“I can see it now,” Hyewon said, “imagine. It’s the last day of filming; you come home yelling I’M FREE, WORST EXPERIENCE OF MY ING LIFE—”

Chaewon pauses the video and glances at the person next to her, grinning at the obvious attempt of stifling a chuckle. “So that’s Hyewon.”

Hitomi accepts the information with an airy hum. “Were you really against it? Becoming a fixed cast for this show.”

“No.” Chaewon gives it more thought for a beat, then repeats, “No. It’s just, it didn’t really fit my image, I guess. That’s why my members clowned me.” Chaewon taps the home button and locks her phone, glancing at Hitomi again. “I sorta thought they could be right, though. Because—it’s a bit scary, being in a variety show without them.”

“A survival-ish kind, at that.”

“Exactly,” Chaewon nods. “I think Eunbi-unnie—that’s our leader—was gonna send me off completely encased in bubble-wraps, at some point.”

Hitomi snorts, perhaps amused by the imagery. “And what do you think about it now?” she asks, tone wondering. “When you imagine the last filming. What would you say now?”

Chaewon mums, head tilting slightly as she ponders, the windchimes above their heads singing gently along the afternoon breeze.

“When it was just us two—me and Sooyoung-unnie, it was scary and I was afraid I’d up,” Chaewon finally says, words slow and careful. “I watched the show quite often, and after I was confirmed to be casted I marathoned it almost everyday, but it didn't feel enough. My fears were still there.” Then she looks at Hitomi,

“When you came, my anxiety doubled—”

Hitomi’s expression falters slightly, but she waits, always waits for Chaewon to finish her thoughts, unwilling to judge something half-spoken. It's yet another side Chaewon adores of her, in an endless list she can't afford to think right now lest she'll be forced to face her deeper feelings.

“But as the filming went on,” so she continues, "somewhere between the days, you had become a source of comfort for me.” Chaewon nudges her shoulder, “Maybe it was when the ship taking you home couldn’t come to this island for the second time in a row.”

The falter in Hitomi’s face dissipates, replaced with exasperated fondness. “You—! I suffered and you actually took comfort in that!?”

Chaewon laughs and wraps an arm around the younger’s shoulders. “Sorry,” she’s not, “I guess my subconscious was celebrating you staying longer because it knew ahead of me that you’d be a precious presence.”

She presses her lips into a tight line at the end of her sentence, feeling acutely like she’s said too much. A precious presence. It’s perhaps the first time she acknowledges Hitomi’s effect on herself in clear words, no longer a vague thought amidst a bundle of warmth dripping with fondness.

Hitomi hums and slowly repeats, “A precious presence?”

Chaewon loosens her one-armed hug, folding back into herself. “Yeah,” she says anyway, because honesty shouldn’t be taken back when it’s out; unless you want drama. “So—yeah, so, this show won’t be a worst experience in my life, actually.” And this time she manages to hold her tongue from adding, it might even be one of the best.

Hitomi looks at her, and she can’t help but look back. Honda Hitomi has this kind of gaze—one that feels observing, like she’s trying to dissect something, but it never stays too long. It’s always followed with a soft gaze after a beat, a kind glimmer in her eyes that lets Chaewon breathe.

“I see,” Hitomi says, then shifts to hug her, hug her, loosely but warm nonetheless, brief but lasting in the burn it leaves humming on Chaewon’s skin,

“You’re a precious presence to me, too.”

(Sometimes, Chaewon wonders if she even wanted the show to ever end.)