Chapter Text
The excitement of the crowd lingered in the air as the cast of The Assassin’s Nightmare wrapped up their final press conference. Fans trickled out of the venue, chattering excitedly about the cast’s chemistry and the drama’s gripping finale. Jihee smiled brightly for one last round of flashing cameras before slipping backstage. She exhaled deeply—a mental pat on the back for surviving another long day of PR. But beneath the relief was a quiet ache. It was really over. Jung Hae-in, her friend and on-screen love interest, caught her eye. His easy smile told her he understood without needing to ask. “Relieved you don’t have to pretend you’re in love with me anymore, huh?” he teased. Jihee rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at her lips. “Absolutely. It feeds your ego way too much, Jung Hae-in,” she said in fluent, polished Korean.
They both laughed—familiar, comfortable. For over a year, they’d been practically attached at the hip, filming, promoting, doing press. And now? It was like closing a chapter on something bigger than just a show. As Hae-in was pulled away by a staff member, Jihee took a quiet moment for herself, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and leaning against the wall backstage. The laughter faded, and a wave of reflection crept in. Moments like these—where the spotlight dimmed and the applause died down— always brought her past back to the surface. Born Lui Āi Huá, Jihee moved from America to Korea in 2014. She’d grown up in a Chinese immigrant household, raised on her mother’s unwavering support and her father’s sharp skepticism. From the moment she saw Marilyn Monroe on screen, she knew what she wanted: to act, to shine, to be someone. Her mother believed in her. Her father, less so. “Be a doctor. Get a real job. Be someone I can be proud of,” he’d say, over and over, never quite seeing her dreams as valid.
And yet here she was. Onstage. In the spotlight. Speaking fluent Korean. Starring in one of the year’s biggest dramas. But why didn’t she feel like she’d accomplished something as Lui Āi Huá—only as Kim Jihee? She wasn’t proud of herself—though she knew she should be. But a quiet part of her still wondered if she’d left the real her behind somewhere in the pursuit of this dream. A familiar voice called out her name—her real name—cutting through her thoughts. Jihee startled, her face betraying a flicker of surprise, which was met with an easy laugh from her best friend. Jihee looks up to see her best friend of seven years and newly appointed manager, Lee Jihye—better known as Chelsea—snapping her fingers to get her attention, a smirk playing on her lips. Jihee shakes her head to disperse the negative thoughts in her head and frowns at Chelsea, anticipating the words about to fall out of her best friend's mouth. “Before you even say it, I am not going to consider dating Hae-in, Chelsea.” She says, rolling her eyes and sighing.
Chelsea frowns in reply, “But Āi Huá, he seems sweet and he makes googly eyes at you all the time,” she says, switching to English halfway through with a renewed smile. “No, I’m not interested in him like that, Chels. Please stop asking me that.” Jihee reaches up to thump her best friend on the forehead, getting a small yelp in reply. “Okay. Okay I get it. I won’t ask again,” she says, rubbing the soreness from her forehead. Chelsea reaches into her pocket and hands Jihee her phone. “You’re mom called. When I answered….she didn’t seem too happy.” Jihee winced and took the phone. Chelsea offered a sympathetic smile before walking off to chat with a staff member. Jihee stared at the screen a moment longer before tapping her mother’s name. She braced herself, heart pounding, and mentally switched to her mother tongue. She barely got the phone to her ear before her mother’s voice burst through the speaker. “Āi Huá! I saw you on the television. You looked so pretty, my dear.”
Jihee smiled faintly. “My little flower is living her dream. You showed everyone your heritage and pride.” Her chest tightened. She stepped into a quieter corner, away from the lingering press crew, and took a steadying breath. “Māma… I act under a stage name now. I changed it to Kim Jihee after Chelsea suggested it.” Her mother stayed silent on the other end before speaking again. “That’s Korean, isn’t it, Lui Āi Huá,” she said, making sure to emphasize the Chinese characters of her name. Jihee bit at the inside of her lip, the familiar nervous habit flaring. “Yes, Māma. I thought it would be better to use a Korean name to get more opportunities in the industry.” Her mother made a sound somewhere between anger and a scoff.
