Chapter 4: Hot Mic
The studio’s cooling system hummed, a gentle counterpoint to their slowing heartbeats. Lisa didn’t move to dress. Instead, she shifted, arranging their limp limbs until she was curled against Nelissa’s side, her head pillowed on her chest, one leg thrown possessively over hers. The city’s light painted silver streaks across the sweat drying on their skin.
“Don’t go yet,” Lisa murmured, the words muffled against Nelissa’s sternum. It wasn’t a command, but a request, softened by exhaustion.
Nelissa’s arm tightened around her. “Okay.”
She didn’t mean to sleep. But the deep, post-coital lethargy, the unfamiliar weight of another person trusting enough to slump against her, pulled her under. The last thing she felt was Lisa’s breath evening out, warm against her skin.
She awoke to a subtle vibration and a soft, rhythmic sound. Blinking in the low light, she realized the vibration was Lisa’s purr-like snore, a delicate, puffing exhale against her collarbone. The sight froze her. Lisa was asleep, her face utterly unguarded. The sharp, playful arch of her eyebrows was relaxed. Her lips, usually poised in a smirk or a dazzling smile, were slightly parted. One hand was fisted loosely in the fabric of Nelissa’s hoodie.
This wasn’t Lalisa Manoban, global superstar. This was just Lisa. Soft. Vulnerable. Deeply asleep. A fierce, protective tenderness swelled in Nelissa’s chest, so acute it was painful. It was the cutest thing she had ever seen.
She must have stirred, because the snoring stopped. Lisa’s nose wrinkled, and she blinked awake. For a disoriented second, her eyes were cloudy, then they focused on Nelissa’s face. A slow, sleepy smile emerged, genuine and unposed.
“Hey,” Lisa croaked.
“Hey. You snore.”
“Liar,” Lisa said, nuzzling back into her chest for a moment before stretching with a cat-like grace. “I breathe poetically.” She sat up, running a hand through her tangled hair. “Come on. I’ll give you the tour you didn’t get.”
They dressed in a comfortable silence, pulling on their discarded clothes. Lisa, back in her jeans and tee, became a guide, her energy shifting into professional mode. She showed Nelissa the main recording booth, a glass cube floating in the center of the room.
“That’s where the magic happens, and also where I scream into a pillow when a verse isn’t working,” she said, her tone light.
She led her to the towering, console, a landscape of knobs and screens. “This is the brain. Our producer, Teddy, he’s a wizard here.” She powered on a monitor, and it flickered to life, displaying a complex audio waveform. “Want to hear something no one else has?”
Nelissa just nodded, words feeling inadequate.
Lisa tapped a few keys, and the speakers filled with a driving, aggressive bassline and a stuttering synth loop. It was raw, unfinished, but pulsating with a dark energy. Then Lisa’s voice came in, not singing, but spitting a rapid-fire Thai rap, her delivery fierce and guttural. It was a side of her artistry Nelissa had only heard glimpses of. It was breathtaking.
She played another snippet—a melodic, wistful piano demo with Rose’s haunting voice singing a guide vocal. “That’s Rosie’s baby. She wrote it at, like, four in the morning.”
They settled back on the couch, the music off. The neon glow from the equipment bathed them in soft colors.
“So,” Lisa began, tucking her feet underneath her. “Fan question. Are you? A Blink, I mean.”
Nelissa felt a flush of heat. She looked down at her own hoodie—the worn Blackpink logo—and let out a small laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“Just a hunch,” Lisa grinned.
“Yeah. I am. Have been since ‘Boombayah’.” Nelissa swallowed, her fingers picking at a thread on the couch. “It’s… it’s silly. But watching you four. How you are together. The friendship. It always felt like… like if I couldn’t have friends, I could at least watch people who really did it right.” The confession hung in the air, stark and pathetic. She hurried to soften it. “Not that I’m some obsessed stalker! I just mean… the unity. It’s comforting.”
Lisa’s playful smile had faded. She studied Nelissa, her gaze thoughtful. “You don’t have friends?”
Nelissa shrugged, the movement designed to appear casual. It failed. “Not really. It’s hard to… connect. When you’re always hiding the main thing about you. Conversations feel like a performance. Easier to just be alone.”
