers. it happened somewhere between the pre-chorus and second verse. one glance, a pause in the blur of it all. you saw her. really saw her. hair tied back, camera steady, face tilted just slightly as if she didn’t want to blink and risk missing something.

you smiled. not the practiced curve they taught you during training. not the camera ready flash for fanservice or headlines. this smile was different. unguarded. real. and in that moment, amidst the pulsing beat and the sea of screaming voices, you didn’t feel like a product. you didn’t feel like a placeholder in a group scraping to stay relevant.

you felt like you.

and it was all because of karina.

karina wasn’t sure what exactly made her send the message. maybe it was the way the restaurant felt too still that afternoon, the echo of wiped-down surfaces and idle ceiling fans humming like a nervous heartbeat. maybe it was the thought of y/n finally having a rare day off, the kind she barely got anymore, and wanting—no, needing—to be part of how she spent it. either way, her fingers had moved before her brain caught up, and suddenly the invitation had been sent.

it wasn’t phrased like an invitation, not really. just a casual mention.

i’m at the restaurant today. it’s quiet.

she’d told the others to clear out well before sunset. ningning pouted. aeri dramatically draped herself over the bar like it was a tragedy. minjeong smirked with that knowing look that made karina want to crawl into the floor. they left, eventually, but not before tossing back a few parting jabs.

“don’t combust,” ningning had said sweetly, snatching her drink on the way out.

“try not to sweat through your shirt,” aeri added from the doorway.

minjeong just leaned in, low and amused. “don’t blow it.”

karina scrubbed the same table three more times after they were gone, even though it was already spotless. the place looked as perfect as it could. lights dimmed just enough, music barely audible, the warm smell of soy and grilled rice still lingering from the afternoon rush. she fixed her shirt twice, changed it once, then changed back. she told herself it wasn’t a date, even though her heart hadn’t stopped racing since noon.

when y/n arrived, it was quiet. no cameras. no staff. just asa’s car slipping down the street and disappearing around the corner like a secret. the door creaked open, and there she was. hood up, mask tucked low on her chin, eyes wide with something that looked almost shy.

“hey,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

karina could barely breathe. “hi.”

y/n pulled her mask down fully once the door clicked shut behind her. she glanced around, taking it all in. the faded wood of the booths, the soft clatter of wind against the windows, the smell of something warm and faintly sweet still hanging in the air. her expression softened.

“it’s cute,” she said. “feels like home.”

karina didn’t know how to answer that, not really. she just rubbed the back of her neck, nodded awkwardly, and offered to make her something to eat. y/n didn’t protest. she perched on a stool by the counter, elbows resting loosely on the edge, watching with something like quiet amusement as karina bustled around the kitchen pretending she wasn’t hyper aware of every movement.

they talked about nothing at first. food, the weather, the stray cat that kept appearing by the dumpster out back. y/n teased her about being bossy with her friends. karina rolled her eyes and muttered something about “necessary survival tactics.” there was laughter, easy and unforced, and then there were silences that didn’t feel empty at all.

at one point, karina dropped a spoon. y/n leaned down to pick it up before she could, their hands brushing, barely. it wasn’t a moment worth writing down, but it lingered.

after dinner—mismatched bowls and a shared plate of grilled dumplings—they moved upstairs to the apartment above the restaurant. karina unlocked the door like it was something intimate, not just a key, and y/n stepped in slowly, quietly, her eyes moving over the space.

it was simple. lived in. warm in the way real places are, the kind that don’t need curated furniture or expensive lighting to feel whole. a stack of photo books by the window. slippers kicked halfway under the couch. art pinned carelessly to the fridge with old magnets.

“this feels familiar,” y/n said, her voice lower now, thoughtful. “my parents used to have a place kind of like this. smaller, though. messier. but... same energy.”

y/n drifted toward the table by the window, where the light hit soft and slanted, and her gaze landed on the camera resting there like something waiting to be remembered. her fingers hovered first, then moved with quiet confidence, tracing the curve of the strap, the smooth edge of the body, as if she already understood it wasn’t just a tool. like she knew that it was an extension of karina herself.

karina stilled, halfway through reaching for a pair of glasses to pour water, the motion forgotten as she watched.

“can i?”

the question landed like a hush in the room. karina didn’t answer right away. the instinct to say no curled at the edge of her thoughts, the way it always did. no one touched the camera. not her friends. not even family. it wasn’t about possession, not really. it was about the way memory clung to film, the way the lens saw everything and sometimes too much. she guarded it because she didn’t know how not to.

but y/n didn’t reach like she wanted to take. she waited, like she already knew the weight of what she was asking for.

karina looked at her, at the patience in her eyes, the quiet way her fingers curved but didn’t close around the camera. and something softened.

she nodded once, almost imperceptibly. “yeah. okay.”

her voice was barely above a whisper. but she meant it.

y/n held it with reverence, turning it gently in her hands, fingers moving over buttons and dials like she was trying to learn the shape of karina’s world through touch. the moment stretched, soft and quiet. then, without asking, she lifted it, brought it to eye level, and pointed it at karina.

karina blinked, caught somewhere between startled and breathless.

“wait, i—”

click.

y/n lowered the camera, grinning a little. “too late.”

karina stood frozen, heart thudding in her chest. “you didn’t even warn me.”

“i didn’t need to,” y/n said. she turned the camera around, looked at the preview screen, then smiled again. this time quieter, fonder. “you always say your best photos happen when no one’s paying attention.”

karina didn’t answer right away. her voice felt caught in her throat. when she finally spoke, it came out softer than she meant.

“can i see it?”

y/n hesitated, then handed the camera over. karina looked. the photo wasn’t perfect. her hair was a little out of place. she looked tired, maybe. surprised. vulnerable in a way she usually tried not to be. but there was something else there too. a light behind the eyes. a softness. like maybe, just for a second, someone had seen her without the walls.

“keep it,” karina said, surprising even herself. “if you want.”

y/n just nodded. “i do.”

they stood close now, the space between them quiet but charged. y/n looked at her the way she always did. unflinching, sincere. not with expectation, not with some idolized version of karina in her head. just... her.

“i think,” y/n said slowly, “i wanted to see how you looked when you weren’t behind the lens.”

karina didn’t know how to respond to that. not with words.

so she didn’t.

she stepped forward, just slightly, enough that she could feel the warmth radiating between them. y/n didn’t move back. her eyes flicked to karina’s mouth, then back up.

“is this okay?” karina asked, barely more than a whisper.

y/n smiled, gentle and sure.

“yeah,” she said. “it’s more than okay.”

when they kissed, it wasn’t fireworks or orchestras. it was slow and quiet, like the closing of a door, like the breath before a song begins. it tasted like dumplings and late summer air. like truth. like a beginning. their mouths met gently, not in a rush, not all at once. lips parting slow, testing the shape of closeness. karina’s free hand found y/n’s waist, tentative at first, then firmer when y/n responded with the same kind of softness. the kind that steadies rather than consumes. their noses bumped, slightly, but neither pulled away. instead, they smiled into it—barely, just enough to feel the curve of each other’s lips.

the kiss deepened, not with urgency but with familiarity, the kind that comes from long nights spent talking about nothing, and photographs that said everything. it was quiet. a little clumsy. real.

karina’s fingers slid up the back of y/n’s shirt, curling into the fabric like an anchor. y/n’s hand lifted to her cheek, thumb grazing just beneath her eye, like she was trying to memorize the moment by touch alone. there was no need to fill the silence. no need to ask if this meant something. it already did. the camera between them carefully lowered to a side table, forgotten.

somewhere, downstairs, the ice machine clicked on. a car passed by outside, headlights sweeping shadows across the window.

but up here, there was only the soft thud of a camera on the table, and two girls finally leaning into the gravity that had been pulling them closer from the start.

a week had passed since their kiss, since the night they had spent together, a night that lingered like a secret melody beneath everything y/n did. even though they hadn’t seen each other since, karina was the first name on y/n’s lips when she woke, and the last thought before sleep took her. every message from karina was a small lifeline. quiet jokes, shared moments, bits of their worlds folded together across the distance.

today, y/n was back in the practice room, the weight of the choreography solid and familiar beneath her feet, but her mind kept drifting, pulling to the memory of karina’s smile. the warmth of her hand, the way the quiet between them felt less like emptiness and more like space made just for two. moving through the routine gave her a strange kind of comfort, something steady to hold onto while the rest of the world spun faster and farther away.

but then y/n’s phone buzzed. once, twice, a steady stream that pulled her attention away from the mirror where she’d been rehearsing the steps again. she glanced down, the screen flooding with messages. urgent, clipped, impossible to ignore. her manager appeared beside her, eyes wide and serious, voice low but sharp like a warning.

