Archive of Our Own ^beta

All day, Jihyo has had eyes on her.

That’s nothing new. Her entire job, her entire life, is to be out in the public eye, adored and scrutinized in the same breath. Jihyo lives for it, lives for the thrill of a large concert crowd or an endless line of attendees at a fansign. Jihyo craves that attention like a patient craves medicine.

But sometimes those eyes are glazed over. Most of the time, no one sees Park Jihyo. But sometimes, no one sees TWICE’s Jihyo either. They just see an idol who needs to be attended to. Jihyo hears that disdainful message, loud and clear: privileged, let the fame get to her head, demanding.

Ten years. Jihyo’s had ten years to get used to idolization and dehumanization in the same breath. Sometimes, it’s still overwhelming. Sometimes, Jihyo is eighteen all over again, finally debuting to the scrutiny of a million eyes. Sometimes, Jihyo is eight all over again, stumbling over her dance steps.

Ten years. Jihyo’s had ten years to find ways to get over those feelings. To get over the prickling feeling of eyes, eyes, eyes. And no matter what she tries—working out, yoga, meditation—there’s one thing Jihyo keeps going back to.

Well. It’s eight things.

Eight people.

When the world’s eyes are too much, the eyes of Jihyo’s girls give her the strength to keep going. They always keep her looking for the next incident, especially Nayeon, Sana, and Momo. And the moment Jihyo thinks she can rely on Dahyun, Mina, or Jeongyeon, she turns around and sees Chaeyoung getting them giggling and Tzuyu pulling them to the edge and—

And when Jihyo thinks about her girls, she can’t stop. How could she? How could she when they’re her best friends? How could she when they’re the only reason she’s been able to survive this long? How could she when they’re the only things stopping her from feeling like a kid lost in a grocery aisle?

Ten years. Nine girls. TWICE.

Things are the way they were meant to be. If Jihyo makes it back home early enough, she might do a livestream and get all these words out. Tell the world that without them, she might not have made it.

But sentimentality is a hard drug to administer. And Jihyo’s had a long day—solo promos and solo rehearsals and solo dressings, solo, solo, solo. Eating on her own for a few moments of solace, but finding no peace, because TWICE wasn’t with her. Jihyo’s had a long day, even longer without her girls.

All she can hope is that the world knows how much it means to her. Because she’s too exhausted to give that message to a million eyes.

Jihyo takes the long way back to her apartment. Head down, hat up, sunglasses on, driving in the slow lane and taking every scenic detour she can manage. It helps her muscles calm down a little bit through the repetitive movements and familiar sights. By the time she pulls into her complex’s garage, her body doesn’t feel like it’s teetering on the edge of collapse.

The walk up feels both longer and shorter. The only thing Jihyo can think of when she’s turning the key and entering her apartment is taking a nice warm shower and applying some muscle relaxant, and there’s a hand on her shoulder, wait, intruder intruder INTRUDER INTRUDER INTRUDER—

Jihyo turns around and wastes no time punching the intruder in the stomach. The intruder shouts and drops to the ground instantly, because Jihyo is a well-known friend of weights at the gym. But the intruder sounds familiar and—

Oh, Jihyo thinks. I’ve found my next incident.

The light flickers on to reveal Nayeon holding her stomach and doubled over in a crouch. Her hair is up in a ponytail, and she groans, looking up through a squint. “You couldn’t have punched any harder, could you?”

“Why did you grab me in the dark!” Jihyo shouts a little indignantly. Her head spins. Why is Nayeon here? When did she get here? They were all busy all day with their own full schedules.

“I told you that was a bad idea.” Jeongyeon brushes past Jihyo, placing a hand on her shoulder before dropping next to Nayeon. It’s a familiar sight, the two of them, and it only just occurs to Jihyo that neither one of them could’ve turned on the lights.

Jihyo finally turns around to find six girls, ten balloons, and one cake in the center of her kitchen island. Her girls are bare-faced, and the intimacy of it is not lost on Jihyo. Sana, Chayeoung, and Tzuyu wear matching grins while Mina and Dahyun both adorn slight smiles. Momo looks a little lost, as always.

For once, Jihyo feels as lost as Momo.

“What’s going on?” Jihyo asks, stumbling forward.

Momo, closest to her, reaches forward and takes hold of Jihyo’s arm. She steadies her at the table and sets her in the middle of the nine chairs, two being stools with the kitchen and seven being assorted chairs. They circle the table like petals circle a flower. “We just wanted to do something small for our leader.”

“Something small?” Jihyo looks around. The girls take seats around the island, with Jeongyeon helping a dramatically limping Nayeon. How long have they been here? How long have they been keeping this a surprise? “I’m sorry, but I’m not good with these lovey-dovey things…”

Sana, sitting to Jihyo’s left, reaches and wraps her arms around Jihyo’s upper body. “That’s okay,” she says, and Jihyo doesn’t need to turn to know she’s wearing her smile that could rival the sun. “We’ll do it for you. You just need to sit down and be yourself.”

Dahyun clears her throat and stands up, brushing down the front of her sweater. She looks like sugar, and the comparison makes Jihyo’s throat start to burn. Her girls. Her girls, her girls, her girls. The only people she’d want to talk to after a day as long as today.

“I have a little speech if you don’t mind,” Dahyun says. “For the last ten years, you’ve been three people: the world’s Jihyo, the company’s Jihyo, and our beloved Jihyo. You’ve worn every single hat we’ve asked of you and still had the energy to ask if there were more. No matter how tired and no matter how weary, you put your entire soul into being every Jihyo. We wouldn’t have gotten through all our good times or all our hard times if you weren’t the one leading us.