A flicker of something—sadness, understanding—passed over Lisa’s face. She didn’t offer pity, which Nelissa was grateful for. Instead, she nudged Nelissa’s knee with her own. “You’re connecting now.”
“This is different.”
“Why?”
“Because you know.” The three words contained everything.
Lisa accepted this with a slow nod. She let the quiet sit for a moment before changing the subject, though her voice was softer. “You said you’re pre-med. That’s a brutal path. Why a doctor?”
Nelissa had rehearsed answers to this for interviews she’d never have. To help people. To make a difference. The noble lies. Here, in the colored dark with Lisa, the truth, never fully spoken aloud, found its way out.
“I… I want to understand,” she started, her voice low. “The systems. The biology. I want to know how bodies are supposed to work, perfectly and imperfectly. Maybe if I can understand it all… I can understand this.” She gestured vaguely at her own body, hidden under the baggy clothes. “Why the blueprint got… mixed. Why I have… you know. Breasts. And a dick. At the same time. I just want the why.”
She risked a glance at Lisa. There was no shock, no discomfort. Only a deep, unwavering attention.
“The science of it,” Lisa said.
“Yeah. The science of me.”
Outside, the sky had deepened to full night, a velvet black punctuated by the stubborn lights of skyscrapers. Lisa sighed, a sound of reluctant reality. “I have a six a.m. call time for a video shoot.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Nelissa stood, suddenly feeling awkward again in her student disguise.
Lisa walked her to the private elevator, pressing the button. The doors slid open with a whisper. Before Nelissa could step in, Lisa caught her hand, pulling her back.
Their kiss was not like the others. It wasn’t hungry or demanding. It was slow, sweet, a soft press of lips that lingered. A goodbye kiss. Emboldened by it, by the entire afternoon, Nelissa’s hands came up and settled on Lisa’s hips, holding her there lightly, anchoring them both.
Lisa smiled against her lips before pulling back just enough to speak, her forehead touching Nelissa’s.
“You are just perfect in my eyes,” Lisa whispered.
The words didn’t feel like a line. They felt like a key turning in a long-locked door deep inside Nelissa’s chest. The elevator dinged, a polite reminder.
Lisa gave her hips a gentle squeeze and stepped back. “I’ll text you.”
Nelissa stepped into the elevator, turning as the doors closed. She held Lisa’s gaze until the last possible second, watching her lean against the studio doorway, a silhouette of effortless cool, before the metal sealed her away.
The descent was silent. As the car dropped, Nelissa leaned against the wall, her fingers rising to touch her own lips. The ghost of the kiss, and the weight of the words, stayed with her, warmer than any hoodie, brighter than any stage light.
The ghost of the kiss, and the weight of the words, stayed with her, warmer than any hoodie, brighter than any stage light. They insulated her during the long subway ride, through the grim fluorescent glow of her apartment hallway, and into the bleak silence of her room. She fell asleep with the phone on her chest, Lisa’s texts a soft digital pulse against her sternum.
Morning reality was a cold slap. Her anatomy lab partner, Mark, reeked of cheap beer and regret. “You look different,” he grunted, not looking up from their assigned cadaver. “Did you get laid or something?”
Nelissa focused on the scalpel in her hand, its edge catching the light. “Just slept well.” The lie felt thin.
She dissected the femoral artery with precise, clinical cuts. The body on the table was a map of normalcy—everything in its designated place. Her own anatomy, hidden under her lab coat, seemed like a rebellion against this orderly chart. Lisa’s voice echoed in her memory. The science of you. It didn’t feel like science now. It felt like chaos.
After lab, she checked her phone. Nothing from Lisa. The silence stretched, taut and thin, over six hours. Her earlier certainty began to curdle. Maybe the photo was too much. Maybe she’d broken some unspoken rule.
She was in the library, pretending to study pharmacokinetics, when her screen finally lit up. Not a text. An incoming call. Lisa’s name flashed, bold and terrifying.
Nelissa fumbled the phone, almost dropping it. She scrambled into a dusty stairwell, the door swinging shut behind her with a metallic clang. She accepted the call, pressing the device to her ear. “Hello?”