“you need to see this,” she said, handing over her own phone. her hand trembled just a little, the way someone might if they’d just stumbled into a storm.

y/n’s fingers hovered over the screen before she swiped, revealing the dispatch article that tore through the quiet like a blade. the headline was blunt, loud, impossible to miss.

“rising idol caught in ‘dating scandal’: secret visits to family restaurant spark rumors.”

the photo below was grainy, taken from a distance, but unmistakable. y/n stepping inside karina’s restaurant, hood pulled low but face visible enough for anyone who knew her to recognize. the caption twisted the simple truth into something explosive, something meant to divide and shame.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat. her heart hammered so fiercely against her ribs she was sure it might burst free at any moment, wild and desperate. no warning came before she was pulled aside from rehearsal, her manager’s grip firm but hurried on her arm as they navigated through sterile hallways to a small, windowless room tucked behind the scenes. the air inside felt heavy, suffocating, as if the walls themselves held the weight of every decision made within.

waiting at the long, polished table were the company executives. their faces were unreadable masks, eyes sharp and cold, devoid of any trace of empathy. they didn’t ask how she was doing or what she wanted; they only delivered orders.

“this has to be contained,” the eldest executive said, voice low and clipped, like he was issuing a verdict rather than offering guidance. “the group just broke into the mainstream. your image is crucial. any hint of controversy could set us back months, if not years.”

another executive, younger and more impatient, leaned forward, fingers steepled. “we’ll draft a statement. something tight, professional. deny everything. discredit the source.”

“you understand,” a third added, voice even colder, “you cannot be seen with her again. no contact. no meetings. no social media interactions. if you don’t comply, your career is at risk.”

y/n swallowed hard, words lodged in her throat. she tried to find a foothold in the conversation, to explain, to plead. “but it’s not true. karina and i—we didn’t want this. we didn’t do anything wrong.”

the executives exchanged glances, unimpressed. “this isn’t about truth,” the eldest said flatly. “it’s about control. perception. you are a product. you have a responsibility to protect that.”

the cold finality of their tone crushed something fragile inside her. the group was finally on the rise, the spotlight shining brighter than ever, and now the one thing she wanted most—the quiet connection she’d found—was being torn away, dismissed like a distraction, a liability.

she nodded silently, the weight of their demands settling like a stone in her chest. there was no room for hesitation, no space for feeling. only the harsh reality that the life she had been building might unravel in a heartbeat.

karina was at the restaurant, wiping down tables with a tenderness that seemed almost reverent. the afternoon sun filtered through the windows, casting long, lazy shadows across the floor, and the soft quiet wrapped around her like a blanket, fragile and precious. every folded napkin, every wiped surface held an echo of the calm she found in the idol she couldn’t shake from her mind no matter how hard she tried.

and then her phone lit up.

a message from y/n. another from the group chat with her friends, followed by dozens more. strangers with sharp tongues and cruel words.

her fingers trembled as she opened the article. the headline screamed across the screen, twisting the memory of y/n walking through that very door just a week ago into something dark and explosive. her breath hitched. the rag slipped from her hand and fell silently onto the floor.

karina had faced criticism before, the kind that stung and lingered. but this was different. this was a storm that threatened to drown everything she’d built, everything she cared about. her phone flooded with messages calling her reckless, selfish, an opportunist who had destroyed y/n’s rising career. the restaurant’s ratings plummeted, reviews turning venomous, and anonymous whispers spread across social media like wildfire, each one cutting deeper.

her parents called, worried but unsure how to help. karina couldn’t meet their eyes when they asked if she was okay. the guilt weighed heavier than any insult, twisting tight around her chest.

karina slid down behind the restaurant counter, the worn wood cool against her back, just beneath the register where the afternoon light fell soft and golden through the window. her fingers trembled around her phone, still buzzing faintly from the recent facetime call with her parents, their worried faces lingering in her mind. she stared at the screen, the quiet hum of the empty restaurant wrapping around her like a fragile shield.

then, her phone lit up again. y/n’s name, bright and sudden, breaking the silence. karina’s breath hitched. she hesitated a moment, then swiped to answer.

“karina?” y/n’s voice came through, low and fragile.

“yeah,” karina whispered, voice barely steady. “i’m here.”

they sat with the silence for a beat, neither sure where to start. finally, y/n’s voice cracked, raw and uncertain.

“i’m sorry. for everything. for how this all happened. i didn’t want any of this. especially not to hurt you.”

karina bit her lip, the ache settling deep in her chest.

“i’m scared,” y/n confessed, voice trembling. “they told me to cut you out or i’d lose everything. and i don’t even know what losing you would mean, but it hurts more than i thought it would.”

karina swallowed the lump that rose tight in her throat. listening to y/n made everything feel real. her mind kept bouncing back and forth through memories. seeing y/n on stage at that shabby venue for the very first time, seeing her again and taking all the pictures she knew she would commit to her heart like gospel. the late night calls, the laughter, the vulnerability that y/n shared with her– only her.

the feeling of y/n’s body beside hers last week, her fingers brushing over y/n’s bare shoulder. it was that moment karina decided that no photo, not even her own, could do y/n justice. not when her chest rose and fell with breaths shared between them in that moment then.

karina shook her head, raising a palm to wipe at her eye. she didn’t want to cry.

“i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t.” y/n said, voice fragile but steady. “i want to fix this. but right now… i can’t. i’m sorry.”

the call ended, leaving the quiet heavier than before. karina held the phone close to her chest, breathing in the silence.

a few hours later, y/n’s social media account posted a carefully crafted statement. the words were measured, rehearsed. she denied the rumors, calling karina a “family acquaintance” and insisting they were just friends. her hands trembled as she typed, each sentence feeling like a weight she had no choice but to carry. the message wasn’t hers but it was the only way forward, the only way to keep the chaos from swallowing her whole.

and in the silence that followed, when the noise finally dimmed, there was only one thing left. a photograph resting untouched on y/n’s bedside table. a fragile, quiet trace of what had once been real.

eight months had passed. eight months of radio silence. eight months y/n spent staring down at karina’s contact, fingers itching to send a message or maybe even call, but she never did.

y/n stood on a bigger stage than she’d ever imagined, lights blinding, the roar of the crowd a steady pulse beneath her feet. the group had broken through, bigger names, bigger stages. the company still watched closely, but the tight leash had loosened just enough for y/n to breathe without suffocating.

she fought tooth and nail to stay in the group through the scandal, and slowly, the rumors faded, replaced by new headlines, new stories. but the feelings she carried for karina didn’t fade. they lingered, quiet and stubborn, beneath the gloss of the spotlight and the endless cycle of rehearsals and performances.

asa noticed, of course she did. they shared every moment on stage, every late night in the practice room. asa watched y/n carefully, her eyes sharp behind a calm smile, the kind that didn’t miss a thing. one night, after a long day, she finally asked.

asa sat beside y/n on the floor of the practice room, their backs leaning against the wall, legs stretched out in front of them. the hum of the overhead lights filled the quiet space, the only sound left after the others had trickled out hours ago. sweat clung to their skin, and the ache of the day settled deep in their bones, but neither of them moved to leave.

asa nudged a water bottle toward y/n with her foot. “you’ve been zoning out during cooldowns,” she said, not accusing, just stating. “your balance was off in the last run-through.”

y/n took the bottle, twisting the cap with tired fingers. “just tired,” she muttered.

asa nodded, letting the answer sit. she didn’t push. just drank her own water and rested her head back against the mirrored wall behind them. they sat like that for a minute, letting the silence stretch.

“this comeback’s going to be huge,” asa said eventually. “crazy to think about, huh? the venues, the collabs, the brand deals.”

“yeah,” y/n said softly. her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

asa glanced over, watching her carefully. “it’s everything we used to talk about back then. when we were stuck in those tiny green rooms and eating takeout at 3am.”

“everything we wanted,” y/n echoed.

asa was quiet for a moment. then, gently, she added, “but you haven’t really smiled since we got it.”

y/n’s breath caught, but she didn’t say anything right away. instead, she stared at the water bottle in her hands, fingers tightening around it.

asa didn’t push. she never did. she just waited, her presence steady and warm beside her.

“i never asked,” asa said quietly. “about… everything that happened. with her.”

y/n didn’t look up. her throat tightened. “there wasn’t anything to say.”

