Chapter Text
Born from a three-time actress of the year mother, and a director father who is just as impressive, Karina shined the moment she opened her eyes to the world. Her birth was celebrated by— a product of love between legends of the craft, a prodigy from the moment she was born.
That’s Karina.
Casted immediately for an important role when she took interest in acting as a child, Karina.
The child genius who showed potential to surpass her mother, Karina.
The only actress that the world will curve around for, Karina.
Karina.
“Do you like acting, Jimin-ah?” Her mother asked her once, back when she was seven and got her first role. She played as the daughter of the protagonist, an innocent child whose tears are rooted on something deeper than spilled milk. A character that acts as another— a little girl who knows more than her body can contain. Karina, at seven years old, read through the script and immediately understood the role she was playing.
A daughter. A good daughter. The type that seems dependable, the one that forces adults to rely on her in difficult situations.
The daughter that pretends to be a child younger than her mind allows— perfect.
A character Karina embodied without much thought.
Karina looked up at her mother. Her mother had a smile as radiant as the time she won that daesang award— brighter than a million lights shining on her face that night. One she was never able to produce since the pass of her prime. It was a smile you should’ve never shown a child.
Karina, at seven years old, would look straight at the camera like she has abandoned Jimin.
Her mother knew, from the very first time that Karina opened her mouth to speak, that her daughter was bound to take all the golds and bring them home.
And maybe, just maybe, at seven years old, Karina knew that too.
(Did she?)
(Well, there’s not much of a choice, is there?)
Despite not finding any difference between acting and doing her homework, she smiled just like she did when she played the role of the protagonist’s child. A smile that reaches her eyes, one that lights up the room and leaves no shadow behind. “Yes!” she said excitedly— and it was so easy, so, so easy, “I love it!”
(She never did.)
She played that role until it blurred into reality. Karina has been acting before she had known what it meant to be acting. She aces every script reading and fulfills her roles faithfully. Only positive articles are ever tangled with her name, and like her mother predicted, she won every award for her age.
Best child performance. Most promising actress. Best breakthrough performance.
She won it all.
By the time Karina entered highschool, she nearly filled the shelf her parents built to display her achievements alongside their own.
The smile on her mother’s face no longer disappeared like it once did.
Karina somewhat manages to escape work when she enters highschool (a specialized one, of course) because she was at the age wherein she was too old to be a child actress, and too young to be the industry's first love. Her mother was happy to adhere to her request of taking a break, fearing that her daughter would experience a burnout too early in her career.
Though her mother, always an actress before a parent, had a condition that Karina must join their school’s film club so she could still do a little bit of acting during her break.
Karina complies, again. (Without fail).
Truthfully, it wasn’t much of a problem. Karina doesn’t dislike acting, she just… doesn’t like it either.
Acting is… nothing.
It makes her mother happy, and her father hopeful.
It makes the world anticipate how her career would progress— how many daesang she would win, or if she would win any at all.
But she's indifferent about it. If it was just up to Karina, can give it up anytime if she wanted to, but she finds no harm in continuing it anyway.
At this point, her entire life revolved around acting. It would be a pain to look for a new hobby, and it would be somewhat difficult to look at her mother’s face if she were to stop before even making it to the biggest stages.
It’s bothersome, but it’s not like she can’t live without some inconveniences.
Like today.
Karina's first day in highschool was as stressful as it could get. Between trying to keep a perfect smiling face as she gets mobbed by students, and also trying her best to find joy on such a historic day, Karina is exhausted before classes even begin. Sure, it’s satisfying to be recognized but she’s not convinced that it’s worth all the effort.
Defeated, she takes her seat.
Surprisingly, no one dared to sit next to her.
It seemed like there was some sort of silent agreement between her classmates that no one will ever be worthy of being Karina’s seatmate.
Was she being revered, or feared?
Karina knows that it’s the former, but all of these feel silly to witness. On one side, she’s grateful to finally have some space for herself. On another, she’s confused.
It’s just a seat. What’s the big deal about it? It’s not like she’s holding auditions to deem whoever is worthy to become her seatmate.
Karina sighs, hiding a frown behind the palm of her hands. School is a pain, too. At this rate, she might end up with a superficial friend group for the entire year.
Until she came, of course.
Like a cold breeze, contrasting to the warm gazes of the people around Karina.
"Is this seat taken?"
(Karina would remember their meeting every single time she'd get her hands on an award.)
(It was the memory that flashes her head each time she hears the words ‘Film,’)
(‘Acting,’)
(and ‘Friend.’)
