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Tzuyu: I apologized to Jun

Tzuyu: and I wanted to apologize to you again, and say thank you for being patient with me. You were right about everything.

Minghao: it’s alright, Tzuyu

Minghao: I hope you learned something, at least

Minghao: but if you ever pull something like that again…

So, they’re friends.

Friends who kiss each other sometimes—okay, maybe just the two times—but friends nonetheless.

Jun calls her not every night, but every few, and they talk a while before bed. It’s usually silly stories or letting off steam from frustrations of the day. Hearing his voice, and the sincerity and affection in it is the sweetest part, though. He asks her generic things like if she’s eaten and particular things, like if she’s talked to her mom and how her group members are doing, and they speak of their concerns and frustrations and fears, not every time, but often at the end.

And for Jun, every day is a bit more of a salve. Where was once an open wound is healing bit by bit, with every caring word of hers and story told without misgivings. It’s not perfect but it’s progress.

His ego is not what any sane person would term fragile, but still, his trust is shaken. Logically, he knows that what she did had altruistic intentions. But logic doesn’t seem to prevail over pesky automatic emotions, and his gut still pains when he thinks about what happened in a way that he hates to admit means that he’s not past it.

But still, it is strange, the fact that they’re friends and they know how the other feels and that it’s just a freeform, floating arrangement. But they’re navigating a tricky thing in a situation for which there is no manual, and so strange will have to do for now.

There’s a slice of time between Seventeen’s promotions and before their Asia tour begins, and just before Twice is off to KCON where the two groups manage to cobble together a movie night. It’s the first time they’ve all been able to meet up since the birthday party nearly two months ago. It’s one last hurrah post-promotions and pre-tour, before they’ll be far-flung for a month. The girls all bring their pajamas along, lest they be captured in pajamas in public on their journey over, and so that they can be comfortable. It lends itself well to a feeling of familiarity between the two groups.

At the front door, Seungcheol greets them in a onesie. The girls break into titters at the sight of him in his footsies and hood.

“What?” he asks to their giggles.

“Seungcheol you are very… special,” Nayeon says with a pat to his shoulder and laughter peppering her speech, before she steps past him into the living room and the others follow.

There’s a miniature wave as the boys move to greet them in the entryway, exchanging greetings and bows and some hugs. Jun ruffles Tzuyu’s hair, despite her protests, and Minghao gives her a knowing look before pulling her into a hug that turns into a headlock.

The sound of Chaeyoung whining catches their attention and the three of them turn to see Wonwoo and Mingyu making a Chae sandwich.

“You guys are so embarrassing,” Chaeyoung grumbles when they let her go, eyes darting over to Vernon for such a tiny moment that Tzuyu’s sure she’s the only one who saw it. Vernon for one is talking to Dahyun, the pair of them having been friends since they appeared together on a TV show some months ago.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” Seungcheol says to Tzuyu, approaching her just as Jun and Minghao make to greet others.

“Uh,” Tzuyu replies, giving him another once-over, noticing that his onesie is decorated with tiny clouds, shooting stars, and yawning moons. She reminds herself once more that he is, in fact, four years older than her. “Same to you.”

“Don’t sound so convincing, now,” Seungcheol retorts, raising his eyebrows. “And you can’t fool me. I know that you think my jammies are totally awesome. Aren’t they, Joshua?”

Joshua’s been standing nearby talking to Nayeon, and Seungcheol must see it fit to drag him in for confirmation.

“Err..” Joshua hesitates, his manners and respect for his friends cut through by his true feelings.

“Seungcheol, I thought you said you didn’t need validation from others?” Nayeon interjects to save Joshua.

“I don’t need it,” Seungcheol counters.

“I think it may be time for us to get changed,” Tzuyu says, looping her arm through Jungyeon’s nearby and dragging her away from her conversation. If they wait for Seungcheol and Nayeon to stop bickering they may be waiting forever.

“I hope this movie isn’t too scary,” Momo says nervously as she pulls a sweater over her head, turning to the mirror to arrange her mussed hair.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I’ll protect you,” Dahyun says, slinging her arms around Momo’s shoulders from the side in a semblance of a hug.

