behind the cameras, between the lies

by WithLovePoohBear

Summary:

Rumi can handle grueling rehearsals, midnight comebacks, and rabid fans. What she can’t handle? Pretending to be madly in love with Jinu—the smug, infuriating Saja Boys heartthrob. Unfortunately, their management disagrees. Fake dating was supposed to only promote their respective groups… not break her heart in the process.

Kpop Idol AU—no demons or demon hunters!

Chapter 1: 1. Headlines Don’t Lie

1

Headlines Don’t Lie

“Rumi!”

 

The worried voices of Zoey and Mira filled her ears, but it was muffled, like cotton had been stuffed in them.

 

She blinked at the tablet clutched in Zoey’s trembling hands. The screen was angled toward her face, headlines screaming in bold black letters:

 

RUMI OF HUNTRIX AND JINU OF SAJA BOYS: NEW POWER COUPLE?

 

Below it were grainy photos—Rumi stepping out of the practice building last night, hair in a messy bun, mask on, exhaustion written in her posture. And just behind her, unmistakable even in low light, Jinu. Saja Boys’ golden prince. His head turned just so, like he knew the cameras would eat it up.

 

Her stomach dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

 

Mira’s wide eyes darted from the screen to Rumi’s face. “Unnie… it’s already trending. Top five worldwide. There’s fan edits, ship names, hashtags. People are losing their minds for Rujinu.”

 

Rumi shoved the tablet away, the headlines burning her retinas. “We’ve never even spoken more than three words to each other. Why would anyone think—”

 

A slow clap broke through the rising panic. From the doorway, Celine, Huntrix’s upper manager, leaned against the frame in her razor-sharp blazer, smirk curling like a knife. “Because,” Celine started smoothly, “people believe what they’re told. And Gwi-Ma and I have decided they’ll believe this.”

 

Rumi stiffened. “This is your doing?”

 

“Relax, 아가씨 (agassi),” Celine replied affectionately, strolling in like she owned the oxygen in the room. “The fans already love the idea. It’s good for your image, Rumi. You’re too untouchable, too cold. Pairing you with Jinu softens you. Makes you human.”

 

“By lying?” Rumi snapped at her pseudo-mother.

 

Zoey reached for her hand under the table, whispering, “Unnie, don’t—” but Rumi’s temper was already sparking.

 

Celine only shrugged. “It’s not a lie if you play the part convincingly. From today forward, you and Jinu are Seoul’s golden couple. Dates, hand-holding, the occasional sweet gaze caught by paparazzi. You’ll thank me when your group’s album hits number one again worldwide.”

 

The room spun. Rumi’s throat was dry, her chest buzzing with rage. “I won’t do it.”

 

“Oh, you will,” Celine said, lightly, tapping her nail against the table. “Because contracts, 아가씨 (agassi). And because Huntrix doesn’t have room for martyrs. And you’d do well to remember that I can make you a solo career like that.” Celine snapped her perfectly manicured fingers.

 

Silence settled heavy as a stage curtain.

 

Rumi sank back into her chair, nails biting into her palms. Across the room, Zoey and Mira exchanged helpless glances. Celine’s words weren’t a suggestion. They were a verdict.

 

And just like that, Rumi’s fate was sealed: chained to Jinu, the boy she couldn’t stand.

 

The first text arrived like a taunt

 

Unknown Number: Guess we’re dating now Don’t fall too hard for me.

 

Rumi nearly hurled her phone across the dorm. “Unbelievable,” she muttered.

 

Zoey peeked out from her spot on the couch. “Who is it?”

 

Rumi’s jaw made a popping noise from how tight she was clenching it. “The devil in Gucci sneakers.”

 

She type back furiously, fingers flying across her screen’s keyboard: Don’t flatter yourself. This is business, not romance. Try to keep up.

 

The reply came fast.

 

Jinu: Looking forward to breaking your heart, sweetheart.

 

Her blood boiled, fingers trembling with rage. And yet, beneath all the fury, her heart thumped once—loud, traitorous, curious.

 

Zoey looked at Rumi curious herself. She’d never seen Rumi act like this towards anyone, especially a boy. It had to mean something. She traded looks with Mira as if to say, You thinking what I’m thinking?

 

Mira nodded minutely. Oh yeah… Operation Rujinu is on.