“So you simply threw away your Chinese heritage, Lui Āi Huá! You are Chinese American, not Korean American.” Jihee sniffled as tears began to trail down her cheeks. “But Māma, I didn’t—” Her mother cut her off with a sharp sound of disagreement. “So Kim Jihee played the role. Not Lui Āi Huá, my Chinese daughter.” Jihee tilted her head back, trying to halt the flow of tears. She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. She had expected disapproval—braced herself for it—but this? “But Māma, it was still me. I—” Her voice faltered as her father’s tone cut sharply through the background. “That’s not your name, Lui Āi Huá,” he said, frustration clipped and cold. “Until you’re ready to be Lui Āi Huá again… don’t call us Māma and Bàba as Kim Jihee.” The breath whooshed from Jihee’s lungs. Then the call went dead.
The phone slipped from her trembling fingers, landing face-down on the floor with a dull thunk. For a moment, she just stared at it—chest hollow, eyes burning. But then she remembered where she was. With practiced precision, Jihee wiped the tears from her cheeks. She bent to pick up the phone, smoothing her expression, slipping into that sweet, smiley persona the world knew so well. Jihee slowly made her way to her dressing room, thoughts going haywire. She smiled sweetly at the people she walked by, keeping them oblivious to the storm brewing in her mind — their friendly words going unanswered. As she entered, Chelsea pounced on her, unaware of her bestie’s inner turmoil. But who could tell? Jihee had long perfected the art of hiding her feelings—her smile, her posture, even the tilt of her head. All of it was choreographed.
Chelsea’s grin stretched from ear to ear as she practically bounced on her toes, her excitement spilling into the room like a tidal wave. “We just got some good news, Jihee!” she exclaimed, her energy so palpable it filled every corner. Jihee hesitated, her mind scrambling to shove away the lingering echo of her father’s voice. “Until you are ready to be Li Āi Huá again… don’t call us Māma and Bàba as Kim Jihee.” With a breath too quiet to notice, she slipped on the mask—her sweetest, steadiest smile. The one that made everyone believe she was fine. “What is it? New script, maybe?” she asked lightly, her voice syrupy smooth, not a note out of place.
Chelsea’s grin faltered just a touch, her sharp eyes flicking over Jihee’s face. She was too good—too good—at hiding storms behind those bright eyes. But Chelsea knew her. Knew when something wasn’t quite right. Still, she filed the concern away for now. “Better than that.” She grabbed Jihee’s hands, practically vibrating. “The MAMA Awards invited you to present the Artist of the Year award! And guess what? You’ll be co-hosting with Jung Hae-in!” Jihee blinked. “Co-hosting… with Hae-in?” she echoed, her practiced smile settling into place, steady but hollow.
“Yes!” Chelsea said, nearly bouncing. “They wanted chemistry, and you two were electric in The Assassin’s Nightmare. This is huge, Jihee! The kind of moment that cements a legacy.” Jihee forced a light, airy laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Wow, that’s… incredible, Chels,” she said, voice even, though her pulse stuttered in her chest. Chelsea paused, tilting her head. Her tone softened, losing just a bit of that manager pep. “Jihee, you’re happy about this, right? Because this is a big deal—a really big deal.” Jihee straightened, her smile softening into something just shy of convincing. “Of course, I am. It’s an honor.” Chelsea opened her mouth like she might pry, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, she clasped Jihee’s hands tighter, her voice gentle. “You know, if something’s on your mind, you can tell me, right? No manager hat, just… your bestie.”
Jihee’s heart squeezed, a flutter of warmth she wasn’t ready to reach for. “I know, Chels. Really, I’m fine,” she said softly. Her cheeks ached from the smile she couldn’t let fall. Chelsea hovered for another beat, but then let it go. Her grin returned like flipping a switch, and she spun back into motion. “Okay! We’ve got work to do! Dress fitting for the red carpet, something sharp but classic for Hae-in, script practice, maybe even some backstage banter—God, there’s so much!” As Chelsea launched into her checklist, Jihee let her words wash over her like static. It was easier than facing the echo of her father’s rejection, easier than letting the ache in her chest grow too loud. She nodded absently as Chelsea darted toward the door, her voice cheerful and bright with plans for the awards. Jihee lingered behind, gathering her belongings—script, purse, jacket—her movements slow, almost mechanical. Outside, the company car waited under the unforgiving fluorescents of the underground lot. Chelsea climbed in first, still talking gowns and camera angles. Jihee followed silently, her hands tightening around her bag as she slid into the back seat. The familiar hum of the engine filled the silence—just loud enough to drown out her thoughts, but not enough to ease the ache.
Her reflection in the car window looked unfamiliar—tired, yes, but also too polished, too poised. Too distant from the trembling girl who had just been disowned over a name.
A name, she thought bitterly. One I never stopped being, even if I stopped using it.