That girl's voice was calm and quiet, not at all fazed with the popularity and stardom of the young actress next to her. Her uniform, then, was neat, with a tie instead of a ribbon and ironed perfectly. She looked simple and spoke in fewer words.
She looked at Karina expectantly.
Karina blinks.
Her potential seatmate did too.
"Hey, you can't sit there," a classmate said— Karina can't remember her name. All of their faces are blurry anyway. It's no use.
"Why?" The girl questions, already putting her bag on the table. "Did someone else already claim this?"
"No, bu—"
"Then it's my seat from now on,"
Karina is stunned. The girl next to her merely took out her notebook and a pencil case before sending a glare to their classmates that were still hunched over their desks.
"Please leave," she says sternly to the group that’s been watching Karina intently since she came in, "Class will start soon."
Everytime the actress thinks about it, it just doesn’t make sense. That girl was just in highschool— how could she disperse a crowd so easily? She spoke very little, was it the tone of her voice? It sounded just plain cool, the type that sends a subtle chill.
The group leaves with scowls on their faces and her seatmate doesn’t say anything more.
The bell would ring, and Karina would always remember the incomprehensible look from her seatmate's face.
"Thanks," she says, eyes drawn towards the girl occupying the seat next to her. There's this certain pull that reels Karina in— is it the boldness? The chill? She can't tell.
"I'm not used to people crowding my space," The girl doesn't look at her when she speaks. It’s a new feat; Karina is irresistible and draws people in easily. "I didn't do it for you,"
A smile stretches across Karina's face, one that paints fascination by the very first meeting.
"I'm Jimin,"
Her seatmate looks at her, and finally, Jimin finds a face that's not blurry. The girl’s face doesn’t show much expression, her eyes are unamused, there’s almost a snowflake in the middle of her irises. It’s not cold, but not warm, either. It’s confusing.
Suddenly, Jimin understands why her classmates left easily.
This girl is different.
She doesn’t say anything else, merely acknowledging the name with a nod.
Her name is Minjeong, Karina would eventually learn after a whole lot of convincing and breaching peace. Kim Minjeong. She likes films— not Karina's films— and she likes drawing camera outlines on the pages of her notebook when she’s bored of the things she’s hearing.
Kim Minjeong.
Minjeong-ah.
The only times Karina would ever call that name out loud is whenever Karina forgets that she's Karina and not Jimin.
So Karina calls her Winter instead.
Winter is an enigma.
Like a blurry field of white when snow falls and there is no visibility.
She doesn’t like Karina as much as people tend to. She likes her own space, keeps her things tidy and speaks her mind whenever she’s displeased.
It’s amusing and new, Winter’s annoyed sighs and raised brows, Karina liked seeing it grace her features. (So much so that she would occasionally surround herself with people just so she can see Winter weave through all of them with a displeased frown when they’re both running late for class.)
“Do you want to come over to my house today?”
Winter’s eyes drift away from the book on her table to look at her seatmate with a frazzled look. She doesn’t waste her breath to ask a question and simply raises her brow instead.
The actress understood, of course.
The self study period just began so her new friend is busy familiarizing herself with their lesson. Her hands are fully occupied, gently caressing the pages of her textbook.
“Don’t pretend like you didn’t hear me,” Karina chuckles as she lays her arms on her desk, resting her head on top of them. “I asked you if you want to come over,” she repeated, staring at the exposed cuff of Winter’s uniform. It's neatly buttoned, ironed. Unsurprisingly, Winter cares a lot about the neatness and perfection of things. Rina wonders if that’s the reason why the younger girl seems to be a bit more uptight in comparison to herself.
Winter sighs then closes her book. “Why?” Rina knows she’s annoyed— her eyebrows were slightly furrowed, lips in a slight frown.
“My mom is worried about me making friends,”
Not really. Her mother knows her daughter— Karina is a magnet made of pure neodymium. One smile is enough to enchant the world in the palm of her hands. She wouldn't even have to lift a finger.
But Winter is a wooden block amidst irons.
She looks at Karina, and the latter immediately knows that she’s not entertained by the idea.
“You are making friends.” Winter says flatly.
“Did I succeed in making you one of them?"
The question left her lips before Karina had half the mind to stop it.
Winter blinks at the suddenness. There’s a new expression that envelops her features: stunned, like it’s something she never thought she would hear.
(In her defense, Karina never thought she’d ever say it either.)
Despite that, the subtle coldness in her eyes hasn't changed. “Sure,” she says.