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe this. I forgot pants!” Sana interjects in misery as everyone’s in various stages of changing; she holds up a shirt and sweater, which are Decidedly Not Pants.

“It’s ok, just ask one of the guys for one,” Nayeon says as she shimmies into her own pajamas.

“No way!” Sana replies, stricken at the mere thought. Before she can protest too much, Tzuyu pokes her head out of the door.

“Can anyone lend Sana some pajama pants?” she asks to the guys, most of whom are perched on the couch in an uncanny likeness of birds on a telephone wire.

“I got it.” Wonwoo pops up from his seat, deviating from his usual slow and subdued manner.

In the background Sana admonishes her, and a devious smile graces Tzuyu’s lips. Sana can thank her later.

Tzuyu’s on the couch beside Jihyo, who seems exceedingly distracted at the moment (possibly from Dokyeom sitting beside her, but that’s just a hunch), and Jun sits below her on the floor. She lets her fingers play absently through his hair, dragging her nails along his scalp from time to time. Without all the hairspray it’s actually quite soft, and she takes enjoyment from mussing it up into a ridiculous windswept look only to smooth it back down again. Occasionally she skates her fingers down the back of his neck, delighting in the goose bumps that rise at her touch.

Tzuyu’s seen this movie some years ago so she takes the opportunity to surreptitiously people-watch the group. Momo’s clutching onto one of Mina’s arms while Hoshi is clutching to the other, both wide-eyed in abject rapture, and Nayeon has managed to convince Jeonghan to let her braid his hair (though perhaps it’s the other way around and Jeonghan has conned her into it; Tzuyu wouldn’t put it past him).

Midway through the movie, Tzuyu uses the bathroom and on the way out she checks her reflection. What she sees in the mirror is a nearly-bare face and mussed hair. She smiles, scrunching up her hair and face with her hands. It’s liberating to not have to think of how she looks for a small stretch of time.

As she exits, Jun just so conveniently happens to be passing by. Too conveniently, actually.

He takes her by the hand, whispering, ‘come with me,’ as he does. A brief glance to the living room shows the group enraptured in the movie, the light of the screen illuminating their faces in the darkness of the dorm, and then she is being turned rather against her will to be towed behind Jun.

He pulls her to a bedroom—probably his—shutting the door quietly behind him. The lock click is tiny but poignant.

“What’s going on?” she asks, but her heart thudding in her chest tells her the likely answer before he even has to say it.

And then he is kissing her, and it is more heady and frantic than the ones before, and it is burning more so than soaring and this is… this is… euphoric and amazing and she is backpedaling until the back of her legs hits the bedframe, possibly his bedframe, and she falls back onto it, her hand catching his.

And he looks so, so determined when he moves forward, over, and this is so much more than she could ever, would ever have thought would happen today (not that she didn’t entertain the possibility, but still, there are 22 other prying eyes just beyond the bedroom door).

Because after 30 minutes of her applying and relieving pressure to his skin, dragging her fingernails across his scalp, her fingertips barely brushing the skin of his nape, inside him has arisen this need, urgent and welling, and damn if being alone like this isn’t the right thing for it.

And so like this, they tangle, and inside it is all molten and unfurling, and it is everywhere, everywhere. Her fingers have pressed up his shirt to hold fast to the skin of his back and it is all warmth and movement between them.

Then he pulls back, ever so slightly.

“I know I’ll be gone for a while, but don’t you dare forget about me,” he says all quiet and serious, before kissing ever so lightly at the skin from the space where her neck and shoulder meet. This sets off frissons firing warm and far-reaching in her.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she retorts, sass in her intonation but her voice is half-air from his attentions.

There’s a tug and she grips reflexively tighter to him, and he has flipped them so he’s now beneath her.

“Well then, don’t let me keep you,” he says; it’s both a retort and a challenge.

Tzuyu is filled with exhilaration encroached by fear. Because they are close—so close, too close—and though his dare is said jokingly this decision feels like it holds finality.

There’s a myriad of yelps from the common area, signifying a highlight of the movie and breaking their reverie.

“We should…” He says to break the silence.

“Yeah. We should.”

“Friends?” Jun says.

