Chapter 7: Blanket Fort Confessions
The weeks blurred into a rhythm, a secret heartbeat syncopated against the mundane drone of lectures and laundry. The city outside the glass walls became a familiar map of their new reality. Lisa would return from trips, from photo shoots, from another continent, and the text would come: Outside your lecture hall. Black car. Nelissa would slip inside, the tinted windows sealing them in a bubble of jasmine perfume and desperate, grinning kisses. Sometimes they drove straight to the penthouse. Sometimes to YG’s complex, where Lisa would lead her through back corridors into an empty vocal booth, pushing her against the soundproofed wall, whispering “They can’t hear a thing” before dropping to her knees, her mouth a hot, shocking promise that left Nelissa clutching at microphone stands.
They got closer. They kept fucking. It was laughter over takeout containers scattered across Lisa’s priceless rug, Lisa stealing fries from Nelissa’s box. It was Nelissa, bold from intimacy, quietly replacing Lisa’s fancy imported water with the cheap bottled stuff she preferred, just to see her notice. Lisa did, raising an eyebrow before taking a long, deliberate drink. A silent concession. It was naps on the sun-drenched sectional, legs tangled, the world muted.
But one week, the rhythm stuttered. The air changed. Lisa was soft, not in the tender way, but in the way of something deflating. It was the week she released her new solo single, Moonlit Floor.
The visual was a masterpiece. Lisa, in a warrior-princess harness of leather and chains, dancing with controlled fury in a storm of neon and smoke. It broke the internet. The edits, the reaction videos, the fashion analyses—they were everywhere.
The vocals, a handful of critics muttered, were thin. Over-produced. Didn’t live up to the performance.
To Lisa, it wasn’t a handful. It was a chorus. It was all she could hear. Nelissa watched it happen in real-time, a slow puncture. Lisa’s phone, face-down on surfaces more often. The way she’d scroll, her thumb moving faster and faster, then stop, her jaw tightening. A dismissive flick of her wrist, the phone clattering away. The silence that followed was brittle.
In the penthouse, a grim mood settled. Lisa was polite. Distant. She’d smile, but it never reached her eyes, which kept darting to screens, to reflections, as if she could see the comments scrolling across every surface. Nelissa tried distraction—touch, food, stupid videos. Lisa would respond, but it was mechanical. A programmed reaction. She was retreating into a glass box of her own, and Nelissa, for the first time since that very first morning, felt locked out. She didn’t know what to do.
That night, Nelissa was in the living room, textbooks open, trying to focus on econ. The penthouse was too quiet. Lisa had been upstairs in her private studio for hours. Then, a crash. Not loud, but sharp. Defined. The sound of something deliberate meeting a wall.
Nelissa was on her feet, taking the stairs two at a time. The studio door was ajar.
Inside, Lisa stood with her back to the door, shoulders hunched. At her feet, a constellation of glittering shards fanned out from a dark, wet stain on the acoustic paneling. The smell of expensive whiskey was sharp in the air. A single, heavy crystal tumbler lay on its side by the baseboard, miraculously intact.
“Lisa?” Nelissa’s voice was careful.
Lisa turned. Her eyes were dry but brilliant with unshed tears, her face pale. She wiped at her cheek with the back of her hand, a quick, angry swipe, and manufactured a smile. It was a terrible, transparent thing. “Yah. I’m fine. Clumsy.”
Nelissa didn’t argue. She just sighed, a soft exhale of shared weight. She walked past Lisa, into the adjoining kitchenette, and found a dustpan and brush. She knelt on the floor and began sweeping up the glass. Each tinkling scrape was the only sound in the room. She was methodical, getting every last speck, dumping the shimmering debris into the trash. She put the supplies away.
Then she turned. Lisa was still standing in the same spot, a statue of contained frustration.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Nelissa asked. Her voice was soft. So soft it was almost just breath.
Lisa looked away, out the window at the city lights that never judged, only watched. Her chin wobbled. One traitorous tear escaped, tracking a clean line through the nothing on her skin.
Nelissa knew. She closed the space between them and stood behind Lisa, wrapping her arms around her waist, pressing her chest to Lisa’s tense back. She held her. Not to restrain, but to contain. To hold the pieces together.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” she whispered into Lisa’s hair. “You can cry here. It’s just me.”
A shudder ran through Lisa’s entire frame. A dam broke. She turned in Nelissa’s arms, her face crumbling, and buried it in the curve of Nelissa’s neck. The tears were hot and immediate, a silent, heaving flood. Then the words came, muffled and broken against skin.