Karina’s lips curve into a cheeky grin— something that formed unconsciously, an instant response. “So? Are you coming?”
“Aren’t you scared? What if I steal your things and sell them on Facebook Marketplace?”
“Will you really?”
“No,” Winter grimaces, sounding offended.
“Why not?”
“I’m not a fan,”
“Of stealing?”
“Yes,” Winter says, cringing. After a moment she adds, “and you,”
This time, the surprise washes over Karina’s face like she heard an unbelievable feat. Winter was able to somewhat hide the same feeling each time, but Karina couldn’t. It has faken over her face before she could even realize.
She turns to look at her seatmate who was still busy with her book, “What? Really?” The actress questions, leaning over to Winter’s book and blocking her view. “Do you know me?”
“I know you, Miss Yoo Jimin,” Winter says, annoyed at the sudden distraction of Karina’s face right above the pages of her book, “You win all child actress awards each year. I’ve seen your projects,”
“But you still say you’re not a fan of me?”
“Yes,” Winter says in a heartbeat, with zero hesitations. “There are people like that,”
“Really?” Karina smiles widely— cheeky.
Of course she knew that.
(How can she not? That’s the reason why she’s always so entertained when Winter frowns each time they get stuck in trouble because of Karina’s reputation.)
“Yes,” Winter deadpans, “Really,”
“Then should I make you a fan of me?”
Something flickers in Winter's eyes— it looked a lot like a small splash of amusement. Karina’s eyes widened at the sight of catching it for the first time.
It drew a feeling within Karina’s chest that she didn’t think she’s capable of experiencing.
(It sent a throb, a pause in the way her blood delivered oxygen in her heart, then it sent a boom of thunder to clap all over her ribcage.)
(Then, it came alive.)
(One look from Winter’s eyes and all things dormant was born for the first time.)
“Sure,” Winter replies, shaking her head and returning to her book, “You can try.”
And she tried, indeed,
For the first time in years, Acting became something.
It began with Winter’s indifference and Karina’s goal to completely melt snow and meet spring.
Something small.
But something, nevertheless.
They end up being half-friends, a compromise reached by the two of them since Winter won’t admit that they are friends and Karina is too invested to let go.
Only half because Winter doesn’t have much of an interest in Karina outside of them sitting together and occasionally sharing notes. Karina likes that she doesn’t ever ask about acting, or how a certain celebrity acts in real life. She just keeps to herself, reading overly complicated paragraphs about the history of filmmaking and lets Karina ramble about what’s the tastiest cake in stock.
Winter is just Winter.
The first fall of snow when people are mostly asleep.
She is that type of winter.
“My mom wants me to join the film club,” the taller of the two says as both of them stand in front of the bulletin board in the hallway. Multiple posters and announcements were posted with a thin strip of yellowish tape.
“Because you’re an actress, Jimin,” Winter is not even looking at the board anymore. She's too occupied with the storyboard she’s been doodling during their break. “What clubs are there?”
“There’s film, music, painting..? They also have the more specific ones like crocheting and woodcarving— Oh! They have a drama club,”
“What’s the difference between film and drama?”
“I think film has more film and drama has more drama,”
“Wow,” Winter finally lifts her gaze from her sketches. “That was helpful, truly,” She deadpans.
“You’re welcome.”
Karina watches in silence as the younger girl reads the tiny description below each club. Winter reads intently, her eyes focused on the tiny fonts, arms crossed and lips pursed. “I think the drama club does more acting than the film club, it says here that they do stage performances and musicals while the film club focuses more on traditional filmmaking.” Karina finds a tiny mole on the side of Winter’s neck, “Which one are you joining?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replies, following Winter’s gaze towards the bulletin board.
That elicits a raised brow from the younger girl. “What do you mean?”
Karina feels Winter’s stare on the side of her face.
She doesn’t yield— something tells her she shouldn’t. “I don’t really care about things like this.”
An uncomfortable silence drapes over them.
Winter’s gaze is heavy with questions.
Karina tries her best to shake it away.
“I’ll go with the film club,” the younger girl says after a moment of silence.
“Then I’ll go with you!”
“No,” Winter says with finality despite the conversation just starting. “Do what you want to do.”
There’s a new expression again: Winter’s eyes are more clouded with snow, her lips are curved downwards a little bit more.
It looks a lot like disappointment, yet an expectation met all at the same time.
“I—” Jimin stills.
She holds back the urge to tell Winter that she doesn’t want to do acting, she just does it.
“You?”