It’s becoming their mantra, and it feels like if they say it enough then everything between them is justified. It’s a comforting exoskeleton for them to cling to because, in spite of their dissonant actions, if they don’t say the truth then it’s not real, and it isn’t anything official and it isn’t anything reflected in reality, and it can’t be wrong if it doesn’t exist. They’re just friends. Just friends.

“Yeah, friends,” she echoes, though she doesn’t move. He sits up and just about when she thinks he’ll kiss her again, he juts his chin towards the door. It’s a signal for her to move, and it feels all-too-crass in contrast with her expectations.

But, of course he would. What is she thinking? They’re being cavalier already.

So she does get up, and he’s still sitting right where she left him when she reaches for the door handle only to look back at him.

“I’ll go first,” she says, twisting the handle, “though, you should probably fix your hair,” she comments, eyes averted, before slipping out the door and stepping back out into the cold, unknowing darkness.

“Wow, this room is so pretty,” Sana says, abandoning her suitcase in the doorway to run and flop back onto the hotel bed. The expansive, fluffy white duvet puffs up around her as she sinks into it, and Tzuyu jogs to follow her, jumping forward and catching a yelping Sana with her arm. The pair of them laugh and shriek, playing and fighting in the comforter.

On the other side of the room’s floor-to-ceiling windows, sporadic palm trees sway in the breeze, and just beyond the swarthy landscape of buildings and sprawling highways is the California shore. What a lucky venue for KCON.

The waves roar with their breaks along the shore, clear water giving way to a foaming crush against the sand. Tzuyu kicks her feet through the retreating water, feet sinking into the sand and leaving tracks where the group ahead of her did moments before only for it to be erased with the ebb of the water. It’s later in the day and all of the girls have gone down to the water to see the sun sink below the horizon.

Jihyo’s beside her, the pair of them having lagged behind with Jihyo’s earlier harraging of Tzuyu to take pictures of her with the sunset.

“So, how’ve you been lately?” Jihyo asks, linking her arm with Tzuyu’s as they walk behind the gaggle ahead.

“We’ve spent the last week in one another’s presence,” Tzuyu replies dryly in response.

“I know, but you’ve seemed different lately, and we haven’t talked a lot in recent times, either. I thought something was up with you for a while there.”

“I’m ok now. I got in a fight with a friend but now everything’s sorted out.”

“Do I know this friend?” Jihyo asks gently, to the point that it’s suspicious as she normally has no qualms with prying.

Tzuyu pauses, reluctant to admit it.

“It’s Jun.”

“What were you fighting with Jun about?”

“I’d rather not say.”

Jihyo eyes her suspiciously but lets it go.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that too, besides.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t like to tell you what to do with your life. But whatever’s going on with all of that,” Jihyo makes a sweeping hand gesture, “it’d be good if you guys were careful. Not that you’re not, but if pictures of you guys spending time together circulated, it’d be less than ideal.”

“Of course,” Tzuyu replies, her gaze glued to the sand ahead, insides clenching as though she’s been scolded even though Jihyo’s words are merely a reminder. “What makes you say this now?”

“Not anything in particular. I’ve just been thinking about it lately. Worrying, more like, about our future,” Jihyo says, furrowing her eyebrows and casting her eyes out over the choppy blue-black water. “I guess it all doesn’t feel real. And I know with our rapid success that there’s tons of people just waiting to tear us down. The fact that Dispatch is following us now is particularly disconcerting.”

“Wait, really?”

“I thought you knew this?”

“I mean, I thought it was likely, but at the same time it was never for sure. Why do you say it so certainly?”

“I overheard a conversation with one of the higher-ups and he was definitely on the phone with Dispatch discussing us. JYPE has something of a relationship with it, that’s for sure, but I’m not sure to what extent. Point is, we’d better be on our best behavior.”

“Yeah, our best behavior,” Tzuyu echoes halfheartedly, mind spinning with what Dispatch could possibly know about them already. She reviews in her mind all of the places she’s been in the last weeks and tries to recall if she’s seen anything suspicious, or if she’s done anything suspicious in public view. She hasn’t been incautious, but the new information makes her second-guess everything.

“And I know that part of it’s because we need to look like we have a dating ban to seem available fans, but it still ,” Jihyo adds on.