“They said—they said it was a fluke. That I’m just a dancer. That I should stick to… to poses.” A wet, ragged inhale. “They’re in the comments, on the forums, the analysts on YouTube… every fucking where. I practiced for months. Months. I stayed in that booth until my throat burned. And it’s not good enough. It’s never good enough for them.”
Nelissa just held on. She rested her cheek on the top of Lisa’s head, her hands smoothing up and down her back. She thought, absurdly, that it was cute. Super cute. This powerful, invincible creature, reduced to a puddle of hurt in her arms, whining about the mean people on the internet. The vulnerability was so vast, so trustingly offered, that it made Nelissa’s own chest ache.
She just let her cry. She let her whine. She carded her fingers through Lisa’s dark hair, scratched gently at her scalp, the way she’d learned Lisa liked. She was an anchor in the storm of Lisa’s insecurity.
Eventually, the violent sobs subsided into hiccups, then into exhausted, shaky breaths. Lisa grew heavy against her. Nelissa shifted just enough to look down. Lisa’s eyes were puffy, her cheeks blotchy and red, her nose runny. She looked wrecked. Young. Super cute.
She waited until the last hiccup faded, until Lisa’s breathing evened out into something calm and spent.
Lisa finally pulled back, sniffling, avoiding eye contact, embarrassed. “Ugh. I’m a mess.”
“You’re my mess,” Nelissa said, her thumb wiping a fresh tear from Lisa’s cheek. “And your voice on that track is perfect. It’s you. It’s got that… little rasp in the second verse. The one you do when you’re tired but you mean it. They don’t hear that. They just hear words. I hear you.”
Lisa stared at her, her eyes searching Nelissa’s face for any hint of platitude. She found none. She saw only the girl who remembered the twist of her tongue, the girl who made her eggs, the girl who waited.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against Nelissa’s. “It’s so loud in my head.”
“I know,” Nelissa said. And she did. Better than anyone.
Better than anyone.
“Come with me,” Nelissa murmured into the quiet between them. She didn’t wait for an answer. She took Lisa’s hand, lacing their fingers together, and led her out of the studio’s wreckage. They moved through the dark penthouse, past the kitchen where they’d eaten eggs, past the sectional where they’d napped. A concealed door near the master suite led to a narrow, curving staircase. Nelissa pushed it open.
Cool night air, carrying the scent of wet soil and night-blooming jasmine, washed over them. The rooftop garden was a secret kingdom, high above everything. Fairy lights she’d strung earlier in the week glowed softly in the ferns. A thick wool blanket was spread out beside the low, curved marble bench, piled with cushions and a small basket.
Lisa stopped at the top of the stairs, her breath catching. “When did you…?”
“Yesterday.” Nelissa shrugged, a little shy. “I had a feeling you might need a fort.”
She guided Lisa to the blanket, sitting and pulling her down. The city sprawled below them, a circuit board of endless amber and white. The noise was there, but it was distant, a low mechanical hum. Up here, it was just the wind and the lights.
They lay back on the cushions, shoulders touching, staring up at the few stars brave enough to pierce the light pollution. Lisa’s hand found Nelissa’s, their palms sliding together. For a long time, they just breathed.
“This is the only place I don’t hear the noise,” Lisa whispered finally. Her thumb traced circles on Nelissa’s palm. “The schedules, the comments, the… the clock. It’s always ticking. ‘Use your time, maximize your impact, your relevance has an expiration date.’” Her voice grew thin. “Sometimes I think they’re right. That one day I’ll wake up and the music will just… stop wanting me.”
Nelissa turned her head to look at her. Lisa’s profile was etched against the sky, beautiful and terribly sad.
When Lisa’s words faded into the night, Nelissa moved. She propped herself up on one elbow and gently cupped Lisa’s cheeks in her hands. Her thumbs swept across the damp skin beneath her eyes, wiping the tears away with a tenderness that felt vast and simple.
Nelissa looked at her dearly, her own expression soft with understanding. “It’s funny how you’re older than me,” she said, her voice a low rumble, “and yet you’re the cutest Lalisa.”
A wet, indignant sound escaped Lisa’s throat. She whined, a genuine, childish protest, and swatted weakly at Nelissa’s chest. “Yah! Rude.”
Nelissa just smiled, catching her hand. “Let me take you outside.”
