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It’s midnight, most of South Korea is already fast asleep, but with the way the girls of Monstress are buzzing with energy, one would think the day has just begun. Which, well, is true to some extent. The group just arrived at their final schedule for the day (or their first for the next day – depends on how you look at it, really) doing a string of Zoom interviews with foreign media (hence, the late night schedule).
Dior stretches her back with a grunt as the girls say a bright hello to the first interviewer, a sweet Caucasian woman who writes for Teen Vogue. She hasn’t gone to pilates class in ages, and she’s starting to feel the effects of inactivity in her muscles. She makes a mental note to ask Sangah to go with her to the pilates studio later that week and plasters a smile as she awaits her turn to do her individual introduction. The interview was pleasant enough, the journalist asking questions sensible enough that the girls have to take a moment or two to think them through instead of the usual MBTI bullshit (Dior hates those with a passion), and Dior is caught off-guard when the interviewer directs a question specifically at her.
“What would I be doing if I wasn’t an idol?” She repeats the question, more to herself than to anyone else, and her teammates all turn to her with expectant eyes. Dior always had a funny quip for questions like these. There’s a reason she’s called the mood-maker of the group.
Librarian is the answer that dangles at the tip of her tongue, a jokey reference to her reputation as someone who simply can't keep her mouth shut, but the train of thought takes her to some things she's been musing about lately, some what-ifs and what-could-haves she allows herself to ponder on in the rare moments where they're given some semblance of rest in their busy lives. It's only a split-second of hesitation, but a split-second is too long for Lee Dior, so their maknae Sangah saves her by saying something about how Dior is born for the stage so they can’t really imagine her doing anything else. It's kinda lame, but endearing in a way that only Sangah can pull off, so she accepts the comment with a smile.
The interview goes smoothly, and so do the three succeeding ones, and by the time they make it back to the dorm it's almost three in the morning. Dior washes up first and plops down listlessly onto the living room couch, not even having the energy to dry her hair properly. She almost snoozes in the instant she closes her eyes, but startles awake when she feels cold fingers massaging the back of her neck. She doesn’t open her eyes, though. She already knows who it is. Instead, she relaxes her muscles and adjusts her position to settle against her best friend Dodo’s embrace. It goes on for a while, Dior letting out small sighs as Dodo’s long, nimble fingers massage her neck and head, raking through her damp hair.
It isn’t until a few minutes later that she finally speaks. “You seemed out of it today, princess. Everything okay?”
Dior smiles, both because of the nickname and because of course, Dodo would notice that something was bothering her. Dodo always notices everything. The funny thing is that among their fans, Dodo is the one who is known as the princess of the group ( ice princess, to be specific, due to her elegant yet quiet and cold demeanor), but Dodo always loves using the nickname on Dior when it’s just the two of them or when it’s just the members together, says it fits her better. And if she’s being honest, it’s Dior’s favorite nickname, too. No one really uses her birth name anymore and sometimes even her stage name sounds foreign to her ears. And Dodo does treat her like a princess. Even now, Dodo’s fingers are so gentle against the hairs of her nape, so tender, and it makes the elder chuckle because who would have known that the tall, lanky girl with resting bitch face in the audition room would be her emotional anchor eleven years forward?
The thought occupies her mind for far too long that Dodo has to repeat the question, playfully poking her side.
“It’s just…” Dior pauses, wondering how best to describe her recent musings. Between the two of them, she’s the one who talks more, but Dodo is the more articulate one. It’s why she’s the first member to try her hand at writing lyrics. Dior simply doesn’t enjoy that. She likes performing and being in front of a crowd more than participating behind the scenes. She tries to put her answer into words, anyway. “Have you ever wondered if things would be different if you were born a different person?”
Dodo’s fingers halt their ministrations on her neck. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… I’ve been wondering…” Dior bites her lip. If there’s anyone who would understand, it’s probably her best friend of eleven years. “This work of ours, what we do, what we are, it’s very dependent on the fact that we’re girls, right? How feminine we are. I mean, we’re literally called a girl group.” Dodo nods, but her furrowed brows betray her confusion. Dior continues, “so like, what if I wasn’t?”
“Wasn’t what?”
“A girl.”
Oh.