So she does just that— holds back, and smiles like the actress she always has been. Something within her aches just a bit, like an insect bite that hurts for a moment, then disappears just as quickly as it came.
Winter looks at her expectantly.
Karina nods and says, “Okay.”
It seemed like Karina got too used to her seatmate’s presence.
It was exhausting dealing with clubmates with endless questions about her career, it was exhausting reciting her popular lines, talking about working with directors her seniors liked. She wore her professional smile again— she had forgotten how it feels like to have them on her lips. Winter never demanded that smile, didn’t mind the neutral face Jimin wears.
Although the warmth from Jimin’s calculated smile doesn’t change,
Somehow, strangely, it’s a bit suffocating to wear it again.
By the time her club meeting ends, Karina bids goodbye to her clubmates and runs— with her slightly heeled shoes and long socks, with her skirt and long hair dancing with the wind. She runs across the empty field, past every person who calls her name, and looks ahead until she sees Winter again.
“Did you run all the way here?” Winter asks, eyebrows raised at Karina’s exhausted state.
“Yea–h,” she replies, out of breath,
“Why?”
“Nothing,” Karina’s heart is pounding from the run, and her cheeks are flushed from the heat of the sun. “It's just hard when you’re not around,”
Winter gives her this amused look. It seemed like her own meeting had ended and gone well, considering the younger girl’s light mood. “Were you mobbed again?” She asks, tilting her head and looking at Karina more intently. “What happened?”
“Well,” Karina couldn’t find a response. Why did she run here again? Was the club so exhausting that she felt the need to zoom past the people that adored her just to speak with a girl who is more questioning than thrilled to see her here?
“It was just… busy, I guess,” is what Karina settles for. It’s difficult to provide an answer to a question that she’s not too sure about either.
Winter didn't say anything else. She only reaches out to pat the taller girl's head.
Again, again, again it makes Karina feel new. It eases the breath she’s been holding, and it relaxes her shoulders. Just one touch from this girl and Karina’s stopped suffocating (but her heart doesn’t stop running. It goes, and goes, and keeps going.)
"It's okay," Winter says, voice uncharacteristically soft and warm. Jimin's heart stills for a moment, dazed by the first taste of tenderness to ever leave Winter’s mouth, "You did well."
And it has stopped beating since then.
Sometime in November, Karina's club suddenly got way too busy to prepare for a performance in December.
Meetings with Winter became less frequent as the latter was also busy with her own club activities. Karina even heard that their seniors were so impressed with her friend's knack for film that they promoted her as an assistant director for the project immediately.
Due to that, Karina took it upon herself to head to Winter's club once she's finished with her tasks.
She always finishes early so it wasn't a problem.
She's Karina, after all.
And Winter is a friend.
(Just a friend.)
Thankfully, Winter’s clubroom is right next to a big tree so it's pleasant to stay there after her club duties. Besides, Winter's fellow members often leave early so Karina can enjoy her privacy and silence while her friend works on whatever she's busy with for the day.
Karina loved that— she realized early on— the silence and quietness that she can only find whenever Winter is around.
It was something new, something she never had.
Not even in her own house.
"You're here?" Winter stands up from the desk where she's seated in front of an open laptop. From the doorframe where Karina is leaning on, she can already tell that her friend is bound to stay longer to finish more work. "I heard it's busy for your club, but it seems like you have a lot of free time."
The actress laughs and shakes her head. "We're busy," she says, taking her seat next to her friend rather giddily. "I always finish rehearsing my scenes quickly so I get to leave early,”
Winter's gaze lands on her again. It's more subtle this time. Something about it is hard to read, but also so easy.
Like that day in front of the bulletin board, her gaze is heavy, and her silence is quieter.
Perhaps Karina’s perception is dulled by the blooming feeling that whispers to her everytime Winter is near.
Karina fails to catch it.
(She should’ve.)
(She would’ve known everything if she had.)
"Are you satisfied with that?" The younger girl asks, rewinding the same clip on her laptop over and over again. It's like a broken record at this point, it’s a camera angle of two people conversing as the camera pans and switches to record them.
Karina shrugs and leans back on her chair. "Yep," she says, eyes landing on whatever's going on in Winter's screen. “I’m fulfilling my role anyway. It doesn’t need that much effort,” she squints her eyes at the laptop, “Also this is the sixth time that you rewound that,"
The short haired girl doesn’t budge. She merely hovers her cursor on the video progress and drags it over and over again. "I need to make sure that it's perfect," she says quietly, eyes focused, attempting to take in every detail.