“maybe not then,” asa said. “but maybe now.”

y/n blinked slowly, eyes stinging for reasons she didn’t want to admit. the wall she’d built around those memories had held for eight long months, but asa’s voice chipped at it with every soft word.

asa reached over, placing a hand gently over y/n’s. “i’m not asking because i want the story. i’m asking because you look like you’re carrying something too heavy on your own.”

the quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. it was the kind that made space. the kind that waited, patiently, for whatever came next.

and this time, y/n didn’t pull away. her grip loosened around the bottle. her shoulders, tense and drawn for what felt like forever, slumped the slightest bit.

“she saw me,” y/n said, voice so quiet asa had to lean in. “before all this. before the stages and the endorsements. she saw me.”

the words hung in the air between them, soft but heavy.

“i think that’s what scared me the most,” y/n continued, her gaze fixed on a smudge on the mirror across from them. “that someone could see me like that… and i let her go anyway.”

asa stayed quiet, giving her space. she didn’t press, didn’t try to offer empty comfort. just waited.

“everything’s gotten so big,” y/n murmured. “and i thought that was the point, right? to make it. to have people scream your name and sing your lyrics back to you. but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like mine.”

asa finally moved, reaching out to gently nudge y/n’s knee with her own. “you’ve been carrying that by yourself for a long time.”

“yeah,” y/n whispered. “and i’m tired.”

asa exhaled softly. “she’s the reason we’re even here, you know. if she hadn’t believed in you back then...”

“i know.”

asa gave her a long look. “so let me ask you something. when was the last time you were happy? like really, genuinely happy?”

y/n didn’t answer at first. her throat felt too tight, her chest too full.

asa tilted her head, voice gentle but firm. “i think you know. and i think you’ve known this whole time. you’ve given everything to this dream, and you’re still standing, y/n. but maybe it’s okay to want something that doesn’t come with stage lights and fan chants. maybe it’s okay to want something just for you.”

y/n looked down at her hands. her voice barely made it out.

“i miss her.”

asa nodded. “then go.”

and that was it. just the quiet support of someone who understood. the next steps were y/n’s to take, but for the first time in months, the path forward didn’t feel so impossible.

asa didn’t stop there. quietly, she reached out to contacts. first it was aeri, an artist she found through a post karina tagged her in on instagram. karina had kept posting after the worst of it. the restaurant, the sunrises, the small joys she’d reclaimed for herself. she no longer took photos of idols. no one could match the beauty she’d found in y/n.

with aeri, minjeong, and ningning’s help, a plan took shape. one quiet night, far from the prying eyes that once haunted them, y/n found herself standing outside karina’s apartment above the restaurant. it was two in the morning, the streets hushed and safe.

y/n took a deep breath and knocked.

karina opened the door, blinking against the dim hallway light, still wrapped in the warmth of sleep and the softness of an old sweatshirt. her brows furrowed for half a second in confusion. until she saw who it was.

“y/n..? wha—”

but she didn’t get to finish.

y/n stepped forward without hesitation, the weight of months crashing into her all at once. she grabbed the front of karina’s coat, fingers curling tight like if she let go, she might lose her again. and then she kissed her.

not tentative, not gentle. it was aching and desperate, like a dam breaking, like all the silence between them finally gave way. y/n poured everything into it. every sleepless night, every unsent message, every whispered apology. karina froze for only a heartbeat before she melted into it, her hands rising instinctively to cradle y/n’s face, thumbs brushing damp cheeks she hadn’t realized were wet.

the kiss deepened slowly, softening. less desperation now, more familiarity. recognition. karina tasted salt and the faintest trace of mint lip balm, and something about it broke her open too.

when they finally pulled away, karina simply stood in shock. her offhand found y/n’s waist, holding her close. y/n stared back at her, eyes wide and sincere.

“thank you,” y/n whispered, voice thick with everything left unsaid. “for seeing me when no one else did.”

karina didn’t speak right away. her thumb brushed gently over the fabric at y/n’s side, grounding herself in the moment, in the weight and warmth of her. everything felt fragile. like if she moved too fast, it might vanish. but y/n was still there. standing in front of her. real. closer than she’d been in months.

karina’s voice came soft, caught somewhere between wonder and heartbreak.

“you think i could’ve looked at you and not seen you?”

y/n’s breath hitched, her eyes flickering down for a second before finding karina’s again.

“i lost so much of myself trying to hold on to the dream,” she said quietly. “but you… you made me feel like a person, not a product. like i mattered even when i didn’t know if i did.”

karina’s hand slid from her waist to her wrist, fingers curling around her gently. “you always mattered. i just didn’t know if you’d come back.”

“i didn’t either,” y/n admitted. “but somewhere between the stages and the silence, i realized… none of it feels like enough without you.”

the words hung in the air like something sacred.

karina’s eyes searched hers for a long moment, as if trying to find the truth beneath all the hurt, all the time they’d lost. what she found there must have been enough. because when she leaned in again, slower this time, more certain, it wasn’t a kiss born of urgency or ache.

in that moment, beneath the quiet hum of the city at night, y/n realized something that had been true all along. through every stage and every spotlight, through every dream she chased, it was karina who mattered more than anything. more than fame, more than success, more than the future she thought she wanted.

the future she truly wanted was here, in this small, fragile moment, with karina.

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fgumi · 6 months ago

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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 { PAIRING; agent!jungwon x tsa!reader, GENRE; action, one shot, WC; 9.3k, WARNING(S); profanities, terrorism, A/N; the original plot of carry on pmo so i decided to write one that wouldn't (it still kind of does). it's a little more focused on you as a tso, so don't be too disappointed now. officially dropped on 250109 @ 03:05! hope you enjoy, TAGS; @en-dream @heeheesang @httpenhoon @r1kification @seungheartyou @bamguetismee @jnysaln @dreamiestay @nvrlndmylove @letwiiparkjay @theothernads @wonys-won @dksfml @kitty-won07 @starfallia @sugarikiz @heartheejake @regalfox @m1kkso @ribbioniki @wensurr @wonys-won @wonkixo }

The sound of your alarm clock jolted you awake, its incessant crying reminding you that you had a long day of work ahead of you. For a moment, you made no move to get up, squeezing your eyes tightly as you rubbed your face into your pillow, savoring the warmth tucked under your blanket. It was New Year’s Eve—which meant children throwing tantrums or adults throwing tantrums like children—and you were so tempted to call out, your TSA uniform glaring at you from where you threw it last night.

With a groan, you reached out to silence the alarm, blindly slapping your nightstand until you felt your phone. You glanced at your phone, momentarily blinded by its brightness, and checked the time. 4:31 AM. God, it was early.

You gave yourself a good stretch, enjoying the momentary high from the blood rushing to your brain, before throwing yourself out of bed. You shuffled toward the bathroom, the cold tiles waking you up a bit more. When you flicked the light on, tired was all you could see on your face. The three years with the TSA really wore on you—dull skin, dark circles, no smile lines.

Oh, how you were itching to text your supervisor that you were sick. You should be sleeping in, prepping yourself for parties and, maybe, a New Year’s kiss. But life had a way of going the absolute opposite direction of what you wanted.

Straight out of college, unlike your friends who got return offers from their internships, you were eagerly awaiting to hear back from the FBI. Becoming a profiler had always been the plan, no matter how unrealistically it began. (You may have had the world’s biggest crush on Spencer Reid. But who didn’t?) You majored in criminal psychology just to prep yourself for your career. You were hopeful; all your professors said you were more than inclined to your chosen career path—you were born to be a profiler.

So, when the rejection email reached your inbox, the world was spinning. It sounded like the birds were laughing at you. Oh, you wanted to be an FBI agent? Oopsies, dream harder next time.

Your rejection left you to spiral until your friend, Jake, suggested you both work for the TSA at LAX. It wasn’t the best alternative to your dream job, but it was as close as you were gonna get.

Now, here you are sitting on the employee commuter bus, bumping shoulders with familiar people that you’ve seen on the very same bus for the past three years. The silence used to be eerie, going from rambunctious college students talking every chance they got to coworkers who were trying to squeeze a little extra shut-eye before their long days started.

When the bus rolled to a stop, you gave the driver a nod of gratitude and trudged your way through the backrooms. Everyone you passed by gave you a wave, which you returned, still too tired to manage any words. You walked into the TSA locker rooms and shoved your bag in, moving quick to make the meeting.

You slipped inside and took a seat toward the back. You felt a slap on your back. Wincing in shock, you turned to see Jake beaming at you.

“Hey, grumpy,” Jake said, bumping your shoulder with his as he sat by you. “You should be happier. The year’s almost over!”

You rolled your eyes. “As if 2025 is going to be any better than 2024. We’re gonna be sitting here with the same jobs, same pay, same life.”