Chelsea eventually noticed the silence beside her. Her stream of words slowed, then faded, as she glanced over again. Concern flickered behind her lashes, but Jihee didn’t meet her gaze. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, blinking back the sting threatening to rise. They pulled up to her apartment building not long after—a sleek high-rise tucked into Gangnam, guarded by discreet security and an even more discreet lobby. Jihee offered a faint smile to the driver and murmured a quiet thank-you before stepping out. Chelsea followed, her voice gentler now, trimmed of its earlier excitement. “Get some rest tonight, okay? Tomorrow’s going to be a whirlwind. I’ll call you once I confirm the dress fitting.” Jihee nodded out of habit. “Thanks, Chels. Goodnight.”
Chelsea lingered for a breath, clearly debating whether to push—but in the end, she didn’t. She offered a small wave and slipped back into the car. Jihee watched until the vehicle disappeared around the corner before turning toward the entrance. The doorman greeted her, and she returned it with the same sweet smile she always gave—flawless, effortless, fake. The elevator hummed as it rose, fluorescent lights bouncing off the mirrored walls. Jihee leaned back, watching her reflection fragment into fractured versions of herself—none of them quite real. Inside her apartment, the moment the door clicked shut, the mask crumbled.
The space welcomed her like a trusted friend—warm, minimalist, familiar. But even comfort couldn’t soften the sharp edges of Baba’s words. Her vision blurred. She stumbled forward and barely made it to the sofa before collapsing onto the cushions. Her bag slipped off her shoulder, landing with a dull thud on the floor. Jihee buried her face in her hands. Her breathing came uneven, shallow. The weight of the day pressed down, relentless and raw. And in the quiet of her home, stripped of smiles and performances, she finally let the pain bleed through.
Eventually, she reached for a throw pillow, tucking it under her head. Her eyes burned, her limbs heavy. Exhaustion wrapped around her like a shroud, and though sleep came, it offered no peace. The morning light was gentle but unrelenting, slipping through her curtains and prodding her awake. Jihee blinked against the brightness, groaning softly as the memories rushed back. For a moment, she didn’t move. She just breathed. Then, slowly, she sat up, brushing tangled hair from her face. Reaching for her bag, she dug through until her fingers found her phone.
One missed call. Not her mother.
She held onto a flicker of hope and dialed again, this time slower, more deliberate.
The call rang once. Twice. Then—
Nothing.
Disconnected.
The only notification on her screen was a string of pictures Chelsea had sent—dress options for the MAMA Awards. Jihee stared at them blankly before flopping onto her back with a frustrated sigh. The awards were in two weeks—December 2nd—and she couldn’t find it in herself to care. A dull throb pulsed behind her eyes as she sat up, slowly. She didn’t bother turning on any lights, making her way to the bathroom by memory. The shower roared to life with a steady patter, its sound filling the quiet apartment. Stripping down, Jihee caught her reflection in the mirror: tired eyes, taut jaw, shoulders drawn in. She looked like a version of herself she didn’t recognize—and yet, it was the only one that felt real. For a long second, she just stood there, unmoving, before stepping into the stream. The shower was quick, mechanical. Just enough to feel human again.
Wrapped in a towel, Jihee padded into her closet and pulled out a soft sundress—the kind she normally wore to seem approachable, effortless, in control. She paused by her makeup station, her eyes flicking over the perfectly arranged products. Then turned away. It didn’t feel right to paint on a face when everything inside her felt scraped raw. Her phone buzzed softly. Her heart jumped.
Mom?
She snatched it off the bed—only to see Chelsea’s name lighting up the screen.
Let’s talk about the MAMA Awards. I’m outside your house.
The disappointment landed hard and fast. Jihee exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. She grabbed her keys and phone, slipping on her shoes without a second thought. Downstairs, the staff greeted her as usual—“Hello, Miss Jihee”—but their cheeriness slid right off her. She offered a distracted nod and kept moving. Outside, the company car was already waiting. Chelsea stood beside it, sunglasses perched on her head, dressed in a bright, eye-catching ensemble that clashed beautifully with Jihee’s subdued mood. Despite herself, Jihee felt her lips twitch into the smallest, most genuine smile she’d managed all morning. Chelsea grinned. “Hi, baby! Having a good morning, or is this the calm before the PR storm?”