Chapter 2: Constellations No One Sees

Summary:

Throw in sweat, schedules, and a sudden “date” announcement, and Rumi’s day just got a whole lot worse.

2

Constellations No One Sees

Breathing hard, Rumi took a long sip of water. The bottle trembled slightly in her grip, sweat slicking her palm. The mirrored practice room reflected back a version of herself she barely recognized—hair plastered to her temples, shirt clinging to her skin, chest rising and falling like she’d just run a marathon.

 

The Huntrix girls were in the middle of another grueling rehearsal. Mira was nonstop directing them—counting beats, fixing arms, barking reminders about facial expressions and angles. Zoey hummed as she spun through the choreo again, her energy seemingly endless.

 

Meanwhile, Rumi felt like her lungs had been swapped out with sandpaper.

She wanted to sit down, wanted to ask for a break, wanted to confess how her legs were shaking underneath her legging. But she swallowed the urge. The thought of disappointing Mira and Zoey—her best friends and the closest thing she had to sisters—was worse than the ache clawing through her muscles.

 

“From the top!” Mira clapped, already stepping back into formation.

 

Rumi opened her mouth to protest—just for a second, just for a five minute breather—when salvation arrived in the form of a singsong voice.

 

“Hi girls~”

 

The practice room door swung open and Bobby’s head poked through, hair flopping as he waved.

 

“Hi Bobby!” all three chanted automatically, more muscle memory than enthusiasm.

 

Rumi wasn’t sure if she was more relieved for the break or terrified of what bad news he was bringing this time.

 

Sure enough, Bobby grinned sheepishly, clipboard hugged to his chest like a shield. “Now, I know you’re hard at work here, but~” he dragged the word out with dangerous cheer, “Rumi and Jinu have a date planned.”

 

Mira’s head snapped toward her so fast, Rumi swore she heard a crack. “You didn’t even tell us!”

 

Rumi blinked, scandalized. “That’s because even I didn’t know about this until now.”

 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, Rumi.” Bobby’s voice pitched higher in self-defense. “But Celine and Gwi-Ma want you two to go on your date now… like… right now.”

 

Rumi froze mid-sip of water. Her bottle slipped to the floor, rolling into Zoey’s sneakers. “But it’s a practice day! We’re not even halfway through rehearsals for Golden!” She widened her eyes at him, willing her best wounded puppy-dog look to melt his icy manager orders.

 

Bobby grimaced and turned his head away dramatically, shielding himself with his clipboard like her gaze might scorch him. “Don’t do that, Rumi. Don’t you weaponize those big brown eyes against me. Sorry, but Celine is my boss and you three will just have to make up practice tomorrow.”

 

“But it’s a Saturday!” Zoey chimed into the whining game, throwing her arms in the air. “Mira and I were going to try to convince Rumi to go to the bathhouse with us again!”

 

“Girls, I’m sorry, but this isn’t up for discussion,” Bobby said firmly, though his voice cracked halfway through like he didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news anymore. “Celine and Gwi-Ma Management have made up their minds.”

 

He turned back to Rumi with all the faux-gravity of a courtroom judge. “Rumi, you need to get dressed in something more date-appropriate. Jinu will pick you up at your dorm.”

 

Rumi’s mouth fell open so wide she nearly choked on air. “You told him where we live?!”

 

Bobby winced, already inching back toward the door like he had a getaway car waiting. “Yes, now go home, shower, and change into something approachable! You have an hour and a half before he gets there.”

Rumi’s brown eyes widened and her jaw nearly unhinged at that point, “Bobby! An hour and a half! That’s so not enough time! Do you know how much hair I have to wash?!”

 

Mira and Zoey exchanged mischievous grins, eyes sparkling as if they’d just been handed front-row tickets to a live drama.

 

And sure enough, Rumi—flustered, furious, muttering curses under her breath—scooped up her bag and bolted from the rehearsal space, sneakers squeaking against the polished marbled flooring as she ran.

 

The door slammed behind her.

 

Zoey smirked, turning to Mira. “Well this is going to be fun.”

 

Mira crossed her arms, lips twitching upwards slightly despite her best efforts to keep a scowl. “Fun for us, maybe. Rumi? Not so much.”

The dorm was unusually quiet, except for the faint hum of the hairdryer. Rumi perched on the edge of her vanity stool, towel still wrapped around her damp hair, makeup scattered in front of her like weapons she didn’t quite know how to wield.

