To hell with it. Jennie Kim is running like a maniac through the cobblestone streets of Paris at 3AM. She is clutching the napkin from the cafe that contains Chaeyoung’s address. The message is ingrained into her memory:

“Come find me anytime.”

And finding her is what Jennie does (or tries because running in a city you only went around about 5 times isn’t exactly proficient). Her Gucci coat flaps annoyingly in the wind as her legs are about to give out, and Jennie swears to God that if she isn’t near the destination soon she’ll maim herself for never doing any cardio.

Much to her relief, she finds it. Jennie steps into a dark courtyard, the only source of light coming from an oil lamp on the wall. It takes all of her courage to initiate in the most romantic way possible: chucking stuff at a window.

It takes about 10 minutes before the latch of the industrial glass is unlocked, and Jennie is blessed to see a messy haired blonde in an oversized white tee coming into view on the balcony.

“What the flying fu– did you just throw lipstick at my window, Jennie Kim?” An angelic laugh descends upon open space and excited footsteps hurry to open the front door. It doesn’t take long before Jennie is standing in the living room of Chaeyoung’s huge industrial loft, all tastefully detailed with a graceful grey scheme.

“Nice place.” Jennie whistles before plopping herself on a plush bench to remove her shoes.

“Thanks. This plac