“We’ve got a meeting with the staff about the MAMA Awards.” Chelsea’s voice was light, but Jihee could hear the undercurrent of excitement. Jihee nodded, forcing a playful reply to match her friend’s energy. As the car hummed through the streets, she kept up a steady stream of light banter, her words carefully crafted to sound normal. Chelsea’s vibrant personality filled the car, her excitement palpable as she outlined the plans for the event. Jihee nodded at all the right moments, her focus drifting in and out, her thoughts tangled somewhere between duty and the heaviness still clinging to her.
When the car finally pulled into the company parking lot, Chelsea grabbed her hand and led her toward the conference room. Jihee smiled at the staff they passed, her professional mask slipping into place with practiced ease as she greeted them warmly. It wasn’t until they were inside the meeting room that her demeanor truly shifted. She sank into her seat, her posture straight, her expression calm. She was here for work now. The rest of the world could wait. The stylist’s voice rang out confidently, cutting through the murmur of conversation. “I have plans for you to display a darker vibe, given the drama’s theme.”
They clicked through slides on the presentation screen, each one showcasing bold color palettes and edgy outfit concepts. Jihee leaned forward slightly, her focus sharpening as she absorbed every detail. As they moved from one idea to the next, she nodded, her attention unwavering. She knew this routine—this dance of professionalism—and it was easier to slip into than confronting the chaos inside her. The meeting wrapped up quickly, with a chorus of nods and bows. Jihee stood, returning the bows graciously, her movements smooth and practiced, before stepping out with Chelsea. Her best friend immediately picked up the conversation, her words a steady stream of plans and updates about the packed schedule ahead.
“Your schedule’s going to be jammed over the next two weeks,” Chelsea said, scrolling through her phone. “Next week, it’s back-to-back photoshoots for a couple of magazines. The following week, all MAMA—dress fittings, rehearsals, and the final touches.” Jihee nodded absently, already feeling the weight of the days ahead. She had to be ready for all of it. “Do you have a color in mind for your dress?” Chelsea asked, glancing up. Jihee hesitated. “Maybe black or red?” Chelsea shook her head disapprovingly, lips curving into a playful frown. “Not red. It’s called the red carpet for a reason.” Jihee grinned sheepishly, her expression softening. “Not bright red. Something dark.” Chelsea considered this for a moment, her fingers typing something into her phone. “Alright. Pick a design from the dresses I sent you, and we’ll get it made.” She paused, rubbing her stomach dramatically. “Now, let’s get some food—I’m starving.”
Jihee couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the gesture. Despite the weight still lodged in her chest, Chelsea’s easy humor brought a small sense of comfort, a reminder that the world kept turning—even if hers felt slightly out of sync. The restaurant Chelsea chose was tucked into a busy side street, its warm glow spilling from the windows and casting a soft, inviting light onto the sidewalk. Jihee stepped out of the car, glancing up at the quaint wooden sign above the door. The scent of sizzling food and freshly baked bread wafted toward her, and her stomach rumbled softly in response. It was a small thing, but it felt like a rare moment of normalcy in a day that had been anything but.
Chelsea practically skipped ahead, holding the door open with a flourish. “Come on, Jihee! You’re about to eat at the best fusion place in town. Their dumplings are life-changing. And don’t even get me started on the kimchi fried rice.” Jihee chuckled softly at Chelsea’s dramatic enthusiasm, following her inside. The restaurant exuded warmth, with mismatched chairs and the hum of casual chatter filling the air. The walls were adorned with a fusion of traditional Korean and Chinese artwork—a blend that somehow felt grounding to Jihee. She took a deep breath, letting the familiar environment wash over her. It was just the kind of place she needed right now.
A hostess greeted them with a bright smile and led them to a table in the corner. Jihee slid into her seat across from Chelsea, her gaze flitting over the menu with mild interest, though her mind was elsewhere. Chelsea, however, was already deep in a rambling description of the food. “You have to try the scallion pancakes,” Chelsea insisted, her finger skimming over the menu. “Oh, and their seafood jjampong is to die for. But if you’re in the mood for something lighter, their lotus root salad is divine.” Jihee nodded absently, her eyes drifting toward the window. The busy street outside seemed to buzz with life, but her thoughts were tangled in the weight of Baba’s words. The confrontation still lingered in her chest—like a bruise, tender and unyielding.
Chelsea’s voice broke through her reverie. “Are you even listening, Āi Huá?” she teased, switching to Jihee’s birth name with a playful lilt. Jihee blinked, the sound of her name pulling her back to the present. She gave a small smile, her lips still tinged with the remnants of unease. “Sorry, Chels. My mind wandered for a bit. What were you saying?” “I was saying,” Chelsea began, narrowing her eyes in playful suspicion, “that you have to stop zoning out. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself, you know.” Jihee’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but she didn’t respond. It felt easier to stay quiet than to explain the emotional noise swirling inside her.