“What brought this on?” Dodo asks, resuming her massage, and Dior is thankful for the lack of judgment in her voice. Of course, Dodo would never judge her, no matter how silly or trivial her musings always are.
“I’ve just been feeling all kinds of wrong lately,” Dior answers meekly, and it brings Dodo to a slight panic because Dior is a lot of things but she’s never meek. “Sometimes I don't really feel like it. Like a girl, I mean. I do the usual things I do every day, put on makeup, wear fancy clothes, and I look at myself in the mirror looking all pretty and perfect and it just doesn’t feel right. I don’t know how to explain it but it’s like… it’s like I’ve gotten so used to making this body and this face look perfect because it’s what we were trained to do, right? And we’re good at it! I know we’re pretty and hot. But there are times where this body doesn’t feel like mine anymore. Does that make sense? And I don’t… I don’t know if I should be feeling this way. And it makes me wonder, if I’d still be here being loved and adored for what I do if I wasn’t born like… this.”
And, feeling like her long rant didn’t make sense, she adds, “I mean, what am I, if not a pretty girl?”
Dodo’s answer is immediate, as though it were the most stupid question in the world. "Well. You're Dior."
The older girl turns around to swat at her.
"What? I'm serious!" Dodo puts her hands up in defense, then brings it down to grab Dior’s hands and rub soothing circles on her palm. “Listen, I don’t think I understand it completely, so I don’t really know what to say, but Di… look at me.” Dior does. She does look serious but then again, Dodo looks serious even when she’s pulling the most mischievous prank on Yeojoo, so Dior never really knows. “You know that everything you said - the makeup, the dresses, your hair and your body - you know that’s not all there is to you, right? You have to know.”
Dodo looks at her earnestly, waiting for an affirmation. Dior doesn’t give it.
“You have to know. Because you… you’re the kindest, wittiest, most complex person I know. So I think whatever you are, whatever you end up becoming, whatever you could have been, whether you’re a boy or a girl or something else entirely, that doesn’t change how wonderful you are. So don’t worry about it,” and, as if she was debating whether to say it, she adds, “I’ll love all versions of you.”
That brings a smile to Dior’s face, and she sighs with gratitude. “Love you too, silly. What am I going to do without you?”
Dodo rolls her eyes. “Burn down the dorm while microwaving a chicken breast, probably.”
“Hey, that was one time!” Dior protests, pushing at the other girl’s shoulders playfully. (It actually happened three times, but Dodo didn’t need to know about the other two.)
She returns to her previous position, almost lying down against Dodo’s chest. Dodo runs her fingers through Dior’s long, wavy hair again, and Dior almost falls asleep like that when Dodo speaks out softly. “What’s really bothering you?”
Dior sighs. She really can’t keep a secret from her best friend.
“I’m just… scared, I guess? Because this version of me is all I’ve ever known, but what if it’s not the real me? And what if I end up not liking the real me? What if I lose my job, and my loved ones, and you–”
“You won’t,” Dodo is quick to assure her, but these are fears she’s been keeping inside her chest for a very long time, and now that she’s opened the floodgates, she can’t seem to stop.
“How do you know that? You say you’ll love me regardless but that’s just because you haven’t seen… what else I can be.”
She’s heard about it, of course, how there are people who don’t feel comfortable with their body and their biological sex, how it’s completely normal to question one’s identity, including their gender. “There’s nothing wrong with living an honest life and being your true self, and there’s nothing wrong with not immediately having the answers, either,” she heard Sangah tell a fan in English during a video call, once. The thing is, at an intellectual level, she knows this to be true. The world is too big and humans are far too complex to be boxed between two genders. And Dodo is right, she knows there’s more to her than being a girl (or not a girl). But still. She’s an idol, a member of a girl group, and she simply cannot afford to ask questions that challenge the very core of what’s currently the biggest aspect of her life. Still, she’s grateful that she gets to tell her best friend this. Makes her feel like maybe even the questioning part is an important first step.
Dodo takes a second to answer and for a moment, Dior thinks that she’d run away, that she’d finally get sick of all her what-ifs and all her insecurities that only Dodo gets to see, but then she feels the younger girl’s arms snake around her waist, pulling her into a hug and placing her chin on her shoulder. Her voice when she speaks is soft but sure and unfaltering, and Dior knows she means every word.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll love you… no, I’ll like you, still. Even if you end up not liking yourself, Di. I’ll like you even then.”