“Wait, come again?” Tzuyu turns to look Jihyo in the face.

“It still ?” Jihyo repeats herself uncertainly.

“No, the other part,” Tzuyu corrects.

“We need to look like we have a dating ban?”

“Yeah, that part. Since when is it all about appearances?”

“Well, technically, it’s not. We aren’t supposed to date because we should focus on achieving success. But the ban and its publicity are largely to make us seem more marketable.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. We have to seem available to fans. For a lot of people being a fan, it’s escapism. They can’t really date us, but it has to seem like they could. That's what we're selling, in some ways. I feel conflicted about being complicit in it but it’s our curse though, isn't it? Being dehumanized and made salable because we're in the entertainment industry? Almost as if we're fictional characters.”

The Jihyo before Tzuyu has changed so much in the ten months since debut. Where before was an eager girl desperately yearning for her chance to perform is now a young woman who is all-too-learned of the uncomfortable ways of their industry. Only now she’s putting into words the things that Tzuyu has sensed but been unwilling to articulate to herself or voice to anyone else up until now. Because they’ve built their livelihoods on this glass castle, so what good can meditating on the philosophical implication of it do?

“I mean, yeah. You’re right.”

“And when I say it’s for appearances, it’s just that—and not to be arrogant, but—I think we’ve done it, Tzuyu. I think we’ve achieved that success and we’re so entrenched in public interest to the point that it can’t be undone. We made it. It still sounds so wild to say, but it’s true. And I know that part of it was from the public support that came after your… your… what happened to you in January.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess it did,” Tzuyu agrees softly. It’s a realization that she’s dwelled upon before but has only complicated feelings about. Was the trauma worth it? Is all of her notoriety predicated on pity? Would it all crumble apart if she were to only put her toe outside the line?

“I don't mean to be complicit and encourage you to do anything against the rules, but if anyone deserves for the company to turn a blind eye, it’s you. I mean, there’s always outside eyes watching, waiting in the wings for us to mess up—but you put so much on yourself, girl, when you shouldn’t. When so much of what we have is owed to you.”

The realizations stop-motion in Tzuyu’s brain: company, blind eye; what we have, it’s owed to you. Does Jihyo really think this? When it all can be traced back to so many things; the reasons for their fame is a many-headed hydra of Sixteen and ShyShyShy and Momo’s ‘don’t beg’ dance and reality shows and foreign members and being from the monolithic enterprise that is JYP. How could she ever claim responsibility for all of that?

“I can’t say I’m totally innocent, either,” Jihyo says to break the silence.

“You and Dokyeom?” Tzuyu comments, surprise in her voice more so at Jihyo’s admission than the predicament.

“What? No! Gosh, Tzuyu,” Jihyo recoils defensively. She takes a few more silent steps forward, kicking the dirt up with them. “I mean… I wish.”

“Yeah?” Tzuyu encourages her.

“Yeah. And besides, I don’t think he sees me like that.”

“And you say Jun and I are obvious…” Tzuyu mumbles under her breath.

“Yah!” Jihyo exclaims defensively, shoving Tzuyu towards the water. Tzuyu swerves back towards Jihyo and stuffs her arm through the crook of Jihyo’s crossed ones, forcing her to link arms. “Besides, I never said anything about you and Jun being obvious. Are you trying to admit something to me right now?”

“No. It’s just that you shouldn’t underestimate yourself so much, Jihyo. That’s such a bad habit of yours.” Tzuyu’s words are sincere but it would be a stretch so say that she’s not deflecting the question.

“You realize I’m older than you, right?” Jihyo says to Tzuyu’s criticism.

“And you realize that I’m not trying to boss you around. I just wish you’d believe in yourself more.”

“I do believe in myself, but it’s one thing to have fans and another for an idol to be interested in me.”

Tzuyu snorts, breaking from Jihyo’s linked arms to cover with both of her hands.

“What?” Jihyo says, the smile on her face softening her demand.

“Unnie, you’re an idol.”

“And?”

“You’re literally concerned that an idol wouldn’t be interested in you. Don’t you realize the backwardness of that logic? That he could think the same exact thing?”