“Hey.” Lisa’s voice was scratchy, threadbare with exhaustion. In the background, there was chaotic noise—shouted instructions, a beat looping, the clatter of equipment. “Today is a monster. I have like five minutes.”
“I got your texts.” Nelissa leaned against the cold concrete wall. “The pictures.”
“Yeah.” A pause. The noise faded slightly, as if Lisa had moved somewhere quieter. “Did you like them?”
“They were… intense. I’m at school.”
“I know.” Lisa’s tone shifted, a sly edge returning. “That was the point. I thought about you all day, in your glasses and those baggy clothes, knowing what’s underneath. It kept me sane.” A shuffling sound. “Listen, about tonight. Things are running late here. It might be closer to nine.”
Relief and disappointment tangled in Nelissa’s gut. “Okay.”
“Don’t sound so thrilled.” Lisa’s laugh was short, hollow. “I’m looking at a storyboard and all I can see is you on my couch. It’s professionally inconvenient.”
Someone called Lisa’s name sharply in the background. “Shit. I have to go. My place at nine. And remember what I said. Nothing under your clothes.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I want to find you exactly how I left you.”
The line went dead. Nelissa stood in the stairwell, the phone hot against her ear. The silence was now filled with a different kind of charge. The anticipation was a live wire, humming in the empty space.
She walked back to her dorm through a light drizzle. The rain made the campus sidewalks slick and reflective, turning the world into a blurred Impressionist painting. Her phone buzzed again—a delivery notification. A package awaited her at the front desk.
It was a small, discreet black box. No return address. Inside, nestled in black tissue paper, was a single item: a delicate silver necklace. The pendant was a simple, polished bar. Engraved on it, in tiny, elegant script, was one word: Owned.
No note. None was needed. The weight of the metal was cool in her palm. The claim was absolute, elegant, and terrifying. She fastened it around her neck. The pendant settled just below her collarbone, a secret against her skin.
At eight-thirty, she stood in her room, staring at her reflection. She’d followed instructions. Just her loose jeans, a thin black sweater. Nothing underneath. The necklace gleamed. She felt exposed, hyper-aware of every shift of fabric. She looked like the same Nelissa, plain and hidden. But she wasn’t. She was carrying Lisa’s mark, Lisa’s rules, under the wool.
She called a rideshare. The driver didn’t speak. The city glowed, wet and neon-bright, beyond the window. She watched her own reflection in the glass, superimposed over the glittering streets. The ghost in the machine.
The car pulled up to the sleek, guarded tower. The penthouse. The lobby was a cavern of marble and quiet, a uniformed attendant nodding her toward a private elevator after verifying her name. The doors closed, and this time, she ascended alone.
The elevator opened directly into the foyer. The space was vast, all minimalist lines and floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the stormy night sky. It was quiet. Almost too quiet.
“Lisa?” Her voice was small, swallowed by the open plan.
No answer. She stepped further in. The air smelled of lemon cleaner and, faintly, of Lisa’s perfume. On a low concrete table, a single lamp was on. Next to it, a note on thick cardstock.
Make yourself a drink. Kitchen. I’m running late. Don’t get comfortable.
The command was clear. She found the kitchen, a study in stainless steel and dark wood. She poured a glass of water, her hands steady. She didn’t sit. She stood by the window, watching the city, the necklace a cool weight against her skin. The anticipation was a physical thing now, a tight coil in her abdomen. Every minute stretched, thin and sharp.
Headlights washed across the ceiling. The subtle hum of the private elevator. A click of heels on polished concrete.
Nelissa didn’t turn. She kept her eyes on the city, her back to the room. She heard the drop of a bag, the sigh of a coat being shrugged off.
“You wore it.” Lisa’s voice came from behind her, closer than expected. Fingertips, cool from the outside air, traced the line of the silver necklace. “Good.”
Nelissa finally turned. Lisa looked wrecked. Her makeup was smudged, her hair tied in a messy knot. She wore all black—a tight turtleneck, leather pants. She looked exhausted and utterly electric. Her eyes were dark, focused.
“How was the shoot?”
“Long.” Lisa’s hands came up to frame Nelissa’s face. Her thumbs brushed over her cheekbones, then down to gently remove her glasses. She folded them and set them on the windowsill with a soft click. “I didn’t think about a single thing except this. Except you. All day.”