When the waitress arrived, Chelsea launched into a detailed rundown of everything they wanted to try. Jihee let her friend take charge—grateful for her friend’s unrelenting energy and her ability to fill the silence. As they waited for their food, Chelsea leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands, her expression softening. “Okay, spill. What’s going on in that head of yours? You’ve been zoning out all day.” Jihee hesitated, her fingers tracing the edge of the napkin in front of her. “It’s nothing,” she said quietly, but the look Chelsea gave her told her that wasn’t going to fly.
“Come on, Jihee. You can’t fool me. You’re not just my best friend—you’re my job, remember?” Chelsea’s tone was light, but the concern in her eyes was unmistakable. “I know when something’s up.” Jihee let out a deep sigh, her eyes dropping to her hands in her lap. “It’s just... my parents. It’s complicated.” Chelsea’s expression softened with understanding. “Alright,” she said, leaning forward with a decisive nod. “Let me give you some advice, Āi Huá, as your best friend—and your manager.” Her tone shifted, taking on a deeper seriousness as she reached for Jihee’s hand. “Use it.” Jihee blinked, confused. “Use what?”
“Use these emotions,” Chelsea said, gesturing vaguely with her free hand, her eyes locked on Jihee’s. “Everything you’re feeling right now—your parents, the pressure, whatever’s weighing you down. Don’t let it sit there and fester. Put it into your work. Into your performance at the awards. Into everything you do.” Jihee tilted her head, unsure how to respond. She’d never really thought about channeling those feelings into her work, but the more she listened, the more the idea took root.
Chelsea’s expression grew even more earnest. “You’re an actress, Jihee. You have this incredible gift to take what’s inside you and turn it into something powerful, something unforgettable. Don’t run from it—use it. Let it make you even stronger.” Jihee stayed quiet for a moment, digesting the words. She wasn’t sure she was ready to dive into all of that, but Chelsea’s rare seriousness kept her from brushing it off. The other woman gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not alone in this, Jihee,” Chelsea added, her voice steady and warm.
“I’ve got your back no matter what,” Chelsea said, her tone soft but unwavering. “But you have to trust yourself too. Take what’s weighing you down and turn it into fuel.” A faint smile tugged at Jihee’s lips, the first sign of ease breaking through her guarded expression. “You make it sound so easy.” Chelsea grinned, her energy bouncing back in full force. “Of course it’s not easy, baby. Nothing worth doing ever is. But you? You’re Kim Jihee. You’ve got this.” The warmth of her words wrapped around Jihee like a soft blanket, and she found herself nodding. “I’ll try.”
“That’s my girl,” Chelsea said, raising her teacup in a mock toast. “Now, eat up. We’ve got a long day ahead of us, and you can’t conquer the world on an empty stomach.” Jihee let out a quiet laugh, the weight in her chest easing just a little. For now, she allowed herself to focus on the food, the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant, and the unshakable support of her best friend. The food arrived in waves, each dish more tempting than the last. Chelsea clapped her hands in delight as steaming bowls of jjampong and plates of scallion pancakes were placed on the table. Jihee eyed the spread with a touch of amusement, her appetite slowly coming back under the influence of the delicious aroma.
“See? Didn’t I tell you this place was amazing?” Chelsea said, practically drooling as she grabbed her chopsticks. “I’m serious, Jihee—you’ll be dreaming about this meal for days.” Jihee chuckled softly, picking up her own chopsticks as Chelsea dove in with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t eaten all day. The first bite of jjampong was like a wave of warmth flooding through her, a reminder that sometimes, the simplest pleasures could pull her back to the present. Chelsea pointed at Jihee between bites, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Okay, while I’m stuffing my face, you need to start eating—no excuses. And don’t just nibble like a bird, okay? Actually eat.”
Jihee smirked faintly but obeyed, spooning soup into her bowl. “You sound like my mom,” she teased lightly. Chelsea rolled her eyes, her mouth full of dumplings. “I don’t care if I sound like your mom or a drill sergeant. You can’t live on air alone.” They both laughed softly, the lighthearted exchange easing the tension Jihee had carried all day. Chelsea continued talking between bites, regaling Jihee with amusing stories from her morning and her latest DIY project disasters. “Okay, get this,” Chelsea said, her hands animated as she spoke. “I tried to build one of those fancy bookshelves—the ones with sliding panels? Turns out, I’m terrible at anything involving tools. By the end of it, I had a pile of broken wood and a bruised ego.”