Tzuyu can practically see the gears turning in Jihyo’s brain for her unfocused expression.

“I guess… I mean. Well. Maybe.” Jihyo settles on.

“Definitely,” Tzuyu corrects, smiling down at Jihyo before their attention is drawn to the flash of the sun dipping below the horizon, light reflecting through the hazy pink and purple swirls of cloud above, the last sigh of the summer sun before night falls.

Jun pours himself a second cup of tea until there’s a knock on his door, which slides opens to reveal Auntie Mei’s small, aging form.

“Not here yet,” Auntie says to answer Jun’s expectant expression, setting down another pot of hot water on his table for yet more herbal tea. Auntie and her adamancy over herbs, Jun thinks with affectionate chagrin.

Jun drums his fingers on the table expectantly and checks his phone for as many times as minutes pass. He shouldn’t be nervous for this, and yet he is.

The bell at the front door tinkles and Jun hears rushed footsteps and a quick Mandarin exchange between Auntie and another familiar voice. Then there’s approaching footsteps and the door to his booth scrolls open a moment later.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” a harried looking MingMing greets him, breaking into a wide grin at the sight of Jun.

“Hey, Ming,” Jun greets, standing to hug him. After, MingMing pulls back, grasping Jun by the upper arms.

“Look who’s all grown up?” MingMing says facetiously, still grinning, before Jun pushes his head to the side.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jun replies sarcastically, though he’s glad that they’ve slipped back into their joking rapport so effortlessly.

The MingMing before Jun has grown more into his lankiness since the last time they saw one another; it’s been a solid 4 months now. His hair is unstyled but smartly cut, and he holds himself with the same mellow confidence as ever.

“So, how’s my replacement?” MingMing jokes, settling in across from Jun.

He’s referring to Minghao, of course, who entered Pledis as a trainee just around the time that MingMing was dismissed. Minghao fulfills the role of Chinese member that MingMing left behind, but other than the timing their similarities end there.

“Hey, don’t say it like that,” Jun protests.

“You know I’m joking, Jun.”

He does inject levity into the statement, but in every joke it feels like there’s shrapnel of truth, and Jun knows that MingMing is a good person but that doesn’t absolve the possibility of bitterness, even now.

“I know,” Jun softens, pouring MingMing a cup of tea.

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s good. She was happy to hear that we’re meeting up today.”

“Well. Don’t tell her too much of what we talk about,” MingMing replies with a devilish grin.

“You know that you could never do wrong in her eyes. She still thinks you’re a saint for ‘taking me under your wing’ when I came to Korea.”

“You know you would’ve floundered without me!”

“Yeah, right,” Jun retorts with an eyeroll.

“You are sounding very ungrateful right now. Maybe I should take my good news somewhere else.”

“Good news?” Jun replies, interest piqued.

“I’m debuting soon. As in, 6 months soon.”

“Oh, ! Oh. . Ming,” Jun breaks into a wide grin. “Congratulations, man.”

MingMing’s eyes are glued to his tea in his shyness at the praise, and he’s doing a poor job of suppressing his grin. His eyes flit up to Jun’s and then over to the stone Buddha that’s sat on their table before he speaks.

“After so long it almost doesn’t feel real, you know? Like until it happens I don’t think I’ll really believe it.”

“I get that. Are you going solo or in a group?”

“Solo. It’ll be in China though, so we probably won’t get to see one another. Even less than since you debuted.”

It’s been long, too long, since MingMing has even been in the country, so this may spell disaster for their friendship. Jun knows all too well how bonds can deteriorate with enough time and distance. He can count on his fingers how many true friends he still has outside of Korea.

“Man, that . The distance part, not the debuting. I’m really happy for you for that. And I’m sure I’ll be in and out of China in the next few years.”

“Oh?” MingMing raises an eyebrow, setting his cup back on its saucer. “So how’s work for you lately, then? I hear you’re going on a tour?”

“Oh yeah, around Asia. We’re in final rehearsals already. It’s gonna be exhausting, but great.”

“Yeah, great,” MingMing echoes, a half-smile on his lips and slight subduedness to his voice.