“That’s by choice,” a new voice chimed. You glanced over to your right and saw Jay settle down next to you. “I got here a little later than both of you and I’ve had two promotions. I’d say you’re the one who wants to keep the same job.”

Jake shrugged. “It pays the bills just fine, and I’m looking to avoid any responsibilities for as long as I can.”

A chuckle left Jay as he sipped his coffee. “And you, Y/N? You really content where you’re at?”

You pursed your lips. Of course, you weren’t. But life never goes your way, so why bother trying to change that? Before you could respond, your supervisor began the day-shift meeting.

“Good morning, day shift TSOs. Good morning being more of a wishful thought ‘cause today is going to be another rough day for everyone. You sad, sad souls are spending your New Year’s Eve with me and about 200,000 eager—and, I mean, eager—travelers. As usual, these very anxious passengers will probably take their shitty emotions out on you. So, what do we say to that?”

“Enjoy your holidays,” everyone droned.

Your supervisor nodded with satisfaction. “Exactly. We’re not taking their bait, and we’re going to make sure everyone flies happy and safely. Capisce? All right, dismissed. Stay alert. Stay vigilant. And we’ll all make it out of here okay.”

The rest of your coworkers returned to their lockers, strapping up for their shifts. Jay and Jake followed you into the break room as you poured yourself a cup of coffee.

“Look, if you guys do want a change in 2025, I’ll go to bat for you. It should be no problem, considering you’ve both worked here for 3 years,” Jay offered.

Jake grinned and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll remember that for when I decide to become a full-fledged adult.”

Snickering at Jake’s reluctance to grow up, you sipped your coffee, almost groaning at the nice caffeine boost the liquid was promising.

“What about you, Y/N? Wanna switch up your 2025?” Jay asked curiously.

A change did seem appealing to you. However, you somehow doubted the promotion would go through. Life seemed to like playing with your emotions.

“I doubt Owens is gonna promote me,” you said pointedly. “I’m pretty sure he hates me ever since the Christmas party two years ago.”

Jay rounded to face you directly, placing his hands on your shoulders. “You trust me, right?”

You paused, acting as if it were a difficult question, before caving at Jay’s falling face. “Of course I do.”

He smiled. “Then, come with me to my meeting with Owens. Officer Smith is also going to be a part of it, and you know how he loves you.”

With two people backing you, surely life couldn’t mess this up. You nodded slowly, making Jake whoop and Jay shake you in excitement. “2025 is your year, Y/N. I can feel it.”

“Yeah, yeah, when’s the meeting?” A smile threatened to break your calm facade at the building hope of rebelling against fate. Jay checked his watch and looked at you. “Now, apparently.”

He turned you around and guided you to your supervisor’s office. “You got this, Y/N!” Jake hollered behind you.

Gosh, why were you so nervous? You’d never brought up a promotion before. But, it was like Jay said, right? Three years with no write-ups or negative reviews. No way he rejects it.

“Nope.”

Your jaw went slack, and any shrivel of hope that you had died. Jay looked just as shocked. Hell, even Officer Smith looked shocked.

“But, sir, Y/N’s an amazing TSO and has been with the TSA for three years with no complaints,” Jay sputtered.

Owens sighed. “Ask me on a different day. We’re expecting heavy foot traffic and I want leads on the scanners. I can’t afford any mishaps today.”

You didn’t know what it was. Was it anger at his easy dismissal? Was it frustration from the endless obstacles in your life? Whatever it was, it made you speak up. “With all due respect, sir, I’m more than capable of working the scanner. I ranked first in threat assessment, and I can spot a fake better than the officers.” Officer Smith seemed like he wanted to be offended but decided that it was true, nodding with you.

“I’m willing to prove it too. I’ll even put my job on the line. One mistake, you can fire me,” you huffed, shoulders rolled back.

Your supervisor peered down his nose at you, heavily contemplating. “The leads are on the scanners today. We don’t have the manpower to open another lane for you.”

“Give her my spot,” Jay interjected. He looked at the drawing board before shifting around the names. “That’ll free up a lead to work between D and E, keep us from bottlenecking.”

You sent a look of gratitude Jay’s way, then looked at Owens. It felt like days before he answered. “Alright, let’s see what you got.”

Suppressing your excitement, you gave him a stout nod. “Won’t let you down.”

When Owens dismissed the three of you, Jay threw his arm around your shoulder. “Looks like your 2025 is setting up to be a great year.”

You laughed, grabbing his hand that was hanging off your shoulder. “It’s thanks to you,” you said warmly.

He shook his head and ruffled your hair. “That was all you.”

You two returned to Jake with the good news, who yelled with joy, getting a couple of startled looks from your coworkers. Jay waved them off apologetically and slapped Jake upside the head, scolding him for being so loud. Man, did it feel good to finally have something go your way.

The signal to head to your stations rang, pushing the three of you to move out. As you moved past all the barrier dividers, Jake and Jay filed to their sections, wishing you luck.

You approached the scanners with a little pride in yourself. You nodded at your coworker and sat, logging on. You flipped the switch, and just like that, your trial promotion began.

Passengers loaded up their belongings in bins and let the belt carry them through the machine, allowing you to check for any discrepancies. After a couple of minutes, you felt more comfortable, settling deeper into your seat.

“Excuse me!”

You leaned away from the monitors to see a cute man smiling at you. God, was he all sunshine and rainbows for someone flying early.

“This isn’t mine,” he said, wiggling one of the smaller bins. You stopped the machine and approached him, taking the bin to see a curious earpiece. You glanced from the earpiece to the man. What the hell did he want you to do with this?

“Um, I’ll put this in the lost and found,” you said awkwardly. He just grinned at you before walking off. But as he walked away, your phone chimed.

Right ear. Do it now. Discreetly.

You gingerly inserted the ear comm into your right ear, static crackling until a voice spoke.

“Hello, Y/N. Listen very carefully. I need your help.”

Your lips quirked before you glanced around, trying to find your coworker. “Nice accent, Jake. I hope your mixtape is better than your prank or I’m getting rid of your special Australian coffee.”

“Jake is in lane one, auditioning for Korea’s Got Talent.” You turned and saw Jake dancing on top of a cart. “Looks like he might have a shot.”

Your eyes darted around to the other lanes and came up short. You couldn’t find the source of the voice.

He spoke again. “Just relax, Y/N. I need you to keep the line moving, so let’s head back to your seat, okay?”

You made eye contact with your supervisor, who peered at you suspiciously. Oh, crap. Quickly, you returned to the scanner and resumed the line. As the conveyor belt whirled to life, you shifted in your seat nervously.

“My name’s Special Agent Jungwon with the FBI. Be very careful with your reactions. Soon, there will be a man with some dangerous luggage moving through your line with a boarding pass for Korean Air 958 non-stop to Seoul. I need you to let him through,” Jungwon said.

You scoffed lightly. “That’s a joke, right? Why would an FBI agent want me to let a threat through?” You fidgeted with the scanner, manipulating the image of luggage on your screen to inspect the contents. Your attention flicked between the screen and beyond it, sorting through people strolling through the airport. Where could he be?

“It’s not a joke. I’m technically undercover as a mercenary that gets the job done, and the man I’m going to arrest is my client. I’m at the bar in Chili’s, by the way. I want you to see my air quotes.”

You zeroed in on the chain restaurant and saw the lone blond man in a black leather jacket. You could only see his broad back as he did air quotes with his left hand. Then, he continued to eat something. Fries?

“The man carrying the luggage isn’t the target. We believe he’s being threatened by the individual we’re trying to catch to be his pack mule. The man we’re trying to catch has already made it through TSA.”

He’s already in? Your heart began to race as you returned your attention to your job. “What’s in the bag?”

He hummed contemplatively. “That’s more of a need-to-know. The less you know, the easier it’ll be for you to act normal when the carry-on passes through.”

As the bins of items passed by your screen, you pressed your lips flat. “I think I have a pretty good poker face.”

“Very true. I bet you’re a nightmare to play poker with,” he jabbed playfully. “Okay, I’ll tell you. It’s a weapon.”

You huffed in disbelief. “No shit, Sherlock. We wouldn’t be playing telephone otherwise. What’s the weapon?”

You could hear him chuckle before he resumed munching on his fries. “Feisty. I can see why the FBI really didn’t want to let you go.”

You paused. How does he know about that?

“It’s a nerve agent—atrocious biochemical weapon, really—attached to a bomb. Or, at least, that’s what we’re guessing,” he replied. “According to the chatter, they’re planning to make a big boom in the sky. I guess they wanted bigger fireworks.”