Jihee laughed more openly this time, picturing her friend standing amidst the wreckage, wielding an oversized wrench. “Sounds like your house is lucky to still be standing.” Chelsea groaned dramatically. “I know! My neighbors probably think I’ve joined a demolition team.” As the meal progressed, Jihee found herself relaxing. Her thoughts of Baba and Māma faded into the background, replaced by the comfort of Chelsea’s lively company and the delicious food. By the end of dinner, Jihee leaned back in her seat, her stomach full and her spirits lighter.
Chelsea gave her a sly grin. “See? Told you food fixes everything.” Jihee shook her head with a soft smile. “You might actually be right.” As they stepped out of the restaurant, Jihee adjusted the strap of her bag, the warmth of the meal still lingering in her chest. Chelsea was already ahead, pulling out her phone to check the directions to the photoshoot. The midday sun cast a soft glow over the bustling street, and for a brief moment, Jihee felt at ease. But that moment didn’t last long.
“Is that... Jihee?” a voice called out, cutting through the noise of the sidewalk. Jihee instinctively turned her head, her polite smile slipping into place as a small group of fans gathered nearby, their eyes lighting up in recognition. “Oh my gosh, it’s really her! Jihee, we loved you in Very Nice! And The Assassin’s Nightmare was incredible!” One of them held up their phone, showing a still from SEVENTEEN’s Very Nice music video, where Jihee had played a small but memorable role. Another gushed about her recent drama. Jihee offered small bows and polite thank-yous, her smile steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest. She had always appreciated her fans, but the sudden attention in a public space still caught her off guard.
Chelsea turned, her eyebrows raised. “Looks like you’re becoming a household name, babe,” she teased lightly, motioning for Jihee to keep moving. As they made their way to the car, Jihee continued to offer waves and smiles to the growing group of onlookers. The hum of excitement trailed behind them, lingering in the air even as the door to the company car clicked shut. Inside, Chelsea grinned, unfazed. “See? You’re a star, Jihee. Everyone loves you. And just wait until the MAMA Awards—this is only the beginning.”
Jihee leaned back in her seat, her gaze drifting toward the world outside the window as the car pulled away. Chelsea’s words washed over her, a mix of pride and unease settling in her chest. Fame, she realized, was both a blessing and a weight. The ride to the photoshoot was quieter than usual, with Jihee staring out the window while Chelsea scrolled through her tablet, making last-minute schedule adjustments. The bustling streets blurred past, and Jihee found herself lost in thought until Chelsea’s upbeat voice broke the silence. “So, classy vibes today,” Chelsea said, nudging her lightly. “Frills, lace gloves, the whole elegant package. Think classic with a modern edge. You’re going to look stunning, Jihee. It’ll be so on-brand after the success of The Assassin’s Nightmare.”
Jihee hummed softly in response, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Chelsea’s energy was as infectious as ever, but Jihee couldn’t shake the faint flutter of nervousness gnawing at her. It wasn’t the photoshoot—it was everything else, the weight of everything she’d been carrying.
As they pulled up to the studio, Jihee stepped out of the car, her nerves settling into a familiar rhythm. Inside, the buzz of the studio enveloped her: the sharp clicks of cameras, the flutter of fabric, models flowing in and out. Chelsea immediately dove into action, coordinating with stylists and photographers, leaving Jihee to follow the flow. Her stylist greeted her with a warm smile, holding up a floor-length gown with delicate lace and frills. “This is going to be perfect for you, Jihee. Elegant, but with just enough drama to keep it interesting.”
Jihee nodded absently, following the stylist to the dressing area. She slipped into the gown, feeling the soft fabric hug her form, the lace gloves adding a touch of ethereal elegance. As the stylist worked on her hair and makeup, Jihee caught her reflection in the mirror. For a brief moment, the image staring back at her seemed like a character—a role she had to slip into, as she always did. Chelsea peeked in, her eyes widening in dramatic delight. “Oh, you look divine! Seriously, Jihee, you’re going to own this shoot.” Jihee smirked softly, adjusting her gloves. “Thank you, Chels. Let’s just hope I don’t trip on this dress.”