 

She should’ve been rushing—forty-five minutes from the time she got home wasn’t nearly enough time to make herself look like the kind of girl Jinu was supposed to be seen with. Instead, her gaze slid to the mirror and down, down, to the faint constellation of marks speckled across her biceps to the side of her ribs.

 

They weren’t big. Just scattered patterns, pale against her skin like sparks burned into her when she was born. Easy enough to hide with high collars and long sleeves. Easy enough to forget—until she was alone.

 

Her fingers brushed over them, cool and trembling. The touch brought back the story she never told Zoey or Mira. That her mother had held her, even before she was born, shielding her from the storm. That lightning had kissed them both. That her mother hadn’t survived, but Rumi had.

 

She hated the way her chest twisted when she thought of it. Hated the way the marks felt less like proof she’d survived and more like evidence she’d stolen a life that wasn’t meant to be hers.

Her reflection blurred as her eyes burned. She blinked hard, forcing the tears back. No one can ever see. No one can ever know.

 

With practiced precision, she tugged on a cream sweater, the fabric grazing over the patterns, covering the constellation completely. She adjusted the hem one, then twice, just to be sure. Her friends teased her for always favoring modest tops, but they never asked why. They never suspected there was something beneath.

 

The knock at the door jolted her.

 

“Rumi?” Mira’s muffled voice floated through. “Clock’s ticking. He’ll be here any minute.”

 

Rumi exhaled sharply, pulling her towel free and shaking out her hair. The marks vanished under cotton and pretense, tucked away where they belonged—in silence, in shadow.

 

By the time she opened the door to Jinu, she wore her usual armor: a glossy smile, eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man, and not a single hint of the girl who’d just been staring at her scars like they were sins written across her skin in permanent ink.

Chapter 3: The First Hand Hold

3

The First Hand Hold

Jinu was leaning casually against the black van parked outside her dorm, phone in hand, baseball cap pulled low. To the untrained eye, he looked like any other idol killing time between schedules. To Rumi, however, he looked like trouble wrapped in designer denim.

 

“Right on time,” he said smoothly when she stepped out, his eyes flicking over her outfit in a way that made her bristle. “Celine’s probably crying tears of joy.”

 

Rumi’s glossy smile slid into place like armor. “Don’t talk to me.”

 

“Can’t,” he murmured, slipping his phone into his pocket as Bobby hustled out behind her. “We’re supposed to look madly in love. Didn’t you read the script?”

 

Before she could retort, Bobby clapped his hands nervously. “Okay, here’s the deal—paparazzi are already waiting two blocks down. The company wants you holding hands the second you step out together. Eye contact, smiles, the whole package. Think… power couple.”

 

Rumi’s stomach dropped. “Holding hands?”

 

Jinu smirked, extending his palm like a dare. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I washed.”

 

She stared at his hand as if it were venomous and might try to strike her, then reluctantly slid her own into it. His grip was warm, annoyingly steady. She dug her nails into his skin the second their fingers locked, the curve of her lips never faltering.

 

“Careful,” he whispered as Bobby ushered them toward the waiting street. “Smile too wide and they’ll think you actually like me.”

 

She bared her teeth, every inch the radiant idol, even as her nails pressed harder into his palm.

 

And outside, as flashbulbs erupted in a frenzy, the crowd saw none of the venom between the two idols. They only saw perfection: Rumi and Jinu, finger entwined, eyes shining, Seoul’s newest golden couple.

 

The café had been scouted in advance—a “casual” neighborhood spot that just happened to have floor-to-ceiling windows and a conveniently placed cluster of photographers already waiting across the street.

 

“Act natural,” Bobby muttered before ducking back into the van, abandoning them both to the flashing lights.

 

Rumi inhaled slowly, plaster on her best Huntrix leader smile. She knew how this worked: every blink, every angle, every step would be dissected later by fans who wanted to be believe in fairytales.

 

Jinu tugged her hand lightly, guiding her inside with infuriating confidence. He leaned closer, lips curving just enough for the cameras. “Relax. You’re supposed to look happy.”

 

“I’ll relax when you disappear,” she hissed, still smiling sweetly for their audience.

 

Inside, the café manager nearly fainted, ushering them to the best table by the windows. The baristas scrambled, hands shaking as they brought over lattes adorned with extra hearts in the foam.

 

Rumi slid into the seat opposite Jinu, keeping her smile sharp enough to cut glass. Her cheeks already ached.