Dior relaxes in her best friend’s arms. “How come everything is so simple for you?”
Dodo presses a kiss on the top of her head. “Because life is not as complicated as you often make it out to be, Di.”
Dior looks at her best friend, then. At her round, sleepy eyes. Her perfectly sculpted nose, one of the many reasons Dodo is one of the country's most sought-after model and brand ambassador. And her lips. Oh, her lips. She's always known that Dodo has beautiful lips, of course, wide and plump and curved so cutely at the top, like one of those plushies their fans like to bring to their fansigns.
She's always known Dodo was beautiful, but it's the first time this knowledge is accompanied by another emotion. Or, well, maybe it's just the first time she's allowing herself to acknowledge it.
She wants to kiss her best friend.
On a typical day, Dior would let this thought sit for hours, turning it over and over, over and over in her head until it fades and becomes a silly memory, a moment of weakness like all the others that have passed. But tonight Dodo’s voice rings in her head.
“Life is not as complicated as you make it out to be.”
And maybe it isn’t. So she kisses Dodo, ignores the younger girl’s initial whimper of surprise and uses the opportunity to do what – (she admits this now) – she’s always wanted to do. The most surprising thing about kissing Dodo is how unsurprising it is. Dodo gets over her shock and returns the kiss, tilting her head and opening her mouth just right and Dior thinks oh, this is what we were always meant to do. She feels Dodo’s tongue against her own and a scene flashes back in her head: the two of them at eighteen and nineteen, broke and desperate with nothing but a common dream. They've gone through a lot in the past decade, both individually and together, and so many things are still uncertain and Dior hates uncertainty, hates not knowing what comes next and the ways her life is changing. But Dodo moans against her mouth, the sound echoing lewdly in the empty living room, and she knows things are gonna be alright.
It’s Dior who pulls back after what feels like a whole eternity, eyes still closed and thumb still caressing Dodo’s cheek.
“Sleep with me tonight?” she breathes against Dodo’s lips, and feels the younger’s lashes brush her cheeks as she nods.
The weird thing is, it still doesn’t feel wrong, to be doing this with her closest, most trusted friend. They’ve been making out lazily on Dior’s bed for almost half an hour, and there’s nothing else to describe how it feels other than perfect.
Dodo leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses on her throat, palm splayed on the skin of her waist, and Dior is busy biting back her moans that she doesn’t hear the younger girl’s question.
“Huh?” She asks when Dodo’s mouth stops, looking at her with questioning eyes.
Dodo flashes a tender smile. “I said, is this okay?”
“Yes, yes… more than okay. It’s… um, not enough, actually. You can… go… further.” She gulps, then adds in a panic, “if you like.”
Dodo’s chuckle sends a soft shock to her nerves.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dior’s nervous babbling causes a shift, as though Dodo finally realizes the power she holds over her best friend, how even her slightest touch can make the other girl come undone. It’s obvious in the way her kisses become more confident, cheeky like the way the rest of the world knows Chae Dodo, and it only intensifies Dior’s pleasure. Dodo undoes the buttons of Dior’s pajama top, fingers finally finding their way beneath the waistband of her shorts.
Dodo lets out a gasp when she realizes the older girl isn’t wearing any underwear, and suddenly her fingers are sliding across Dior’s wet folds and her plump lips latch onto Dior’s nipple, and there’s nothing now, nothing Dior can do to stop the noises coming out of her mouth, especially not when Dodo’s tongue flicks lightly at her nipple at the same time that her fingers find her clit.
“You’re so wet,” Dodo whispers, and Dior can’t even afford to be shy about it because she’s never been turned on like this before, not even with her long list of boyfriends and hookups, and Dodo’s fingers aren’t even inside her yet.
“Fuck, you feel incredible, Di.” Dodo groans against her breast as she rubs circles against the sensitive nub and Dior wants more, feels like she’ll pass out if her best friend doesn't fuck her in the next two minutes. And oh, what an embarrassing way to die. So she grinds her pussy against Dodo’s fingers and drags the other girl’s lips into a messy kiss. That should send the message.
It doesn't.
Dodo's fingers stop moving, and Dior feels the teasing smirk on her lips. The little bitch.