Chelsea rolled her eyes, playfully. “Don’t even joke about that, babe. You’re perfection personified right now.” Soon, Jihee was on set, the cameras clicking in quick succession as the photographers gave instructions. She moved effortlessly through the poses, her face serene but her mind distant. Chelsea’s earlier words echoed softly in her ears: Use it. So, Jihee did. Every lingering emotion, every unresolved thought—they became fuel. It showed in her expression, in the grace of each movement. The shoot progressed smoothly, with Jihee slipping in and out of outfits, each one building on the theme of grace and elegance. A fitted suit with lace accents highlighted her poise; a tiered gown with cascading ruffles made her look regal, like she belonged in a royal court. For the final set, she donned a vintage-inspired outfit, complete with pearls and velvet gloves that transformed her into an image straight out of a classic film.
The photographers were impressed, their excited chatter filling the studio as they captured frame after frame. Chelsea stood by, snapping behind-the-scenes shots, offering encouraging thumbs-ups and silent cheers. By the time the session wrapped, Jihee was exhausted but satisfied, the quiet pride of a job well done settling over her like a comforting blanket. As she changed into her casual clothes, Chelsea entered the dressing room, holding her phone high. “You nailed it, babe. These photos are going to own the headlines.” Jihee chuckled softly, slipping on her sneakers. “I hope so. But right now, all I can think about is food.” Chelsea grinned widely. “Oh, same. Let’s hit the convenience store. I’m craving something quick and Korean, with a side of soju to celebrate.”
The company car took them to a nearby convenience store, and the ride was filled with Chelsea scrolling through the photos on her phone, talking excitedly about Jihee’s poses. The store, small and brightly lit, felt like a haven. Jihee wandered down the aisles, picking out ingredients for a comforting soup—green onions, tofu, and ramyeon—while Chelsea headed straight for the drinks section. “Soju, beer, and ramen. We’re covered,” Chelsea called out, grinning as she juggled the bottles. Jihee smiled as she placed her items in the basket, but then, she felt it—a pair of eyes on her.
“Excuse me,” a young cashier asked shyly, stepping out from behind the counter. “Are you Kim Jihee? I recognize you from the Very Nice MV and The Assassin’s Nightmare! I’m such a big fan.”
Jihee’s face softened as she met the cashier’s gaze, offering a warm smile. “Thank you so much. That means a lot to me.” The cashier hesitated, then held out a notepad and pen. “Would it be okay if I got your autograph?” “Of course,” Jihee said, taking the pen and signing her name with a flourish. Chelsea, returning with her arms full of drinks, grinned at the interaction. “See? Everyone loves you.” The cashier beamed, thanking Jihee repeatedly before returning to the counter. Jihee finished gathering her items, and Chelsea added a few snacks to the basket before they made their way to the register.
As they stepped back outside into the cool evening air, Chelsea elbowed Jihee gently. “We’ve got food, drinks, and a fan encounter. Pretty solid way to end the day, huh?” Jihee laughed, the sound light and easy, and for a moment, everything felt a little bit more balanced. It was a simple day, but in its simplicity, there was a comfort. She didn’t have to worry about tomorrow just yet—tonight, she had food, drinks, and the comforting presence of a friend who made everything feel a little lighter.
As the car pulled up to Jihee’s apartment building, Chelsea’s voice brought her back to the present. “Home sweet home! Ready for a quiet night in?” Jihee nodded, offering a faint smile as they climbed out of the car. Stepping into the comfort of her apartment, she placed the grocery bags on the counter and turned to see Chelsea following right behind her with the drinks. “I hope you don’t mind me crashing here tonight,” Chelsea said, kicking off her shoes by the door. “It’s been a long day, and I’m not in the mood to go back to my place alone.” Jihee laughed softly, already pulling out the ingredients she’d bought. “You’re always welcome here, Chels. But if you’re staying, you’re helping me cook.”
Chelsea gasped theatrically, clutching her chest. “Me? Cook? You want this masterpiece of a manager to chop vegetables? How cruel.” Jihee rolled her eyes, playfully. “Fine. You can handle the drinks while I make the food.” “Now that I can do!” Chelsea grinned, setting the bottles of soju and makgeolli on the counter. She began rummaging through Jihee’s cabinets, pulling out glasses while Jihee got to work preparing the meal. They fell into an easy rhythm, the kitchen filling with the comforting sounds of bubbling water as Jihee cooked the ramyeon and fried the chicken to golden perfection. Chelsea popped open a bottle of soju, poured them both glasses, and raised hers dramatically. “To surviving another chaotic day and still looking fabulous while doing it.”