You froze, tension blanketing every muscle fiber. “A bomb?”

“Don’t forget the nerve agent,” he tutted, chewing through his food. Those damn fries were starting to get on your nerves. If you wanted a mukbang ASMR while you worked, you would’ve chosen Tzuyang’s videos.

You got up to push the backed-up bins down the line. Your thoughts raced. A fucking bomb in the Los Angeles airport? You knew you should’ve called off today.

You could almost feel the cold glass of liquid going down your own throat as Jungwon took a gulp before speaking again. “What a way to spend New Year’s Eve, am I right? All these people rushing home to see their families, and you get to play agent like you’ve always wanted. Guess Santa came late this year.”

Your ears twitched. Again, how does he know about that? “You seem to know a lot about me, Special Agent.”

“Well, it’s not hard to look up a government worker. Pretty mild three years for you, huh? What—you applied, got rejected, and realized being a Level One TSA agent was your dream?” Jungwon prodded.

Your boots clacked heavily against the floor as you sat behind the monitor once again. You couldn’t help but glance at Jungwon, curious about what this irritating man’s face looked like.

“Just seemed like there was no point,” you murmured, analyzing the contents of the bags on screen. “If my aptitude tests didn’t get me in the first time, what would?”

Jungwon tsked, wiping the salt off his fingers. “Your aptitude tests. They were good—no, beyond good. You were a top scorer in almost every category except physical. No, I understand you. If near-perfect scores didn’t push you through, nothing could. If it helps you any, they had a real hard time choosing. I have the notes right in front of me.”

You paused. If they had such a hard time, why didn’t they just accept your application? You were bitter, of course. It was your dream, and they just rejected you—no explanation. Their email didn’t even have the corny “we wish you the best in your endeavors.” It seemed like they didn’t care if you applied again or not.

“Yeah? What does it say?” you asked, reserved.

“That you would be a damn good agent. I mean, wow. Did you really decipher the code in four minutes?” Jungwon whistled, impressed with what he was reading. “You set a record.”

You wanted to scoff. Set a record, and they let you go. That doesn’t really give you much hope. “Let’s get back to the real reason why we’re even talking.”

“Okay, still a bit of a sore spot for you. Noted. From what we’ve gathered, they’re exchanging hands right before they get on the flight. Apparently, the bomb has a failsafe code that only the man of the hour knows. He puts it in, and the bomb’s live.”

“That’s stupid. Is he trying to make himself a martyr?”

“Why, yes. Yes, he is. You’re quick. I think I’m going to like working with you, Agent Y/N,” Jungwon smiled, looking down at his half-eaten plate.

“Not an agent,” you bit back. They wouldn’t let you become one, you wanted to say. You let it rest on your tongue instead.

“If we catch the guy with no casualties, I’ll give you a stellar recommendation,” Jungwon chirped. “Now, look alive. I think our guy’s approaching.”

Your head whipped to see a tall man with headphones draped around his neck. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was another traveler just rushing to get to his gate. His shifty eyes told you otherwise.

“So, I just let him through?” you muttered, watching him place the carry-on on the belt.

Jungwon hummed. “Yes, ma’am. If you do anything but that, the man we’re closing in on will bolt.”

Pause. You felt stupid. Who’s to say Jungwon is who he says he is? What if he’s the terrorist? He could’ve gotten your application documents by hacking the system. You glanced at your coworker, who was focused on his own monitor, and then at Jungwon. Fuck. Where’d he go?

“Hey, hey. Calm down. I’m just making my way to your supervisor to give him a heads up,” Jungwon reassured. Your eyes trailed over to Owens, who was indeed talking to a blond man in a leather jacket.

When your supervisor looked over at you, you ducked your head and returned your focus back to the scanner.

Lo and behold. The carry-on was present on your screen. You leaned closer to stare at the mechanics. From what you could tell, the detonator was small, but it was linked to a block covered in small vials. C4 and the nerve agent was your guess. You let it pass your screen despite the glaring messages advising you to inspect the luggage.

You kept watching the suitcase until its owner picked it up just as carefully as he had placed it. He made eye contact with you. His eyes widened slightly before he looked away, a shaky hand extending the handle to drag it away. You were torn. On one hand, if you prevent this bomb from even getting near a plane, you could end this here. But, on the other hand, if what Jungwon said was true, you could be jeopardizing the lives of more people by letting a dangerous man go.

You stopped the machine and went to the end of the belt, acting like you were tidying the bins. In one of the bins this man used, something caught your eye, so you called after him. “Sir!”

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Jungwon asked warily through the earpiece.

“I’m supposed to just trust that you’re a real FBI agent? You could have a hacker feeding you all my information. Like you said, it’s not hard to look up a government employee,” you mumbled, looking at the pack mule through your brows.

“A little late to be speculating, Y/N.” You could hear Jungwon’s anxious chuckle through the earpiece. “I promise that I’m not the bad guy. Just take a leap of faith. You’ll get your proof in a second.”

A leap of faith? He’s asking you to put the lives of all these passengers on a gut instinct? You watched the man with the suitcase slowly walk over to you. You only had a split second to decide. Why did you want to trust this man? Your gut was gnawing at you, begging you to trust this mysterious individual in your ear.

You reached into the bin and pulled out the boarding pass he left behind. “Your boarding pass, Mr…” You glanced at the pass, trying to absorb the information. “Nishimura.”

The man let out what you assumed to be a sigh of relief. He offered you an awkward bow before taking the boarding pass in your hand and hurrying away.

“Y/N.” You swiveled around to see Owens looking at you disappointedly. “You’re out.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tilted your head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you—”

“You’re off the job.”

Your eyes felt like they were about to roll out of their sockets with how wide they grew. “What do you mean I’m off the job? I haven’t even made a mistake.”

Owens motioned Jay over, who looked confused as he jogged to you. Jay slid through the barriers and pulled up beside Owens. “Jay, you’re back on the scanner today.”

“I don’t understand. Aren’t you at least going to tell me why you’re pulling me?” you almost shouted. You’re in public, in a place where inducing mass panic was easy. You let Owens pull you away from the scanner and Jay. You looked back at your friend. Jay held his hands out in question. You could only mouth to him, I don’t know.

Owens brought you to his box, where Jungwon was waiting expectantly. No fucking way. This motherfucker set you up.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Jungwon said without the playful tone you’d come to know. “Is there an examination room we can hold her in until my partner gets here?”

Owens dragged you behind him as he marched into the hall where the search rooms were. You looked between him and Jungwon, both of whom refused to even spare you a glance. Desperation and confusion built up in your chest. Why the hell are you being arrested right now? For letting a bomb through? A bomb that this supposed special agent told you to let through? That’s what you get for blindly trusting someone. Man, your survival instincts sucked. Maybe it was a good thing you weren’t accepted to be an FBI agent. But something about Jungwon made you feel safe, safe enough to just take him at his word.

Once you entered the room, your supervisor released you. You spun to face the two of them, about to ask what was going on when Owens took the words right out of your mouth. “What the hell is going on in my airport?”

Jungwon leaned against the table, crossing his arms, a serious look adorning his face. “There’s a dangerous individual that we’re trying to catch. The only way to arrest him and make sure the charges stick is if he has the carry-on in his possession. They’re making a trade before the plane boards.”

Huh? Oh. Oh! You weren’t being arrested.

“And why did you have me pull Y/N? Make it seem like she was fired?”

Jungwon sighed. “Unfortunately, there’s a contingency plan in place to kill Y/N after she let the carry-on through. To my client’s knowledge, I’m taking care of her right now.”

Rubbing his face, Owens let out a groan. “Why wasn’t TSA made aware of this?”

“We believe he has someone capable of intercepting emails or calls. We couldn’t take the chance. This man has slipped through our fingers on technicalities far too many times.”

Wow, that really makes you wonder how competent government agencies are.

“So, I’m down a TSO, and I can’t alert anyone about the threat?” Owens was exasperated. You’d never seen the man so aged before.

Jungwon nodded, checking his watch. “It’s imperative you act like everything is normal. Obviously, you can attribute your stress to Y/N getting arrested, but, other than that, you have to carry on. Business as usual.”

“And me?” you asked. “What am I supposed to do? Wait here?”

Jungwon’s eyes met yours. You could almost see the mirth enter his eyes. “Nope. You’ll be helping me and my guys catch the perp.”

You and Owens must’ve synced up at some point because your jaws dropped simultaneously. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t expect me to trust Y/N—no offense—with an operation like this,” Owens squeaked, sweat beading at his temples.

Jungwon leaned closer to your supervisor with cat-like eyes. “But you trust me, yes?”