 

Jinu, of course, lounged like he owned the place. He picked up his cup, swirling the spoon lazily. “You should practice that smile in the mirror,” he said softly, under the hum of voices in the background. “If you’re going to stab me with your eyes, at least hide it better.”

 

Her fingers tightened around her cup. “Funny. You look like you’ve been practicing fake charm since birth.”

 

He grinned, infuriatingly gorgeous, and leaned forward just enough to make the people outside squeal. “So you do pay attention.”

 

Rumi’s heel shot out under the table, clipping his shin. He didn’t even flinch. Just sipped his latte and winked.

 

For the next thirty minutes, they performed: hands brushing across the table, heads tilted close like they were sharing secrets, laughter exaggerated just enough to sell the illusion.

 

The photographers outside captured every moment. Later, the photos would flood the internet—Jinu gazing at Rumi like she hung the stars, Rumi laughing like she’d never known joy before. Fans would make edits, create fancams, argue over which moment proved they were in love.

 

None of them would know that Rumi had been digging her nails into his palm beneath the table the whole time.

 

As they left, hand in hand once more, the crowd outside erupted again. Rumi’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Her heart thumped erratically, though whether from nerves, rage, or something she didn’t want to name, she couldn’t tell.

 

The crowd outside screamed as if they’d just watched the climax of a romance drama. Signs waved, fans sobbed, camera flashes lit up the street like lightning.

 

Jinu leaned close, voice warm against the shell of her ear, so soft no one else could hear. “You’ve got talent. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually enjoyed yourself.”

 

Her nails carved deeper crescents into his hand as she climbed into the van, smiling brighter than ever.

 

“Keep dreaming, Soda Pop Boy.”

 

She let go the second the door shut.

 

Her hand felt strangely empty.

 

She didn’t know what to make of that feeling, but she was also glad to be herself again instead of the perfect pop star that the world saw.

By the time Rumi stumbled back into the dorm that night, she wanted nothing more than to rip off her sweater, wash off her makeup, and bury herself under her duvet until morning. Her cheeks were sore from holding a smile the whole “date,” her hand still a little numb from where Jinu gripped her hand tightly from the pain of her nails digging into his palm, and her head buzzed with the sound of shutter clicks she couldn’t quite shake.

 

But peace was apparently too much to ask for.

 

Because Zoey and Mira were waiting in the living room with a tablet propped between them, giggling like schoolgirls at a sleepover.

 

“There she is!” Zoey sing-songed the second Rumi appeared in their line of sight. “Our radiant girlfriend.”

 

Mira smirked, tapping the screen. “You didn’t tell us you were an actress too. Look at this face—doesn’t she look like she’s actually in love, Zoey?”

 

Rumi froze. On the tablet, one of the already tagged photos was blown up. The one where Jinu was leaning toward her across the café table, eyes soft, lips tilted in the kind of smile that launched ten thousand shipping hashtags. And Rumi—oh God. She looked like she was glowing, her laughter captured mid-frame, genuine in a way that made her stomach twist.

 

“That’s not—” She rushed forward, snatching the tablet out of their hands. “That’s not how it actually happened. I was smiling for the cameras!”

 

“Sure,” Zoey teased, stretching out the word until it snapped on its own. “The cameras. Definitely not because Jinu was making you laugh at something he said to you.”

 

“I wasn’t laughing with him,” Rumi snapped, fluster rising fast. “I was laughing because—because the barista tripped and it was funny. Nothing to do with him.”

 

Mira arched a brow. “Mm-hm. And digging your nails into his hand the whole time was also part of the romance act?”

 

Rumi’s jaw dropped. “How did you even—”

 

“We saw the red marks in one of the close-up shots. Plus, we know you.” Mira’s grin widened like a shark’s. “Sharp manicure, unnie.”

 

Zoey collapsed into the couch cushions, giggling uncontrollably. “Honestly? Iconic. Nothing says ‘couple goals’ like smiling through the pain.”

 

Rumi groaned, covering her face with both hands. “I hate both of you.”

 

But when she peeked between her fingers, Mira and Zoey were still grinning at her, their laughter light and warm. And though Rumi would never admit it, the sound softened something tight in her chest.

 

Even if the rest of the world believed the illusion, at least here—at home—she still had the people who knew the truth.

 

Who knew her best.