Jihee clinked her glass against Chelsea’s with a small laugh, the tension in her chest easing with the first sip of the cool drink. The smell of crispy chicken and savory ramyeon soon filled the air, and Jihee set the food on plates, placing everything on the small dining table in the corner of the living room. They settled in, and the food disappeared quickly as Chelsea devoured her portion with relish. “I don’t know how you do it, Jihee,” she said between bites. “You’re amazing at everything—acting, looking stunning, and cooking. I’m jealous.” Jihee shook her head, smiling softly. “You’re the one who keeps everything together, Chels. I couldn’t do half of this without you.”
Chelsea raised her glass again, her expression softening. “That’s what best friends are for. Cheers to us.” They laughed, the sound light and carefree as the evening stretched on. The drinks flowed, the conversation bouncing between work, childhood memories, and harmless gossip about co-stars and directors. For a few hours, Jihee allowed herself to forget Baba’s harsh words, focusing instead on the warmth of the moment and the easy companionship Chelsea always brought. Eventually, they moved to the couch, Chelsea sprawled out with a can of beer in hand while Jihee leaned back, legs tucked beneath her. The lights of the city twinkled faintly outside the window, the calm atmosphere a stark contrast to the whirlwind of the day.
“I’m serious,” Chelsea said, her words slightly slurred from the drinks. “You’re going to kill it at the MAMA Awards. Everyone’s going to see what I see—the Jihee who lights up every room she walks into.” Jihee smiled faintly, her heart swelling with gratitude despite the weight that still lingered in the background. “Thanks, Chels. I mean it.” “Always, babe,” Chelsea replied, raising her can for one last toast. “Here’s to many more nights like this.” Jihee clinked her glass gently against Chelsea’s, the sound ringing softly in the quiet of the apartment. For now, the weight she carried could wait until tomorrow.
The clock ticked past midnight as Jihee and Chelsea lounged on the sofa, their laughter fading into soft chuckles and occasional hiccups from too much soju and makgeolli. The empty bottles and discarded chicken bones on the table were evidence of their indulgence. Chelsea stretched lazily, blinking against the dim lighting of the apartment. “Alright, babe. I think I’m officially ready to crash. I’d say the same for you,” she said, voice thick with exhaustion as she wobbled slightly, catching the edge of the sofa for balance. Jihee chuckled softly, her movements slower than usual thanks to the drinks. “I think you’re right. Sleep sounds pretty good right about now.”
Chelsea stumbled toward the spare bedroom with a dramatic flourish, throwing Jihee a mock salute before disappearing behind the door. Jihee smiled faintly as she made her way to her own room, her hand grazing the wall as she steadied herself. Once inside, she slid into bed without bothering to change, pulling the blanket over herself as exhaustion overtook her. The warmth of her home and the quiet buzz of alcohol lulled her into a dreamless sleep. The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, coaxing Jihee awake. Her temples pounded faintly, and she groaned, pressing her hand lightly against her forehead. From across the apartment, Chelsea’s groans grew louder, her exaggerated complaints about her hangover causing Jihee to chuckle weakly.
Chelsea stumbled out of the spare bedroom, her hair disheveled, and her hand pressed firmly against her forehead. “Girl, you have a schedule today. Why did you let me do this?” she groaned, voice thick with regret. Jihee emerged from her room, her own headache manageable but persistent. She leaned against the doorframe, smirking despite the ache. “You’re the one who brought the soju, Chels. I just went along for the ride.” Chelsea squinted at her, unimpressed. “I’m blaming you anyway. You’re too good at convincing me to stay over and eat chicken.” Jihee laughed softly, brushing her hair out of her face. “Come on, let’s get some coffee. We’ll survive this.”
Dragging themselves to the kitchen, they worked together to brew a pot of strong coffee, the aroma filling the apartment like a lifeline. Chelsea slumped into a chair, sipping her mug with exaggerated relief. “Okay, I’m officially alive again. Barely.” Jihee chuckled, her own mug cradled in her hands as she glanced at the clock. The day ahead loomed large, but for now, the warmth of the coffee and the comfort of Chelsea’s presence made it feel manageable.
Chelsea groaned again, louder this time, but nodded as she pushed herself upright. “Fine, fine. Let’s tackle this chaos—but don’t expect me to look fabulous until after my second cup of coffee.” Her usual energy began creeping back, the sparkle in her eyes hinting at her readiness to face the whirlwind schedule. Jihee smiled, watching Chelsea fumble for her phone, already texting updates to their team. The calm morning air wrapped around them as the city buzzed quietly outside. There was much to do, but Jihee allowed herself a moment to savor this—the quiet before the storm. With Chelsea by her side, she knew she was ready to take on the day, one step at a time.