“Hardly,” Owens muttered. You found yourself nodding in agreement. Who the hell was this guy? Was every special agent as unhinged as him?

A pout formed on Jungwon’s lips. “Fine. You trust the FBI, right?”

Your supervisor nodded reluctantly. Jungwon raised an eyebrow with a smirk before straightening his posture. “Then, trust that I’m making the best calls that I can to ensure everyone’s safety. Now, I think you’ve been here for far too long.”

Jungwon started shooing your boss away, opening the door for him. “I’ll keep her safe,” Jungwon called after him and shut the door without giving you much time to process any of it. He looked at you with a wide grin and clapped his hands together. “Now! Let’s get started, shall we?”

You looked at him suspiciously. “What exactly did you want me for?”

“Well, I needed someone who has the codes to the backrooms so I can move around freely. Plus, I saved your life, didn’t I?” Jungwon replied like it was obvious. When you kept eyeing him with distrust, he puffed out his cheeks. “Okay, maybe I also wanted to see how you’d do as an FBI agent.”

Your jaw just couldn’t stop dropping today. “You’re risking the safety of 200,000 people on a gamble? To see if I’m any good? Are you insane?”

“Hey! That’s what Sunoo said too!” Jungwon pointed at you in joyful shock.

You clenched your jaw, trying to contain your increasing frustration for the man in front of you. “200,000 lives in the hands of a freaking child,” you scoffed in disbelief. This is the type of person they let into the FBI? Was he even in the FBI?

“How did you even get Owens to play along with you?” you gritted out. Jungwon looked up from his phone. You watched him, unimpressed, as he patted himself down before pulling out a badge. He flashed the FBI identification at you with a grin. “This pretty much did all the talking,” Jungwon said. “Had to be discreet, though. I slipped it to him in a Chili’s takeout container with a napkin with the general plan on it.”

“That’s incredibly risky for someone that’s undercover,” you pointed out. “What if your client searched you?”

Jungwon tilted his head thoughtfully. “I would’ve had to lie my ass off and say it was a fake for the plan but, thankfully, he’s not as paranoid as he should be for a bomber.”

His nonchalance made your head spin. Was this guy for real? Are you in the Twilight Zone? You couldn’t help but feel like you were stuck in an action comedy as the comic-relief sidekick whose plot armor was faulty.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Jungwon began, pulling out a folded napkin that had oil stains here and there. This couldn’t be what he gave to Owens, right? “My client thinks I’m in here tying up loose ends. That gives me time to intercept the handoff. You…” He paused, giving you an appraising look, “are going to help me keep track of our guy and make sure he doesn’t do anything crazy like kill a civilian.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” you said flatly, arms crossed. “I confiscate oversized toothpaste, Jungwon. What makes you think I have the stealth training for this?”

“Your aptitude tests. Plus, you ranked first in TSA’s threat assessment,” he countered, smirking. “Look at you, overachiever.”

You wanted to argue, but you had to trust him, even if that meant trusting yourself. This was stuff you used to dream about—being a part of the FBI and taking down terrorists. The little girl that wasn’t marred by life’s letdowns was jumping for joy, while the adult you was freaking out about the implications of the whole thing.

“Fine,” you said reluctantly. “Where do you need me?”

Jungwon’s grin widened. “Atta girl! First, we need to make sure Mr. Pack Mule doesn’t get cold feet and bolt. I need you to tail him through the terminal while I call for backup.”

“You’re doing all this without backup?” you weren’t sure whether to laugh or panic.

“I had you! And the rest of the TSA,” Jungwon said, shrugging. “I don’t really know. My boss cleared the plan.”

The FBI was run by a bunch of idiots. “So, you want me, the TSO still very much in her uniform, to tail a man that has seen my face?”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that,” Jungwon said, tapping his chin. “Just go change into your normal clothes.”

“I have no normal clothes, Jungwon,” you deadpanned. “I came in my work clothes.”

Jungwon gasped, bringing his fist to his mouth in shock. “But what about after-work plans? You know, New Year’s Eve? A boyfriend? A girlfriend?”

This mother— “I don’t have any after-work plans,” you gritted out. You were so close to damning all these passengers.

“Don’t you guys have a lost and found or something? For bags that were never picked up?” Jungwon asked.

“Yes, but do we even have the time?” You were skeptical. All of this felt like a big prank, like John Quiñones was about to pop out.

He glanced down at his watch. “It’s 11:11. Hey! Make a wish!”

You wished that he’d stop acting like this was just another day. For goodness' sake, people’s lives were at stake. When Jungwon peeked an eye open and noticed you weren’t making a wish, he cleared his throat. “Tough crowd. Well, do you remember what his boarding pass said?”

You thought back to the moment you handed off the boarding pass to Riki Nishimura. “His flight’s at 14:00.”

Jungwon smiled and clapped his hands. “Then we’ve got plenty of time. Let’s go shopping!”

When he opened the door and stepped out, you dragged along. “This is how people miss their flights,” you muttered.

You followed Jungwon out of the holding room, unsure whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of your situation. Jungwon, with confident strides and ever-present grin, walked like there wasn’t a threat of mass murder, while you trailed behind, wondering if you were a part of a special Truman Show segment.

The TSA lost-and-found was tucked away in the back of the back rooms. Jungwon strolled in, waving to the confused staffers who were trying to figure out who he was. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Nothing out of the ordinary to see here. This excellent TSO is just helping me relocate my luggage.”

The employees exchanged glances, unsure whether to stop him or let him proceed. “Uh… you’re not allowed to be back here,” one of them said hesitantly.

With bright eyes, Jungwon looked at you expectantly. What the hell was he looking at you—oh. You brought out your badge, which Jungwon snatched. He held it up with a flourish, not waiting for a response before walking straight to the pile of abandoned suitcases. “Come on, Y/N, pick one out. Which suitcase do you think would have stuff in your size?”

You hesitated before stepping into the storage area. You saw battered-up grey suitcases, along with red and blue ones. You gingerly pulled a large pink one with an obnoxious amount of stickers, careful to keep the pile intact. Putting it down, you knelt to open it. Now, if this were any other day, you would’ve been shocked at the contents inside. But, observing the trends for today, you weren’t surprised that men’s clothing was staring back at you—edgy, cyberpunk clothes at that.

“Nice choice,” Jungwon said approvingly, peering over your shoulder. “You just look like every other fashionista in this airport!”

You glared at him as he smirked. “You’re enjoying this way too much. Isn’t the whole point of me changing not to draw attention?”

“This aesthetic draws attention to the clothes, not the face,” Jungwon replied, picking up a pair of sunglasses from the luggage. “Plus, these glasses will give you total anonymity.��

Rolling your eyes, you hid behind some pillars and changed quickly. Once you appeared, Jungwon whistled. "Maybe you should take this for those after-work plans.”

Your fist was itching to make that connecting flight into his face. His stupid, nonchalant, good-looking face. Before you could become a MMA, a job you didn’t realize was appealing until you met Jungwon, he gave you a quick rundown. “Alright, here’s the plan. Our guy is likely going to wander the terminal until he gets the signal to meet the main perp. He can’t afford to look suspicious, so he’ll be moving like any regular passenger—well, as best as he can under duress—checking his phone, grabbing a coffee, maybe even sitting down to wait. You’ll follow him, but keep your distance. Blend in. Act like you’re just another traveler.”

“And what about you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I’ll be coordinating with my backup team and keeping an eye on you through the cameras,” Jungwon replied, tapping his phone. “Don’t worry, I’ll be watching your every move.”

“Great,” you muttered. “So, what happens if I get caught?”

Jungwon gave you a mischievous grin. “Then I guess we’ll find out how good your improv skills are. Think of it as your audition for future undercover missions with the FBI.”

You’d get arrested for murder before you ever reapplied for that damned government agency. You could feel your eye twitching at the sight of Jungwon.

With that, he escorted you out of the lost-and-found and into the bustling terminal. Before he shut the door, he gave you a thumbs up. “I’ll be communicating with you through the earpiece I gave you. Remember to not look like you’re talking to air. That tends to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

Breathe, Y/N. You can’t beat the FBI agent’s ass as much as you wanted to. Once the door closed, you scanned the area until you spotted Riki Nishimura sitting at a café, sipping a coffee and scrolling through his phone. It didn’t take long; the man’s nervous energy made him stick out like a sore thumb. You took a deep breath and moved into the flow of travelers, keeping your eyes on him without being obvious.