She stood, pulling Lisa up with her. She didn’t lead her far, just to the black wrought-iron railing at the garden’s edge. The true balcony. Seoul glittered before them, an ocean of ambition and loneliness. Nelissa positioned Lisa in front of her, then wrapped her arms securely around her waist from behind, pulling her tight against her body. Lisa leaned back into the solid warmth, her head resting against Nelissa’s shoulder.
And then Nelissa started to sing.
Her voice wasn’t trained. It was slightly husky, disarmingly sincere. It was just for them.
“I can fix up your broken heart,” she sang quietly into Lisa’s hair, the melody familiar and a little cheesy. “I can give you a brand new start. I can make you believe, yeah. I just wanna set one girl free to fall. She’s free to fall in love with me.”
The old Justin Bieber lyrics, One Less Lonely Girl, floated out over the city lights, a private serenade. It was absurd. It was perfect.
Lisa leaned back heavier into her, a full surrender. Her hands came up to hold Nelissa’s arms where they crossed her stomach. “I feel so safe with you, Nelissa,” she whispered, the words almost lost to the wind.
Nelissa nuzzled her neck, her tone shifting to that blunt, affectionate tease that always made Lisa laugh. “Yah, because my dick is in you all the time. Best security system.”
Lisa snorted, a real laugh bursting through the last of her tears. She elbowed her gently. “You ruin every moment.”
“I improve them.” Nelissa rested her chin on Lisa’s shoulder, watching the endless city. “The noise is down there. We’re up here. And your voice on that track is the part I rewind. Every time.”
Lisa was quiet, absorbing it. The criticism was still real. The fear was still there. But it was held now, in this space between the sky and the city, cradled by arms that knew every curve of her. The silence between them was no longer brittle. It was deep, and warm, and full of a new kind of promise—one that didn’t demand a performance.
She turned in Nelissa’s arms, looping her own around her neck. She didn’t kiss her. She just looked at her, face illuminated by distant neon and fairy lights. “Don’t let me go back down.”
“Never,” Nelissa said. And it wasn’t a lie, not in the way that mattered. Right here, right now, it was the only truth they needed.
Right here, right now, it was the only truth they needed. The city breathed below them, a mechanical lung. Lisa’s fingers tightened on the fabric of Nelissa’s shirt. She was grounding herself in the weave, the warmth beneath.
A new song drifted up from an open window somewhere far below, the bass line a muffled, rhythmic thump. Lisa’s body, attuned to any beat, recognized it before her mind did. A slow, subconscious shift of her weight against Nelissa’s chest. A small, private sigh escaped her lips, warming the night air between them.
“Hear that?” she murmured.
“Just noise,” Nelissa said, her arms still locked around Lisa’s middle.
“No.” Lisa turned fully, her expression shifting. The vulnerability was still there, but something else was pushing through, something stubborn and familiar. Her hands slid from Nelissa’s shoulders down her arms, taking her hands. “It’s a pulse. Come on.”
She stepped back, pulling Nelissa with her, away from the railing’s edge toward the open center of the rooftop where the fairy lights glowed like captive stars. Nelissa resisted, a nervous laugh catching in her throat. “I don’t dance.”
“Everyone dances,” Lisa said, her voice gaining its old force. “You just stop thinking.”
She placed Nelissa’s hands on her own hips, then linked hers behind Nelissa’s neck. The space between their bodies vanished. They weren’t performing. There was no choreography. Lisa simply began to move, a subtle roll of her hips, a slow shift of her feet. She guided Nelissa into the rhythm, her body leading theirs into a shared, swaying orbit.
They danced together.
It was clumsy at first. Nelissa’s steps were careful, her focus on not crushing Lisa’s toes. But Lisa’s eyes were closed, her forehead pressed to Nelissa’s collarbone. She was letting the distant, imperfect music into the places the criticism had filled. Her movement was a language. This is what I have left. This is what they can’t touch.
Nelissa stopped fighting it. She let her body follow Lisa’s lead, their sway deepening. Her hands learned the map of Lisa’s spine through the thin silk. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of the ferns and the far-off rain. It lifted Lisa’s hair, tickling Nelissa’s chin.
They didn’t speak. The only sounds were their breathing, the scuff of soles on concrete, the endless city-hum. Lisa’s hips pressed closer, a confident, claiming motion. Nelissa’s responding pull was just as sure. This was a different kind of conversation. It was an answer to every doubt whispered in a studio, to every fear voiced into a shoulder.