She leaned in, but didn’t kiss her. Her lips hovered a breath from Nelissa’s. “You followed my other instruction?”
Nelissa nodded, wordless.
“Show me.”
The command was quiet, absolute. Nelissa’s breath hitched. She reached for the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head in one slow motion. She let it fall to the floor. The cool penthouse air kissed her bare skin. She kept her eyes on Lisa’s.
Lisa’s gaze burned a trail down her body. There was no awe this time. It was pure, hungry appraisal. “Now the jeans.”
The button was stiff. Nelissa worked it open, pushed the denim down her hips. She stepped out of them, standing naked in the vast, lit room. The city sprawled behind her, a million indifferent lights.
Lisa’s expression didn’t change. She reached out, her index finger tracing from the hollow of Nelissa’s throat, down between her breasts, over the flat plane of her stomach. She didn’t touch her cock. Not yet. Her finger stopped just above it.
“You’re trembling,” Lisa observed.
“I’m cold.”
“Liar.” A faint smile. “You’re perfect. And you’re mine.” Her hand finally curled, gripping Nelissa firmly, possessively. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. How I was going to take you apart.”
She dropped to her knees. The leather of her pants whispered against the floor. Her breath was hot. “But first, you’re going to watch.”
Lisa’s hands went to her own turtleneck. She pulled it off, then made quick work of her pants. Soon, she was just as naked, kneeling before her. She leaned back on her heels, one hand moving between her own legs. Her eyes locked on Nelissa’s, unblinking. She let out a soft, ragged sigh as her fingers worked. “This is because of you. Only you.”
Nelissa watched, mesmerized, her own need a sharp, painful throb. She was allowed to look, but not touch. The power dynamic was clear, dizzying. Lisa’s movements became more urgent, her breath coming faster. A flush spread across her chest.
“Tell me what you want,” Lisa gasped, her fingers still moving.
“You,” Nelissa breathed. “I want you.”
“How?”
Nelissa’s mind emptied. All the clinical terms, the polite language, vanished. “I want to fuck you,” she said, the words crude and true in the quiet room. “Right here. Until you forget your name.”
Lisa’s eyes flashed with triumph. She stopped, removing her wet hand. She rose, pulling Nelissa down onto the deep, expensive rug. The city lights swam above them. Lisa straddled her hips, guiding her inside with a slow, deliberate sink that made them both cry out.
Then she moved, setting a relentless, driving rhythm. Her hands braced on Nelissa’s chest, right over the pounding heart. “You feel that?” Lisa whispered, riding her hard. “That’s mine too.”
Nelissa’s hands flew to Lisa’s hips, her fingers digging into the soft flesh. She thrust upwards, meeting every drop. The world narrowed to sweat-slicked skin, choked breaths, and the gleaming silver word resting against her throat. She was owned. She was seen. She was, for this blinding moment, perfect.
She was, for this blinding moment, perfect.
The feeling didn’t shatter so much as it receded, like a violent tide pulling back from the shore. Her senses returned one by one. The coarse texture of the rug against her back. The cool draft from the windows. The heavy, salted smell of their sweat in the air. Lisa collapsed forward, her weight a welcome pressure, her forehead damp against Nelissa’s shoulder. Their hearts hammered against each other’s ribs, two frantic drums slowly finding the same spent rhythm.
“Jesus,” Lisa puffed, the word a hot burst against her skin.
Nelissa’s hands, still gripping Lisa’s hips, loosened. She let them slide up, tracing the knobs of her spine. She didn’t know what to say. ‘Thank you’ felt ridiculous. ‘Are you okay?’ felt presumptuous. So she just held her, listening to their breathing even out, watching a distant plane blink its way across the night sky.
Eventually, Lisa pushed herself up. She didn’t go far. She settled beside Nelissa on the rug, their shoulders touching. She reached out, her fingers finding the silver pendant on its chain. She fiddled with it, not looking at Nelissa’s face. “You wore it to campus.”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone see it?”
“No. My sweater covered it.”
Lisa nodded, her expression unreadable. “Good.” She dropped the pendant. It settled cold against Nelissa’s skin once more. “I have to be in Tokyo tomorrow. For three days. Promo tour.”