"Why?"
"Just because."
‘It’s just for a club activity,’ Karina wanted to say, ‘you’re already doing good. Why do you keep trying to do more?’
She holds it back, nods her head at Winter and focuses her eyes on the lit-up keys of the younger girl's laptop.
Karina doesn’t understand.
Winter doesn’t ask her to.
They lay in silence for a while. The clip keeps getting replayed over and over again, then replaced with a similar shot from another angle, then eventually deleted. Winter frowns, and Karina doesn't understand why.
She watches as her friend reaches for the sketchbook on the table, scraps away all of the sketched pages, and starts drawing again.
"Are you going to redo all of that?"
"Mhm," Winter doesnt look up from the sketchbook when she answers. "I have to,"
"I think it was okay,"
Winter looks at her and frowns. "I don't like 'okays',"
“It wasn’t just okay,” Karina mumbles.
Winter gives her a look, an enigma that Karina could never decipher. There’s something about her gaze that has Karina confused and uncontent.
It’s new, again. This time, it feels more uncomfortable, more disturbing. It’s a gaze that peered beyond what Karina's eyes were protecting.
“I know,” Winter says it like she’s trying to say something else— like she’s saying it to someone else.
Their eyes meet.
Then, Winter says. “But it could be better than this.”
(For some reason, Karina felt like she was meant to absorb it.)
(High from the success of a young actress that won all the awards, she didn’t.)
In the distant future, Winter’s club’s short film would be able to get recognition from many known people in the industry after it was nominated for an award. Somehow, Winter’s senior members found a way to submit it to a contest. Karina watched it with so much pride, and as her half-friend’s name appears in the credits in white text, she immediately nudged her father and said, “That’s her,”
Her dad didn’t do anything but nod, but the look in his eyes told Karina everything she needed to know.
Winter’s film is a trinket of gold.
Then came December.
The first snow, and December.
Karina’s first play, and December.
The day of the performance was hectic.
Despite the fact that they prepared for this play months prior, and rehearsed so much that Karina knows her partner’s lines by heart, there was still anxiety surrounding the whole team. A wave of uncertainty bathed the cast, and the young actress was a witness to many shaky hands and nervous breaths.
And although Karina practiced with them for months, she feels so far away.
(Like Winter everytime she looks her way.)
Amidst all of the adrenaline, Karina’s heart is calm. Her hands are steady, and her gaze is indifferent. There’s not a hint of nervousness in her veins because this is easy.
Acting is easy.
She’s done it since she was a kid, she’s doing it every minute.
Acting is easy, like buttoning a shirt or turning on a light switch.
This is just another stage.
A normal day for an actress.
“We can do this!” someone says— Karina recognized her as Ningning, one of their actors who does a bit of musicals on the side. Karina remembers her as an excellent performer, perhaps even too good to be exerting so much effort in unpaid gigs like this. “We prepared for a long time, we lost our voices at times, and nearly lost hope at times— but we’re here now. We’re just one step behind the stage. We’re one performance to saying that ‘we’ve done well.’”
Karina’s attention tunnels at her, at the way she speaks, at the light in her eyes.
Ningning is a dreamer, it seemed like.
Even with her own hands trembling on the side of her skirt, she speaks with determination, with hope, with fire and stars in her eyes. It leaves every person on the backstage listening, cheering, and proudly agreeing despite the fact that the play is yet to begin.
Everyone but the most talented one.
The one who nods and smiles and pretends that she understands.
The one who shined the brightest.
The one who cared least about the play’s success, the one who went to every practice, excelled, and easily left. The one who never lost her voice, never cared about hope, never did anything more than she should.
The genius actress who has no passion, only indifference.
Karina who was only there to tell the world, “Yes, I’m still an actress.”
So Karina mimics everyone around her, places a hand on her chest and wears a nervous smile on her face. She blends in, mimics passion like she's always had it, and makes an explosion brighter than anyone else did.
The play went well.
Exceptionally well.
Standing ovation, flowers thrown on the stage.
The cheering was loud as it reached its conclusion, and amidst the praises and tears of pride, only one person kept an unreadable face.
Standing on the seat that has the best view of the stage, Winter is clapping, smiling, but her eyes as she meets Karina's are… confusing.
There was pride, of course. There was satisfaction, but the lack of adoration in Winter’s gaze knocked the breath from Karina’s chest.
It was… ordinary. So ordinary it felt like disappointment.
Winter looked at Karina as if they were just sitting next to each other in class, as if there was no difference between her seatmate and the girl who elicited the most claps.