Lisa finally tilted her head up. Her eyes were clear. The tear-tracks were still there, but they looked like evidence of a storm passed, not a current one. “See?” she whispered. “You dance.”
“I follow,” Nelissa corrected, her voice rough.
“That’s harder.” Lisa’s mouth curved into a real smile, tired but whole. She spun herself out once, a slow, graceful turn under Nelissa’s arm, before folding back into the sanctuary of her hold. The silk of her dress whispered against Nelissa’s jeans.
They slowed until they were barely moving, just rocking in place, a single shape outlined against the sky. The song from below had faded, replaced by another, then by silence. Their own heartbeat was the only tempo that mattered now.
Lisa nestled her head back into the hollow of Nelissa’s neck. “Don’t let me forget this,” she said, the words vibrating against skin.
Nelissa kissed her hair. The salt from earlier tears, the jasmine of her shampoo. “I’ll be here to remind you.”
The promise hung between them, solid as the ground under their feet. The night stretched on, but the urgent, gnawing tension had dissolved into something quieter, more durable. They had danced the noise out. All that remained was the hold, and the gentle, persistent rhythm of two people choosing, again and again, to stay.
All that remained was the hold, and the gentle, persistent rhythm of two people choosing, again and again, to stay. The city never truly slept, but up there, they could pretend it did. They descended the stairs eventually, limbs heavy with a shared exhaustion that felt like peace.
Sleep that night was deep, the kind that erases hours. Nelissa woke to an empty bed and the smell of coffee. Lisa was already moving, a whirlwind of organized chaos, packing a sleek duffel for a two-day promotional run in Busan. “Car’s at three,” she said, placing a mug next to Nelissa. Her smile was easy, her eyes clear. The rooftop had worked.
“I have a seminar until two,” Nelissa mumbled, pushing her hair back. She felt vaguely displaced, the magic of the high-up world already feeling like a dream.
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up. Main gate?” Lisa leaned over, kissing her forehead. “I want to see where you hide all day.”
A flicker of anxiety, cold and familiar, tightened Nelissa’s stomach. The university was her other closet. “It’s just a bunch of concrete buildings.”
“Exactly.” Lisa’s grin was challenge and curiosity. “I want to see it.”
The seminar dragged. Nelissa sat in her usual spot near the back, oversized hoodie swallowing her frame, glasses on, hair a deliberate curtain. She annotated her text, but the words blurred. The phantom scent of rooftop jasmine clashed with the stale lecture-hall air. When the clock finally ticked past two, she packed up with slow dread.
She moved through the crowded main courtyard, head down, backpack hugged to her chest. She didn’t see them until it was too late.
“Jane. Hey, Jane.”
The voice was familiar, a bored drawl that cut through the student chatter. Minho and his two friends from her statistics class materialized in her path, a wall of expensive sneakers and casual cruelty. They’d always circled, hyena-like, drawn to her silence.
“Walkin’ funny today, Jane,” Minho said, his eyes sweeping her baggy clothes with mock concern. “Everything okay down there? You always look… uncomfortable.”
His friend, Taejin, snickered. “Maybe needs a special chair. For special needs.”
The heat of humiliation shot up her neck. She tried to step around them. Minho shifted, blocking her. “We’re talking to you. That’s rude.” He reached out and flicked the strap of her backpack. It wasn’t violent. It was proprietorial, demeaning. “What’s in the bag? Still hiding?”
“Leave me alone.” The words were ash in her mouth.
“Or what?” Minho leaned in, his voice a parody of conspiracy. “You’ll tell your boyfriend? Oh wait, you don’t have one. Who would want—”
The sentence died.
A black sedan, sleek and silently ominous, had pulled up to the curb just feet away. The rear door opened. First, a leg emerged, then the full, impossible height of her. Lalisa Manoban, in ripped black jeans, a vintage leather jacket, and sunglasses, stepped onto the pavement.
She didn’t look at Nelissa. Not yet. She turned her head, slowly, toward the three young men. She took off her sunglasses, folding them with a deliberate click.
The entire energy of the courtyard shifted. A whisper, then a surge of recognition rippled through the students. Phones were raised. Minho’s smug expression froze, then melted into confused panic.
Lisa took two steps forward. She moved like the music video, all contained lethal grace. She stopped close enough for Minho to smell her perfume. Her voice, when she spoke, was calm. Curious. It cut through the air like glass.