“What do you want?”
“You. Inside. Just. Just fuck me, please.” It’s embarrassing. She should be embarrassed, because Lee Dior never begs, but she does, now. She begs as she grabs Dodo’s wrist impatiently and pushes the fingers into her entrance herself.
They've only done this once before, as horny twenty year-olds who only really had each other (and, okay, maybe half a bottle of tequila that they stole from their manager's secret drawer) but it feels just as good as the first time. Dodo’s mouth still burns on her skin, and her fingers still feel like they were always made to fit inside Dior, curling in the most perfect way and making her writhe and whimper like a teenager who’s just learning how it’s like to be touched by another girl. But this is different. This time they are sober, and desperate, and Dodo – Dodo, who endured sixteen rejections just to debut by her side and declared that she loves each and every version of Dior – is pumping her fingers into her at a punishing pace and Dior feels a different kind of warmth in her stomach, across her skin, everywhere.
She bites her lips so hard it almost bleeds, and Dodo kisses it away. “You can be loud,” she growls. “Everyone else should’ve left for their schedule by now.”
Dior cries out her pleasure, then. Moans and moans and moans and the next thing she knows, Dodo has pulled out her fingers and has resorted to kissing up her thigh. She’d be too embarrassed to tell the story later, but the realization hits Dior the moment licks a long strip up her folds: she’s in love with her best friend.
It’s the worst time to think about this, with Dodo’s tongue circling her clit, but it’s simply the truth. Dior loves her, and she almost moans it out when Dodo shifts to sucking the nub while pushing her fingers back into her pussy.
Dior is close, she knows by the way her legs are shaking, the warmth pooling at her core growing and growing by the second. And Dodo notices it, too. How her moans are now several octaves higher, loud and shameless unlike when they started.
"You like it?"
“Y-yes. Feels so…” She’s not a songwriter like Dodo is, but good is not a strong-enough word to describe how she feels. But her brain is fogged up with so much pleasure and desire that she can only nod in agreement. “So- ah, fuck- so good.”
Dodo comes back up to kiss her, biting her lip then her earlobe before grunting out, "Then ride my fingers, princess. Be a good girl and come for me."
So she does. She pulls Dodo’s face back and shoves her tongue into her mouth, kissing as she rides out her orgasm until she has to pry Dodo’s hand off of her. Dodo peppers her face with light kisses until she comes down from her high, then encloses her in a hug.
“Your turn.” Dior wriggles out of the embrace only to find that Dodo already has her eyes closed.
“Hmm nah, I’m sleepy. Aren’t you sleepy?” Dodo drawls out sleepily as she reaches to turn the bedside lamp off, and it makes Dior chuckle because it’s not like she was the one who just got fucked out of her wits. She leaves a light peck on Dodo’s lips and studies the younger’s peaceful face.
This, this is the Dodo she fell in love with. Always sleepy and sometimes playful, warm-hearted and gentle in a way only her few close friends can see. The girl with the sharpest eyes and the softest heart. And now that she’s seen an entire new side of Dodo, the one that made her feel blissful and worshipped and loved like she always knew she deserves, she knows she has to let the other girl know how she feels.
“Dodo,” she tries, but is only answered with a tightened grip across her waist.
“Chae Dodo! Look at me. I need to tell you something.”
Still nothing. “ Never try to wake a sleepy Dodo” is something she learned very early on in their friendship, but Dior knows if she doesn’t say it now, the right moment will pass and it might complicate things between them in the morning.
So she brings out her secret weapon.
“Haewon-ah.”
Dodo’s eyelids finally fly open. They never really call each other by their birth names anymore, mostly out of habit and convenience, but it’s something they both like to do in these moments, when Dodo and Dior have turned in for the night and it’s just Haewon and Minha and their years of friendship in a dark, quiet room.
“Ah, so annoying. What is it?” Dodo complains, but Dior knows she’s listening, now. Haewon always listens.
“I love you.”
Silence. The room is still too dark to see, but they’ve known each other long enough that Dior knows her best friend in the world is smiling at her. After a few heartbeats, Dodo presses a kiss on her nose, and then on her forehead.
“I love you too, princess.” Then, softly, sacredly, on her lips. Like a secret. “Or whatever you want to be.”