He says it casually, but Jun feels the tiniest bit uncomfortable. There’s always this awkward tension, the idea of what could’ve been if MingMing had never left Pledis hanging over his head, and he’s never quite sure if it’s palpable between them or if he’s just conjuring the discomfort in his own brain.

MingMing must sense some fragment of discomfort in this, so to discuss a lighter topic he asks: “So, got any girls in your life?”

Jun hesitates for a moment, because: does he? Because in a vague sense, he does, but the closer he actualizes the idea into reality, the further it is from the truth. At any rate, it’s far too soon to speak about the situation, and it’s been a while since he’s seen MingMing, so even though they were like brothers before Jun’s trust in him is vague and faded around the edges.

“Nah, I don’t have time for it,” Jun replies with an airy nonchalance before sipping from his drink.

A mischievous smile crosses MingMing’s lips, eyes glittering with mirth.

“Oh, so you totally do have one,” MingMing replies assuredly, a conspiratorial joy to his words.

“Ming, you know that’s not a good idea for me right now,” Jun says seriously. Infuriatingly, MingMing’s close-lipped smile stretches into a Cheshire grin. He then rolls the door open, waving to Auntie to beckon her over. She appears moments later in the doorframe, towel flung over her shoulder.

“Auntie, Junhui here denies that he’s got a girl in his life but I, for one, think he’s full of it. Aren’t I right? Do you know anything about this girl?” MingMing asks, folding his hands beneath his chin; he wears a self-satisfied smile and a quirked eyebrow in expectation of her response.

“Perhaps if Junhui won’t tell you, then you’re not supposed to know,” Auntie replies, swatting at MingMing’s shoulder with her towel. He recoils backwards, arms crossing in front of himself defensively and with a surprised ‘ah!’ before he then sulks at Auntie’s response.

She shuts the door on the pair and MingMing’s quiet for a few minutes, stabbing moodily at his remaining food with his chopsticks at first before looking up at Jun.

“Remember when we used to come here after practice? And it would be so late at night and Auntie would nag us for a hundred years but she’d always give us free dumplings and even when she’d nag us, she’d be holding back a smile ‘cause she was so happy to see us?”

“Yeah, I do,” Jun says, nostalgia sweeping through him.

“Man, I missed that. I missed her. And I missed hanging out with you,” MingMing says with a curt laugh, before casting his eyes down to the table.

“Me too, Ming. I missed you, too,” Jun replies, affection in his voice.

And it’s true, for the unfortunate now-present gulf between them. Because there is so much history between them yet so much Jun feels like he cannot say. And perhaps their friendship is set to tip over the horizon like the fading sun, and maybe MingMing knows it too, because the distance between them can only grow. It’s an emblem of their youth, days past, and there is no use in mourning it because mourning does no favors towards retrieving what’s already lost.

In this person there used to be such a strong feeling of home, and maybe Jun’s been a fool to try and make homes out of human beings, as he’s doing and trying to do again with Minghao and Tzuyu, mostly. Because it can never last the way he needs it to.

“Hey, what do you say we go up to the roof for old times’ sake?” MingMing says before standing, the devilish grin back on his face, nostalgia from moments ago already in his rearview.

“Yeah, for old times sake,” Jun echoes, before rising to follow.

“Let’s play a game!” Somi says, sitting forward on her stomach, clutching a pillow beneath her. All of the Twice girls and some of the IOI girls are gathered together in a hotel room, all done with their late-night practices but still wired from the time difference and the excitement of being abroad.

“Let’s play a game that we can’t play on broadcast,” Yoojung says, a devious smirk gracing her lips.

“Never Have I Ever?” Chaeyoung suggests, slotting in beside Somi.

“Chaeng! Who taught you to play that?” Jihyo admonishes. Chaeyoung shrugs, looking away evasively.

“Probably Wonwoo. You know how he is,” Nayeon comments noncommittally.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Sana chimes in, looking up from the braids she’s weaving into Nayeon’s hair.

“He is like that, though,” Nayoung deadpans, and the girls all laugh at the timing and the truth to her comment.

“How do you play?” Momo asks; she’s seated cross-legged on the floor, hanging onto Sana beside her with her arms wrapped around Sana’s shoulders.

