The air is electric under the night sky—music thumping somewhere in the background, strings of warm lights glowing above the grass, casting golden halos over the three of them.

Lisa, Jennie, Rosé.

Arms draped around each other, perfectly dressed, perfectly effortless—dangerously magnetic.

But their eyes?

Not on the camera. Not on the crowd.

On you.

Jennie’s smirk is sharp beneath her red lip gloss, hand slipping down Lisa’s back as if she’s not thinking about the way you’re watching them. But you can see it—the tilt of her chin, the way her sunglasses drop just slightly, revealing the gleam in her eyes like she’s challenging you to look away first.

Lisa’s smile is lazy, lips parted like she just got away with something. She’s always the smoothest—words like honey, moves like fire. But tonight, the way she keeps glancing toward you, like she’s memorizing what you’re wearing… it’s not subtle. Not even close.

And then there’s Rosé. Cool and calm, but when her eyes find yours from under the brim of that backward cap, something shifts. She bites her lip, shifts closer to Jennie, fingers brushing her side—but it’s you she’s watching, not her.

They’re posing like they don’t notice how flustered you are. Like this isn’t a silent war for your attention. But you see it. The soft territorial glances. The inside jokes passed between them. The way Jennie’s hand never fully lets go of Lisa’s—but the rest of her body angles toward you.