The statement landed between them, a stone in still water. Nelissa absorbed the ripple. This was the reality. The brutal, scheduling reality of Lisa’s life. “Okay.”
“It’s not okay, it’s annoying.” Lisa sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. The vulnerability of the pose was at odds with her nakedness. “I don’t want to go. I want to stay here and do that again. And order terrible food. And watch you try to explain cellular respiration to me.”
A surprised laugh escaped Nelissa. “You’d be bored in ten seconds.”
“Try me.” Lisa glanced over, a ghost of her usual smirk returning. “But I can’t. So.” She stood, extending a hand. “Shower. Then I have to pack. You can watch.”
The shower was all steam and slow, weary touches. It was functional, not passionate, washing away the evidence of what they’d done. Lisa’s energy was already shifting, her mind clearly clicking over to the next obligation. Nelissa toweled off and pulled her clothes back on, the feeling of the fabric against her bare skin a familiar disguise. She stood in the doorway of Lisa’s massive, walk-in closet, leaning against the frame.
Lisa moved with efficient grace, tossing garments into an open suitcase on a central island. Jeans, tailored blazers, silk tops. Everything was black, white, or beige.
“Don’t you get tired of it?” Nelissa asked quietly.
“Of what? Packing? Constantly.”
“No. Of performing. Even now, when it’s just you and me picking clothes. It still feels like a performance.”
Lisa paused, holding a sleek black dress. She looked at Nelissa, really looked at her. “It’s not a performance. It’s armor. This,” she gestured at the clothes, “is the uniform. The makeup, the hair, the stance on stage—it’s all plating. It keeps the world from touching the soft parts.” She folded the dress with sharp, precise movements. “You have your hoodie and glasses. I have this.”
The analogy was so simple it stung. They were both hiding. Just in opposite directions.
“What happens when you take the armor off?” Nelissa asked.
Lisa zipped the suitcase with a definitive sound. “You get to see.” She wheeled it out of the closet. “Come on. My driver will be here soon. He’ll drop you after.”
They sat in the back of the black SUV, a glass partition raised between them and the driver. The city night streamed past, a river of light. Lisa scrolled through her phone, firing off rapid messages in Korean. Nelissa watched her own reflection in the window again, the necklace just visible at the open collar of her sweater.
“Here,” Lisa said suddenly. She was holding out a single, plain silver key. “To the penthouse. I don’t want it sitting empty. The plants need water. And… I don’t know. If you need somewhere to be that isn’t your dorm. Be there.”
Nelissa stared at the key. It was a heavier offer than the necklace. “Lisa, I can’t—”
“You can.” She pressed it into Nelissa’s palm, folding her fingers over it. “It’s not a trap. It’s just a key. Use it or don’t.” She went back to her phone, as if she’d just offered a stick of gum. “The code for the alarm is 1029. My debut date. Easy to remember.”
The car pulled to the curb near Nelissa’s dorm. The normalcy of the brick building looked absurd, a dollhouse after the sprawling, minimalist penthouse.
“Three days,” Lisa said. She leaned across the seat and kissed her, a quick, firm press of lips. It was a punctuation mark. Then she pulled back, her professional mask fully in place. “Don’t forget your glasses.”
Nelissa, flustered, touched the empty space on her face. Her glasses were still up in the penthouse, on the windowsill. She’d walked out, ridden down, and sat in the car without them. She hadn’t even noticed. The world had been a blur, and she hadn’t cared.
Lisa smiled, a real one, seeing her realization. “See? You don’t need them as much as you think.” The partition slid down. “We’re good,” Lisa told the driver, her voice cool and clear.
Nelissa got out. The SUV idled for a second before pulling away, merging into the late-night traffic. She stood on the sidewalk, the key digging into her palm. She looked down at it, then up at her dim dorm window. The choice was a physical weight in her hand.
She turned and started walking. Not toward the dorm entrance, but away from it, the cool night air sharp on her face. The pendant bounced against her chest with each step, a tiny, persistent heartbeat. The city’s noise faded into a hum as she walked, nowhere and anywhere, the key growing warm in her clenched fist.