“It’s easy,” Yoojung starts. “You put out 10 fingers and each person goes around the circle saying something that they’ve never done. If you’ve done it, put down a finger. First person to put down all 10 fingers… Wins? Loses?”

“Wins,” Jihyo answers with finality. It’s funny; Tzuyu never would’ve pegged her for that.

Several minutes pass before the girls are able to arrange themselves in a lopsided circle around the living room, some on the floor, some on the couch and other various seats on pillows or chairs.

“Never have I ever been to Japan,” Somi starts. Sana, Momo and Mina whine loudly in protest but Somi pointedly mimes at them to put a finger down to shush them.

“Never have I ever played Never Have I Ever,” Sana says, sticking her tongue out at Somi who rolls her eyes before putting down a finger.

“Never have I ever performed in Europe,” Mina says, to the groans of the IOI girls, all of whom performed at KCON France mere weeks ago.

“I might be wrong about this, but isn’t this game supposed to be more… racy?” Doyeon asks, resting her weight on a palm behind her, one hand with two remaining fingers held aloft.

“Oh, it’ll get there,” Yoojung affirms, a knowing smirk on her lips.

“Well, I’ll start it then,” Sohye says with a shrug. “Never have I ever had alcohol.”

Most, if not all of the girls put fingers down, and all break into nervous, conspiratorial giggles, glancing back and forth between one another.

“Never have I ever had a boyfriend,” Jungyeon says, mumbling her words before casting her eyes to the floor and blushing. A few of the girls put fingers down, notably Jieqiong, Nayeon, and Tzuyu.

“Maknae, waee???” Somi chides Tzuyu teasingly.

“I lived a long life in Taiwan,” Tzuyu answers to the groups gawking. Jihyo snorts, choking on the water she’s sipping.

“Never have I ever been kissed,” Momo says shyly, nuzzling into Sana beside her and hiding in her hair. A decent number of the girls put their fingers down. “What??” Momo exclaims, slapping her hands to the floor. “Why only me??” She groans.

“You spent too much time in the dance studio, unnie,” Tzuyu replies.

“Your time will come,” Sana reassures Momo, petting her hair.

“Ok. Never have I ever had a crush on another idol,” Dahyun says, to which nearly every single person puts a finger down, making eye contact with one another and laughing again. “Seriously, all of you?” Dahyun exclaims, gaping around the circle. The girls laugh again, some hiding their faces, some hitting each other and others leaning on one another for support.

“Your time will come, too, Dahyun,” Sana says through her laugh, holding the back of her hand to to cover her grin.

“Ok. Ah! I got it. Never have I ever kissed a member of Seventeen,” Jihyo says, looking pointedly at Nayeon.

Nayeon for one looks entirely unfazed, flipping her hair over her shoulder before taking a sip of her drink.

"Park Jihyo, neither have I! So stop looking at me with those accusing eyes!"

"More to the point, Tzuyu, what??"

It’s Jungyeon asking this time, and all of the heads in the room swivel towards Tzuyu, and for a moment she very, very much regrets being truthful.

“I mean… yeah,” Tzuyu replies evasively with a shrug, taking a drink from her water to avoid eye contact.

“I mean, duh, it’s Jun,” Nayeon says. Several of the others nod along.

“Could be Minghao. They always look so friendly together,” Dahyun adds, nudging Nayeon with her elbow and wiggling her eyebrows.

“Did anyone else put down a finger?” Tzuyu interjects, hoping to remove the attention from herself.

The girls glance around the circle and no one else has, so for now Tzuyu boils in her own embarrassment and hopes that the prying will end here.

Though a tiny part of her is pleased that it was guessed so quickly. Because even though Jun's not really hers, she wants to lay her claims now, even if they are so elusive. There’s the implicit understanding that idols will protect one another’s secrets, and she may be nonspecific the implication to the other girls is unmistakable.

Though the situation is tenuous at best, at least there’s comfort in the knowledge that this fragile glass thing is hers alone. Tonight, too, is a wonderful respite in the midst of all of her stresses, and for a moment she can feel like any other 17-year-old, cuddled up in her pajamas with close friends by her side and a boy in her heart. The fundamental uncertainty of her life is in soft focus and for once, everything in the world feels like it’s looking up.