“No one deserves love more than you. These ten years are because of you.” Dahyun folds her hands over her lap and gives a little bow. Her head nearly touches the table. “We thank you for all your hard work, and we’re looking forward to the next ten years.”

“To the next ten years!” the other girls say in unison, all bowing their heads towards Jihyo. Sana lets go of her a little to do the same, quickly sitting back up to hold Jihyo.

The burning in Jihyo’s throat turns into a fire. Tears start to fall before she knows it, and once again, she’s eighteen all over again, debuting to the scrutiny of a million eyes. But she remembers what got her through it all: the nervous laughter of her girls. The timid smiles of her girls. The eager excitement of her girls.

Her girls, her girls, her girls. Jihyo hadn’t forgotten, but she remembers all over again that she wouldn’t be Jihyo if she didn’t have her girls. If she didn’t have TWICE.

“Aww, our leader is crying,” Sana coos, before sniffing. “If you cry, then I’m going to cry.”

“If you cry, I’ll cry more,” Jihyo says, wiping her eyes with the pads of her fingers.

“If you both cry, I think I’ll cry too.” Nayeon fans her eyes.

“I think you’re crying from the pain,” Chaeyoung giggles, but the waver in her voice is clear as day. She ducks when Nayeon leans and swats at her, laughing even louder.

“Don’t make fun of your poor senior!”

“Maybe don’t attack your leader!”

“You make me want to work harder.” While Chaeyoung and Nayeon bicker, Tzuyu smiles at Jihyo. “Let’s keep working hard together for another ten years, unnie.” Her smile makes Jihyo’s heart skip a beat—there were so many years where she would barely smile. So many years when she would duck her head at every opportunity to hide her frown, her tears. But now, she’s blossomed like a flower, and she wears the biggest smile, and she’s so beautiful and—

Tears start falling out of Jihyo’s eyes more, and Tzuyu’s smile turns wobbly as tears escape her eyes too.

“Let’s all work hard,” Mina whispers, her bottom lip quivering. “Together, always.”

“Always,” Momo says.

“Always,” Tzuyu sniffles.

“Always,” Dahyun promises.

“Always,” Chaeyoung laughs.

“Always,” Jeongyeon manages.

“Always,” Nayeon whimpers.

“Always,” Sana cries.

“Always,” Jihyo wishes.

She wishes and she wishes and she wishes. She’s never wished this hard. She’s never even wished to be an idol this hard. There’s nothing stronger than wanting to be with TWICE for as long as she can. Would forever be long enough?

No, not at all. Jihyo wipes her arms with her fingers, then with her palms, then with the back of her hands. “I love you all so much. It’s been the greatest privilege of my life to be your leader.”

She gets cooing and crying in reply. Jihyo laughs, looking around at the faces around her. She means every word of it, and she means a thousand words more. A thousand songs more. She could write for the rest of her life, day and night, and she still wouldn’t say everything her girls make her feel.

Every high and every low. Every hardship and every victory. Hardly any arguments because they just work. Every day has felt like a dream because they’re so unreal and beautiful. They’re not perfect, far from it, but Jihyo thinks there’re no better people than them. There’s no one she’d rather spend her life with. No better family than this one.

“C’mon.” Jihyo finds Sana’s hand and threads their fingers together. She reaches next to her for Mina’s, and the rest of the girls get the message, interlocking fingers. They make a silent prayer: please, please, please. Give us another ten. Give us a hundred. Give us the rest of our lives. “This cake is too good to waste.”

“This what?” Nayeon sits up with her eyes bulging.

“This cake?”

“Oh.” Nayeon laughs, pushing her lips out. “I thought you meant ass.”

“Of course you did,” Mina sighs playfully.

Nayeon snaps her fingers, jerking Mina’s head up. “You have no right to talk when you can’t even keep your eyes off our chests!”

“Stop fighting.” Sana waves her hands before biting her lip. In a sing-songy voice, she says, “If you stop fighting, I’ll give you a kiss.”

Tzuyu leans forward. “Who are you talking to? Can I get one too?”

Dahyun lightly slaps Tzuyu’s shoulder. “Don’t join them!”

“You can’t stop them, unnie,” Chaeyoung laughs. “There’s no use trying.”

“Guys,” Momo sighs, “we have to stop so we can eat the cake before it melts…”

“I didn’t even think of that.” Nayeon slaps her hand against the kitchen’s surface. “Who has the knife?”

Jeongyeon raises her hand and leans forward, picking up the knife. “I’ll give you the first slice,” she says, “because you’ll throw a fit if you don’t get it.”

“I will throw you!” Nayeon yells.

“Like you could even carry her,” Sana giggles. Ever since she carried Jihyo at the concert, she’s felt extremely proud of herself.

And Jihyo thinks she should be. Jihyo thinks they should all be proud of themselves. They’ve survived everything the last ten years have thrown at them, everything breaking down their mental and physical health. Everything trying to pull them under.

Them still having more to say to each other and to the world, Jihyo thinks, means everything. A night like this is a sign spread across the night sky, saying, Your girls are yours, forever. Jihyo receives that message, loud and clear, and tucks it close to her heart.

She stands up, clapping her hands to get the attention of her girls. Eight pairs of beautiful eyes look at her.

If that isn’t everything, Jihyo doesn’t know what is.