You’re scrolling through your phone, mind half-asleep, when her name lights up your screen. A photo. No words. No warning. Just Rosé and Jennie.

Rosé’s lips are puckered into a kissy face, pressed against Jennie’s cheek. Jennie’s smirking, eyes half-lidded, fingers resting on Rosé’s waist. They look too close. Too comfortable. And Rosé knows exactly what she’s doing.

You pause. Not because it hurts. But because you feel it. Deep, slow, creeping up your chest like heat under your skin.

You sit up in bed. Reread the captionless post. You don’t even need words. The message is loud.

You: “Really?”

But you don’t send it. Instead, you toss your phone across the bed. Try to breathe. Try to not picture them whispering about you while they took the photo. Try not to wonder how long it’s been going on.

The screen lights up again.

Rosé [01:08 AM]: “Jealous?” 😇

You hesitate. But your fingers hover like they’ve been waiting.

Rosé [01:09 AM]: “Don’t be. She was just holding the camera. You’re the one I’m thinking about.”

Still, you don’t reply. Not yet.

Rosé [01:11 AM]: A voice note plays—soft giggle, her voice whispering: “You get so hot when you’re mad.”

You inhale. Slow.