For the first time, Karina sees Winter's indifference and feels it hit like a truck.
What?
Karina's facade crumbles, the indifferent face she had hits the ground with a thud— it leaves a crack, then it chips a part of it as Karina comes back to pick it up.
What..?
That day, Winter looked at Karina like no one else did.
(And finally, Karina manages to catch Winter's gaze.)
(Finally.)
Why are you looking at me like that?
“Did you not like it?” Karina asks, sitting at the stage as she wraps her knees in her arm. There’s confusion and distress in her eyes, it had her feeling dejected, unsettled. Her mind keeps on going back to Winter’s eyes— warm, but void of adoration and Karina doesn’t understand why that haunts her more than it should.
Has she always been this sensitive?
Winter’s standing in front of her, below the stage. She reaches out, leaves a bouquet of carnations in front of Karina,. “What are you talking about? I liked it,”
The unsettling feeling doesn’t leave.
Rina reaches out to touch the flowers, feeling their fragileness under her fingertips. For the longest time, Karina has always been compared to a flower— one that blooms in a sequence, then becomes the prettiest one among the rest.
(But today, Winter’s gaze makes her feel like she isn’t.)
“How was it?” She asked.
Winter’s answer had her reeling down even more, to a new depth she hasn't met yet.
“It was okay,”
( "I don't like 'okays'," )
Karina tears up a little.
Inside her chest, Jimin does too.
"Why are you crying?" Winter asks,. "Don't cry— ah, you did well, you did well,"
"You didn't like it." Jimin's heart aches. For the first time, real heartbreak seeps between the gaps of her ribs. It fills the silences where her heart isn't beating, and it bleeds.
(“Then should I make you a fan of me?”)
(Karina realizes how arrogant she must’ve seemed.)
"But I did," Winter says. She's trying to wipe Jimin's tears now, standing on the tip of her toes. Her fingers barely brush against the actress' cheek because of the distance, but she tries her best. "I liked it. Do— don't cry, ah. What's wrong? What's the matter?"
"I-I—" something changed that day.
Something small turns into desire— need for validation, to be approved of, to be looked upon.
The promise they made on that day becomes more defined. Jimin holds it in her heart— puts it first and foremost.
(“Then should I make you a fan of me?”)
"I don't know," Jimin says through the tears. "I just want you to like it, Minjeong. I-I didn't know I wanted you to like it,"
I want you to like what I did.
"I do," Minjeong says softly, as Jimin leans on the hand on her cheek. "I did,"
Minjeong, why don’t you like me?
(“Sure, you can try.”)
Since that day, Karina realized that there is a distance between the two of them that she simply cannot close.
It’s not a physical distance that could be solved if she reached out and pulled Winter back.
It’s not an emotional one that could be fixed if she cornered Winter and asked her to speak her mind.
It was just… a distance.
One Karina can’t make up for no matter what she tries.
It stings and pricks each time their skin meets.
“Do you not like me?"
It takes Winter by surprise. It had her whipping her head to look at her friend with wide eyes. After the day of the performance, she became softer, more expressive.
Karina doesn’t know if it stems from pity or guilt, or if it's something she’s not yet able to perceive.
“Huh? Why would you think that?" She asks, confused.
Karina doesn’t know. A part of her— initially a small fragment that snowballed into something that she can no longer ignore— wants to say ‘I don’t know. You make me feel like that’, but she knows that it’s just an attempt to understand her own feelings.
Winter’s eyes are wide from surprise, confusion pooling on her irises. Her gaze is warm now, it’s getting warmer and warmer as time went by. Gone are the snowflakes in her irises, it seems like the winter is over but spring hasn’t arrived just yet. Not yet.
The actress doesn’t answer.
“I don’t— ” Winter looks confused, as an answer she was so confident was correct just got marked wrong. “I don’t hate you. Did I do something to make you think that?”
Karina looks away, bites her lip and tries her best to look like she's unshaken by the sound of Winter's voice. She doesn't understand any of this. It's embarrassing because Karina never once thought that she'd feel this.
This.
This… this.
This thing.
The thing that kept on knocking on her heart since the day of her play.
(Maybe even earlier.)
(Since the day they met.)
(The day acting became something.)
(The day acting longed to be something.)
This longing.. yearning.
"I feel like I didn't impress you," she murmurs, coming back to the memory of them talking after the play has ended, a bouquet of carnations above the stage, and Karina's heart begging to be complimented for the first time.
"You're always impressive," Winter says, gazing at the back of Karina's head. "You're the best actress that I know.”