“What were you saying to her?” Lisa asked. “Finish your sentence. I’m interested.”
Minho’s mouth opened. Nothing came out. Taejin took a step back, his face pale.
Lisa’s gaze held Minho’s, utterly patient, utterly cold. “You were explaining who would want her.” A slight tilt of her head. “Go on.”
“I… we were just…” Minho stammered.
Lisa smiled. It wasn’t friendly. “You were just being little boys who’ve never touched a woman who didn’t pity them.” Her eyes flicked to the phone in Taejin’s shaking hand. “Put that down. Now.”
He fumbled, nearly dropping it. Lisa’s attention returned to Minho. “You will walk away. You will not look at her, you will not speak to her, you will not breathe in her direction again. If you do, I will know. And I will not be polite next time. Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth?”
Minho nodded, a jerky, terrified motion.
“Good.” Lisa finally turned. Her expression transformed, the ice thawing into something warm and private. She walked to Nelissa, who stood rigid, her whole world reduced to the pounding in her ears. Lisa didn’t embrace her. She simply took the heavy backpack from Nelissa’s numb hands, slinging it over her own shoulder as if it were a designer bag.
“Ready to go?” Lisa asked, her voice soft now, for Nelissa alone.
Nelissa could only nod. Lisa placed a guiding hand on the small of her back, a firm, possessive touch, and led her to the open car door. She shielded her as she got in, then followed, pulling the door shut. The sedan glided away from the curb, leaving a stunned silence in its wake.
Inside the quiet, plush interior, Nelissa stared straight ahead. The tremors started deep inside, making her hands shake in her lap. She felt stripped raw, the two halves of her life violently smashed together.
“Pull over here, please,” Lisa said to the driver, her voice still calm. The car slid into a quiet side street and stopped.
Lisa turned to her. “Look at me.”
Nelissa forced her head to turn. Lisa’s eyes were blazing, but not with anger at her. “How long?” Lisa asked. Her tone was deceptively flat.
“What?”
“How long has that been happening?”
Nelissa swallowed. “A while.”
“A semester? A year?”
“Two years.” The admission was a whisper.
Lisa closed her eyes. A muscle in her jaw ticked. When she opened them, they were wet. “You come home to me and let me do all those things to you,” she said, her voice cracking with a fury that was pure pain. “And you were carrying that around here? Every day?”
Nelissa looked down at her shaking hands. “It’s different there. I’m different there.”
“No.” Lisa’s hand came up, not to strike, but to cradle Nelissa’s cheek, forcing her gaze back. “You’re not. You’re you. And I just saw who you are when you’re scared. And it fucking destroys me.”
The first sob ripped out of Nelissa then, harsh and ugly. The dam of two years broke. Lisa unbuckled both their seatbelts and pulled her across the leather seat, into her arms. She held her as she wept, the kind of weeping that comes from a deep, septic wound finally being lanced.
“I’m sorry,” Nelissa choked into the leather of Lisa’s jacket. “I’m so… pathetic.”
“You are the furthest thing from pathetic,” Lisa murmured into her hair, her own voice thick. “You survive that, then you come home and let me own you? That’s strength I can’t even comprehend.” She pulled back, wiping roughly at Nelissa’s tears with her thumbs. “It stops today. It’s over.”
“You can’t just… they’ll just be worse now, after what you did—”
“Let them try.” The ferocity was back, absolute. “I have resources, Nelissa. I have lawyers who love nothing more than making examples of little boys with rich parents. I have a platform that can end someone’s future with a single post. I will burn that whole fucking department to the ground if I have to.” She brushed the hair from Nelissa’s wet face. “But they’re cowardly boys. They’re scared now. They won’t come near you again.”
The car was silent except for Nelissa’s shuddering breaths. The reality of what Lisa had done, what she was offering, settled over her. It wasn’t a rescue. It was a declaration of war on her behalf.
“You saw me,” Nelissa whispered, the core of her shame laid bare.
“I’ve always seen you,” Lisa answered, her forehead pressing against Nelissa’s. “From the first night. Now everyone else will too. They’ll see that you’re mine. And that you are not to be touched.”
She nodded to the driver. The car pulled back into the flow of traffic, heading toward the penthouse, toward the airport, toward an irrevocably changed future. Nelissa stayed curled into Lisa’s side, the weight of the backpack gone, a different, heavier weight beginning to lift. The choice to stay had just been made in a public, brutal way for all to see. There was no hiding now.