You situated yourself in one of the eating areas across from the café, pulling out your phone to act as if you were just another passenger waiting for her flight. Jungwon’s voice crackled in your ear. “You’re doing great, Y/N. Keep it up. Remember, don’t get too close!”

No shit. “I know,” you whispered, trying not to look like a schizophrenic as you stole glances at Nishimura. He seemed jittery; every so often, he glanced over his shoulder or scanned the crowd, as if he could sense he was being watched.

After what felt like an eternity, Nishimura got up and made his way toward a quieter part of the terminal, away from the main crowds. Your heart raced as you followed him into the area near Gate 54, where only a handful of passengers were sitting.

Jungwon’s voice came through again. “Heads up, Y/N. This is likely where the handoff will happen. Stay sharp. My backup team is on its way, but we need to make sure we catch the mastermind with the suitcase in hand.”

Mastermind? This is nothing like Criminal Minds. What you wouldn’t give to watch an episode right now.

You found a seat nearby, pretending to check your phone as you kept an eye on Nishimura. He placed his suitcase by his feet and sat down, fidgeting nervously. When you moved closer, he glanced up, his eyes widening slightly. You froze, panic flaring in your chest. Did he know? Did he suspect something? His eyes darted back down to his phone that he was clutching tightly.

You put your phone up to your ear, speaking in hushed tones. “Jungwon, he’s definitely spooked. He looks like he’s about to pass out.”

“Maybe having a pretty girl near him made him more nervous." Jungwon teased. You could feel your vein pulsing against your skin, wanting to pop out at his comment. For God’s sake, man, there was a bomb a couple of feet in front of you. You’d think he’d act a little more professional.

“Relax, Y/N,” Jungwon continued. “He’s scared out of his mind, which means he’ll follow orders to the letter. Just stay close. If he deviates from the plan, we’ll know something’s up.”

A few minutes later, another man approached him—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a sharp suit and dark glasses. They exchanged a brief nod before the man sat down beside him.

Your pulse quickened as you tried to hear their conversation without getting too close. Jungwon’s voice buzzed in your ear. “Wait. That’s not my client. Hold your position.”

You watched as the man in the suit handed Nishimura a piece of paper, likely the code to activate the bomb. Nishimura hesitated before slipping it into his pocket, looking around nervously. You swallowed hard, your heart thundering in your chest. Nishimura sat stiffly, his foot tapping an erratic rhythm on the floor. The man in the suit nodded and stood.

“They’re splitting up,” you hissed. “The suit’s heading toward the bathrooms. Nishimura’s staying put.”

“Stay on Nishimura,” Jungwon instructed. “We’ve got agents heading to the bathroom.”

You discretely nodded, moving casually toward a column near Nishimura’s seat. You leaned against it, pretending to check your phone, but your entire focus was on the nervous man gripping his suitcase like a lifeline. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze flickering between the boarding line and the bathroom entrance. Then, he stood up, carefully weaving through the rushing travelers.

“Nishimura’s on the move. I think he’s moving to a different gate,” you reported, stretching widely to peer at the nervous man’s retreating back.

“Follow him,” Jungwon’s voice crackled. “He’s probably meeting with the man we’re trying to apprehend.”

“Copy that,” you muttered, your stomach twisting with nerves. You pushed off the column and strode to catch up the pack mule, keeping your movements purposeful but unhurried. As your target slipped into Gate 32’s waiting area, you slowed your pace, choosing to stay further this time. This guy was definitely going to be able to tell the girl in cyberpunk clothing is following him—you’re the only one in this damn airport not in sweats.

You saw him sit by the window, situating the luggage a seat away from him. Your heart pounded as you carefully positioned yourself behind a small cluster of passengers, trying to blend in. You could feel your palms growing clammy, your mind racing with the possibilities. Who was he waiting for now? Was the so called mastermind going to show up here?

Jungwon’s voice broke through the static in your earpiece. “Good job keeping a low profile. I almost have everyone in position. Backup is securing the rest of the terminal, but we need to ensure the guy is caught in the act. Keep your eyes on Nishimura, but don’t make direct eye contact.”

“Easier said than done,” you muttered, adjusting your position so you had a clear view of Nishimura. He was fidgeting again, his leg bouncing as he clutched his phone tightly. Every so often, his gaze darted toward the main concourse, scanning the faces of the passing travelers.

A few minutes later, a man in a dark trench coat entered the waiting area, his presence exuding quiet authority. He was calm, composed, and utterly nondescript—except for the piercing look in his eyes as he locked onto Nishimura. Your breath caught as you realized this must be him.

“Jungwon, we have a new player,” you whispered, trying not to draw attention to yourself. “Trench coat. Looks calm, but he’s definitely the one in charge. He’s making his way to Nishimura now.”

Jungwon responded almost instantly. “I’ve got eyes on him. That’s the guy that paid for my services. Stay put. If things go south, I’ll move in.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice. All you could do was watch as the man in the trenchcoat approached Nishimura, who stood up immediately, looking like a deer caught in headlights. The man sat down next to him, gesturing subtly toward the suitcase. Nishimura hesitated before nodding and sliding the luggage closer to the man.

He leaned in, his lips moving as he whispered something to Nishimura. You wished you could hear what they were saying. Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, tension coiling in your chest. You watched Nishimura slip the man the piece of paper the suited man gave him. This was it. The moment of truth.

Jungwon’s voice came through again, more serious now. “They’re making the handoff. Stay sharp. When the trench coat takes the suitcase, we move in. I’ll need you to help direct the crowd away from the gate. We can’t risk a panic.”

You nodded subtly, your muscles tensing as you prepared for what was about to happen. The man finally reached down, his hand brushing against the handle of the suitcase. Time seemed to slow as he lifted it, his expression calm and unbothered.

“Now!” Jungwon’s voice barked in your ear.

Before you could fully process what was happening, Jungwon appeared out of an "Authorized Personnel Only” door, moving with the precision and speed of a predator. You expected this to go as planned: the man arrested, the suitcase secured, passengers safe. But life, as you well knew, didn’t always go as planned.

The trenchcoat man, faster and more perceptive than you anticipated, spotted Jungwon as he closed in. His eyes narrowed as his gaze swept the terminal—and then locked onto you. Time seemed to freeze as he looked at you curiously, the faintest curl of a smirk forming on his lips.

“He’s spotted me,” you hissed into the comms, your heart thundering.

Before Jungwon could reach him, he grabbed the suitcase, shoved Nishimura aside, and bolted toward the exit. Passengers screamed and scattered as the man shoved his way through the crowd, the suitcase clutched tightly in his hand.

“Shit!” Jungwon growled into your earpiece. “Y/N, stay back! We can’t risk him detonating it here.”

But you weren’t about to let the mastermind vanish into thin air. Not with the suitcase. Not with the bomb.

“I can stop him!” you shot back, already moving. Your instincts overrode Jungwon’s command as you tore after the fleeing man, weaving through panicked travelers.

“Y/N, stop! I’m serious—let him go! I’ll catch him!” Jungwon’s voice cracked with frustration, but you ignored it, your focus locked on the man ahead of you.

He was fast, but fear fueled your adrenaline, and you gained on him as he burst through a side door marked “Authorized Personnel Only." You followed without hesitation, emerging into a service hallway dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights. The cold, industrial smell hit your nose as the sound of his footsteps echoed sharply against the walls.

“Damn it, Y/N!” Jungwon growled into your earpiece. “He’s armed, and you’re unarmed! Wait for backup!”

“I’m not letting him get away,” you shot back, pushing yourself harder. Every instinct screamed at you to stop him, to end this here before the situation spiraled further out of control.

You chased him down a narrow corridor that opened into a large, bustling luggage distribution area—a maze of conveyor belts and sorting systems moving suitcases toward their respective flights. The constant whir of machinery mixed with the distant chatter of workers in reflective vests, creating a cacophony of noise.

The mastermind didn’t hesitate. He vaulted over a conveyor belt, landing with a thud on the other side, the suitcase clutched tightly in his hand. You didn’t break stride, leaping onto the conveyor belt and running along it to keep up. Thank goodness you did high school track.

“He’s heading into the service tunnels,” you reported breathlessly, shoving through a side door marked "Authorized Personnel Only." The dim fluorescent lights flickered as you ran down the narrow hallway, catching a glimpse of his trench coat as he rounded a corner.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Jungwon growled in your ear. “You’re not an agent. If you push him, he’ll press the button. Stand down, Y/N!”

“You made this gamble, so trust me!” you shot back, determination coursing through you. Your boots pounded against the linoleum as you followed him into the luggage distribution area—a sprawling maze of conveyor belts and baggage carts.