The older girl crosses her arms, ears turning a bright shade of red. "I know that," she says quietly, "It's just that…."
"It's just that..?"
It doesn't feel enough.
"I feel like I'm not impressing you enough,"
Winter smiles, pats Karina's shoulder to comfort her, but she doesn't deny any of that. "You're the best actress I know, though?" She says with a small smile. Everything Winter says is filled with honesty. (Karina is hoping there's something more than just honesty in her lips.)
"Then what about the other actresses that you don't know?"
Winter's chuckle is comforting, the feel of her head on Karina's shoulder is assuring, and the warmth of her hand squeezing Karina's feels like a promise.
"You'll always be my favorite,"
Karina meets her eyes, suppresses the urge to lean in and make Winter promise it on her lips. "Really?"
Hope lingers in the distance between them, and Winter nods, confirming it.
"You'll always find a fan in me,"
And just like that, Karina holds onto it like names sketched on an old tree. Desire to be seen turns into yearning. Her heart spends every second gripping tightly to Winter's nod to the sound of this promise.
Her face burns like pink carnations and warm suns. "But you think I'm just okay. Can you still say that I'd always find a fan in you?"
"Yes," Winter leans on her shoulder and lets out a sleepy yawn. "Maybe I'm not your biggest fan now, but didn’t you say you’d make me a fan of yours?”
"What do you mean?"
The younger girl closes her eyes.
Winter is an enigma.
A mystery Karina can’t read.
She is straightforward yet confusing. She’s cold yet she’s warm.
She says she’s a fan but she’s not. At least not yet, not at the level they both want her to be.
"I believe you can shine," Winter murmurs, "I believe you're so much more than you are now. There's still something you haven't learned, but once you do, I know that you'll be the best actress in the world.
And when that happens, you will know."
"Know what?"
Something lingers in the air, in the smile on Winter's lips. Neutrality and indifference gets challenged here, but Jimin is too unfocused to notice it.
But it's here.
It's always been here.
Her highschool years would pass just like that.
It was spent with more stages and films, more meetings under the tree, more questions, more answers. Karina is learning how to act the way Winter likes it. It’s new— this feeling, this yearning to be approved of.
This strong desire to be someone’s favorite.
It’s the reason for Karina’s acting.
Winter's neutrality would never waver again throughout the years. After that talk, she'd go back to her usual cold façade, pushing Karina's face each time it gets too close. She'd always watch every performance with the same indifference, the same silence.
Karina has learned how to not cry at the sight of them anymore.
Instead, she hops off the stage to run towards Winter and say, "Did I make you my fan today?"
Winter only laughs at that. "No, not today,"
Of course, the younger girl's rather cold personality did end up causing minor problems to Karina's image. Some went to 'expose' the 'fact' that Karina is friends with the wrong crowd to journalists, and while articles were published, it was given zero attention.
Karina is the country's rising sun, after all.
It helped that she never really caused any trouble too. Karina is loved wherever she goes, from movie sets to meetings, from students to grandmothers and kids, Karina is the best.
Maybe not for Winter.
After Years of highschool, Karina is merely still a half-friend to Winter.
It was confusing, of course.
For a person who was interested in film— Karina learned this after six months of half-friendship, Winter is indifferent to the young actress. Karina herself found that odd since all directors and aspiring ones are always in awe at her presence, and some even try their best to cast her in their projects.
Winter was different.
She'd take the seat next to Rina, walk next to her, and even share her lunch. She'd watch all of the shows and advertisements with Karina's face, come over to the young actress's house after school hours, and clap for her after every drama club performance, but she never adored her like everyone did. Winter never looked at her with smitten eyes, never said that Karina is the best, never looked at Karina like how she looked at Karina’s parents.
To Winter’s eyes, Karina never shone like gold.
Winter grew taller, spoke better, but nothing changed about her. She’s still the girl who sat next to her, the one who subtly glances at her, and shares her lunches. She still elicits that smile from Karina's face, that smile, the one that's similar to a golden sky. The one that lights up the night.
The one Karina can't replicate in front of a cameraman.
The original one, the one Jimin has.
Similar to how Karina viewed acting, how Winter views her is the exact same thing.
Indifference.
Neutrality.
Nothing.
"I think I'll pursue film in college," Winter told her once, the summer after their first year together. They were eating watermelons by the pool of Karina's family's summer villa. Winter's usually neatly cut hair had grown slightly longer over the weeks when school wasn't a problem, but everything about her stayed the same. "I want to be a director,"
Jimin's face lights up. "Really?"
"I'm still thinking about it."
"If you end up becoming a director, will you cast me as a main lead?"
There comes that shrug again, that indifference.
There's that subtle glance again, that silence.
Karina's cheeks were warm like the heat, and redness sprawled on her skin just like the watermelon stain on Winter's lips. A part of her— the part that was discovered in her very first play rises out of her chest again. She’s waiting… anticipating for an answer that would feel different.
An answer that would soothe the ache on her chest that she always endured each time Winter looks her way, ever since that very day.
Winter doesn’t give in. She pulls back out, places a distance between her and Karina again.
"You're going back to acting, right?" the younger girl asked.
"Yes,"
"So you're not going to college?"
"No. I'm curious about it though,"
Winter nods. She has this unreadable expression in her face— something akin to the neutrality she always had, but not quite.
"Will you come and find me?" Jimin asks.
The younger girl shrugs, she quietly looks at the pool and the wavy reflection of the summer sky in its waters. It feels a lot like their relationship— unstable, waving. Karina can’t help but see themselves in the ripple, in the low but not nonexistent tides.
Winter’s voice is unchanging, Winter’s looking away again, Winter’s silence is haunting the air again.
"You're everywhere. You're easy to find," she says, and it feels like a statement, not a promise.
"I know," Jimin murmurs. "Will you?"
There comes that shrug again, that indifference.
There's that subtle glance again, that silence.
Karina's heart aches within her ribs— it's loud and painful. Winter doesn't look at her and instead chooses to lay her eyes on Karina's reflection in the water.
Her heart does that thing again— that slam, that ache that had her lips shut. The type of ache that doesn't go away until it's soothed— but Karina knows that Winter would never do that.
She'd never.
No.
She'd never do that.
"Minjeong," she calls, and her voice is small, like a child standing in front of a big stage all alone.
"Yeah?"
"Am I your friend?"
Winter leans backwards, hands against the plastic lounge chairs. The wind blows, and it's warm— the heat and Jimin's skin.
Her figure disappears from the water.
Jimin's heart hurts like a sunburn that won't cool down— in her ribs, there's a fire. A burn that's left behind by a cold cold winter.
"Yes," Winter eventually says after a long moment of silence.
She finally meets Karina's eyes and her heart aches within her chest even more. Winter's gaze looks beyond brown irises, it's pushing, knocking, breaking down the walls that Jimin worked so hard to build.
It broke through every role, starting from the child who acted like nothing was wrong, to the highschool girl who was loved by the world.
Minjeong meets Jimin, and Jimin's eyes go wide, her lips parted. It's like a cold breeze from winter, the first fall of snow after a hot, hot summer.
Jimin's heart rushes to her cheeks, to the tips of her ears, to every hint of skin that could burn a deep shade of ruby. A part of her— the one beyond the barrier keeps telling her to reach out and catch that gaze, print it in a locket and wear it as a necklace.
But she doesn't.
Instead, Jimin leaned on her shoulder, eyes closed and prayed that summer would never end.
(But it did.)
(It did.)
Graduation.
In a film set, this is the last filming and is sometimes the ending.
After this is usually a relief because it means that Karina would be free for a bit, before she comes back and does another film.
But this time, there’s no relief.
No satisfaction.
Just longing.
Yearning.
Reaching.
“I’ll find you,” Karina says, determined. “I’ll be an actress so great that by the time you’d cast me in one of your films, you’d have to beg me to take the role.”
She doesn’t cry.
She tries not to.
Winter doesn’t either.
Instead, she reaches forward, holds out a hand for Karina to take and smiles.
“I’m looking forward to it,” she says. The snowflakes in her eyes have turned into stars— Karina knows she’d make a great director. She’d make the best director.
“You better,” Karina takes her hand, feeling the warmth of their palms connecting. She squeezes Winter’s hand.
She doesn’t cry.
Winter doesn’t either.
This may be the last set, but this isn't the ending.
“One day I’ll succeed,”
“In what?”
“I'm making you a fan of me.”
Winter laughs. It’s getting difficult to hold back the tears, but Jimin does just that.
“We’ll see.”
Neither of them says goodbye as the ceremony ends.
Neither of them exchange numbers or addresses where their career may bring.
They are bound by fate, anyway.
And if becoming the best actress in the world is what it would take for Minjeong to look her way, Jimin will make sure that she’d shine so bright that the stars in the sky will be the ones to guide that director back.
She’ll become just that, no matter what.