The clatter of machinery was deafening, the air filled with the whir of belts and the rumble of luggage being sorted. Workers froze in confusion as the man vaulted over a conveyor belt, suitcase clutched tightly in his hand. Without hesitation, you climbed onto the belt, running along it to keep pace.

He glanced back, his wild eyes locking onto yours. When he saw you gaining on him, his lips twisted into a cruel smile. He jumped down from the belt and spun to face you, pulling something from his coat. Your stomach dropped as he revealed a small device—the detonator.

“Stop right there!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. His thumb hovered over the button, his hand steady. “One more step, and we all die.”

You skidded to a halt, your hands instinctively raising. Every muscle in your body screamed to act, but the detonator left no room for error.

“Drop the suitcase,” you ordered, keeping your voice calm. “You don’t have to do this.”

The man’s laugh was cold and bitter. “Oh, I think I do. This isn’t just a bomb—it’s justice.”

Your gaze flickered to the suitcase, your heart pounding. The deadly nerve agent would get in the vents and spread the toxin across the airport if you let him detonate it. The death toll wouldn’t just be in the hundreds—it would be catastrophic.

“You think killing innocent people is justice?” you demanded. “You’ll slaughter thousands of people who have nothing to do with your ‘cause.’”

“Innocent?” he sneered, his voice filled with venom. “There’s nothing innocent about propping up a system that rewards greed and stomps on the poor. You know who’s on that plane? The golden child of Samsung himself. The heir to Korea’s wealthiest dynasty. When he dies, the entire country will feel it. His death will send a message that no amount of money can ignore.”

Your breath hitched. You’d read about the CEO’s son earlier, how he was traveling to Seoul on that plane. He was young, charismatic, projected to inherit the company and continue its dominance over South Korea’s economy. His death would undoubtedly send shockwaves through the nation—but at what cost?

“And you think this is the answer?” you shot back, anger lacing your voice. “Killing hundreds of innocent passengers just to take out one man? That’s not justice—that’s cowardice.”

“Cowardice?” he spat, his eyes blazing. “What do you know about the lives people like me live? Scraping by, drowning in debt, while they sip champagne in their sky-high towers? Korea will never be free of its wealth disparity unless someone forces change. And we’re that someone.”

“Y/N,” Jungwon’s voice came through your earpiece, tight with urgency. “Keep him talking. We’ve jammed the detonator signal, but I need more time to get there.”

You swallowed hard, taking a step closer. “And what happens when this ‘change’ you’re forcing costs thousands of lives? No one will listen to your message—they’ll just see you as a terrorist.”

“Let them,” he said with a chilling smirk. “They’ll remember my name, and our cause will have its audience.”

His thumb pressed down on the detonator. For a split second, your heart stopped—but the bomb didn’t detonate. The device let out a sharp beep, its signal blocked. His eyes widened in confusion as he pressed it again, then again. Nothing.

“Performance anxiety,” Jungwon’s voice echoed. “It happens all the time. Take him down.”

But instead of panicking, the man began to laugh—a low, sinister sound that sent a chill down your spine. He dropped the detonator to the floor and slowly crouched to open the suitcase.

From the suitcase, he pulled out a folded piece of paper—the same one Nishimura had handed him earlier. He held it up, waving it in the air like a trophy. “You thought this was over?” he taunted. “This is the manual override. A simple code, and the bomb goes live. No signal needed.”

“Put the paper down,” you ordered, your voice shaking with barely contained fear.

Jungwon appeared in your peripheral, gun pointed at the bomber. The man smirked, tucking the paper into his coat as he held the suitcase in front of him like a shield. “Go ahead,” he said, his tone mocking. “Shoot me. Let’s see how good your aim is. One bullet in the wrong place, and this thing goes off right here. Do you want to kill 200,000 people or just 250? Your call, TSA.”

“Y/N, don’t,” Jungwon warned, his voice sharp. “He’s baiting you.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides as the man continued, his voice dripping with malice. “The clock’s ticking, sweetheart. Let me go, and only one plane goes down. Stop me, and everyone here dies. Are you really ready to play God?”

Your mind raced, your pulse thundering in your ears. You couldn’t let him leave, but you couldn’t risk setting off the bomb, either. The nerve agent wouldn’t just kill those in the immediate area—it would spread like wildfire, a silent killer that spared no one.

“Y/N,” Jungwon’s voice broke through your panic. “Backup is in position. Keep distracting him so they can take the shot.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay calm. “You talk a lot about justice,” you said, keeping your voice steady. “But all I see is a man willing to bring suffering to innocent people all because he was dealt a bad hand in life. Get in fucking line. You think killing people will solve anything? You’re not a hero. You’re a coward.”

His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, and that was all they needed. A single, deafening gunshot rang out, and the man crumpled to the ground, the suitcase slipping from his grasp. Jungwon stood by you moments later, flanked by agents who quickly secured the suitcase and retrieved the override code.

You exhaled shakily, your legs threatening to give out beneath you as the adrenaline drained from your body. Jungwon clapped a hand on your shoulder, his expression a mix of relief and admiration.

“You did good, Y/N,” he said softly. “Better than good.”

The bomber was dragged away in cuffs, still spewing his venomous ideology as the agents hauled him out of the luggage distribution area. The suitcase was carefully handled by the bomb squad, its contents secured in a reinforced containment unit. You watched as they loaded it into a waiting hazmat vehicle, the reality of what you’d just prevented finally sinking in.

Jungwon stood beside you, his hands on his hips, as he let out a long exhale. “Well,” he said, his tone light but tinged with exhaustion, “I’d say that’s one way to spend New Year’s Eve.”

You let out a breathy laugh, the tension in your chest easing for the first time all day. “Not exactly how I planned to ring in the new year.”

He glanced at you with a sly grin. “You mean this wasn’t on your Pinterest board? Saving 200,000 lives and wrestling a suitcase full of nerve agent from a madman?”

“Must’ve slipped my mind,” you deadpanned, though the corners of your lips twitched upward.

Jungwon chuckled, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You know,” he said, tilting his head toward you, “you’d make a damn good FBI agent. You’ve got the instincts, the guts, the whole package. You sure you don’t want to reconsider applying again?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, crossing your arms. “You still planning to write me that stellar recommendation you promised?”

He smirked, his gaze dropping to the ground briefly before returning to you. “Guess I’ll have to now, huh? Not sure my conscience could handle letting someone like you go to waste at the TSA.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the weight of what you’d just accomplished hanging in the air. The distant hum of the hazmat vehicle and the fading chatter of agents were the only sounds, but neither of you moved. For a moment, you both stood there, reflecting on how close the crisis had come to unfolding—and how thankful you were that it hadn’t.

Jungwon broke the silence first, his voice quieter now. “You know… I don’t really do New Year’s resolutions. But after today, I’m thinking I might try something new.”

You glanced at him, curious. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

He turned to you fully, his expression soft but tinged with that playful glint you were beginning to recognize. “Like asking someone out who just prevented the death of thousands. Someone who, I don’t know, might be free tonight.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the shift in tone. “Are you seriously asking me out right now?”

He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey, after the day we just had, I figure the least I can do is offer to be your after-work plans. You know, in case you don’t have any.”

You fixed him with a pointed look, letting the silence stretch just long enough for him to fidget uncomfortably. “After everything you put me through today?” you finally said, your voice deadpan.

Jungwon’s confidence wavered, and for a split second, he looked genuinely unsure of himself. But before he could start rambling, you let a small smile break through.

“Fine,” you said, rolling your eyes playfully. “You can be my after-work plans.”

His grin widened instantly, a mix of relief and triumph lighting up his face. “See? I knew you couldn’t resist my charm.”

“Don’t push it,” you warned, though your smile softened the words.

As the hazmat vehicle pulled away, Jungwon leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You know, we stopped a pretty big bang from happening today,” he said with a teasing glint in his eye. “Maybe tonight we can see a different kind of bang in the sky. Fireworks, of course.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “If that’s your idea of flirting, you really need to work on your technique.”

Jungwon laughed, the sound warm and genuine as he fell into step beside you. “Fair enough. I’ll try to impress you with my conversational skills over dinner.”

“Dinner, huh?” you said, arching a brow as the two of you walked toward the terminal exit. “You sure you can handle that much pressure?”

“After today?” He glanced at you with a grin. “I think I can handle anything.”

And as you stepped out into the crisp evening air, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this new year was off to a better start than you ever could’ve imagined and your dream was just within your reach.

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction. ✧ comments and reblogs are appreciated! ✧ give my other works a read too! come by and chat!

#enhypen #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #⍣ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚: writes #⍣ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚: one shot

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